by Rita Herron
Bradford tapped the pad. “Write down the name of the bar, and the woman’s name.”
Coker complied, then shoved the pad away with a scarred thumb. “Now, let me get the hell out of here.”
Bradford glared at him but didn’t respond. Instead he continued to push the man. “Do you know a woman named Rosanna Redhill?”
A leer colored Coker’s face. “No, why? Is she hot? Wanna set me up with her?”
Anger churned through Bradford at the thought of the man putting his grimy paws on Rosanna. “No. Someone set fire to her house last night while she was inside.”
“I told you where I was…at that club in South Georgia.” He leaned back and puffed out his cheeks. “I’ve cooperated, now let me go.”
Fox reached for the door. “Not till we check out your story.”
He and Bradford exchanged a look of agreement, then stopped outside. They’d let the ex-con sweat while they verified his alibi.
“I’ll make some calls,” Fox said.
Bradford nodded. They had to follow up. Although Coker was a bastard and dangerous, he didn’t think he was their man.
“I’m going to check out that printout I got from CIRP,” he said. “I think something in it may lead us to the truth.” To the killer who was still free and on the streets.
And after Rosanna.
ROSANNA ALLOWED the security guard to escort her through the corridors to the elevator, but just as they were about to enter it, the fire alarm blared.
The guard’s radio buzzed, and he snapped to answer it. “Yes, I’ll be right there.”
“What’s going on?” Rosanna asked.
“There’s been a disturbance upstairs and one of the offices is on fire.”
“Which one?”
“I don’t know. It’s in the west wing, second floor. You’d better evacuate with everyone else.”
People began to spill from the offices, elevator and staircase, and the guard raced toward the stairwell heading upstairs. She stood momentarily stunned, then it hit her that Dr. Klondike’s office was in the west wing.
What if the man who’d tried to kill her the night before had come after the doctor now? What if Natalie and Terrance’s death had something to do with the study, and more specifically her?
Guilt drove her to duck into the stairwell, and follow the guard. She pushed through two women who were panicked as they ran down the steps.
“You’re going the wrong way,” one of them shouted.
She ignored them and plunged on, determined to make sure the doctor was all right. Her breath caught as she exited the stairwell, and spotted the security guard chasing a man down the hall. Another guard laid on the floor near the doctor’s doorway, unconscious, a bloody gash on his head. Smoke whirled into the hallway, spiraling toward the ceiling.
It was coming from Dr. Klondike’s office.
Her heart racing, she rushed to the office doorway. Patches of flames darted through the room. Covering her hand with her mouth, she inched inside, searching for the doctor.
A second later, she spotted her body on the floor under her desk, her hair a tangled mess around her head. Rosanna dashed past the flames shooting up around the desk, leaned down and checked for a pulse.
But she didn’t find one. God, no…The doctor wasn’t breathing.
She had to save her, get her to a paramedic.
Wood hissed and the files on Dr. Klondike’s office crackled as they caught ablaze. She shoved her hands under the woman’s arms and began to drag her toward the door. But just as she reached it, another bout of flames burst up in front of her, blocking her exit.
BRADFORD had just settled down to study the information Dr. Klondike had given him when Captain Black poked his head in. “You aren’t going to believe this, but there’s a fire out at CIRP.”
Bradford shot up from his chair, grabbed his weapon holster, shrugged it on and strode to the door. “I’m on my way.”
He jogged to his car and started the engine, then sped toward Skidaway Island, questions gnawing at him. Was it possible that his visit to the research park had something to do with this fire?
And what about Rosanna? His heartbeat sped up, and he pressed the accelerator.
She’d said she had a session today—was she there now?
Chapter Fifteen
BRADFORD DIALED ROSANNA’S phone, then her shop, but she wasn’t at either place. Honey, the girl who worked for her, claimed she’d gone to the research park.
Which meant she might be there now.
Fear clenched Bradford’s chest as he barreled up to CIRP, jumped out and ran up the steps. Déjà vu struck him at the familiar scene. The fire alarm had sounded and people spilled onto the lawn, a chaotic mess of concerned and worried doctors and scientists.
A fire truck roared up and sprang into action, firefighters pulling on masks and running inside to check out the situation.
He jogged over to Dr. Hall. “What happened?”
“I don’t know.” The director looked harried. “The security guard reported a disturbance on the second floor, west wing. Then someone smelled smoke and hit the alarm. I hope everyone got out all right.”
So did Bradford.
Hall had no more information about the type of disturbance, then Bradford noticed a man wearing black clothing running around the back of the building.
“Police, stop!” he yelled.
Instantly alert when the man bolted, he ran across the lawn, dodging in between the mass of people to give chase.
The suspect fled into the marsh and for a minute, Bradford lost him. But then the brush parted, and he spotted a black shirt to the left, and pivoted in his direction.
Sea oats brushed his legs and shells crunched beneath his feet. He vaulted over a broken tree limb, closing the distance between him and the suspect. The man darted to the left and tried to make it to a small boat he’d tied to the inlet, but Bradford jumped him and knocked him to the dirt.
The man fought and cursed, but Bradford slammed his fist into his back. “Shut up and be still!”
Finally the man relented, and Bradford cuffed him, then dragged him to a standing position and hauled him back toward the front lawn. He was thirty-something, tall, fair headed, with soot staining his cheeks and the smell of lighter fluid on his clothing. “What’s your name?”
The man glared at him with thin lips pressed together. “I want a lawyer.”
The security guard approached, panting and heaving for air. “That’s him, the man I saw on the second floor running from Dr. Klondike’s office. It was on fire, and another guard was down. I think he’s dead.”
“Dr. Klondike?” Bradford’s chest tightened, and he jerked the man by the arm, twisting it painfully. “Was she up there?”
He pinched his lips together. “I told you, I want a lawyer.”
“Stay with him,” Bradford ordered. “And when my backup officers arrive, put him in the squad car.” Afraid the doctor and/or Rosanna might be in that office, he ran back toward the research hospital.
Knowing they’d stop him at the front door, he snuck past the firefighters through a side entrance. Smoke and the smell of burning wood assaulted him as he raced up the stairs. Then he did something he hadn’t done in ages. He muttered a silent prayer that Rosanna was all right.
He had no idea why he cared so much, but he couldn’t stand it if the killer had succeeded this time, and she was dead.
ROSANNA USED a blanket from the doctor’s love seat to beat at the flames in the doorway, but they were jutting up too high, out of control. She could run through them and go for help, but she couldn’t leave the doctor alone.
Desperate, she screamed for help and beat at the fire with more force, but flames rippled up the doorway and clawed at her feet. Finally they inched onto the rug in the office, and she ran back to the doctor and checked again to see if she was breathing.
Fear surged through her, but she’d heard the sirens roaring and knew the fire truck had arrived. Su
rely the firefighters would find them in time.
Frantic, she began CPR. Counting the compressions, alternately breathing into the doctor’s mouth.
One…two…three…
Smoke hurled thicker and steady inside the room, and she swayed, dizzy, her own lungs filling with the plumes. She paused, gasped for air, shoved away her fear, then pumped her hands against the doctor’s chest.
Darkness swirled in front of her. A welcoming abyss of nothingness. Free from pain. Nightmares. The choking smoke.
The infernal heat.
No…couldn’t give in to it. Not now. Had to save the doctor.
She had to keep going. Another breath…
She swayed, felt the room spinning, pulling at her, the darkness beckoning. The fire heating her skin. Heard the sizzling of wood and paper, smelled the ashes.
She would be ash soon.
No…didn’t want to die. Not yet. Hadn’t finished her life. Hadn’t found her destiny. Hadn’t even been intimate with a man…
She wanted that intimacy with Bradford.
But her energy waned. Her arms felt so tired, her lungs unable to breathe. She fought fatigue, lowered her head and gave the doctor another breath.
Suddenly a gruff voice drifted to her above the noise of the fire.
“Rosanna!”
Bradford.
She glanced up, and stared through the flames. Saw him running toward her. A masked firefighter trailed on his heels.
Then water sprayed against the flames, they flickered and began to die. Bradford picked her up, but she pushed against him. “No, save the doctor…”
“Shh, she’s breathing now. The rescue workers will take care of her,” he said against her ear.
Lulled by the sound of his voice, by his comforting arms and words, she gave into exhaustion and burrowed against him. She was safe in his arms.
At least for now.
BRADFORD WAS SHAKING as he swept Rosanna into his arms. He thought he’d lost her this time.
Overcome with emotions, he had to clear his throat to speak. “Are you all right?”
She nodded. “What about the doctor?”
“The paramedics are taking care of her,” he said.
The rescue workers continued CPR on Dr. Klondike, loaded her on a stretcher and raced down the steps. He carried Rosanna through the stairwell, then downstairs and outside into the fresh air. Another team of paramedics arrived, and he gently lowered her onto a stretcher in the ambulance. “Check her for smoke inhalation.”
The EMT nodded, and Bradford leaned over, brushed her hair from her soot-stained face and told her he’d be back. By the time he reached the other ambulance, Dr. Hall was standing beside Dr. Klondike’s prone body. But thankfully, she had been revived.
All because Rosanna had stayed with her and started CPR instead of saving herself.
The doctor looked weak, pale and was drawing in air through an oxygen mask.
“Dr. Klondike,” he said gently, “can you tell me what happened?”
“Can’t this wait?” Dr. Hall barked. “She’s suffered enough. And her head is bleeding.”
“I just need a minute.” He squeezed the doctor’s hand. “Were you attacked?”
She nodded.
“Did you see your assailant?”
She nodded again, then moved the oxygen mask slightly so he could hear her. “Warren Whitlock. He…saw you, didn’t want his name released, anyone to know he was part of the experiment.” She coughed violently. “Said bad press would ruin his political aspirations.”
“Well, he’s done that himself,” Bradford said as Hall forced the mask back over her face.
He strode over to the squad car and spoke to the officer standing guard, then leaned against the side and addressed the perp, “Mr. Whitlock?”
The man jerked his head up and glared at Bradford, his nostrils flaring.
Bradford met his gaze with a cold expression. “That is your name, isn’t it?”
“Yes,” Whitlock muttered then reiterated his request for a lawyer.
Bradford gestured toward the young officer, Tomlinson, grateful Detective Fox had arrived with him and was canvassing the crowd, taking statements. “Read him his rights, take him in and book him, then fill Captain Black in,” Bradford told Tomlinson. “I’ll stop by and question him later.”
The officer nodded and did as he was instructed. Then Bradford went back to confer with Fox.
“Have you found any witnesses?” Bradford asked.
Fox shook his head. “Stories are all the same. The alarm went off. They smelled smoke. Everyone panicked and ran out.”
Bradford again relayed Dr. Klondike’s statement, then pointed at Whitlock. “He started this fire.”
“You think he’s responsible for the other arson cases?” Fox asked.
Bradford pulled his hand down his chin. “I don’t know. He lawyered up, but we’ll push him at the station and make him talk. For now I’m going to check on Rosanna.”
Fox’s gaze turned wary. “Be careful with that one,” he warned. “If she’s part of a CIRP experiment, you may not be able to trust her. Sometimes they do things to participants that affect their minds.”
Bradford knew Fox was talking from personal experience.
He also knew Rosanna was dangerous to him. The absolute wrong woman for him to get involved with.
But he was involved with her, he admitted silently. Much as he’d fought it, he wanted her with an intensity that was driving him insane.
“I’ll get back to you,” he said, then he wove through the crowd to the ambulance.
She looked frail and ashen-faced, but she was sitting up now, refusing the EMT’s offer of oxygen. What an odd contrast of softness, vulnerability and courage she presented.
“I’m all right,” she insisted. “I have to check on Dr. Klondike.”
He collected her hands between his to calm her. “I talked to her. She’s going to be all right.” He lowered his voice. “We caught the guy who set the fire. Dr. Klondike said he didn’t want his name released or anyone to know that he was involved in the research project.”
Relief flooded her face, restoring some color to her cheeks. Around them, the sounds of curious doctors and scientists speculating over the cause of the fire rippled among the noise of the firefighters barking orders.
He addressed the paramedic. “Does she need to go to the hospital?”
The EMT shrugged. “Maybe for observation, but she refuses to allow us to take her in.”
“I don’t need medical care.” Rosanna gave him an imploring look. “Please, I just need a shower and to get away from here.”
“I’ll take you home,” he said quietly. “But later I have to go to the precinct to question our suspect.”
“I don’t have a home now,” she said softly.
He squeezed her hands and helped her down from the stretcher. “I know. But I’ll take you to mine.” His heart pounded as he curved an arm around her and guided her back to his car.
Feeling a brief reprieve from the case now that he had a viable suspect under arrest, and confident it would take time for Whitlock’s lawyer to arrive, he drove Rosanna back to Tybee.
She’d almost died again tonight.
As soon as they were alone, he had to hold her and remind them both that she was still alive.
ROSANNA COULDN’T shake the fear still gnawing at her nerves as she’d showered. Thank God, the paramedics had revived Dr. Klondike and she hadn’t died.
She’d also been terrified of dying herself. Afraid she might never get a chance to live out her life. To see Bradford Walsh again.
To make love to the man.
As the hot water pummeled her body, her skin tingled as if his hands were touching her, trailing over her sensitive nipples, down her back, over her spine, then lower and sinking into her.
Achy from the images bombarding her, she turned off the water, dried off and shrugged on the satin robe she’d bought earlier. The flimsy mater
ial felt cool and soft, rubbing against her in a way that made her feel feminine and desirable. And bold enough to hope that Bradford wanted her.
When she entered the living room, he was standing by the sliding glass door looking out at the backyard. It was growing dark outside, the gray clouds more ominous as the last vestiges of daylight waned. And even though it had rained the night before, the heat felt oppressive.
Bradford had showered and wore a pair of jeans that hung low on his hips and a denim shirt that he hadn’t bothered to button yet.
When he heard her approach, he pivoted, his masculine frame silhouetted in the shadows. He looked so powerful that hunger surged through her.
“Feel better?” His simple question seemed impersonal, but the husky timbre of his voice and the way his dark eyes slanted over her simmered with sexuality.
She nodded. “I still can’t believe that man set Dr. Klondike’s office on fire.”
“Some people will go to any lengths to keep their secrets.”
For a brief second, she thought he was talking about her, and she contemplated sharing the details of her past with him. But he would look at her differently if she did, and she wanted him to look at her with the same fiery passion that his eyes held now.
Even if that passion lasted for only one night. Even if he found out the truth about her later and hated her. The need, the ache, the hunger had to be quenched.
His dark eyes pierced her as she walked over to him, heady and filled with a quiet intensity that sent heat spiraling through her.
“You saved my life again,” she said softly. “How can I thank you for that?”
“You don’t owe me any thanks.”
“I know.” She forced a smile, desperately trying to read his expression. “You were just doing your job.”
He hesitated, then cleared his throat, his voice arousing prickles of need along her spine. “Getting you out tonight was about more than me just doing my job.”