Up in Flames

by Rita Herron

  Then he did burn her. With one touch his finger sizzled against her chest, creating a blister. She winced in pain, stifling a cry, unwilling to give him the satisfaction of admitting that he’d hurt her.

  “Why are you doing this?” she asked between gritted teeth.

  “Because my brother always thought he was better than me.”

  “He is better than you,” she whispered. “He protects people instead of hurting them.”

  “He hurt me.”

  “No, you hurt others.”

  He stabbed her with another fiery finger, and she smelled the sensitive skin on her neck burning.

  “Bradford doesn’t hurt women,” she whispered hoarsely. “He’s a real man. He gives a woman pleasure.”

  Johnny leaned into her face, his rancid breath bathing her cheek. “He took you on the floor like an animal.”

  “He made love to me,” she said quietly.

  “Bradford doesn’t know how to love.” He snagged her hair between his fingers, twisted it around his hand. His other one slid down to cup her breast, searing her with the heat from his finger again.

  She spit in his face.

  He reared back, anger flashing across his craggy features. He might be younger than Bradford, but he looked ten years older, weathered from prison.

  Eyes wild with rage, he flicked out his hand and a ball of fire shot from his fingertips and dropped onto the floor, singeing the rug.

  Rosanna shrank back from the flame, shocked to see his power in motion. Shadow hissed and lunged at him, but Johnny caught the cat and flung him across the room. She cried out, yelled at the cat to run. He screeched then disappeared into the bedroom just as Johnny dropped another fireball to her left. The fire popped and zipped toward her feet.

  She closed her eyes, beckoning her own abilities, willing her mind to call upon its power. She tried to remember Dr. Klondike and Dr. Salvadore’s instructions, tried to recall her grandmother’s Native American stories about the strength of believing.

  The rope jiggled slightly in her hands, and she desperately tried to shut out the noise of her attacker’s breathing, the pain rocking through her, and the fire hissing around her as she focused on loosening the ropes so she could escape and save Bradford.

  BRADFORD PARKED two blocks away from his cabin and went in on foot, his lungs tight as he slowly slipped through the shadows of the oaks backing up to his neighbor’s property. He’d been in combat, had confronted the enemy without batting an eye, but nothing had ever terrified him as much as knowing that his brother held Rosanna captive, that her life rested in the hands of a coldhearted psychotic.

  What was Johnny doing to her? Had he violated her? Was he torturing her with fire?

  Had he killed her already?

  His breath caught as he spotted his cabin. He’d half expected to find it already engulfed in flames.

  But no, Johnny knew he was coming. Johnny knew he’d been with Rosanna and he wanted to drag this out, to make Bradford suffer.

  He wove from tree to tree, the sound of the waves crashing in the distance mimicking the sound of his heart raging with fear.

  Darkness bathed the house, thunder rumbling from the gray skies. He moved slowly, desperate to make his footsteps silent, watching the corners, searching the shadows in case his brother lay in waiting. Finally he inched his way up to the house, peered inside a side window.

  Horror stabbed at him when he saw Rosanna naked, tied to a chair in the middle of the living room, with patches of flames encircling her.

  Fury overpowered him, and he lost conscious thought for a moment. All he knew was that he had to kill Johnny and save Rosanna.

  Then he’d never let anyone hurt her again.

  He slipped around to the side of the house to the guest bedroom, then fiddled with the window until he opened it. Moving stealthily, he climbed through the window, his weapon drawn and ready. Something moved against his feet, and he realized it was Shadow. He knelt, stroked the cat, then gently put him outside to safety. “I’ll save Rosanna, buddy,” he whispered.

  His brother’s voice echoed from the front room. “Brad boy will be here soon. Then he’ll know what it’s like to suffer.”

  A whimper sounded from Rosanna, ripping at his gut.

  Bradford tiptoed through the room, then hesitated at the doorway and checked his weapon. A second later, he inched into the door and braced his gun between his hands.

  “Move away from her, Johnny, and I won’t have to shoot you.”

  Johnny pivoted toward him, a leer on his face. He’d changed since Bradford had seen him. A scar grazed his left cheek and age lines crisscrossed his face. His scruffy hair and weathered skin made him look meaner than ever.

  What little soul he’d once possessed was gone from his eyes. Instead they were wild, glazed, drugged from his thirst for vengeance.

  A sneer curved Johnny’s mouth. “I have my own weapon now, and you can’t stop me.” Johnny raised his hand and flung it toward Bradford. A ball of fire erupted from his fingertips and dropped at Bradford’s feet, searing his boots as it exploded in front of him.

  Bradford jumped back in shock. He hadn’t seen a match. How had Johnny done that?

  Another fireball popped and lit the floor in front of him, chewing the rug and filling the room with the scent of burning hemp. Then his brother’s laughter boomed through the room, and Bradford jerked his eyes up toward him.

  “What’s going on, Johnny?”

  “You thought you could stop me by locking me up, but I’ve only grown stronger over the years.”

  Rosanna gave him an imploring look as if begging him to leave her and save himself, though the flames flickering around her feet highlighted the fear in her eyes.

  “How did you do it, Johnny? You learned some trick, found some nondetectable accelerant?”

  Johnny shook his head, and lifted one hand, splaying his palms as if he were God. “I have power in my fingertips. I have ever since I was struck by lightning, but I didn’t know how to utilize it until I read about the experiment at CIRP.”

  He turned to Rosanna. “She understands because she has power, too. Or at least she said she did.”

  “You were there in the study,” Rosanna said. “You lied. You said you froze things with your hands. But Terrance Shaver read your real thoughts, didn’t he?”

  Johnny laughed again. “Yes, and he had to die.”

  Bradford stared at Johnny in disbelief, debating how to get to him and save Rosanna. She’d told him about the Web site…“You found out about the research study on the Internet, didn’t you?”

  Johnny nodded. “Once I escaped and showed the doctor my abilities, she signed me up immediately.”

  So Dr. Klondike had known that he could start fires, but hadn’t spoken up. “How, Johnny?” he said, trying to buy time. “How can you do it?”

  “Mind over matter,” he said simply. “You know Mom was always afraid that when I was struck by lightning that it damaged me somehow. Instead it empowered me. Made me special.”

  Bradford remembered the doctor’s reports from the study and from Johnny’s childhood. Johnny always had an unusually high body temperature. Had sometimes shocked people when he touched them because of the electricity in his body.

  And he’d been obsessed with fire after that lightning strike, had set fires in the kitchen, the woods, the backyard. Then he’d grown more conniving, had burned Bradford’s personal belongings. Finally he’d turned his perversion on small animals…

  But he could actually channel that heat into fireballs now without needing a match.

  Bradford didn’t want to believe him but he’d seen it now with his own eyes. And from Johnny’s history, it somehow made scientific sense.

  He glanced back at Rosanna, saw the flames jumping higher around her feet and clawing at her ankles. He had to act now.

  “This fight is between the two of us, Johnny,” he said quietly. “Let Rosanna leave and I’m all yours.”

  Johnny
lifted his hand again and pointed it at Rosanna. “Put down the gun or she goes up.”

  “No, don’t,” Rosanna cried.

  Bradford cocked the gun. “I said let her go, Johnny.”

  But Johnny reached over and pressed a finger to Rosanna’s neck. She winced in pain, and when his brother lifted his finger, a burn marked her neck. Several others dotted her chest and thighs, triggering fury to bolt through Bradford.

  Rage ignited his blood as Bradford’s gaze locked with Rosanna’s. She was trying to be brave, trying to protect him.

  He couldn’t let Johnny hurt her anymore.

  “I’m going to put the gun on the floor. Then let her go.”

  Johnny shrugged as if in agreement, but Bradford didn’t trust him for a second.

  Instead, he fired, sending a bullet toward his brother.

  Chapter Nineteen

  Johnny dodged the bullet, then threw another fireball at Bradford’s feet, making him jump sideways to avoid it. Rosanna cried out in frustration.

  Bradford didn’t want to hurt his brother, but he was going to have to. Either that or Johnny would kill Bradford.

  She couldn’t let that happen.

  Heat scalded her feet as the flames crawled toward her, growing higher. They had begun to spread, rippling across the braided rug between her and Bradford. Johnny stood in the middle, oblivious, as if the fire couldn’t touch him.

  Then Johnny tossed another ball of fire toward Bradford, so close it caught his pant leg ablaze. Bradford fired the gun again, but Johnny managed to avoid it, then Bradford beat out the spiking flames, but Johnny attacked him, and knocked the gun from his hand.

  The next few minutes flashed by in a blur. Bradford and Johnny fought, trading blow for blow, rolling across the floor, through the fire, hitting and grunting like mad animals.

  Johnny wrapped his hands around Bradford’s throat and dragged him toward the flames so his hair was only inches from the blaze.

  Rosanna had to so something. The ropes were loosening, and she wiggled her hands free. Smoke filled her lungs, and she blinked back tears as the thick plumes stung her eyes. She had to concentrate. Focus. Help Bradford.

  Bradford managed to roll his brother over and pin his legs, but Johnny cursed and tried to knock him off. Forgetting about freeing her legs, she angled her attention toward Bradford’s gun. Her heart pounding, she stared at it and poured all her concentration into making the weapon move. If she could slide it toward Bradford, he could save himself…

  He would hate her afterward, would look at her differently, but at least he’d be alive.

  The men twisted and rolled again, and Bradford shoved Johnny off for a second. But Johnny roared with rage and flung another fireball, this one catching Bradford’s shirt. Bradford dropped to his stomach to extinguish the flames, and his brother lunged onto his back. The gun was only a few feet away.

  She had to get it to Bradford.

  Summoning her mental energy, she focused again, this time willing her power to surface. She’d moved that shelf to protect herself from her father. She could move that gun to save the man she loved.

  Slowly the weapon began to slide toward Bradford.

  Johnny slammed his fist into Bradford’s lower back, but Bradford bucked upward, throwing Johnny off-kilter, then Bradford spotted the gun sliding toward him. He cut his eyes toward her, but she couldn’t look at him. She needed all her attention on the weapon.

  Another inch, another, and Bradford reached for the Glock. Johnny reared back like a wild animal, and pounced toward Bradford, but he snagged the gun, spun around and fired. The bullet pierced Johnny’s chest, blood splattering. Johnny shouted in disbelief, then his body bounced backward into the flames.

  She cried out in horror as the fire began to eat at his hair and clothes. The flames were crawling up toward her ankles now, licking at her calves. Bradford jumped up to try to save his brother, but took one look at her, and ran toward her instead.

  Heat singed her arms and stung her leg. As Bradford dived through the fire, beat at the flames, she quickly untied her feet. Then he lifted her in his arms and carried her through the blaze and out the front door.

  “Where’s Shadow?” she cried.

  “He’s safe. I let him outside earlier.” As if the cat had heard his name, he loped up and rubbed against Bradford’s feet.

  Panting for a breath, he dropped to his knees, cradled her in his arms and rocked her while they watched the sizzling fire destroy his cabin and Johnny’s body.

  “I’m so sorry, so sorry,” she whispered.

  He pulled back and looked at her with narrowed eyes. “You moved that gun.”

  She nodded. “I had to…”

  The stunned look in his eyes told her he couldn’t accept what he’d seen, that he thought she was some kind of freak like her father had.

  And that she was evil just like his brother.

  BRADFORD CLENCHED Rosanna in a death grip as the blaze shot up into the sky, the past few minutes playing through his mind, imprinted there forever. He was still trying to make sense of what he’d seen…

  He’d thought he’d die himself when he’d found Rosanna in the middle of that fire with his brother taunting her. And then Johnny had popped those flames from his hands and he’d gone into shock.

  And Rosanna…she’d made that gun move toward him, but she hadn’t been anywhere near it.

  He’d never believed in anything paranormal but he’d just witnessed two instances in person. Yet she had lied to him, had never told him she had an ability.

  In fact, when he’d specifically asked her, she’d claimed she didn’t, that she’d joined the study to find out information for people at her store.

  If she’d lied about that, what other secrets had she kept from him?

  His mouth tightened and he carried her to his car, retrieved a blanket from the trunk and wrapped it around her. Then he grabbed a sweat suit he kept in the trunk and gave it to her.

  “Put those on before the firefighters arrive.”

  She nodded, and he turned his back while she slipped them on. When he finally faced her again, acceptance warred with a feeling of betrayal. “How long have you been able to do move things with your mind?”

  She chewed her bottom lip for a moment, then jutted up her chin, although wariness darkened her eyes. “Since I was four. It’s called telekinesis.”

  Anger mounted inside him. He’d heard of telekinesis, just didn’t think it actually existed.

  “It’s only happened once before,” she said in a distant voice as if reliving some horror of her own. “The night my father died. He was drunk. He…came at me, was enraged, going to do God knows what. I was terrified, hiding in the corner and when he started to grab me, I made a bookcase fall on top of him.”

  No wonder she hadn’t told the police.

  “Since then, I’ve been scared to try to use my ability, afraid I’d hurt someone else,” she continued. “I thought I was bad, that’s what my father used to say.” She sucked in a desperate breath, determined to spill everything. “The doctors at CIRP said I repressed my gift, but fear, emotions…well, the surge of adrenaline triggered my ability.”

  Like a person in a crisis who got an adrenaline rush and had superhuman strength. In a bizarre way, the explanation made sense.

  The fire truck roared to a stop, along with two police cars. Firefighters and officers poured onto the scene. The next few minutes were chaotic and blurred as the paramedics examined Rosanna, and treated her burns.

  Bradford relayed the events of the night to his captain.

  Finally Detective Fox approached him. “I can take Miss Redhill to a hotel if you want.”

  “Thanks,” Bradford agreed. “I have to make arrangements for Johnny’s body.”

  Fox clapped him on the back. “You did what you had to do, Walsh. Don’t beat yourself up too much.”

  “I killed my brother. Now I have to tell my mother.” Bradford clenched his jaw. “She hated me for put
ting him in jail. Think what this will do to her.”

  When he looked up, he saw Rosanna watching him. Knew she had overheard him.

  But there was nothing left to say. She had lied to him, once again confirming that he couldn’t trust anyone. And he had let emotions for her interfere with the investigation, and left her vulnerable and alone because he had feelings for her.

  She had almost died because of him.

  Now he’d closed the case, she could resume her life, would be safer without him in it.

  There was no reason for him to see her again.

  Resigned, he watched as the firefighters recovered his brother’s charred body. He had to pay a visit to his mother and kill any lingering love she might have for him forever.

  ROSANNA KNEW Bradford was shutting her out. And she didn’t expect him to forgive her or return her love.

  But she refused to let him deliver the news to his mother about his brother by himself.

  She pulled away from Detective Fox and gathered Shadow in her arms. “I want to go with Bradford.”

  He narrowed his eyes. “I don’t think that’s a good idea. Let me drive you to a hotel so you can clean up and get some rest.”

  She shook off his hand when he reached for her. “No. He’s going to talk to his mother and I want her to know the truth. The whole truth. That she can’t blame him for what happened tonight.”

  He stared at her for a long minute, then a small smile tilted his lip sideways and he took the cat from her. “He’ll fight you on this.”

  She smiled in return. “I don’t care. I have to do this for him.”

  A moment of silent understanding passed between them, then he nodded. “Good luck, Miss Redhill. You’re going to need it.”

  She flattened her palms by her sides, then strode toward Bradford’s car and settled into the front passenger seat. A few minutes later, he approached, a frown marring his handsome face when he saw her in the car.

  “I thought Fox took you to a hotel,” he said as he opened the car door and climbed into his seat.