by Misty Evans
“Any juvenile history of fire setting?”
Mitch scrolled through the file he had on his laptop. “The first incident that resulted in an arrest was at the age of nineteen. He was part of a small-time motorcycle gang in Oceanside who broke into some old lady’s house, stole her stuff, and killed her. He set fire to the house to destroy any evidence.”
“So he probably had juvenile incidents and those records are sealed. Was he sent to prison for the murder?”
“Nope. He did time in a psych unit. He wasn’t there when the murder occurred, according to courtroom documents. He was called in afterwards by the leader to burn the house, so he got off on a technicality and was sent for a psychological eval. He spent six months at the county detention center in the psych ward.”
“And his other arson charges? What happened there?”
More scanning. “Empty buildings. No one was injured in either place.”
Emma removed her glasses and put the end of one earpiece in her mouth as she rocked in her chair. “Those don’t sound like he was destroying evidence. What type of buildings were they?”
“One was a church, the other was an abandoned fire station that was being converted to a community center.”
More rocking, her teeth nibbling on the end of the ear piece. “A church. That’s interesting. What religion?”
“No idea.” Mitch forced his eyes away from her lips. “Living River Freedom Church was the name. Small congregation, no affiliation on the notes I have. It appears he had a partner working with him both times. He’s also suspected in six other cases where fire destroyed property.”
“The church is often perceived as a source of authority, and for many, represents damnation as much as salvation. Then there’s the symbolism. Burning in the fires of hell, fire shall destroy the earth, the burning bush and Abraham, etc. As for the fire station…” She set down the glasses. “Was the suspect’s father, or any other male family member, a fire fighter? Or a minister perhaps?”
“I don’t have the guy’s life story, here, only his criminal history.” But something she’d said triggered a connection in his brain. “Fire shall destroy the earth…the end of times? Is that the Biblical symbolism you’re referencing?”
“Yes, why?”
“Tom Monahan and the apocalypse, ring any bells? Remember that garbage Linda Brown was spouting on the phone… ‘The Chosen One will be protected by the Resistance who will carry fire in their hands. Fire will consume them, and He will rise from the ashes of their destruction.’”
“Many fables and most religions have resurrection stories that begin and end with fire. The creators of the show used a host of metaphors to come up with The Chronicles: the phoenix rising from the ashes, Christ’s resurrection, the Book of Revelations…”
“Chris Goodsman was in jail when the wildfires started, but Linda Brown wasn’t.”
“You think Linda Brown started the wildfires? That’s a huge leap.”
“I’m brainstorming. The fires certainly benefitted Brown and Goodsman. Maybe Brown didn’t start them but she had help. Someone who understands how fires, wind direction, that sort of thing, all work.”
“Your suspect.”
Mitch nodded.
“But why? How would setting a forest fire in the park have anything to do with her delusions of being Mary Monahan?”
“She’s acting out what it says in The Chronicles, and it worked, didn’t it? She got Chris free.”
Emma’s face took on a look of sheer shock. “Oh, my God, you’re right. But she couldn’t have known that the fires would spread in a direction that would cause the evacuation of the prison.”
Maybe not, but something told Mitch he was onto something. “Have you ever used that trail we were on today to get inside the park?”
“I’ve ridden that far a time or two when I needed to clear my head, but it’s a rocky one. Not for the faint of heart, and you have to access it on horse or foot. A couple of places it’s washed out by the stream that curves around my land, and there’s more than one outcropping that makes the trail dangerous to anyone who’s not familiar with the layout.”
“But a survivalist could navigate it, right?”
“A survivalist like your suspect?”
He nodded and she stared at him for a moment, her brain getting on the same page with his. Mitch scratched at his chin. “I need to have a look at that trail.”
Emma nodded. “I’ll take you.”
Boy, he wanted that. More than anything. Watching her lead the way, her sweet backside tantalizing him with every step of her horse. Plus, he might figure out how Sean Gordon had slipped out of the park and escaped.
But he couldn’t do it. His case would have to wait. “Too dangerous, forget it. I’d go alone and leave Will here to guard you, but if anything happened…”
“You couldn’t live with yourself?”
Her grin was mocking. The tone of her voice as well.
The trail was already cold. Another day wouldn’t matter. “No, I couldn’t.”
She sobered, folded her glasses and stuck them in her top drawer. “We’ll head out at first light. Will and the dogs will come with us. I’ll be perfectly safe with the two of you, and it’s not like anyone could follow us without us knowing it.”
She stood and shoved her chair in. “I’m going to turn in. I’ve made up the bed in the spare room. You’re welcome to it.”
He didn’t want her to go, but he didn’t want to argue with her either. No way he was letting her take him to the park tomorrow, but right now, he just wanted her to sit back down and keep talking. “Who does this shirt belong to, Emma?”
She turned back at the door, a weird look on her face. “Does it matter?”
Yeah, it did. For no good reason, he was jealous. “I’m a curious guy.”
“Last Christmas, a friend stayed with me to help me through the holidays. He left a few clothes here in case he found time to return. This place is kind of a refuge, I guess you could say, for people as well as animals.”
His gut bombed. A man had stayed with her. Probably held her and let her grieve in his arms.
Mitch wanted to hit something. Then he wanted to shred the shirt. “I see.”
“He’s a good man, one who’s been there for me when things were rough. It was only a few days, but it meant a lot to me.”
He closed his laptop and shoved it away. Stood. “Are my clothes dry yet?”
“Yes, I’ll get them for you.”
“Don’t bother,” he said, walking past her. “I’ll get them myself.”
Chapter Ten
Emma overslept, then hurried through her morning routine.
So unlike me.
She was doing a lot of things that were unlike her.
How weird that with everything going on, and the fact Chris, Linda, or someone else had been in her bedroom yesterday, she had slept like the dead.
She might have been dead if not for Mitch.
His presence is why you slept so well, dodo.
Salt and Pepper weren’t in her bed when she woke, nor did she see them now as she left the bathroom, pulling her wet hair into a ponytail. Down the hall, she discreetly looked around the corner to peer into the guest room, prepared to use the dogs as her alibi for snooping, but neither they nor Mitch were in sight.
The bed was made, the shade open to the bright morning sun pouring in.
Had he even slept in there last night?
The sound of a pan knocking against something in the kitchen echoed up the stairs. Emma cocked her head at the top of the stairs and listened.
Whistling, soft and upbeat, met her ears, along with the sounds and smells of frying meat.
Mitch was making breakfast.
How nice.
Nice? It was flippin’ awesome.
What am I doing? Falling for a guy because he makes me breakfast?
There was more to it than that, of course, but Emma knew the signs of transference. Mitch had come into
her life during a fragile time of year and had proven to be adept at dealing with everything she, and the world at large, had thrown at him. Add that to the fact he was tall and sexy, damaged and mysterious—what woman in her right mind wouldn’t have a crush on him?
Dangerous waters, doctor.
Calling up her professional persona, she descended the stairs.
The dogs had tag-teamed Mitch, Salt taking up the position by the door, Pepper by the table. Both gave her a cursory glance and a weak tail wag and went back to keeping their laser-locks on the man with the food.
He wore the clothes he’d arrived in, and gave her a tight smile from his station at the stove. “Hungry?”
She’d told herself last night that she had to be mistaken about the jealousy she’d witnessed on his face when she’d told him about Victor helping her through the holidays last year. But the same expression still clouded his eyes and sat heavy in the faint creases around his mouth. “Smells delicious. I’m sorry I overslept. I’d love some breakfast, but I should check on the horses.”
“No big deal about oversleeping.” He flipped a sausage, grease splattering. His attention darted around between the frying pan and another skillet with eggs. “Will and I fed the horses and let them out to pasture. Relax and have some breakfast. We’ve got all day.”
Mitch respected Victor, saw him in an elevated light that Emma knew many others did too. It didn’t seem right to divulge that Victor was a kind man under his badass, FBI director persona. His agents knew he was fair and dedicated, but she wasn’t sure they realized what a softy he truly was. Revealing the fact he’d stayed with her, even though nothing inappropriate had happened, seemed too intimate—for both her and him.
She helped herself to the pot of coffee, watching Mitch from the corner of her eye. “Did you get any sleep?”
“Plenty.”
Somehow she doubted that. “Are we going to the park today?”
“The fire burned north from the ignition site, but it’s still too dangerous to go into the park without proper equipment and clearance from the fire chief.” He scooped up an egg from one pan and slid it onto a plate, then two sausage patties, and handed it to her. “All I want to do is check the trail and see if it was a possible escape route for the arsonist.”
An adventure. She was almost giddy. This one would be far more suited to her than yesterday’s excursion in Mitch’s truck, trying to escape the madness of a stalker and the chaos brought on by the wildfires. Today, it would be sunshine, horses, and Mitch.
Her psyche loved that idea.
Her body didn’t mind it either.
She sat at the table, eyeing the delicious smelling food in front of her. “Will and I can saddle up the horses after breakfast.”
“I’ve already prepped Harry. You’re staying here with Will.”
Emma’s forkful of egg stopped halfway to her mouth. “Harry?”
Mitch plopped his plate on the table and dropped into the seat opposite her. “I refuse to ride a horse named Twinkie. When I ride him, he’s Harry.”
She almost smiled. “I’m not staying here. I’m going with you.”
“No, ma’am, you are not.”
Stuffing the egg into her mouth, she chewed slowly and eyeballed him. “I know the trail, you don’t.”
He dug in, avoiding her glare. “I served two tours in the Middle East, and no, I don’t want to talk about where or any details concerning my job there. I only mention it in order to assure you I know how to navigate rougher terrain than you have here in California. I’ll find the trail and follow it to the park, do my investigation, and be back before sunset.”
She stewed for a few long moments, watching him eat. He was a magnificent creature, reminding her of the horse he insisted on calling Harry. Twinkie, too, had an independent streak that reared its head on occasion. When he’d first come to her, he’d been neglected and didn’t trust strangers. Only his handler had been able to get the horse to cooperate. It took Emma months to gain the horse’s trust. With patience and kindness, she’d taken the damaged trick horse and returned him to the gentle soul he’d once been.
She wondered if the same patience and kindness might work on Mitch. “You believe that I will be safer here with Will in this house, where we know Chris or one of his fans entered yesterday, than on the trail hidden in the woods with you?”
His gaze flickered up to hers, dropped again. “I do.”
It was a lie.
But why? Why was he suddenly so emotionally distant and trying hard to create physical distance between them again?
Jealousy.
He’d let down his guard and actually started liking her. Realizing she had spent last Christmas with a man had made him retreat behind those walls again.
Petty and childish. Did he think her a nun? A saint?
“Nothing happened between the man who stayed here last year to comfort me while I grieved, and it’s juvenile of you to treat me this way because you fear something did.”
He froze, then set his fork down. “It’s none of my business what you do here, or who you spend time with, Doctor. My only mission is to keep you safe until they catch the man after you.”
“Last night, we were friends. After I told you about the owner of the clothes you were wearing, you became distant and cold. Why is that, Mitch?”
He jumped up from the table and refilled his coffee cup. “I apologize for any misunderstanding, but I have other things on my mind besides being your bodyguard. I’m trying to solve a crime I can’t get all the evidence on, or even get in to view the scene where I believe the arsonist started the fire. I can’t solve crimes from remote distances.”
He returned to the table, sat, and gave her a hard look. “My attitude has nothing to do with the clothes or your friend. I’m simply battling a no-win situation, stuck here with you, and trying to make the best of it.”
He could add lying to his skill set. Most people would believe him by the look on his face. The earnestness in his voice. The way he didn’t fidget or glance away as she held his gaze.
The most dangerous liars…
“I’m sorry you’re stuck here, Agent Holden. Safe travels to the park and back.”
Picking up her coffee, she stood and pushed in her chair before she headed for the stairs and the sanctity of her office. “I hope you find what you’re looking for.”
He was a goddamn ass.
Shoving the rest of the breakfast into the dog dishes, Mitch berated himself for hurting Emma and lying to her. As the dogs sucked up the eggs and sausage meant for her, he tossed her dish into the sink and started scrubbing up the mess he’d made.
Except nothing could scrub clean his conscience. Not over what he’d just done nor what he hadn’t done five years ago.
His mother still had all of Mac’s shirts, all of his uniforms. For some reason, Emma’s hanging onto a shirt her “friend” had left behind hit a raw spot with him. A raw spot he couldn’t put into words but suddenly understood all too clearly.
He was jealous of his dead brother.
Fuck, what is wrong with me?
Parents often hung onto their dead child’s clothes, refused to change anything in their bedroom. He knew that.
And yet, for some reason, his mother seemed to prefer living in the past, pretending Mac might come home, rather than enjoying the son she still had.
Stupid shirt.
Crazy didn’t begin to cover what he was for letting a harmless piece of fabric turn him into a jackass.
He ran the hot water until it scalded his hands and created more bubbles than necessary. He scoured the dishes and the skillet beyond what was necessary to clean them, then rinsed them. Checking drawers, he found a dishtowel with faded horses printed on it and went to work drying and putting the dishes away.
The table still needed cleaning, but he left it and took the stairs to Emma’s office.
The door was ajar and he could see her working at her desk. Her reading glasses perched on he
r nose as she made notes by hand in a file.
His chest hurt over alienating her. He had been jealous, like some horny teenage boy, last night. But then he’d realized it was more than jealousy. Much more.
And not just because of the reminder of Mac’s shirts hanging in his mother’s house.
There was no accounting for what he was feeling right now. I don’t even know her.
But his gut didn’t lie. He was drawn to Emma in a way he’d never been drawn to another woman.
Rapping on the wooden door with two knuckles, he wasn’t surprised when she didn’t look up. Disappointed? Hell yeah.
“Leaving now?” she inquired, continuing to write in the file.
“Not yet.”
When he didn’t continue, she glanced at him over the rim of her glasses. “Did you need something?”
“Yeah.” He started to walk into the room, stalled out in the doorway. His feet just wouldn’t move. “I need to apologize.”
Carefully, she laid down the pen and sat back in the chair, giving him her full attention.
He stammered, so unlike him. “I, uh… I was rude downstairs. I’m sorry.”
“Thank you.”
Silence hung between them. That was it. Nothing else.
Except that stare of hers. Penetrating but nonjudgmental, making him want to step inside and explain more fully.
Sweat beaded along his hairline. The dogs had ambled up and now stood near him, Pepper reaching out to angle his head under Mitch’s hand.
Taking a steadying breath, he dropped his gaze to the dog’s soft brown eyes. “It’s not jealousy,” he said. “I mean, at first, yeah, it was a little, but you know that’s crazy, because why would I be jealous of some guy staying here? You had a life before me, and I’ve only known you a day or so, and well, it makes no sense to me, as I’m sure it doesn’t to you. But I felt protective of you, and I like you, so it didn’t sit well with me thinking about some other guy being here. You know, having a relationship with you and then hurting you.”
She removed the glasses from her nose and tossed them on the desk. “Why did you assume he hurt me?”