Illusive Flame

by Girard, Dara

  He shoved a hand in his pocket and stared at the ground. “For the same reason you don’t talk about yours.”

  “You’re ashamed?”

  He glanced up. “No. It hurts too much.”

  “I know.”

  A gentle mist caressed her skin, enveloping her in a dream. In this dream the man before her wasn’t her employer, but an ordinary man. And his eyes were no longer remote, but clear and beautiful and she felt the lingering ache in his heart, the memories that haunted him and something else. She felt an attraction that he tried to tame. An attraction that seemed to ebb and flow between them having no place to settle.

  His gaze grew intense. She didn’t remember him moving, but suddenly he was closer and everything else faded away. His lips brushed hers—light, tender, featherlike. But there was nothing light about the wild jolt that shot through her. When he pulled away, she ran her tongue against her lower lip. It still tingled from his kiss. They stared at each other neither daring to move as they stood at the edge of a bridge they dare not cross again.

  Victoria lowered her gaze and took a step back; Robert grabbed her and pulled her to him. He kissed her, sending her inside spinning. Who they were didn’t matter. All that mattered was this one delicious moment.

  “Victoria!” Janet said. “Are you coming?”

  Robert jumped back startled. He swore. Victoria stared at him then began to laugh.

  “Victoria!”

  She turned to the sound of the voice. “Yes, Aunty. I’m coming.” She looked at Robert again her heart racing and covered her mouth to keep from laughing harder.

  Robert scowled. “What’s so funny?”

  “You look as though you want to murder someone.”

  His voice grew soft, as his eyes raked over her body. “No, not murder.”

  Victoria abruptly stopped laughing seeing the smoldering desire in his eyes. She took a step back. “I will leave you two.”

  He nodded. “Yes, I suggest you do.” For a moment they didn’t move, then Robert turned his back to her.

  She walked away and glanced back only once to see the silhouette of a man kneeling beside his dog. Soon they disappeared into the gray of the morning. She touched her lips still feeling the taste of his. She licked her lips with a bit of unease, as the fog grew denser. She stumbled losing her way. Her chest began to burn as though smoke invaded her lungs, choking her. She felt heat suffocating her and held her hand out feeling disoriented. The smoke became black and thick. She couldn’t breathe.

  She fell to the ground, desperate for air. Her hands and knees ached from arthritis and then Victoria knew she sensed an old woman struggling to find a way out of her burning house. The woman called to her dog, knowing he was frightened too, desperate not to lose her best friend. She called again. No response. She grew tired. The soft, wet grass touched her cheek as Victoria waited for the vision to end. It began to fade when a large tongue licked her face, and a damp nose pressed against her forehead.

  She grabbed Benjamin’s collar and pulled herself to a sitting position.

  Robert knelt beside her and rubbed her back. “You’re going to be okay. Breathe slowly.”

  Victoria squeezed her eyes shut. “She’s in the house and she can’t get out. It’s too late, no one can save her.” The image disappeared. The smoke dissipated and became fog again. The spirit of the woman was gone.

  Robert helped her to her feet. “Let me take you home.”

  “Her dog should have alerted her, but he wasn’t there.” She gripped his arms and looked into his eyes, pleading. “This was real, he killed her. You’ll see.”

  * * *

  The next day he did see. Robert watched the pathologist transfer the charred body of a seventy-year-old woman onto the stainless steel table. A body of blackened muscles contracted by the heat, smelling like rotten steak. He prepared himself as the pathologist gathered tools to pry open the body. He no longer could deny that Victoria’s vision had been real. Everything she’d seen made sense, except for the arson. This had been another electrical fire; however, the same thing that had bothered Victoria worried him. Nobody heard a dog bark, and no body of a dog had been found. Why did he get the feeling that the dog was the key?

  * * *

  Grant jangled his keys in his pocket and sighed. He wanted a cigarette. Bad. He hated buildings that didn’t allow smoking. Most didn’t nowadays. You could eat yourself into a coma, drink until your liver shriveled, but you couldn’t burn your lungs every once in a while. Couldn’t they at least have a room? He glanced around the table at Melinda and Carroll as they went over the warehouse case. The paper trail from the owner didn’t lead far.

  “So far no one’s claiming the Hope diamond,” Carroll said.

  Melinda nodded. “And the lab confirmed that the area was soaked with acetone.”

  “And the company close to that area was Techno Technology The owner is Hinda Haddad.”

  Melinda started.

  Carroll looked at her puzzled. “What’s on your mind?”

  “The name sounds familiar.” She tapped the pen against her cheek. “I don’t know why.”

  Grant rested his chin in his hand, trying not to picture her pen as a cigarette. “Maybe ‘cause it sounds like a terrorist?”

  She glared at him angered by the implication. “That’s not funny. My sister-in-law is Muslim.”

  He looked bored. “So is my uncle. So why don’t you relax, woman? I was trying to lighten the mood. Everyone’s so scared they don’t have a sense of humor anymore.”

  “Making fun—”

  He held up his hands in surrender. “Okay, forget it. You’re beginning to make me feel guilty.” He rested a hand on his chest. “I’m Catholic. Guilt’s a hobby of mine. So is collecting rectory jokes. Want to hear some?”

  “Your jokes are as bad as your attitude.”

  He straightened. “I think it’s better than your—”

  Carroll held up a hand. “Let’s try not to get personal, okay?”

  Melinda gritted her teeth. “Well, he—”

  Carroll sent her a warning look.

  “All right.”

  “Now let’s get back to the subject. For Techno Technology, business isn’t good. They’re up to their neck paying off borrowed insurance.”

  Melinda raised a brow. “That’s interesting.”

  “But not criminal,” Grant said. “They haven’t made an insurance claim yet.”

  “We’ll have to pay them a visit and see why not.”

  Carroll stood. “You two have to go. I’ve got to pick up something.” He walked to the door, ran a hand through his hair causing it to stick up more then flashed a wicked grin. “Try not to kill each other.”

  Grant and Melinda sat and stared at everything in the room but each other then Grant slowly rose to his feet. “We’ll take my car.”

  Melinda sighed and reluctantly followed him.

  They drove a while in silence. Around them they heard the whirring siren of a police cruiser whizzing past, the loud horn of a passing truck and the roar of a group of motorcycles weaving between cars. Grant finally said, “I’ll do the talking.”

  Melinda rolled her eyes. “Am I supposed to just sit there and look pretty?”

  “Well, you can sit there. The pretty part is up to you.”

  She looked at him amazed. “Don’t you think it’s about time you got used to our presence around here?”

  He lowered the window and rested an arm on the doorframe. “I’m used to it and I still don’t like it.”

  “We’re on the same side.” She frowned. “You know you should have both hands on the wheel.”

  He raised his hands. “ Would you like to teach me how to drive? I might have forgotten while crossing the parking lot.”

  Melinda lunged for the steering wheel. “Elliott, stop it!”

  He grabbed it and chuckled. “Will you relax? I’ve been driving for a long time. Besides, there’s no one around us.”

  “You should
always be prepared.”

  “I am. That’s why I wear a seatbelt.”

  Melinda folded her arms and turned away wondering why good-looking guys were always such jerks. Except for Braxton. There was a man she could understand. A man devoted to his work. Elliot always showed up as though he’d arrived at a party. Unfocused, flippant, ready with a stupid joke and a quick grin that for some reason always made her wonder what other things would put a smile on his face. Not that she allowed herself to entertain that thought long. Elliot didn’t have Braxton’s finesse, his sense of structure, or his background. She related to that. “Braxton doesn’t mind our help,” she said.

  “Braxton isn’t me.”

  “Yes, he’s more mature.”

  He shrugged. “Probably. I’m still doing the talking.”

  She let her hands fall to her lap. “Fine. You’re such a big baby.”

  Grant only grinned.

  Hinda Haddad lived in a house with her niece, Raisa in a nice middle class neighborhood. For a business that was falling apart they lived in a house that a home and garden magazine would place on the cover. Grant knocked on the door.

  A small, birdlike woman with streaks of gray in her dark hair opened the door. She looked at them curious. “Yes?”

  Grant flashed his badge and introduced himself and Melinda.

  She frowned. “Is something wrong?”

  “We’d like to ask you a few questions.”

  “About what?”

  “May we come in?” Melinda asked.

  Hinda hesitated then moved aside. She led them to the living room. Grant saw a young woman hurry past.

  “Who’s that?”

  “My niece.”

  “We’d like to speak to her also.”

  Raisa came into the room with her head down, dark hair hiding her face.

  “She’s shy,” Hinda said.

  “That’s okay,” he said.

  She settled into the couch. “What is this about?”

  “It’s about the fire.”

  “I don’t know much about the business.”

  Melinda and Grant looked at each other perplexed.

  Grant said, “But we have your signature on corporation papers and loan checks.”

  Hinda shrugged. “I was merely a puppet. My son, Josef and his cousin Basam travel a lot and they tell me and my niece what to do and we do it. They are the clever ones. You must speak to them.”

  “We plan to,” Grant said. He asked her some more questions that she politely answered. He soon realized that she was either very devious or ignorant. After Hinda answered another question apologizing for her lack of knowledge, Melinda lost patience. “Ms. Haddad it’s hard for me to believe you know so little about the business when your signatures are on important documents.”

  She nodded keeping her voice calm. “Yes, but as I said, we just follow directions.”

  “When can we speak to Josef and his cousin?” Grant asked.

  “I don’t know. They are away.”

  “For business,” the niece added.

  Grant tapped his pen against his leg. “How far away?”

  Hinda shook her head, looking a bit lost. “I don’t know. They often travel for business.”

  “When did they leave?”

  Her eyes darted between them then fell. “I don’t know.”

  “Please this is important.”

  She covered her face and burst into tears. “I don’t know. I don’t know,” she cried. “Please no more questions.”

  Raisa held her aunt’s shoulder and said sadly, “They’ve disappeared.”

  “When?” Grant asked.

  Hinda rocked and cried. Raisa tried to soothe her.

  “Was it the night of the fire?” he persisted. “Or early the next day?”

  “I don’t know,” Hinda moaned, her hands fell into her lap. “I don’t know.”

  “Did you file a missing persons report?”

  “No.”

  “Why not?” Melinda snapped.

  Grant pinched her in warning. “Is there a reason you didn’t?”

  “Because I know he will return. He will contact me when he has the chance.”

  Grant and Melinda left the house in frustration. In the car, Grant grabbed a cigarette. “Mind if I smoke?”

  Melinda rested her head back and briefly shut her eyes. “No.”

  He rolled down the window, lit the cigarette and inhaled. “Well, that was a bust.”

  “Completely.” She placed a hand on her forehead, fighting an oncoming headache.

  “Why haven’t they made that nice little insurance claim?”

  “You’d think they’d be panting for a check like the other companies.” She sat up. “I guess they’re playing it cool.”

  Grant shot her a glance. “You weren’t.”

  “I know.” Melinda sighed with regret. “She was so polite and apologetic it drove me crazy. What happened to the woman’s movement?”

  “It missed her country.”

  “No, it’s probably just me. I get too involved sometime. Especially times like this. I wanted some answers.”

  “Me too.”

  “We won’t get anything more until they show up.”

  He stubbed out the cigarette and reached for another.

  She frowned. “I’ve never seen a guy go through a cigarette so fast.”

  “I’m frustrated, okay?”

  “You’re also wasting money. You should try to make your cigarettes last. The best way is not to smoke them. What did you say?”

  “Nothing you’d want to hear.” He lit his cigarette. “Don’t give me a lecture. I’m not in the mood.” He took a long drag. “They’re both gone. This was our last lead.”

  “Maybe one is dead and the other is in hiding.”

  “Or the fire wasn’t about insurance, but cocaine.”

  “Or they’re innocent and we’re making something out of nothing.”

  “We’ve run into a brick wall.” He fell silent. She looked so disappointed he wanted a way to cheer her up. “How would you like a drink?”

  “Who’s buying?”

  He tapped his ashes. “A gentleman always buy.”

  “I know, but I’m asking you.”

  It was her tone rather than her words that made Grant pause with the cigarette to his mouth. Was she teasing him?

  A smile tugged on her mouth. “Watch the road.”

  He moved his gaze from her face. “I am watching the road.”

  “You weren’t before.”

  “I was distracted.”

  “Do you distract easily?”

  “Not always.”

  She turned away. “So are you buying the drinks?”

  “Yes, I’m buying.” He stubbed out his cigarette, trying to sound casual. “I may even include dinner if you’re nice.”

  She grinned. “What do I get if I’m not?”

  Yes, she was definitely teasing him and he liked it. He sent her a sly glance. “I’ll think of something.”

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  All she wanted was a good story. One good story that would put her over the top. A story about heroes or a mystery solved or even a nice sex scandal. Something to get her back on track after she’d nearly ruined her career. Susannah rested her elbow on the restaurant table. The polished veneer felt cool against her skin. In the background the boisterous sound of laughter mixed with hurried footsteps as waiters dashed back and forth.

  She groaned at the sight of the notes spread out in front of her. She didn’t get juicy stories. All she got were break-ins, school board meetings, fires and a police department that gave her the regular spiel. Chief Braxton still wouldn’t speak to her. Now if she were doing the gossip pages, he would be an interesting story. Millionaire turned cop. She still remembered his highly publicized divorce to some artist who now lived in Europe.

  Yes, Robert Braxton was an interesting character, which was one of the reasons she set out to get to know his assistant at one of her A
A meetings.

  She poured herself another drink; glad she’d escaped. Although she’d left the group years ago, she’d ended up with a great contact. Unfortunately, he didn’t give her much to use. She had to try another tactic. She smiled when Foster approached the table.

  He didn’t return the expression, staring at her glass. “What are you doing?”

  “Relax. It’s light.”

  “You know you’re killing yourself.”

  Susannah waved to a chair. “I already have a Dad. Now sit down.”

  “What do you want?”

  “I want to know if you know anything about the warehouse fire or any of the fires recently?”

  His blue eyes hardened. “I told you before. If you want information you need to speak to my boss. I only came to see how you were doing.”

  “You want to see how I’m doing? Look at me. I’m with the local damn news on a channel nobody watches. I need a story. A big one.”

  “You’re a lot further than a lot of people.”

  “But not far enough. Just tell me something, anything. Anything juicy. I don’t care. Something the public can sink its teeth into.”

  “I don’t have anything.”

  “Have you thought about my book idea? We could write one together. You’re near the action. I’m sure your boss tells you things of interest.”

  “He’s my friend.”

  She took a long swallow of her drink, the alcohol dulling any feelings of desperation. “And does your friend know why you started drinking?”

  Foster stared at her then said, “Do you want to tell him yourself?”

  “Dammit Foster.” She threw up her hands. “Don’t you know you’re sitting on a goldmine?”

  “He’s my friend and you’re not the first reporter who has wanted me to betray that friendship.”

  “Look, you work for the guy. So he gives you a nice salary, I doubt he considers you a close friend. You’re an old, white, alcoholic, divorced, ex-engineer. Your career was shot to hell before he was even born. You’ve never even touched his level of success, let alone his money. What do you have in common?”

  Foster began to stand. “If there’s nothing else, I have errands to run.”

  Susannah ran a hand through her hair resigned. “Fine. Go run your errands.”