Slow Burn

by Ednah Walters

  “That must have been tough.” His voice was gentle, encouraging.

  “At first, yes. As I grew older, it became easier. I know it is illogical, but I believed they could hear me. I still do. I always see things clearly after talking to them.” When she saw the fascinated expression on Ron’s face, she blushed. “Silly, huh?”

  Ron covered her hand with his, again. “No, it isn’t. My grandmother used to speak with my grandfather all the time. She once told me that when you truly love someone, you share a bond that transcends the physical world. I believe her.”

  Hmm, interesting. There was more to this man than a sexy body, a sensual mouth, mesmerizing pair of electric blue eyes…she could go on forever. She glanced furtively at their joined hands. It felt natural, yet his large hand swallowed her smaller one. He was back to caressing her skin, unleashing a storm of emotions inside her.

  She wrenched her gaze away. This was silly. To find a man totally fascinating was so unlike her. And what were they discussing before they switched to ‘talking to the dead’?

  This time, Ashley slowly eased her hand from underneath his and placed it on her lap. A chill washed over her at the loss of his warmth. Her gaze searched for a distraction. Anything. The pictures came to her rescue.

  “Anyway, on that day,” she continued, “I got what I’d always wanted—a Nikon camera and a chance to celebrate my birthday with my cousins. We were staying at Aunt Estelle’s home, but almost all of my cousins were there. It was a beautiful party.” She paused and smiled. “I didn’t know we were celebrating much more than my birthday, until later. My parents had saved the best present for last.”

  As though reading her mind, Ron said, “Carlyle House?”

  “Yes.”

  “An unusual gift for a child,” he murmured.

  “Not when you consider what it meant to me. I’d spent the first fifteen years of my life traveling with my parents and the band all over the world. Buying Carlyle House was going to change all that. It signified stability, not that I knew that at the time. I just knew my cousins would be thirty minutes away and I could do things with them, have friends and sleepovers. They told me about the papers they were signing that evening, their plan to stop touring and start working with local talents.”

  Slowly, she stroked the glossy prints, a nostalgic smile on her lips. The shock of seeing the pictures was now gone, but she still needed to know where they came from. “I remember everything that happened before we left for the Carlyle Club. My mother’s soft, floral scent.” Oh, the memories, so sweet I can see and smell them. “Roses. She always smelled of roses. The two of us were waltzing and singing the lyrics of a ballad they’d produced, when my father joined in.” Her eyes misted and she had to swallow past a knot in her throat to continue. “He gave me a hug and a kiss after the song ended, called me his precious. I was so happy I had to capture the moment. This is the shot.” She tapped the first picture.

  Ron scowled. “And the film?”

  “It disappeared. My aunt told me it wasn’t in the camera after the fire. I think I lost it that night.” A thoughtful expression settled on her face. “At the time, I was too confused to ask questions, but now I can’t help wondering who removed the film and why.”

  “Could you have dropped it?” Ron asked.

  “Only if the camera’s cover was faulty, but that would have exposed the film.” She rubbed her temples. A headache was brewing there fast. “A lot of things happened that night that still don’t make sense. I need to show you something.”

  She got up and worked her way through the boxes on the floor to get to the huge metal box at the corner of the room. Inside it were sheets of music, records, an old record player, newspaper clippings about her parents, and family photo albums. She opened a black leather case, pulled out a camera and started to shake it.

  “What are you doing?” Ron asked.

  “Checking if the camera is defective.” She repeatedly opened and shut the camera cover, as she walked back to where she left him at the kitchen counter. The brand was the most rugged and versatile mechanical camera ever made. Even if the film had fallen, someone must have rewound it first. “The film couldn’t have fallen out. Someone removed it.”

  Ron went to stand beside her. “Are you telling me this is the same camera you used ten years ago?”

  “Yes.”

  He indicated the camera. “May I?”

  Ashley gave it to him, then rested her elbows on the counter, cupped her chin and studied him—his bold nose, the arched eyebrows, the intense blue eyes that warmed up with mischief but became cold in a beat. What was it about the man that made her feel comfortable enough to discuss the past? Was it because they’d both lost so much that night? It was true she thought he had a calming presence, but underneath it all, he was edgy. It was that edginess she found both exciting and unnerving.

  Ron suddenly looked up and caught her staring. Air lodged in her chest as she waited to see what he would do next. Her heart thumped hard with excitement. As though he knew the effect he had on her, he gave her a slow, killer smile. Heat crept up her face, up her legs. This was insane. She couldn’t even summon the willpower to look away. When he finally looked away, Ashley released her breath in spurts. This attraction was beyond her.

  “It’s in pretty good shape for something that old,” Ron said calmly. “Looks almost new.”

  Ashley frowned. How could he be so calm when she was still catching her breath? When she didn’t answer right away, he threw a glance her way. The camera came to her rescue. Her gaze shifted to it and stayed locked on it. Concentrate.

  The camera did look new, yet she’d had it with her during the fire. She recalled the filth on her dress, her hands….

  Filth?

  Her body jerked. Where did that come from? The Carlyle Club was an exclusive club with world-class service at the time of the fire, yet the word filth had crossed her mind. She bit her lip and tried to concentrate, but the memory eluded her.

  She looked up and caught Ron’s gaze on her. “I never used it after that night. I couldn’t bring myself to, so my uncle bought me a new one instead, a different model.” Filth… What did it mean? “At least I now have the three pictures I’d taken that night.”

  Ron scowled. “Three? There are a total of six pictures here.”

  “Six? That’s strange.”

  “Damn right it is.” They both reached for the remaining pictures at the same time. “So you didn’t take these?”

  Ashley gave the pictures a sweeping glance. The first one showed her parents in an opulently decorated room—an office or a private sitting room, perhaps. Black, leather chairs, bar stools around an ornate bar and musical motifs adorned the walls. A vague memory flitted in her mind then disappeared, leaving her unsettled. She tapped the picture. “Where’s this?”

  Ron shot her a puzzled glance. “That was the lounge in the basement. Don’t you remember?”

  No, she didn’t. No matter how hard she stared at it, the memory escaped her. Sighing with frustration, she moved to the next picture. In it, her parents were with Ron’s mother and three other men. From their animated faces, raised glasses and the curling swirl of cigar smoke, they were celebrating.

  Ashley pointed at the tall, gangly man in a three-piece suit and dark-rimmed glasses. “That’s Jeremy Kirkland, my parents’ attorney.” Now hers since her parents died. Uncle Jerry hadn’t changed much in ten years. He still preferred striped suits and dark-rimmed glasses. The only difference was his hair—he didn’t have any now. “Who is the other man?”

  “My mother’s attorney. Dave Hogan. He’s retired now, lives on Orcas Island. And that’s my father.” Ron pointed at the taller man dressed in all black. “He was there briefly but left early. Now this one doesn’t make sense.”

  Ashley studied the last picture. It was a blurry face of a man taken at a close range. The only discernible thing on the photograph was the gold studs on his ears. They’d reflected the flash of the camera.
A shiver raked her body for no apparent reason.

  “Why send this one? It’s impossible to identify the man in the picture.”

  “How can you tell it’s a man?”

  Ashley shrugged. Her artistic eyes saw things ordinary people didn’t. “The shape of his face, the jaw line and even his lips are masculine.”

  A scowl settled on Ron’s brow, as his gaze shifted from the pictures to her. He opened his mouth to say something and then appeared to change his mind. He went back to frowning at the pictures. Finally, he looked up and said, “You said you only shot the first three pictures, right? How can you explain these last ones?”

  She heard the suspicion in his voice and couldn’t blame him. “I can’t. All I know is that I didn’t take them.” I think. No, I hope.

  Ron’s gaze was steady on her face. “Maybe you put the camera down and someone borrowed it.”

  “Not likely.” She’d been too excited about it to let anyone else touch it, which meant she did take the pictures. The pictures were definitely from the same film. At fifteen, she hadn’t been camera savvy. She hadn’t bothered to clean the lens before taking the pictures, and a piece of string was in exactly the same position in all the photographs. “Besides, my parents left me upstairs with, uh, Sally…Sheila…the woman who ran the restaurant upstairs. I can’t remember her name now.”

  “Sherry McKinney,” Ron said.

  “Yes, Sherry. I never left her side the entire evening, never went to the basement or the club, which was closed that evening.” She sounded like a parrot, which wasn’t far from the truth. She’d just repeated the statement Sherry had told her and her aunt. “Maybe I need to find Sherry and talk about what happened that night.”

  “Sherry died a month after the fire, Ashley. Her car skidded on an icy road near the Tehachapi Mountains and overturned.”

  “Oh, no. How terrible.” Where did that leave her? Talk to Nina Noble? Yeah, she’ll be jumping over hot coals to accommodate me. Her lawyer Jeremy Kirkland was a surer bet. The man treated her like the daughter he never had and would never hide anything from her. Then there was the mysterious person who’d sent the pictures to the Nobles.

  Ashley leaned toward Ron. “I’d talk to the person who sent these pictures, Ron.”

  He nodded. “So would I. Unfortunately, we don’t know who it is. Like I said, the pictures were left at our gate along with a letter.”

  “A letter? Can I see it?”

  He shook his head, his eyes burning with an intensity that had all her internal antennas on full alert. She wasn’t surprised when he said, “Let’s leave that for another day. We’ve covered enough today.”

  Ashley’s eyes narrowed. “Ron, you’re not being fair.”

  “I know this hasn’t been pleasant.” He stiffly stepped away from the counter. His entire attitude had changed, become distant, colder.

  “Let me decide how much I can take.” Ashley straightened and faced him. What was in the letter that he didn’t want her to see? She hated to do this, but there was no other alternative. She thought about the pain of losing her parents and tears pooled in the depth of her eyes. Then with just the right pressure, she allowed huge drops to roll down her face. She noticed the change in him. He became more edgy. Now for the kill.

  “Please, Ron. I’m not going to rest until I know what is in that letter. Since you’ve shown me the pictures, why not just let me read the letter too.” Her voice shook with just the right amount of distress. He scowled at her, as though trying to decide if her tears were real or not. Jeez, who had made him so distrustful of people? “Please.”

  “Okay, okay.” He sounded exasperated. “Just stop crying. Can’t take it.” He pulled out the letter and thrust it in her hand.

  “Thank you.” Ashley gave him a brief smile and opened the letter. Some of the letters were big, others small and several words were misspelled. Whoever sent notes like these anymore? He could easily have typed it.

  The first part leapt at her…not an accident. The fire at the house wasn’t an accident. Her parents were murdered and someone out there knew it. The last part had her catching her breath, panic torpedoing through her. Her head jerked up, and her gaze connected with Ron’s.

  “Me? What does he mean I’ve the answers?” Her voice came out squeaky.

  “It’s possible you—”

  “Is he implying I had something to do with the fire?” she finished, cutting Ron off.

  He watched her with a steady gaze, his expression guarded. “Why would you think that?”

  Because she couldn’t recall a thing. What if she’d started it? Was that why she’d blocked the memories? Had she killed her parents? A moan escaped her.

  Ron grabbed her arms and shook her. “Hey. Stop. The letter implies you witnessed something, not started the fire.”

  “You don’t know that.” A surge of anger went through her at her helplessness. She wrenched her arms free and gripped her head. “You don’t know that, and neither do I.”

  Ron scowled. “What do you mean neither do you? You were there, weren’t you?” He waited for her to respond. “Weren’t you?” he asked, again, when she didn’t answer.

  She lifted her head to whisper, “Yes, I was there. But,” she shook her head, “I don’t remember a thing.”

  Ron’s eyes narrowed with confusion, then widened as realization hit him. “You lost your memory?”

  “Yes,” she continued through gritted teeth, an attempt to stop her trembling chin and the tears threatening to fall. She hated feeling like this, weak and helpless. “She lied to me, Ron. She lied to me, to my aunt and uncle, to the police. She lied to everyone. Why?”

  Ron’s brow furrowed. “Who lied?”

  “Sherry-the restaurant manager. She told them that I never left her side. That I never went to the basement.” She waved a hand toward the pictures. “Those pictures prove that I did. I know what happened that night, but it’s…it’s….” She touched her temple, her hands shaking so much she dropped them to her side and made fists. “I can’t remember a thing.”

  Having confessed, the need to run away washed over her. She threw Ron a glance from the corner of her eye and caught his stunned expression. His dark eyes were brimming with questions. Please, no more cross-examination. Her tattered emotions couldn’t take any more.

  “You know what? You were right. This is not the time to discuss this.” She took a deep breath to steady her trembling voice. “Why don’t we finish this later, uh-mm, on Saturday?”

  She got up and walked to the area littered with boxes and her childhood memorabilia. Dropping on her knees, she started putting them back in the boxes. She waited to hear the door open and close as Ron left, but all she heard was the blood pounding past her ears.

  CHAPTER 5

  Ron watched as Ashley retreated, distancing herself from him emotionally and mentally. He was still reeling from her revelation.

  His gaze fell on her slight form. She was a strong woman, a go-getter who didn’t take crap from anyone, yet now she seemed so vulnerable. The urge to move closer and offer her solace stole through him. Like before, he fought it. He did not intend to be emotionally involved with Ashley, or so he kept telling himself, but he was failing miserably. Something about the woman kept tugging at him.

  Was it lust? Without a doubt. Those lush lips, rounded, firm breasts and the gentle swell of her hips were made for lovemaking. He would do something about it before their association was over. What he couldn’t deal with…didn’t want to deal with, were the tender feelings. His original intentions were to come to her house and demand some answers, yet ever since he walked into her loft, his emotions had shifted from one plane to another. She set the pace, and he followed.

  He moved forward to stand beside her, yet he couldn’t open his mouth and ask the questions burning the tip of his tongue. He needed to know what little she remembered, if she’d ever tried hypnosis to recall the lost memories. His gaze dropped on her silky hair, pulled back into a ponytail.
The soft skin on her nape peeked at him. An urge to place his large hand on its base, massage it and ease the tension pouring from her stole through him. Annoyed at the direction of his thoughts, he balled his hands.

  Ron shoved his hands in his pockets and rocked on his heels. His gaze took in the childhood memorabilia all over the floor and the empty boxes beside them. “Cardboard boxes aren’t safe storage containers.”

  She glanced at him. “What?”

  He indicated the boxes with a nod. “These are flammable. You shouldn’t be using them to store your valuables.” He wasn’t surprised when she looked at him as though he’d lost his mind. But talking about storage containers was safer and less emotional.

  Her hazel eyes sparkled with wry amusement. “Thanks for the warning, Firefighter Noble. I’ll make sure I buy the right containers.”

  He looked around and frowned. “Make it sooner. Combined with your painting paraphernalia, your home is a fire waiting to happen.”

  She rolled her eyes. “Okay, you’ve made your point. And since you’re obviously not leaving, want to get down here and lend me a hand?”

  He squatted beside her. Despite her casual tone, he could feel the tension emanating from her. He picked up a porcelain doll in a frilly dress and tried to straighten the creases.

  “Do you mind?” Ashley retrieved the doll from his hands. “Sarah Lee’s one of a kind.”

  His gaze bounced between her and the doll. “You give your dolls names?”

  “Of course.” She gently placed the doll in a bubble wrap and covered it, then placed it in a box. “They were my companions when we were on the road.”

  “Must have been lonely,” Ron murmured quietly, intrigued by her despite his constant pep talks. He continued to pick up more dolls and stuffed animals and pass them to her.

  “A little, but my mother treated everywhere we stayed like home.” A smile touched her lips. “She would place family pictures on every table and chest of drawers in our suite. And my bed always had my favorite quilt and the dolls and stuffed animals arranged the way I liked it, no matter how late we got into a town. I don’t know how she did it, but each place always had a homey feeling about it. She was really wonderful,” she whispered, then overlapped the four flaps to close the first box.