Harlequin Intrigue May 2021--Box Set 2 of 2

by Carol Ericson

  Jake quirked his eyebrows. “Matt kept greasy rags in his storage unit for safekeeping?”

  “The rags were wrapped around parts, motorcycle parts. I don’t know if the coverings started out clean, and gasoline and oil leaked onto them, or if Matt used purposely dirty rags to bundle the parts. I tipped the lid off the box to have a look inside, and it fell behind a carburetor or something, so I didn’t put it back on right away, and the fumes escaped.”

  “And the fire just started automatically? You don’t think he had something rigged up, do you?” His hands convulsively tightened on her arms.

  “No, that was completely on me.” She tapped her chest. “I did the stupidest thing imaginable. The light on my phone stopped working for some reason, and I was in the middle of going through the contents of another box. I—I had a lighter in my purse that I had picked up from Matt’s apartment, and I flicked it on to see. I completely forgot about what was in the other box and how the fumes alone could ignite a fire.”

  “You used a lighter in a storage container with combustible auto parts?” Jake shook his head, trying to figure that one out. Sometimes smart people had no common sense.

  “Stupid, I know.” She wiped her hands along her grimy slacks. “Thanks for getting me out of there. I’m not sure I would’ve made it in time.”

  “I don’t know.” He slung an arm around her shoulders and pulled her close, because if she didn’t welcome a hug after that escape, when would she? “That’s the fastest I’ve ever seen anyone move backward in my life.”

  “Are you two okay?” A firefighter, his equipment squeaking, approached them.

  “We’re fine.” Jake held out his hands. “Just a little singed hair and a few lungfuls of smoke.”

  “At least drink some water to soothe your throat. How’d that fire start?”

  Kyra repeated her absurd story, which sounded even more ridiculous out loud in front of an incredulous firefighter.

  He clicked his tongue. “Extremely dangerous. Is it you who stored those parts like that?”

  “Me?” Jake pointed to himself. “No, sir. The contents of that container belonged to Ms. Chase’s foster brother, now deceased.”

  “He didn’t get the insurance. He didn’t get the insurance.” A small man with tufts of dark hair growing out of the side of his head scurried forward, waving papers. “That’s Matt Dugan’s unit, right? Number 556?”

  “That’s right. He passed away and left the contents—or what’s left of them—to me.” Kyra glanced at Jake quickly before returning her gaze to the storage facility’s owner.

  This was the first time Jake had heard of Matt’s storage unit. Why hadn’t Kyra told him? Instead, she’d hightailed it out of Quinn’s place so fast he’d known something was up. Of course, her hasty departure could’ve meant she didn’t want to spend time with him, but more than ego told him that wasn’t the case.

  He didn’t want to get into that now. Her smoke-blackened face and glassy eyes told him not to go there...yet.

  The owner took a wheezy breath. “I just want to let you know Mr. Dugan didn’t have insurance on the unit. He declined it. I have the paperwork right here.”

  “That’s okay, Mr....?”

  “Pargarian. Zev Pargarian.”

  “Mr. Pargarian. He really didn’t have anything of value in there, anyway, unless you’re into old motorcycle parts, I guess. And those are probably hot...stolen.”

  The firefighters had done their job, and Matt’s unit crouched in its row, a smoking hulk of charred metal.

  As the firefighters began to pack up their gear, the captain emerged from the ruins of Matt’s life, carrying a box. “We were able to salvage one item. This box was near the door and untouched when we arrived, so we moved it out of the way.”

  Standing beside him, Kyra stiffened and her body vibrated like a plucked violin string. “You saved a box?”

  The captain placed it on the ground between Jake and Kyra, and she dropped her head to read the scribbling on the box’s lid. Her body sagged. “I already went through that one. It’s nothing but some papers and receipts. You can leave it, and Mr. Pargarian can trash it with the rest of the stuff when he does cleanup.”

  The captain shrugged in his giant moon suit and hauled the box back to the wreckage of the unit.

  Jake opened his mouth and Kyra spun on him, holding out her hand. “I know you have questions, Jake. I have some for you, too, but can we save them until tomorrow? I’m exhausted and I want to drink some water or tea like the firefighter suggested. I’m hoping to salvage these slacks, too.”

  “Fair enough. You’ve had a shock. Can you drive home okay?”

  “I’m fine. Thanks again for dragging me out of there.” Her voice hitched, and she covered her mouth with her hand.

  Was it an act to get out of explaining why she hadn’t told him about the storage unit and crept off to investigate it on her own? Not that she didn’t have every right to do that, as it belonged to her.

  “I’m just glad I was there in time to help.” He rubbed her back as he walked her to her car. “Take it easy, and drive carefully. I’ll talk to you tomorrow.”

  He waved at her car as she drove away. The fire engines followed her out. Jake had left his own car on the street and had hopped the fence after following Kyra here. She’d never suspected a tail.

  Jake wandered back to the debris from the fire and kicked a few of the auto parts, misshapen metal still smoldering. His gaze landed on the box Kyra had dismissed.

  Had she really gotten a good look inside with the light from her cell phone? Maybe they were each looking for something different.

  Bending at the knees, he hoisted the box into his arms and straightened to his full height. He could carry this without breaking a sweat.

  He hugged the box to his chest as he swung by the front office. When Jake tapped on the door, Pargarian looked up from his desk and waved him in.

  Jake dropped the box at his feet and pushed open the door that thousands of grimy hands had pushed before. He poked his head in the office and the scent of pine tickled his nose. “Can I ask you a couple of questions?”

  Pargarian raised his bushy brows. “It’s late and you burned down one of my units.”

  Jake took his badge from his pocket and flashed it. “Just a few questions. I won’t take long, and technically Ms. Chase burned that baby down.”

  Pargarian plucked several tissues from a box and blew his nose while gesturing with his other hand for Jake to enter.

  “Can you tell me the last time Matt Dugan visited his unit?”

  “That’s all?” Pargarian crumpled the tissues and dropped them in a wastebasket. Rubbing his hands together, he said, “I can tell you that.”

  Jake parked in front of the little man’s desk as he tapped away on a keyboard. He leaned close to the screen and said, “Two months ago. The last time he entered the facility was just under two months ago.”

  Jake whistled. The papers in the box might not be so old after all.

  Pargarian sat with his hands poised over the keys, looking like an incongruous receptionist. “Anything else? That was one question.”

  Jake jerked a thumb over his shoulder. “Not a question really. Just wanted to let you know I’m taking the one intact box from the fire. Ms. Chase didn’t want it, but I’d like to have a look.”

  “She doesn’t want it, and you’re the cop. One less item for me to clean up.”

  Pargarian allowed him to walk out the front door of the office to exit the facility, and Jake hiked to his car, his arms wrapped around the box.

  The whole event might turn into nothing at all, except for one thing. After they escaped the fire, Jake had watched Kyra take her phone from her purse and turn off the flashlight.

  Either that flashlight came back on its own, or...she was lying and had set fire to the storag
e unit on purpose.

  * * *

  KYRA PEELED HER sooty slacks from her legs and tossed them in the corner of the bathroom. She didn’t want to put them in the hamper with the rest of her dirty clothes and have everything smell like she’d been cleaning chimneys.

  She hunched forward, her hands planted on the chipped tile of her vanity, and stared at her black-ringed eyes. She resembled some crazy raccoon, a feral creature who had acted out of instinct and fear.

  While she hadn’t realized setting the box of papers on fire would result in an explosion that could’ve killed her and Jake, it was a foolish, thoughtless act born of fear and desperation. She could’ve simply told Jake the boxes contained nothing of importance, hauled them away to her own place and set fire to the contents in a more reasonable way.

  A laugh exploded from her chest, her smile a white gash across her black face. Reasonable? When had it become reasonable to set fire to papers? When had it become reasonable for acquaintances, coworkers, to follow you around the city and sneak up on you? She had a much better excuse for being at the storage unit alone than Jake had for creeping up on her there.

  Although if he hadn’t been playing detective, she might be part of Mr. Pargarian’s cleanup about now. Jake had dragged her out of the unit when he could’ve turned and run. Everyone else in her life had always turned and run—everyone except Quinn and Charlotte. But Jake hadn’t exactly been running toward her. He’d been running toward the storage unit.

  Coughing more soot from her lungs, she shimmied out of her underwear and bra. She added them to the heap of smoky clothes and whipped the mermaid-dotted shower curtain across the rod with a jangle. Cranking on the faucet, she stepped into the tub that doubled as a shower. Although everything in this apartment screamed 1980s, she’d be a fool to move and give up the rent control.

  The warm water coursed over her head and down her face. She washed her hair and lathered up a sponge to scrub her body clean of the ashes and the smell of burnt hair.

  After the shower, she dried her hair, slipped into a pair of gray sweats and a camisole, and bundled her clothes to take them to the laundry room later. She gargled with warm water and boiled a cup of hot water in the microwave.

  As she curled up in front of the TV, swirling the tea bag around in the cup, the doorbell rang. Startled, she lost her grip on the tea bag and the little square of paper at the end floated to the top of the steaming liquid. She eyed her purse with her weapon still tucked in the side pocket. Who the hell was paying a visit at this time of night?

  “Kyra, it’s Jake.”

  She swallowed against her raw throat and walked to the front door. Hadn’t they agreed to leave things for tomorrow? Lying got harder for her at the end of the day, harder when she’d shed her armor. Getting harder with Jake.

  She twisted the dead bolt and cracked open the door as if she expected the Boston Strangler...or The Player. Instead, Jake stood there with an uncertain smile on his handsome face and the box from Matt’s unit in his arms. It wasn’t the box, though.

  She cleared her throat. “Is something wrong?”

  “Gah.” He grabbed his own throat. “I’m clearing my throat every five minutes. I found out something from Mr. Pargarian after you left, and I wanted to share it with you.”

  She blinked. He’d gone sleuthing behind her back?

  Widening the door, she said, “You rescued that box of old papers? C’mon in.”

  He squeezed through, encased in the odor of the fire, hugging that damned box like it contained his last possessions on earth instead of Matt’s.

  “You smell.” She pinched her nose. “I told you I went through that box. It contains some legal paperwork, receipts, nothing of importance.”

  “Maybe not.” He tipped his chin toward the living room. “Can I set this down on the coffee table?”

  “If you must.” She wrinkled her nose.

  “I know. I’m sorry. You smell like...roses.” His face reddened as if he faced another fire. “Obviously, I came straight from the storage unit.”

  “I figured that.” She crossed her arms over the thin white camisole, squishing down her braless breasts.

  The previous and only time Jake had been in her apartment was when he had marched over here to confront her about being the daughter of one of The Player’s victims. Now he was here to do what? Confront her about sneaking off to Matt’s storage unit without telling him about it? She needed to do some confronting of her own.

  She wedged her hands on her hips and thrust out her chest—to hell with her braless status. “I had every right to check out Matt’s container on my own. I needed to do that by myself, and I don’t appreciate that you tagged along.”

  He held up a pair of grimy hands. “I know. I could see something was off when you left Quinn’s, and it’s just the natural detective in me to want to find out the reason.”

  Her snort turned into a smile, and Jake jumped on it.

  “Good excuse, huh?”

  “It’s just that—” she ran a hand through her loose hair “—Quinn always used to tell me that when I’d find him snooping through my things.”

  “Then I’m in good company.” He started to sit down on her couch, and she waved her arms.

  “I don’t know if you’ve looked in the mirror, but you really are a mess. That T-shirt looks as if it’s been used to fan a barbecue. I’d rather not have it on my couch.”

  “Sorry.” Jake caught himself and tripped forward. “I can stand.”

  “Give it to me.” She thrust out her hand. “I was just about to put my own clothes in the wash. I can add your T-shirt to the load.”

  He planted his hands against the thighs of his jeans. “As long as you don’t take my jeans, too.”

  Tilting her head, she said, “They’re not as bad as the shirt. I’m surprised you had time to go home after work before going to Quinn’s. You were even there early.”

  “Sometimes I keep a change of clothes in my locker at the station.” He grabbed the hem of his T-shirt and pulled it over his head, and Kyra completely forgot what he’d just said.

  She swallowed against her scratchy throat as she drank in Jake’s hard slabs of muscle shifting across his chest, and the tighter washboard pattern that stamped his abs. She’d seen him in casual clothes before, so she knew he hid something...alluring beneath his button-up shirts and ties, but she hadn’t realized he was sex on a stick, or rather a branch, a trunk.

  “You have someplace you want me to put this?”

  “Put what?” Her heavy eyes, sated with the pure masculinity of his body, slowly tracked to his face.

  He waved the shirt in his hand like a white flag. “This T-shirt. Do you think it’ll be done before I leave? I’d rather not drive home in my work car shirtless.”

  Home? She wasn’t sure she wanted him to go home...ever.

  “Yeah, yeah, I’ll take it and dump it in with my stuff. The wash shouldn’t take more than forty minutes, and the drying will be quick with just a few things in the dryer.” She grabbed the shirt from his hand, careful to avoid the touch of his fingers. She’d almost been burned once tonight. She didn’t need a scorching now.

  Holding the shirt away from her body, she turned and looked back over her shoulder. “While I get our things in the laundry, you can wash up in the bathroom. I don’t know what you used to clean your face after the fire, but it was largely ineffective. Then I’ll get you some tea and honey for your throat and you can tell me what’s so important about that box of junk.”

  “This way?” He pointed toward her bedroom door.

  “There’s a bathroom to your right.” She didn’t need the guy wandering through her bedroom, close to her bed.

  She emptied the hamper in her bathroom and dumped the soot-stained clothes inside. Then she marched across the small courtyard to the laundry room and shoved everything int
o a washing machine.

  When she returned to the apartment, she glanced briefly at Jake, hoping he hadn’t removed any more of his clothing. With his jeans on below his bare torso, he perched on the edge of her couch, the lid now off the box and his hands plunged inside.

  When would she finally get Matt out of her life for good? She banged around in the kitchen and held up a cup. “I’m going to make you some tea. One of the firefighters suggested tea and honey for the throat. Do you also want some water?”

  He glanced up, his dark brows a V over his nose, both hands clutching pieces of paper. “Yeah, some water would be great.”

  She filled up a glass of water for him and took it and her own teacup back into the living room. “What’s so important about that box?”

  “Besides the fact it’s the only surviving item from Matt’s storage container?” He took the glass from her hand and glugged down half the water, his eyes watering. “I needed that.”

  “I’ll give you more once you start talking.” She took a sip of tea, watching him through the steam.

  He scooped up a handful of papers and waved it at her. “I don’t know if you noticed when you looked in here the first time, but these are not all old. Pargarian told me that Matt had last been to the unit a couple of months ago—so, while the Copycat Player was still active and you were getting those playing cards.”

  “Okay.” She hadn’t noticed any dates. She’d been looking for more pictures and...evidence. “What’s in there?”

  “Like you said—legal papers, receipts, notes. But they’re recent, from the time Matt was actively stalking you.”

  She shivered and cupped her tea. Judging from some of those photos in the box she’d torched, there hadn’t been a time when Matt wasn’t stalking her. “I’m not sure what you hope to find in there, Detective, but I’m willing to help you.”

  “Glad to hear that.” He downed his water and held out his glass for more.

  His tea had finished steeping, so she returned with his water in one hand and tea in the other. “After you rehydrate, you really should sip the tea. It helps.”

  “I will.” He grabbed the edges of the box and tipped it over on the coffee table. Stacks of clipped and stapled papers fell out, along with slips and scraps of paper.