Sirens screamed in the distance, then blared louder as they approached.
Orange-red tongues of fire licked into the night sky from what was left of the small wooden structure. The tree beside it was a charred trunk, but most of the others nearby had only a few burnt limbs, like lightning damage. The recent rain must have soaked everything well enough to protect them.
One adjacent cabin had holes in the roof from the initial blast, but the wind blew the blaze the other direction. The fire was leaping across the open space to a cabin on the other side. He hoped the fire trucks would arrive in time to save them. Most employees were local and lived in town so both cabins were unoccupied.
Thank God he hadn’t gone inside with Burt Elwell, the poor bastard. The valve must’ve been wide-open again, so the cabin filled with gas. The unhandy handyman probably clicked on lights, triggering enough of a spark to ignite the gas. A damn bomb.
The entire cabin was a bomb, rigged to explode.
Except Laura was supposed to be the one to die inside. And probably him.
No doubt that the gas leak was deliberate. Too many contrived accidents for this to be a coincidence. When murder was involved, he didn’t believe in coincidences.
In spite of the heat rolling over him from the blaze, horror frosted him at what had nearly happened to Laura, and what could still happen if he wasn’t more alert and careful than he’d ever been in his life. Fear for her coiled in his gut like a rattler ready to strike. A wave of dizziness hit and he had to grip the tennis court’s chain link fence for support.
What would the bastard try next?
Cole shouldn’t have listened to her plea not to go to a safe house. He should’ve hog-tied her and thrown her in the Tundra and taken off that first night before the head of DARK even thought of setting a trap.
They could still leave. Right now.
Hell, no cabin and no clothes, no reason to stay even tonight. He had the means to get them the hell out of here — his laptop and truck, safe in Alderport, thanks to Kent Isaacs. His Bad Boy hunkered safely in the theater lobby.
But he was close, so close, to trapping Janus and nailing Markos that he hated to give up. If it was the last thing he ever did, he would get the sons of bitches. Puzzling how to do that and protect Laura made him sweat and clutch at the writhing serpents in his belly.
Red fire trucks rushed onto the lawn. Men and women in black-and-yellow jackets and black boots raced to the lake with hoses. Soon plumes of water streamed over the blazing cabin and the small fires started around it.
“Cole! Oh, thank God you’re all right.” Laura hurried to him and threw her arms around his waist. “I — I couldn’t find you. The smoke…”
“I’m okay. The blast threw me backward, knocked me flat on my ass. Once I got my breath back, I got the hell out of the way.”
She clutched at him. “That poor boy. Burt went in the cabin and…” She dissolved in tears that streaked down her soot-smudged cheeks. Ash smudged her blouse and pants. If she was smeared with it, hell, he must look like a coal miner.
He pulled her as close as he could without stripping off their clothes and holding her skin to skin. That was what instinct spurred him to do, to examine every inch of her skin to satisfy himself she wasn’t injured. Instead, he kissed her, tasting her sweetness and filling himself with the fragrance of her hair, tinged with smoke.
The firefighters yelled at them to get back. Arms around each other, he and Laura walked to the inn.
Knowing she was safe uncoiled the snakes in his gut. An inch or two. He’d done the right thing to keep her safe. He’d sent her out of harm’s way before the cabin blew. Maybe his instincts weren’t all bad.
If he’d listened to what she called his spy instincts from the start, she would’ve been long gone. Out of harm’s way.
Never mind Alexei Markos. It was time to get the hell out of Dodge. They’d head to whatever safe house his contact could manage. And they’d go tonight. No matter what Laura said. No matter what the general said.
A semicircle of people from the cabins had gathered to watch the fire and the firefighters. Grant Snow tipped his cane at him. Young Zach stood with a bathrobe-clad woman who must be his mother. He clicked away with his camera, retrieved from the police. The Van Tassel sisters huddled together and pointed at the flaming cabin.
At the inn, guests and employees hung out of windows and jammed the wide porch. DARK Officers Byrne and Ward stood at either end, watching the crowd.
Stan Hart slumped on the steps, his head between his knees. His wife Joyce, beside him, kept a consoling hand on his shoulder.
“Talk to him, Laura,” Joyce pleaded. “He blames himself for Burt going in there.”
Sliding her arm from around Cole, Laura went to sit on the step below Stan. “I’m so sorry about Burt,” she said, her words slow and gentle. “We all are. But it’s not your fault. It was an accident. That gas heater was faulty. It could have blown like that at any time.”
The resort owner raised red-rimmed eyes to her. “He was just a kid, Laura. An inexperienced kid. Jake showed him a few things about the propane heaters, but not enough. I should’ve called the gas company to send out someone.”
Cole couldn’t let Stan believe the accident myth. Not since he was in on DARK’s trap. Laura must know the truth, but was trying to save her employer from the reality of murder.
Placing one foot on the step beside her, he propped an elbow on his knee. He bent close so no one else could hear. “The gas explosion was no accident. Somebody tampered with the safety valve.”
Stan was so still that for a moment, Cole didn’t think the man heard him. Then he turned his head. “Not an accident? Do you mean it was part of the plot against Laura?”
“I wasn’t certain until tonight,” Cole hastened to say. “The killer either meant to asphyxiate us or blow us up. I believe the thing was rigged so the safety valve was disabled. When the pilot light was extinguished, gas kept pouring out with nothing to shut it off. Burt must’ve ignited a spark in a cabin filled with gas. I’m damned sorry he got caught in this mess.” He meant it. The kid had been harmless and sure as hell didn’t deserve to die because he flicked on a light.
Stan rubbed his forehead and stood up. “Laura, I love you like a daughter, and I hope you’re safe from now on.”
He turned back to Cole. “I appreciate what you folks were trying to do to catch this killer, and I was glad to do my part. Insurance will cover the property damage, but this mess—” he waved his arms “—has endangered my people. My guests and my employees.”
“Oh, Stan, I’m so sorry,” Laura murmured.
He didn’t look at her. “Enough is enough.” His long face drooped with sadness, but his voice rang with determination. “You’ll all have to leave.”
Chapter 25
LATER AFTER THE police and fire department finished and drove away, Cole lay beside Laura watching her sleep. Her back to him, she rested in exhausted slumber.
Not him. His brain and heart kept winding around and around and tying him in knots. Hell of a thing. He had no choice but to stick around and keep the trap baited. His contact officer had nixed their shutting down the trap and heading to a safe house. The same FBI informant who’d spotted Markos in Boston with Janus saw him renting a car and buying a Maine map. Since the bastard seemed to be headed for Hart’s Inn Resort and Laura, they couldn’t leave.
The cheese had lured the rat to the trap. Now the cats must be very, very wary. One cat especially.
Cole had managed to convince Stan to let them stay through the next day or two. DARK offered funding to make up what rebuilding insurance didn’t cover. Wagging his head, Stan capitulated. Laura hadn’t objected. Hell, no. More time meant she could finish the week with her students and the damn Diner troupe.
Cole pried one concession out of her. She wasn’t to tell anybody they were leaving soon. As much as she might want to, no goodbyes. No sense alerting t
he enemy.
Following the fire trucks, Kent Isaacs returned in the Tundra with Cole’s repaired laptop. The fire destroyed the satellite receiver, but he could get another in less than a day. So they had transportation and communication.
The Harts and some of the vacationing families offered clothing and toiletries to replace some of what was lost. Cole and Laura moved into the cabin he’d originally rented. After a shared shower, they fell into bed. He hoped to hell staying one or two more days wasn’t asking for disaster, but—
Laura whimpered, rolled her head back and forth on the pillow as if in denial of whatever terrible vision passed before her closed eyes.
The nightmare again. No wonder after what she’d been through the past two days. He eased closer and put his hand on her shaking shoulder.
Her breath huffed out, then in with a ragged sob. “No! No! My baby…”
“Laura, sweetheart, wake up.”
She sat up straight, eyes wide and breath chuffing in and out in shallow drags. The faint moonlight from the window winked on tears beading her lashes. “Thanks. Sorry I woke you.”
He wagged his head at her automatic concern for him, not for herself. “You didn’t.” Their first discussion of her nightmare clicked in his memory. “Your dream. It’s about the accident ten years ago, not the slalom ride in the hatchback.”
She flopped back on her pillow, her pale hair haloing her face. Straightening her donated, oversized T-shirt, she sighed. “When you asked me about it that night, I thought at first you already knew. But of course you couldn’t have.”
“You want to tell me about it?”
“I can’t really. The scenes are disjointed, a kaleidoscope of images and feelings. For a while after Kovar’s attack, I saw knife blades and I seemed to be in a box. But that’s gone.”
“You triumphed in that case. You took control. Maybe that’s why.”
“I didn’t think of that. Mostly the dream’s about the accident. You were right. Some of it, like Angela’s scream and the shriek of the tires, really happened. Others are creations of my pain. This time I saw Burt’s face too.”
Beautiful, sweet, generous Laura. Her torments and imperfections made her no less perfect as far as he was concerned. For years he’d had no idea the suffering she’d gone through. All while he nurtured hatred of her. “This will all be over soon. Will you go back to a counselor?”
She gave a wry laugh. “The problem’s supposed to be post-traumatic stress. But the traumatic stresses keep piling up. Yes, I suppose I’ll need help.”
The bed jiggled as she propped up one elbow and leaned on her hand. “You said I didn’t wake you. Can’t sleep?”
Her voice, husky from sleep and tears, alerted at least one part of his anatomy. The part that didn’t comprehend or care about the danger around them. “Just trying to figure things out.”
“Based on facts? Or are you using your spy instincts?”
Gliding his fingers through her hair, he savored the moment of closeness. They’d found each other again, really found each other, without the prejudices and impulses of their youth. When she threw her arms around him after the explosion, he saw the love in her eyes. So this moment wouldn’t be their last. He would see to it.
“Both,” he answered finally. “Fact. Somebody opened the gas valve and doused the pilot light inside the cabin, for the third or fourth time. That somebody has a key or some other way in.”
“So we were supposed to walk in and trigger the explosion … as Burt did?”
He considered. “That’s my hunch. The killer continued rigging the heater to lull us into thinking it was faulty. If he’s onto my real reason for being here, which is a distinct possibility, he has to figure that at least one time when we enter the cabin, I’ll fail to detect the smell when I do a sweep. If we’d entered as usual, what would you have done first?”
“Turn on the lights. Maybe made tea.” She put her palm on his bare chest. “Oh.”
“Yes, oh. Boom. Another damn freak accident.” He worked his jaw to ease the tension twitching at the muscles.
She shook her head before relaxing in his arms. In a short while, her breathing evened out. She was asleep. He hoped this time was without dreams.
Somehow he’d missed a clue. Something that niggled at his brain, at what Laura had called his spy instinct. If he could nail it down, he’d know who Janus was, who was after her. But the answer hovered just out of reach, fuzzy and indistinct like the shadows playing on the ceiling.
***
In the morning when they made love, it seemed their passion knew no bounds. One minute, Cole was tender, the next driven and demanding, stirring Laura’s senses until the two of them soared together, closer than ever.
But she felt his tension as though the danger had increased. Her own desire simmered at feverish pitch, as though each time were the last.
One of these times would be.
She would have to end their affair. Pain speared through her. She closed her eyes and counted her breaths. She was standing on the rim of a great precipice. Like a mechanical doll whose key had been wound too tightly, at any minute she might burst into a dozen parts and fly over the edge, to be further smashed on the rocks below. Postponement magnified the heartache. But delay gave her more time in his arms.
She showered and dressed in Joyce’s loaned royal-blue shorts and a Hart’s Inn Resort polo. The swelling on her knee was no longer obvious, and she was grateful for the coolness of shorts. The greasy smoke smell no longer clung to her hair and skin, but it hung in the muggy air of the warm morning.
Once more she was reduced to almost nothing. This time not even a purse. Or her doctored driver’s license. Only someone else’s clothes and the gold crown charm. Slipping the long chain over her head, she tucked the charm inside her shirt. After Cole was gone, she’d have only that to keep next to her heart.
What was left of her heart.
When she entered the rental cabin’s spacious living room, Cole looked up from his phone.
Clad only in a hastily pulled-on pair of denim cutoffs, he stood brooding, phone in hand. She stared, memorizing him — strong legs, slim hips, the line of black hair above the shorts. Up the ridges of his belly and broad chest to his neck, the angular planes of his face. And to the wolf eyes she knew so well. The dark stubble of whiskers and new abrasions from the blast added to his aura of danger.
She ached with love for him. She ached with the pain of having to let him go.
He crossed to the stove. “Zach’s mother brought over coffee and muffins. You want some?”
“Not yet.” Noting his taut mouth, an expression she knew well portended no good, she asked, “What’s wrong now?”
Coffee sloshed into a mug and splashed onto the counter. He swiped viciously at it with a sponge. “More trouble with the plan for Marisol.”
“The sponsor problem again?” If only she could make a phone call or two.
“That’s not settled yet, but no. The airline won’t let such a young child travel without an adult. Sister Josefa can’t leave. The orphanage staff is too short-handed.”
The opportunity lay before her. The precipice loomed. She had to do it.
Broiling heat rose to her cheeks. Good thing she’d eaten nothing yet. Food wouldn’t have stayed down. “You can go to Colombia and travel with Marisol. Vanessa can move in with me. Byrne, Snow and Isaacs are here to pounce on Janus and Markos. I’ll be fine.” Her words sounded so brittle to her ears they might crumble apart and crash to the floor with their falseness.
Cole stared at her as though she’d punched him in the stomach.
Silence hung thick in the air. The only sounds were the low hum of the water heater and her heart, pounding like tom-toms in her chest. Time spun out on a thread of tension.
“Did I hear you right? You’re telling me to leave? And you don’t mean just for Marisol.”
She nodded woodenly. Her heart seemed to sto
p dead.
“Just like that?”
“Just like that. We both knew it would end sooner or later.” Angling up her chin, she tried to convey detachment, as though exiling the only man she’d ever loved meant no more to her than refusing a telemarketer.
His eyes smoldered, and his low voice rumbled like approaching thunder. “Maybe you knew. I had other plans.”
“I told you at the beginning this wouldn’t work.”
He reached her in two strides, but she stood her ground. His gaze captured her. She feared he could see into her soul.
His anger seemed to dissipate, to morph into vulnerability, an emotion more painful to see. He swallowed, clasped her shoulders with hands that trembled as much as she. “If you really believe we have no chance because of past hurt and misunderstandings, you haven’t been paying attention.”
“Please, Cole.” She didn’t know what she was asking, but if he continued, she’d break down.
“We know each other better than we did years ago. Trust and respect are a good start, but I need more than this short time together.”
She averted her eyes, but he cradled her face in his hands, forcing her to look at him. “You can’t deny that you have feelings for me, not after our nights, not after this morning.”
Her lips quivered. She could scarcely form a reply. “No.”
Before she could protest, he tugged her closer and held her. At first she yielded, craving his touch. But she stiffened her spine and wrenched away from him. “No! I can’t. It didn’t work then. It won’t work now. And you… There’s too much … too much.”
His brows arched. He ran one hand through his ebony waves. “So, the princess has had enough of her fling with the biker?” His mouth compressed blade-thin. “I’m a damn fool.”
The pain inside her was ripping her apart piece by piece. She forced anger at his accusation to override it. “Don’t give me that biker bum-princess excuse. We’ve been through all that.”
“Yeah, we’ve been through it. So much that you convinced me the differences between our backgrounds no longer mattered. You want a laugh? I even went so far as to think those differences never mattered except in my mind. Even ten years ago. But don’t forget the other differences between us — the male-female variety you’ve been appreciating.”
Dark Memories (The DARK Files Book 1) Page 19