Gold Fire

by Starr Ambrose

  She nodded. “Good.”

  He would worry later about what to do if Jennifer decided to take it to the next level and make a move on him. He’d have to find a way to let her down easy without damaging her confidence. And then he had to do something about getting himself a normal love life, because fending off his dead friend’s widow and having hot fantasies about a possible arsonist weren’t working for him.

  • • •

  The string of touristy shops flanking the Alpine Sky resort resembled nothing more than a small Bavarian village. It was a design they were putting to good use. Zoe stood at the center of the stone-cobbled public square, supervising the erection of a band shell for the upcoming Beer and Brats Festival. Preparations for the event were on schedule, but she still didn’t welcome interruptions from the front desk.

  “Run the electric cables behind those trees,” she called out to one of the workers before speaking into her phone. “Geoff, can you ask Mark to handle whatever you need? I’ve got a lot going on here.” As she spoke, she gestured at a stand of pine trees for the benefit of the sound guy.

  “Um, I don’t think so.” Geoff’s voice sounded tentative in her ear. “There are two police officers here, and they asked to see you.”

  She stilled, slowly lowering her arm. The police could be there for any number of reasons—problems with a guest; an ordinance violation; they’d even shown up once to euthanize a wounded elk. But her thoughts flew to Jase’s accusation of arson, sending a chill through her body, and she had to make a conscious effort to keep her voice steady. “Of course, I’ll be right there.”

  She saw them as she crossed the lobby from the terrace entrance, a young man and a middle-aged woman in the brown uniforms of the Barringer’s Pass police force. They stood by the front desk, hands resting on the heavily equipped belts that made them intimidating in a larger-than-life way. Geoff hovered nearby. Belatedly, she wished she’d told him to have them wait in her office, where they wouldn’t attract the stares of curious guests.

  She was grateful for the sharp click of her heels on the marble floor. The sound always made her feel professional and in control. She stopped in front of them, a polite expression pasted on her face. “May I help you?”

  The man straightened to an imposing height, putting both hands on his hips. “Are you Zoe Larkin?”

  “Yes. I’m the manager on duty. How may I help you?”

  “I’m afraid you’ll have to come with us, ma’am.”

  Her heart fluttered and fell. “What?”

  He didn’t move, didn’t even blink. “We need to take you in for questioning regarding the fire at the Rusty Wire Saloon.”

  The clipped words made it clear he meant right this second. Zoe’s eyes darted to the female officer, but her gaze was as flat and hard as her partner’s. “I, uh, really shouldn’t leave. Could we talk in my office?”

  “I’m afraid not.” It might have sounded kind, almost apologetic, if he hadn’t looked like he was facing down a murder suspect. His finger twitched slightly at his belt and she had sudden fantasies of him whipping out the cuffs.

  When he reached into his breast pocket, she flinched, then relaxed when he produced a folded piece of paper. He thrust it at her. “We also have a warrant to search your car.”

  She felt suddenly light-headed. “M-my car?”

  “Yes, ma’am.” It was the female officer. “We’ll need your keys, and you can show us where it’s parked.”

  She stared, openmouthed. My God, they seriously suspected her of arson! Jase hadn’t wasted any time. The consequence he’d threatened slammed back into her mind: prison.

  Zoe put a hand on the counter for support, trying to make it look casual, while her head buzzed with static. She had to pull herself together. She wouldn’t fall apart, not in front of her staff. Image mattered. The whole town had taught her that lesson when they’d refused to forget her rebellious youth. She’d spent years repairing her reputation, working hard, gaining credibility and respect. Now it was about to vanish in a matter of seconds. All because Jase didn’t believe her.

  She turned to Geoff, struggling to keep her voice calm. “Geoff, could you call Bill and ask him to cover for me until I get back?”

  “Sure, uh, when, I mean how long . . . ?”

  “Not long.” She hoped. She wouldn’t even consider the possibility that she wouldn’t be coming back. The police might suspect her, but she was innocent. They couldn’t possibly have evidence against her. They wouldn’t find any in her car, either. They were just trying to intimidate her.

  They were doing a good job of it.

  “Car keys?” the female officer reminded her.

  She swallowed hard. “They’re in my office.” The woman followed her, as if she might make a break for it. She took the keys, then stood aside to follow Zoe back to the lobby. Zoe walked outside without a backward glance, not wanting to see the shock on Geoff’s face. At the curb she paused beside the two police cars, pointing to the employee lot. “It’s around the corner, the red Ford Escort.”

  “You’re going to have to take us there, ma’am.”

  Great. She walked halfway around the main building, drawing attention with her armed, uniformed escort, then walked back again with the serious young cop who seemed a little too satisfied with his role. He helped her into the backseat, then got behind the wheel.

  He was silent through the ten-minute ride, never acknowledging her on the other side of the glass divider. If it was a deliberate attempt at dehumanizing her, it was effective. So was the condition of the car. She wrinkled her nose and looked around the stripped-down backseat. Scratches marred the back of the hard plastic seat, probably from handcuffs, and an unpleasant odor emanated from the floor. She sat forward, hands locked on her knees to keep the trembling inside her from shaking her whole body.

  She’d never imagined herself in the backseat of a police car, and could barely grasp the reality. She was a suspect.

  Fear shook her clear to the bone, but hate kept her focused. Jase Garrett would pay for this. Accusing her of arson was bad enough, but she’d been sure nothing would come of his threat after he talked to Jennifer. She had a witness, for heaven’s sake! But he’d turned it into an investigation anyway.

  She hated him. It was time to stop being decent with him.

  • • •

  Zoe was starting to sweat under her arms. She was pretty sure it wasn’t the temperature of the room, since Officer Carlson looked cool as a cucumber. It was her temper, which she’d rediscovered twenty minutes into the repetitive, detailed questioning, and which was seriously ramping up.

  She’d been patient the first time through the story, describing her reason for going to the Rusty Wire, her conversation with Jennifer, then how she’d taken another minute to check her phone messages before driving home. She’d even filled the whole page provided for the written version of the story, writing until her hand cramped. She hadn’t used that much longhand since high school.

  But Carlson was pushing her to her limit, going back over different points in her story and getting the same responses. Yes, Jennifer had told her Jase wasn’t there. No, she hadn’t left a message for him. No, she hadn’t seen anyone else. Really, how much could she say about five uneventful minutes of her life? If he expected her to break under the unbearable boredom, it just might happen. But he wouldn’t get a confession. What he’d get was a lecture on police harassment and a threat to call her attorney, who she was going to look into retaining as soon as Carlson let her out of here.

  Carlson leaned forward. “Let’s go back to the point where you had just pulled around the building and spotted Jennifer.”

  “Why?”

  He didn’t like that. “I don’t need to give you a reason, Miss Larkin. I need you to answer the question. Now—”

  He broke off as the door opened. Zoe looked up, eyes going wide with surprise. “Cal!”

  “Hi, Zoe.” Maggie’s husband gave her a quick smile before he turne
d a tight expression on Carlson. “I need to see you a minute, Carlson.”

  “I have a couple more—”

  “Now.” Even in jeans and a T-shirt, Cal’s voice had the same authority it had when he was in his police uniform. Carlson responded to it, abruptly leaving and closing the door behind him.

  Zoe waited. It took less than a minute. Cal opened the door, shaking his head in disgust. “Come on, you’re done. I’ll give you a ride back to work.”

  She didn’t ask questions, gratefully following Cal’s long strides to his pickup. Night had fallen while she was inside, leaving the parking lot bathed in bluish-white halogen lights. She climbed into the truck and turned to him as he pulled out of the lot. “How did you know I was here?”

  “Heard it on the police scanner at home. Sorry I didn’t get to you sooner, but I had to see that security tape first, to see if they really had a case against you.”

  She almost didn’t want to ask. “Do they?”

  He blew out a long breath. “Maybe. But you have one big thing in your favor—an employee at the Rusty Wire confirmed your story. The only part in question is how long she talked to you. A prosecutor could build a case on it, but it’s not enough. It’ll all hinge on whether they find evidence in your car. Gasoline, specifically. If there’s even a drop on the carpet, it will look suspicious. Have you ever had an emergency gas can in there?”

  She shook her head. “No.”

  “Good.” Cal gave her a long look. “I don’t want you to worry. They aren’t ready to bring charges, and I don’t see that changing.”

  As long as they found nothing in her car. For a brief moment she recalled stories of police corruption and planted evidence, then shook it off. Not the Barringer’s Pass police department. Her own brother-in-law was a cop here, and he’d know if there’d ever been the slightest hint of dishonesty on the force.

  “Zoe.” She didn’t like the cautious way he glanced at her. “This will get out.”

  Oh, crap. He was right. The police reports were a popular item in the local paper. She swallowed around the tightness in her throat and said, “I’m just glad you came, Cal. How’d you get that guy to let me go?”

  “He didn’t have to take you there in the first place. He was just trying to intimidate you into saying something he could use to arrest you.”

  “Is that legal?”

  “Yeah, but I’d call it overkill in this case. Carlson claims he got a tip. Someone implied that he could uncover new facts if he leaned on you hard enough.” He gave her a sharp glance. “Someone’s trying to cause problems for you, Zoe.”

  Jase. Zoe scowled out the window without seeing the tourists still shopping in the downtown stores. “Can they? Do I have to worry about being sent to prison?”

  “No.” But she didn’t like the grim look on his face. He was quiet for several seconds, his hands tight on the wheel. “But if it did happen—and it won’t—I know a good trial lawyer. They’d never get a conviction.”

  Her mouth went dry. A jury trial. She imagined trying to defend her character in Barringer’s Pass, where too many people remembered the wild Larkin girls. Take any dare, break every rule. She jammed her fingers under her thighs to hide their trembling.

  Jase might get his wish to see her in prison. But she wouldn’t go without a fight.

  Chapter

  Seven

  Jase toweled off after his shower, gave his hair a cursory rub, and went in search of clean clothes. They were becoming scarce; he’d spent most of the day painting and swabbing floors at the Rusty Wire, sweating through a couple of changes of clothes. It was boring labor, mopping floors and rolling paint on every inch of wall and ceiling until his shoulders ached. The amazing part was how satisfying it was. He hadn’t felt this fond of the old saloon, this connected to it, since he’d first bought the place.

  Maybe Russ and Jennifer felt the same way. They’d helped with the long hours of cleanup, accompanied by ripping and banging sounds as the burned debris outside was torn down and hauled away. He tried not to think about how many times he’d looked up and found Jennifer watching him.

  They’d caught a break that the fire had stopped short of the restrooms; rebuilding them could have kept him closed for weeks. Now, with the last of the paint drying and a new back office and hallway under construction, the Rusty Wire was ready to open for business. He anticipated a crowd, too. He was still proud of his idea to call the feature writer from the local newspaper to come out and cover their renovation. The story would be out Wednesday, in time to pull in their regular Friday night customers and anyone else who wanted a look at the scene of the crime. There were always plenty of those.

  Jase pulled on his last clean pair of jeans and gathered an armload of dirty clothes for the washing machine. He had just finished stuffing them in when the doorbell rang. He glanced at his wrist, but his watch was still in the bedroom along with the shirt he hadn’t put on. Still, it had to be past nine o’clock—late for visitors, especially after the long day he’d just put in. Whoever it was, they weren’t getting invited in. All he wanted tonight was a quiet hour or two to make a dent in his backlog of dirty laundry, then crawl into bed.

  Pouring detergent, he started the machine and went to answer the door.

  He glanced out the window on the way and did a double take. No mistake—that was red hair glowing beneath the overhead porch light. A jolt of energy zapped through his body.

  Zoe. Curiosity woke every tired nerve ending. She would never come here to make another offer; being at his house took her out of her professional comfort zone. It had to be something else. This was going to be interesting.

  He pulled the door open. An evening rainstorm had drenched the upper slopes, leaving the air heavy with the fragrance of pine and earth. The smell swept inside with the opening door, along with something flowery that must have come from her. He inhaled deeply, drinking in a dose of summer and Zoe as he appreciated the view. Her light red hair shone like polished gold in the light, creating a shimmering halo atop her head. Pretty. She might have looked angelic if not for the way her eyes narrowed and her pink lips drew into a tight pucker when she looked at him.

  He smiled anyway. “Hello, Zoe.”

  “You rotten son of a bitch.”

  He’d been right about the interesting part. He looked over her official blue blazer and skirt. “Aren’t you supposed to be at work?”

  “Yes. I had to take the rest of the night off because you decided to be an asshole.”

  And she was going to ream him a new one. Oddly, he didn’t care. He liked the idea of having her in his house, even spitting mad. “Would you care to come inside and elaborate?”

  “I can say what I need to say in less than a minute.” But she stepped inside, probably because he’d stepped back, widening the gap between them. She obviously intended to keep this an in-your-face encounter. “If you wanted a fight, Garrett, you’ve got it. And I don’t give up easily.”

  “I believe you. What are we fighting about?”

  “As if you didn’t know. No matter how dirty you play, you won’t make me go whimpering back to my boss in defeat. If you want to complicate things with false accusations, bring it on. I can handle it. But don’t stand there and play innocent when we both know the truth.” Her lip curled in disgust and her eyes narrowed to slits. “You are the lowest form of slime on the planet. An oozing pustule on the ass of humanity. A pathetic, lying, soulless coward.”

  Jase raised his eyebrows, hardly knowing what to respond to first. He gave her tirade an A for creativity and for rousing his curiosity, but the last accusation rankled. He didn’t see how it could apply. “I’m a coward?”

  She took an angry swipe at a stray lock of hair, and he felt a twinge of disappointment. He’d kind of liked the way it curled on her cheek.

  “Only a coward sends someone else to do his dirty work, then hides behind a legal smoke screen, leaving the police and public opinion to torment his victim.”

  “
The police?” Any trace of amusement fled. This was more serious than he’d thought. “Who’s being tormented?”

  “You know damn well who!” She poked him in the chest for emphasis, then faltered, as if realizing for the first time that he wasn’t fully dressed. Her gaze lowered to his bare feet, then rose again to linger on his bare chest. Just as his groin tightened in response, she blinked and fury hardened her features again. “Don’t pretend it’s all about justice, because I know you enjoy it.” Her hands formed fists at her sides, and he wondered if it was to keep from touching him. “You sent the police to drag me in and humiliate me in front of my coworkers, just for your own sick amusement. Well, laugh all you want because I’ve lived through public humiliation before, and—” Her breath hitched the tiniest bit before she glared even harder. “I can do it again. Just watch me.”

  This kept getting more and more confusing, and he had a feeling he was missing some vital clue. He held out his palms. “Zoe, wait. Hold it a second. How did the police get involved?”

  “That’s rich. How do you think?” She stepped forward, raising her face to lecture him at close range, a tactical mistake, since it just made him think about lowering his head to kiss her. She seemed oblivious, anger putting an attractive flush on her cheeks. “They got involved when you gave them your security video, just like you knew they would. And they took me in for questioning, exactly as you planned. Are you really going to stand there and play dumb on top of it? You threatened to do it, and you did. There’s no point in denying—”

  “Hold on!” He placed his hands on her shoulders to cut off her lecture. She was close, and his gaze dropped inadvertently to the V-neck of her blouse. A scattering of freckles disappeared beneath it and for a second he imagined where they might end. His jeans grew even snugger. He swore beneath his breath and took a step back.

  Zoe crossed her arms and clenched her jaw, clearly annoyed at being stopped in mid-tirade, but giving him a turn to speak. She played fair even when she was mad. In the back of his mind, he thought that mattered. Fair-minded people probably didn’t sneak around setting fires.