The dressing room was empty, too, but they’d left the toilet paper in the bathroom. “Good thing, too.” She used the facilities before checking the office.
The FBI had thoroughly removed everything except the heavy furniture. Even the phone was gone. A wave of disappointment swept over her, though she hadn’t expected anything different. It seemed pointless to search the room—they wouldn’t have missed anything important.
“You never know, though, right, D?” He flopped down on the floor in agreement and laid his head on his paws. She joined him, lying on her back to check the bottoms of the drawers and under the top of the desk, feeling the backs of the drawers and along the sides of the desk frame behind them. Nothing. Not even a tiny scrap stuck in a corner. The filing cabinet was just as empty, and the closet didn’t look like anything had ever been in there, judging by the dust on the rod and the unmarked carpet. She felt battered, as if she’d physically run into another dead end.
When they returned to the ground floor, she fed the dog another half can of food and sat at the kitchen table with Missirian’s phone in her hand. Using it felt creepy. Dirty. But she had no other options left. She knew Griff’s cell phone number, had made sure to memorize it even in this age of ubiquitous speed dialing.
Need overwhelmed squick and she dialed quickly. Just as quickly, she got a recording that her call could not go through because the service had been disconnected.
She cursed and set the phone down before she threw it against the wall. With nothing left to do, she curled up on a sofa to doze the rest of the night away.
…
The next day, she rigged a leash for the dog using a strip of fabric she pulled from the dust ruffle of the couch and wrapped through his collar. The Humane Society was housed in a small building near the edge of downtown, and she took a half hour to walk him over. The attendant looked suspicious when she told her he was a stray. That she believed Reese was abandoning him hurt, especially since she’d come to love the guy and would keep him if she could. She had to hold her tongue between her teeth and her electrical shields firmly in place, or vent all her pent-up frustration at the poor girl.
After signing the paperwork, she walked past her burned-out bakery to her burned-down house. The ground was churned mud, and the crumbled remnants of her home reeked of wet char. She stood and watched her dreams drift upward in the cloudy morning.
She’d gone beyond fury, beyond rage. All she felt now was cold purpose. Maintaining control wasn’t going to be any problem right now.
“You’re okay.”
She didn’t look at Andrew when he stepped up beside her. “I got out.”
“You weren’t around when the fire department arrived.”
Why hadn’t she said she wasn’t home? No, that wouldn’t have worked, either. He’d dropped her off, knew she hadn’t been home very long when the fire started.
She sighed. “It was deliberately set, like the bakery. Someone seems to be targeting me. I was scared, and I ran.”
“Yeah, they found the remnants of another Molotov cocktail in the living room. But why didn’t you come to me?” He sounded hurt, as if it had been a personal slight rather than a professional one. He must have heard it himself, because he quickly corrected, “To the police station.”
She didn’t respond.
“For God’s sake, Reese—” He broke off when she looked up at him and let him see all her anguish. When he pulled her into his arms, she went, wishing desperately it was Griff holding her instead.
“You need to come to the station and answer questions,” he said after a minute. “We can arrange protective custody, or—”
“I can’t. Not yet.” She pulled away and ran her sleeve under her nose. “I have to get to the hospital. Brian had his surgery, and they’re expecting me.”
“The fire chief still needs to talk to you. And if we’re going to track down the arsonist—”
“I don’t have time!” she cried. Andrew pulled himself taller, stiffer, the hint of compassion in his eyes blinking out behind the cop’s mask. If she told him it wouldn’t matter, that no one ever connected this guy to his crimes, that would just make things worse. So she went the girly route, plucking at her clothes and hair. Stale smoke and worse wafted off of her, and she wrinkled her nose. “I can’t go to the hospital like this. I need clothes and things. A shower.” She let her eyes water. “I have so much to take care of, and Brian could already be awake.” She turned toward her car and trailed off, shocked. The paint had melted off, leaving blackened metal and misshapen tires. It wasn’t parked close enough to the house for the flames to jump, so they must have set it on fire separately.
Andrew must have recognized the utter defeat that swept over her face, because he relaxed an inch. “How about a compromise? I’ll give you a ride to the store and a place to shower, and you answer my questions on the way.”
He was giving in a lot with the offer, so, resigned, she let him take her to a small department store, where she bought the very basics in clothing and toiletries, to a car rental agency, and then to his house. She answered his questions the best she could, struggling to tell as much truth as possible and to look the same when she lied. Mostly, she played dumb. She doubted Andrew was fooled by any of it.
The clock ticked. She rushed through her shower and left her hair wet. Andrew was on the phone in the kitchen when she came out. She waited quietly, squeezing her hair with a towel.
“Where can I put this?” she asked when he hung up.
“I’ll take it.” He came close with his hand out, and she flinched away. He froze, then slowly took the towel from her. “You’re not afraid of me, are you?”
She shook her head, then realized he meant really afraid. “No! God, no. I just don’t want to…I don’t know, give you hope.” She winced. They were so far past that, he would recognize the lame excuse without hesitation.
Sure enough, he asked gently, “Who’s after you, Reese?”
The plastic bags holding her clothes and toiletries rustled when she set them on a kitchen chair. He hadn’t asked outright like that until now, and she wondered why he was changing tactics.
“I don’t know.” That was the truth, dammit. “Do you think they’re after me, specifically?”
“I didn’t at first.” He looked disgusted. “With the bakery, I thought it was random vandalism.” He shifted to lean against the counter, crossing his arms and ankles and giving her a piercing stare. “But now, I’m thinking that wasn’t actually the beginning of whatever you’re dealing with. I’m thinking there’s been a lot going on for a long time, and that I ignored my instincts because I like you. And you make good muffins.”
She smiled weakly at his equally weak joke, but didn’t know what to say.
“Truth is,” he continued, “I think it’s all connected. The break-ins, the FBI raid in The Charms, your fires. Maybe even the very possessive guy helping you in the bakery the other day.” His voice hardened. “I had to wonder why you wouldn’t just tell me you were involved with someone else. Wonder how much of what you’d said to me was a lie, and why. I think you’re in trouble, and I want to know what kind.”
“It doesn’t matter. I’m not coming back to town. The trouble will follow me and it won’t—”
“Don’t tell me it won’t be my problem.” His jaw flexed, and so did his hands. “That’s an insult to me as a professional and as a friend.”
He was right. Suddenly deathly weary, she dropped into a chair. “I don’t know who’s after me, Andrew. That’s the truth. The tables have turned. He tried to kill me and Brian, so I was trying to determine his identity. I guess I got too close, and he came after me, instead.”
Andrew nodded, as if she’d confirmed his suspicions. He’d already made the relevant connections—break-ins, raid, fires, electricity. The natural progression meant he was about to ask her if she’d broken the law. If she let him, he’d come inexorably to the proper conclusions, no matter what she answered, and that w
ould be that.
She stood abruptly. “I need to get to the hospital. They expected me early this morning.”
Andrew studied her and for a moment she thought he was reaching for his cuffs. But he pulled keys from his pocket instead, and said he’d get the rest of her things out of his car.
She loaded everything into the rental’s trunk and got in. “I’m sorry, Andrew, about everything.” It was the most honest thing she’d said all day.
He shook his head, a rueful smile on his mouth. “I think we’ve been here before, Reese.” He backed away and tossed off a half salute as she drove off.
She lamented the loss of her cell phone more than any of her other possessions. She hadn’t wanted to take the time to set up a prepaid phone, but now the long drive to the hospital felt wasted.
As much as she’d wanted Griff last night, this morning she knew she had to keep him away. Big K might think he’d sent his message and back off to see how she took it, but she couldn’t take a chance on Griff being collateral damage if Big K wasn’t done with her.
The first thing she did, even before going to Brian’s room, was find a pay phone. Griff didn’t answer his cell, which was good. She left a breezy message telling him not to come back, that everything was fine here. She was taking a chance that he hadn’t somehow heard about the fires and would take her request at face value.
She made her way up to the floor where Brian had been yesterday, but learned he’d been put in a private room earlier that morning.
“We tried to call you,” the nurse sniped, looking down her nose at Reese. “You really should be sure to provide us with accurate phone numbers. What if there had been an emergency?”
“I’m sorry.” Reese held back her angry response. It took a count of five. “My house burned to the ground last night. I don’t have a new phone yet.”
She left the woman gaping and stammering, and felt a little better.
A little turned to a lot better when she found Brian’s room. He was sitting up—actually sitting up!—in bed, opening his mouth for food spooned into it by a pink-smocked aide. Dr. Langstrom stood next to the bed, making notes and beaming at Brian.
Reese stood in the doorway, her annoyance instantly evaporating. Speechless, she watched him through eyes blurred with tears. Brian didn’t move anything but his mouth. His eyes stared as if he was blind, the eyelids floating at half-mast, and food dribbled out of his mouth with every bite the aide slid in. But he was sitting up. He was eating. Reese couldn’t believe it. She’d never dreamed the results could be this good, this fast. Emotions tumbled all over themselves. Happiness for Brian, despair that she could be tied to him indefinitely, hope that he could recover enough not to need her, so she could start her life again…
A shudder along her skin warned her, and she took a deep breath to stabilize her emotions, to force her body closed to electricity. After she was safe, she stepped into the room.
“Ah, Brian, here we go! Your wife is here.” Dr. Langstrom patted Brian’s hand. He didn’t react, just kept opening and closing his mouth. Reese realized he did it rhythmically, not in response to the spoon actually nearing his mouth.
“The stimulator has triggered a conditioned response,” the doctor murmured when Reese reached her side. “He recognizes food and knows what he’s supposed to be doing, he just can’t coordinate it yet. But look at him!” She beamed again, and Reese nodded. That was all she could manage. The aching lump in her throat just kept growing, holding her vocal chords prisoner.
With hand motions and a squeaky attempt to talk, she convinced the aide to let her finish feeding Brian his pudding-like meal. Dr. Langstrom rattled on about nourishment and stimulation and therapy and the facility she wanted to move Brian to in a few days, once they confirmed there were no problems from the surgery. Then she listed all the potential complications, such as blood clots, stroke, anesthesia-related illness, and on and on until Reese wanted to push her off the chair she was perched on.
Finally, Langstrom left and Reese was alone with Brian. Once he finished eating, he settled against the pillows, still staring blankly, still unmoving. She got closer and touched his hand, disappointed when he didn’t react, not even so much as a blink.
She hadn’t expected to feel so conflicted. She kept imagining their life the way it had been, the possibility truly in front of her for the first time. His lack of awareness of her cut into that, burning. But those images were for the trappings of a life she didn’t want. When she reminded herself that Brian was her husband, her thoughts still turned yearningly to Griffin.
“We’re on the home stretch now, Brian,” she said, watching him carefully for any kind of response to her voice or to his name. “I’m closer than ever, and soon I’ll punish him for what he did to you.”
His eyelashes flickered. Then nothing.
“I’ve been working hard toward this for a long time. When it’s over…” She trailed off, not sure what would come next. Things were so different now than when she’d embarked on this plan. She wasn’t on her own anymore. Brian might be more than just a silent, unmoving presence in her life. The resolution, the closure she’d been seeking, would no longer cut off the Brian part of her life as neatly as she’d wished.
“We’ll find a new home,” she tested out loud. “Start over.” It would probably be counterproductive to his recovery if she mentioned that she meant separate homes.
“Nice sentiments.”
The voice was so sardonic, for an instant she thought Big K’s goons had found her. She leaped to her feet and, without thinking, sucked in electricity from wherever she could feel it. It vibrated in her arms and hands, and she recognized Griffin standing just inside the room. But it wasn’t the Griffin she knew. He stared at her—not at Brian, but at her—and his mouth twisted with bitterness, his eyes glittering with an emotion she couldn’t identify. Her heart twisted.
Something in the room sizzled, and she quickly circled the bed and pushed past him into the hall. She had to get away before she damaged Brian’s stimulator or the other equipment. She led Griff down the hall to the stairwell and slowly discharged the electricity she’d gathered.
“Nice control,” Griff observed, unsmiling.
“Thanks to you.” She sat on the upward flight of stairs and patted the step next to her, but he shook his head. “What are you doing here?” she asked. “Didn’t you get my message?” Foolish question. He’d have been almost here when she recorded it.
“I told you I was coming back. I have some information for you.”
“What kind of information?”
“About Armen Missirian.” He held out a brown envelope.
She took it automatically, but didn’t open it. She wanted to explain what he’d overheard, and misconstrued, but it might be better to let him believe it. Easier to push him away and keep him safe.
“Thank you.” She patted the step again, and again he refused. “Griff. Talk to me.”
Something flared in his eyes, a rush of heat and longing and pain and happiness and six other emotions so complex and deep they were impossible to label. She reached out a hand to touch him, but he shook his head. “Don’t.”
She tried to swallow and failed. Pain in her heart grew to an unbearable level. She had to let him go, but doing it this way might just kill her.
She couldn’t let him go yet. She rationalized that he’d been part of this from the beginning and deserved to know where it was leading. “Please, sit down. I want to update you, and you’re giving me a crick in my neck.”
“So move higher.” But he pushed out a breath and sat.
It seemed she had been exhausted forever. Reliving yesterday weighed on her, and she let her head lower to rest on her knees. She kept her face turned toward Griff as she brought him up to date, and saw the tension in him change. Instead of holding himself in, he was holding himself back. His face darkened and his fists clenched, and she knew if he’d been there last night, her arsonist wouldn’t have gotten away.
“What are you going to do?” he ground out.
“Depends on what’s in here, I guess.” She sat up and opened the seal of the envelope. A sudden increase in noise on the other side of the stairwell door made her pause. She watched several heads flash by the small, square window, and heard the pounding of shoes and shouts down the hall. Fear skittered up her spine and she thrust the envelope at Griffin, lunging to her feet and down the steps in one swift motion. She lurched through the door and raced down the hall, her breath disappearing when she saw the crowd around Brian’s door.
Dr. Langstrom caught her before she got inside. “Ms. Templeton, wait.” She struggled against her, but the doctor held her back. Reese stared frantically over her shoulder. Brian lay slumped against the pillows, his arm dangling. A needle stuck out of the IV tube attached to his arm. She had thought his gaze vacant before, but compared to now, it had been full of life. Now, his wide eyes stared at the ceiling with complete sightlessness. She didn’t need Langstrom to tell her what was going on in there.
Brian was dead. And he’d been murdered.
Chapter Twelve
Dr. Langstrom held on to Reese as if she expected her to collapse in a wailing heap, but Reese had been through worse deaths than this. At least this one wasn’t totally unexpected. The manner, yes, but not the fact.
Something in her chest released, like a door under pressure giving way. Relief and regret flowed out, mingling with her habitual anger and guilt. It swirled deep inside her, but didn’t approach the surface. Under it all seethed a darker fury that pounded into her bloodstream, filling her with an irrational calm.
Now the bastard had truly sealed his fate. Until this moment she’d clung desperately to the possibility of the normal life she wanted so badly, had held out hope of an alternate outcome where justice and happiness could coexist.
But this had narrowed her choice to one. No more waffling or wringing her hands. She was going to find Big K.
A Kiss of Revenge (Entangled Ignite) Page 19