The Novels of Nora Roberts, Volume 4

by Nora Roberts

  “You forgot the sexual bonus.”

  “That’s personal.” This time he walked his fingers up her thigh, down again. “Doesn’t factor. But since I’ve been fiddling with some plans for your place, you could always take me upstairs and bribe me with continued sexual favors.”

  She rolled over on top of him, made him moan. More from excess pastry than desire. “You’ve been working on plans for me?”

  “Fiddling. Haven’t had too much time. But your dining room table’s almost finished.”

  “I want to see. I want to see everything.”

  “Table’ll be done in another couple days. The sketches are rough yet.”

  “I have to see.” She rolled off, tugged his hand. “Right now. Right now.”

  He groaned, but sat up and reached for his pants. “Half of the plans are still in my head.”

  “I want to see the other half.” She dragged on her own pants, grabbed her shirt. Then she grabbed his face, smacked her lips to his. “Thanks in advance.”

  “Thank me after.” He pulled open the refrigerator for water, then frowned when the phone rang. “Who the hell’s calling me at one in the morning? Better not be Brad wanting me to bail him out of jail. Though to be fair that only happened once.”

  “Don’t answer it yet. Wait.” With her shirt half buttoned, she dashed to the phone, studied the readout. “Do you know this number?”

  “Not right off.” It clicked, she could see it on his face. “Shit. Shit. Do you think it’s him?”

  “Let me answer it.” She picked it up, said, “Yes?”

  “Ready for another surprise? I hate to repeat myself, but you gotta do what you gotta do.”

  She nodded at Bo, then gestured for him to get her paper and pen. “I wondered when you’d call again. How’d you know to reach me here?”

  “Because I know you’re a whore.”

  “Because I slept with you?” she asked, and began to write down the conversation.

  “Can you remember everybody you slept with, Reena?”

  “I’ve got a pretty good memory for that sort of thing. Why don’t you give me a name, or a place? Then we’ll see how memorable it was.”

  “Just think about it, you just think about it, about all the men you let fuck you. Right back to the first.”

  Her hand jerked. “A woman never forgets her first. That’s not you.”

  “We’re going to party, you and me. But right now, why don’t you take a little walk? See what I left for you.”

  The phone clicked. “Bastard,” she muttered, hunting up her cell phone. “He’s done something close, within walking distance. Don’t hang that up,” she added, then picked up her weapon, holstered it on as she dialed from her cell.

  “It’s Hale. I need you to triangulate this number.” She read it off. “It’s going to be a cell phone, and he’s probably mobile. I’m giving you the number he called, leaving that line open.” She rattled out Bo’s number as she walked out of the kitchen. “He may have set a fire in the vicinity of my house. I want a couple of patrols. I’m heading outside now to check it out. You can reach me . . . Son of a bitch!”

  She heard Bo curse behind her, then take off running back to the kitchen. “I’ve got a vehicle fire, this address. Bastard. Call it in!”

  Bo flew by her, armed with a fire extinguisher.

  The hood of the truck was up, the engine spitting out fire. Smoke billowed out of the bed, and beneath, pools of gas shimmered with flame. The tires were smoldering and the acrid stench of burning rubber soiled the air. More flames danced over the hood, along the roof of the cab, aided by the pleasant summer breeze.

  But fury turned to fear when she spotted the trailer of rags burning toward the open gas tank. Twisting out of the tank with them was a red linen napkin with the Sirico’s logo folded down at the corner.

  “Get back!” She leaped at Bo, yanked the extinguisher out of his hands. There was either enough left, or there wasn’t, she thought dully, and aimed at the tank.

  Foam spurted out. Smoke blinded her, choked her as the breeze waved it in her face. The flavor of fire filled her mouth again as, along the ground, the streams of burning gas slid closer.

  “Forget the truck.” Bo grabbed her on the fly, dragged her with him as he sprinted across the street.

  The explosion shot the rear of the truck into the air, slammed it back down as the punch of it knocked them off their feet. There was a firestorm of blazing metal, hot shrapnel that rained onto the street, over other vehicles as he rolled with her under the cover of a parked car.

  “Are you hurt? Are you burned?”

  He shook his head, stared at the inferno that had been his truck. His ears rang, his eyes stung, and his arm felt flame kissed. When he ran his hand over it, it came away bloody.

  “I almost had it. Another few seconds—”

  “You almost got yourself blown up for a goddamn Chevy pickup.”

  “He played me. He timed it.” Fire danced in her eyes as she slammed her fist on the asphalt. “The engine, the bed, distractions. If I’d seen the fuse sooner . . . Jesus, Bo, you’re bleeding.”

  “Scraped up my arm some when we hit.”

  “Let me see it. Where’s my phone? Where’s my damn phone?” She crawled out, saw it lying broken on the street. “Here they come.” Sirens wailed, and people poured out of neighboring houses. “Sit down over here, let me look at your arm.”

  “It’s okay. Let’s both sit down a minute.”

  He wasn’t sure if he was shaking, or if she was. Maybe both of them, so he gave in to his weakened legs and sank to the curb, pulled her down with him.

  “You’ve got a gash here.” At the sight of his blood, she forced her mind to go cold. “You’re going to need stitches.”

  “Maybe.”

  “Take off your shirt. We need to put some pressure on this. I can do a field dressing until the paramedics look at it.”

  Instead, he lifted his hip, pulled a bandanna out of his pocket.

  “That’ll do. I’m so sorry, Bo.”

  “Don’t. Don’t apologize.” He stared at his truck while she bandaged his arm. The pain hadn’t gotten through yet. He imagined it would soon enough. But he had plenty of rage inside him as he stared at what had been his. “That takes it off him and puts it on you.”

  The response team leaped off their truck, began to smother the fire.

  When she was done with the field dressing, she rested her head against her updrawn knees for a moment, then sucked in a breath. “I have to go talk to these guys. I’ll send a paramedic over. Unless he says different, I’ll drive you to the ER, get that dealt with.”

  “Don’t worry about it.” He wasn’t in the mood for hospitals. He was in the mood to kick some ass. He rose, offered a hand. “Let’s go tell them what happened.”

  She’d barely finished giving the details when half the people she knew were crowded on the street and sidewalk. Her parents, Jack, Xander, Gina and Steve, Gina’s parents, old classmates, cousins of old classmates.

  She heard her father call Fran on his cell, tell her no one was hurt and ask her to relay the news to An.

  Bases covered, she thought wearily, and turned when O’Donnell pulled up.

  “We get a location?” she asked him.

  “Working on it. You hurt?”

  “No. Bruises where I hit the pavement. Bo played the hero, broke my fall.” She rubbed her eyes. “He let me keep him talking, gave him time to drive around, get the party started. He’d levered up the hood, doused it, dumped a bunch of mattress wadding in the bed, got that going for the smoke. Pools of gas under and around the truck, got the tires going. Big smoky stink, which distracted me long enough.”

  Almost too long, she thought. If Bo hadn’t dragged her off, it might have been more than his truck seriously damaged.

  “By the time I spotted the fuse—he’d hung one of Sirico’s dinner napkins out of the tank—we were on borrowed time. I started to deal with it, then Bo grabs me l
ike I’m a football and he’s a tight end running for the goal line. Hard to say if he screwed himself out of a truck, and God knows how much in the tools he had in those lockboxes running along the bed, or if he saved my life.”

  “Called you at Goodnight’s. You check your machine yet––see if he tried there first?”

  “No, haven’t been back in yet.”

  “Why don’t you do that now?”

  “Yeah. Give me a minute.”

  She moved off, had a word with Xander, then walked toward her house.

  “Okay, pal.” Xander stepped over to Bo, gave Bo’s good shoulder a rub. “Let’s you and me walk on down to the clinic. I’ll fix you up.”

  “Gee, Doc, it’s only a scratch.”

  “Let me be the judge of that.”

  “You go with Xander, don’t argue.” Bianca laid down the law. “I’ll go in, get you a clean shirt.”

  Bo glanced toward his house. “Door’s open.”

  Bianca tilted her head, her eyes soft with sympathy. “Do you have your keys? I’ll lock up for you.”

  “No. I ran out without them.”

  “We’ll take care of it.” She cupped his face. “We take care of our own. Now you go with Alexander, like a good boy. And tomorrow, when you feel better, you go see my cousin Sal.”

  “I thought Sal was your brother.”

  “This one is a cousin, and he’s going to give you a good price on a new truck. A very good price. I’ll write it down for you.”

  “Jack, give Bianca a hand, will you?” Gib gave his wife a pat as he joined Xander and Bo. “I’ll walk along, make sure the patient doesn’t try to run for it.”

  “He just likes to see me stick needles in people,” Xander said, taking Bo’s good arm.

  “That’s heartening.” He looked for an escape route and found himself neatly flanked. “The paramedic said maybe a couple stitches. I can wait till the morning.”

  “No time like the present,” Xander said cheerfully. “Hey! You had a tetanus shot lately? I love giving those.”

  “Last year. Stay away from me.” He looked dubiously toward Gib. “I don’t need an honor guard.”

  “Just keep walking.” Gib waited until they were through the thicket of neighbors. “I caught bits and pieces back there, and it sounds like there’s something going on I should know about. Somebody called Reena at your place.”

  “Yeah, the guy from before. The one who’s been hassling her. The one who set fire to the school? And she hasn’t said anything to you about any of this?”

  “Now you’re going to.”

  Not just flanked, Bo decided. Squeezed. “Better if you asked her.”

  “Better if I don’t help Xander hold you down while he does a prostate exam.”

  “Now those are fun,” Xander agreed.

  “Point taken. She should’ve told you, and now she’s going to be pissed I did. Maybe being the only child of divorced parents isn’t so bad. You guys are work.”

  He told them what he knew as they walked the two blocks to the clinic, and inside. Xander’s amusement had turned to stony silence. He gestured toward an exam table.

  “When did this start?” Gib demanded.

  “From what I gather, right after she moved in.”

  “And she says nothing.” Gib spun around, began to pace.

  “Steve either,” Xander pointed out, and began to clean the gash.

  Bo hissed in his breath at the sting. “Can’t you medical sadists come up with stuff that doesn’t burn down to the frigging bone?”

  “You’ve got a nice gash here, Bo. About six stitches’ worth.”

  “Six? Well, shit.”

  “Going to numb you up.”

  He studied the syringe Xander took from a drawer, then decided he preferred looking at Gib’s livid face. “I don’t know any more than that. I don’t know what his game is, but he’s got her on edge. She handles it, but it’s working on her.”

  “Someone she put in prison,” Gib murmured. “Someone she put in, who got out. My little girl and I are going to have a talk.”

  “Talk is our euphemism for yelling and swearing and occasionally throwing breakables,” Xander explained. “Little prick.”

  “I don’t think I deserve to be called a prick just because—ouch. Oh, you meant that kind of prick. Mr. Hale . . . Gib, you’re her father, so you’ve known her longer, you know her better, but I’d say yelling and swearing and throwing breakables isn’t going to change a thing.”

  Gib showed his teeth. “Never hurts to try.”

  The front door rattled open, and a moment later Jack came in with a shirt and shoes. He glanced at Bo’s arm, gave a wince of sympathy. “Bianca thought you could use these. Stitches, huh?”

  “Six, according to Dr. Gloom here.”

  “Close your eyes, and think of England,” Xander said to Bo.

  It could have been worse, Bo decided. He could have humiliated himself and squeaked like a girl. As it was he walked back home with his dignity fairly intact, sucking on the cherry lollipop Xander had handed him after the ordeal was over.

  Most of the crowd had dispersed, with a few lingering in clutches to watch the sort of thing he imagined they only saw on TV.

  Reena, O’Donnell and Steve, along with a couple of guys he figured were crime-scene people, were still swarming over the wreckage.

  He wondered if his insurance had to cover the damage to the cars caused by the flying parts of his truck. Man, his rates were going to soar like a frigging eagle.

  Reena broke away, crossed to him.

  “How’s the arm?”

  “Apparently I get to keep it. And I got a lollipop.”

  “It made him stop crying,” Xander told her. “As for the truck, that looks DOA.”

  “It’s bad,” she agreed. “Collateral damage on cars parked front and back—which includes mine. We’re about done with what we can do here. You can sign off on it, Bo, so we can take it into evidence.”

  “What about my tools? Any of my tools make it?”

  “Once we’re done, I’ll get what we’ve collected back to you. Mama’s inside.” She looked at her father. “She wanted to wait for you, to check on Bo.”

  “Fine. I’ll go wait with her.”

  “I’m going to be a little while longer here. It’s late, you should go on home.”

  “We’ll wait.”

  She frowned after Gib as he walked toward her house. “What’s going on?”

  “Come on, Jack, I’ll walk you home.” Xander slung an arm around his brother-in-law’s shoulders, looked at Bo. “Keep that dressing dry, use the ointment as prescribed. I’ll check on you tomorrow.” He caught Reena’s chin in his hand, kissed her on the cheek. “Your butt’s cooked. ’Night.”

  Jack kissed her forehead. “You take care of yourself. See you, Bo.”

  Reena’s gaze ticked back to Bo. “What’s going on?”

  “You didn’t tell them.”

  She opened her mouth, hissed out a breath. “And you did.”

  “You should’ve told them, and you put me in a spot where I had to be the bearer.”

  “Great.” Stewing, she stared at her house. “Just great. You couldn’t just keep it zipped, wait for me to deal with this.”

  “You know what?” he said after a moment. “It’s been a crappy night, and I don’t feel like going another round. Do what you do. I’m going to bed.”

  “Bo—” He held up a hand as he walked away, and she was left with a good mad on, and no place to put it.

  By the time she dragged herself through her own front door, it was after four in the morning. She wanted a long, cool shower and her own soft bed.

  Her parents were on the sofa, snuggled up like a couple of sleeping kids. Considering that a blessing, she eased back, intending to tiptoe upstairs.

  “Don’t even think about it.”

  Her father’s voice stopped her, had her closing her eyes. Not once, not once had any of them been able to sneak into the house af
ter curfew. The man had instincts like a snake.

  “It’s late. I want to catch a couple hours’ sleep.”

  “You’re old enough so your wants won’t hurt you.”

  “Oh, I hate when you say that.”

  “You should be careful with your tone, Catarina.” Bianca spoke without opening her eyes. “We’re still your parents, and we’ll be your parents a hundred years after you’re dead.”

  “Look, I’m really tired. If we can just table this until tomorrow.”

  “Someone’s threatening you, and you don’t tell us?”

  Okay, no chance for a respite. Reena dragged out the band holding her hair back as her father rose from the couch. “It’s work, Dad. I don’t, can’t, won’t tell you everything about the job.”

  “It’s personal. He’s calling you. He knows your name. He knows where you live. And tonight, he tried to kill you.”

  “Do I look dead?” she shot back. “Do I look hurt?”

  “And what would you be if Bo hadn’t acted quickly?”

  “Oh, great.” She threw up her hands, stormed around the room. “So he’s the white knight and I’m the helpless damsel. Do you see this?” She yanked her badge out, shoved it in her father’s face. “They don’t give these out to helpless damsels.”

  “But they give them out to stubborn, selfish women who can’t admit when they’re wrong?”

  “Selfish?”

  They were shouting now, their faces inches apart. “Where do you get that? It’s my job, it’s my business. Do I tell you how to run your business?”

  “You’re my child. Your business is always my business. Somebody tried to hurt you, and now he’s going to have to deal with me.”

  “This is just what I was trying to avoid. Why didn’t I tell you all this? Play this conversation back. You are not getting into this. You are not getting into my work, into this part of my life.”

  “Don’t you tell me what I’m going to do!”

  “Back at you.”

  “Basta! Basta! Enough!” Bianca sprang off the couch. “Don’t you raise your voice to your father, Catarina. Don’t you yell at your daughter, Gibson. I’ll yell at both of you. Imbeciles. Stupidi! You’re both right, but that won’t stop me from knocking your empty heads together to hear the crack. You—” She jabbed a finger into her husband’s chest. “You go round and round and don’t get to the meat. Our daughter isn’t selfish, and you’ll apologize. And you—” The finger stabbed out at Reena. “You have your work, and we’re proud of what you do, who you are. But this is different, and you know it. This is not about someone else. This is you. Do we ever say, ‘No, no, Catarina’ when you go into a building that may fall on your head? Did we say, ‘No, you can’t become a police officer, and worry us every day, every night’?”