by R. T. Wolfe
This interest was obviously because he'd said, 'No,' to her. If Andy knew, he would never let him live it down.
* * *
Brie lay next to Nathan in the dim room lit only by a small bit of early spring lightning that flashed through their bedroom windows and the glass French doors leading out to the small balcony. Before Brie had met the three of them, he had begun restoring each and every room in the ancient house piece by piece with Duncan and Andy as his right hands. Sentiments, she smiled to herself as she closed her eyes. Near the bathroom door, Red whimpered in his training cage.
"It's all right now, boy," she reassured him as she snuggled closer, pressing her side to Nathan.
"We have good kids," she said, looking over her shoulder at his sky blue eyes as they lit with each lightning strike.
"Yes."
"Then why do you think Duncan hasn't told us about his relationship with Nickie Savage?"
"Relationship? Duncan doesn't do relationships."
"Hmm." She hummed and rolled over, tucking her back into him as Red whimpered again.
They'd always fit tucked into each other. Nathan was making his way with her illness, she knew. Trying not to think about it, she pulled his arms around her and rested his hand between her breasts, much like he always did. She felt his heavy sigh. It wasn't hard to assume the cause of his worry.
The lightning flashed brighter. She and Nathan had never been the kind to take cover in the basement during storms. The louder the better. The master bedroom showcased the brilliant light show more than most with the number of windows and full-sized glass door.
Except, where was the thunder? She turned and looked out the windows, then bolted upright. The moon. The stars. The sky was clear.
Nathan ripped off their covers. "Stay here," he yelled as he tugged on a pair of jeans and his house shoes.
"Like hell." She got up and ran to the window. "I'll call 9-1-1, call the chief. Oh, Nathan, our trees."
They had exactly fourteen trees in the backyard, and it looked like each was an Olympic torch, engulfed in angry balls of flames.
As they reached the bottom of the stairs, they yanked their coats from the tops of the banisters.
In the back, the flames lit their yard like daylight; the warmth instantly penetrated her coat. She'd planted half these trees with her own hands. Three of them were dangerously close to the house. Nathan wouldn't have a chance in hell of saving them, but apparently he was determined to keep the house safe. Hoping the hose wasn't frozen, she stood with her hands over her mouth as he opened the water valves to the outside spigots, then ran to the northeast corner near the waterfall that slept in the cold.
Success. Aiming the hose at the house, he surely froze his fingers as he used them to create a spray he waved along the cedar siding. The heat penetrated her back as she ducked from branches that turned to bright orange ashes and floated gently in the barely there breeze.
Tears ran freely down her face. "You tripped our alarm," she yelled over the roar of the flames. "I called and told them not to come." She looked around as, at that moment, the recognizable fire engine sirens approached.
It was difficult to see through the flashes of fire and sparks that drifted like swarms of bees. Veering closer to Nathan, she sighed long and deeply to herself. "Oh, Nathan. What are we going to do?"
"Get Melbourne." He was angry. "Replant. Move on. I wish you would go inside." Finally, he took the gloves she offered as they stood and watched the landscaping she had planted, grown, preened, and cared for disintegrate.
"Our tree," she repeated. "The tree you stood next to when you proposed to me. It's gone."
* * *
Nickie noted two fire engines as she arrived. One was near the front of the house, one in the brown grass in back. Both had used the external feet to distribute the weight over the ground. Lights ran red circles around the scene. A dozen firemen were there. They had half the trees put out and were battling the rest in an organized semicircle, closing in.
Nathan Reed stood with his arms wrapped around his wife, her head resting back against his chest. She remembered Brie owned a landscaping business in addition to her teaching job and assumed this would be a big deal to her. With Nathan's woodworking artistry studio, she'd bet this was a big deal to him, too. And that would be why the fire was started in the first place.
She hated evil. Evil for the sake of evil. Looking at the proximity of the remaining scorched tree trunks, she could not for the life of her figure out how the house hadn't caught on fire.
In the middle of the group of firemen was Duncan. She wondered how he beat her here, then realized she didn't want to know. He had a shovel, using dirt from scattered holes to toss on the loose flames that caught in the taller grasses. Walking around the perimeter with her billystick and flashlight, she looked for something, anything as the crew finished their work.
The fire chief took the time to speak with the Reeds.
The last of the smoldering embers were doused as Nathan, Brie and the chief stood in a row, somber as they watched. Now was as good of a time as any, she thought. Duncan must have been keeping an eye on her, too, because he handed off his shovel and made for the trio just as she did.
The smell of wet ash covered them. Brie looked pale under the smudges of soot on her face. "Mr. and Mrs. Reed, I know this must be unsettling for you," she began.
Nathan placed one of his large hands on the space between Nickie's shoulder and her neck, then gave a gentle squeeze. "Call me Nathan."
In the midst of what he was going through, been through, Nathan was thinking of her and dammit if he didn't look like Duncan when he did it.
"Can you start at the beginning, please?" she asked softly.
As they went through their account of the evening, she recognized the fire chief was more than a chief that night. It was hard not to sympathize with a family that had endured for so many years.
She tried not to look at Duncan. He was an inappropriate distraction. But she couldn't help notice as his eyes traveled between her and his aunt. They were dead, she thought. He was in survival mode. She could recognize that look anywhere.
Finishing the interview, she noticed Nathan's eyes drifting everywhere but to her. So, she stopped, folded her hands in front of her and gave him some time.
Taking the bait, he started. His voice dropped and he leaned in to the five of them, "That fireman over there..." Nathan nodded his head to a thirty-something man with a medium build. "He's... uh... I've seen him with MollyAnne."
"What? When?" Duncan interrupted now.
"Well, that's the thing." Nathan looked between her and the chief. "Sometimes I take a look in Lucy Melbourne's home before knocking. I don't know what I'd do if I by chance ever ran into MollyAnne face-to-face again. Don't trust myself. Duncan and I were checking out that very situation last week when we saw Lucy out of her wheelchair."
Nickie looked to Brie and saw no look of surprise. She'd obviously already been privy to this information.
"Not even a walker, but she does use a cane. She may walk like an old woman, but Lucy Melbourne can walk just fine. So, I'm curious, you know? What the hell? Why has she been pretending for the last... I don't know how many years to be wheelchair bound? So, I check on her now and then, and I see MollyAnne there. Free as a bird." Nathan shook his head as his nostrils flared. "Then, I see MollyAnne's found a new puppy dog. Saw him over there with her a few times. It's that man."
"That's Eric White, detective," the fire chief injected. "He's been with us for around eight years. Not real social. Does his job, keeps his nose clean. That MollyAnne has a thing for firemen. Or else a thing for fire."
Chapter 13
Duncan stood to the side in the detective's office as she and Dave carried on a heated discussion about her timing in leaving for Nevada. He made an attempt to stay out of the way, but there just wasn't that much damned space in her office for out of the way.
Her hair was still damp from the swim she'd men
tioned. It stuck to her silky neck just under her ears like dripping water colors. He needed to talk to her, and after catching her here this morning, he almost had the chance before Dave had lumbered in.
"We've got new leads on the Melbourne case," Dave said. At that moment, Duncan thought he sounded more like a pleading father than a partner.
Smoothly, she stood in black slacks that hugged her shape and used a sort of formality mixed with needy-teenage-daughter to maneuver the conversation. He'd dealt with clever women before, just not ones he'd been attracted to. He'd need to watch out for that.
"You've proved a case with this woman once before. I've finished my reports and followed up my leads. You have the captain, who's turned this case into something personal for him, not that I blame him. You'll want to check up on Brusco. He rented a U-Haul yesterday." The detective looked to him at that moment with an oops look on her face. She wouldn't know that if not for his hacking. With a quick recovery, she packed her bag with files, notes, an extra gun, and handcuffs.
"What about Lucy?" Dave wasn't done. "That means something, Nick. We need to find out why she's been pretending to be confined to a wheelchair. This moves her over to a possible suspect." Dave stood legs apart, arms folded, and watched as she paused.
The detective bobbed her head from side to side, then shrugged a shoulder. "She has motive."
Duncan opened his mouth in an attempt to interrupt that possibility. Lucy Melbourne couldn't have killed a large dog, couldn't have started the fires behind his aunt and uncle's home. Could she? Recognizing his desire to interrupt, the detective put up a finger toward him. This was her turf. So, he respected it.
"No-Limit Texas Hold 'Em. Big tournament this weekend. There's a reason they moved the girls just outside of Vegas. I'm betting it's no coincidence."
"What about this Eric White?"
She stopped, exasperated. "Three days, partner. I'll be back in three days. Four tops."
This time Duncan stepped forward and ignored her glare. "It was a backdraft," he stated matter-of-factly.
They both looked at him now; Dave uncrossed his arms.
"The explosion at the casino, it was a backdraft. The same type of fire set the night Melbourne... MollyAnne Melbourne," he clarified, "tried to kill me and my aunt."
He watched as they looked at one another. Their faces said skepticism. "You don't have to believe me. I know what I saw. Translucent yellowish breeze sucking in through the crack at the bottom of the door. How do you think I knew to get the detective out?"
He watched as the skepticism was replaced with acknowledgement.
"And that would be why I'm coming with you."
She looked to him. "Duncan, I'm leaving in three hours. There is no money in this to pay for you to tag along."
Dipping his head to her, he lifted his brows. "I think I can handle the cost."
* * *
"We're not riding coach on the way home," Duncan growled as he pressed the button to recline his seat. Did it move?
The detective was so close, he felt as if she were practically on top of him, which wouldn't have been such a bad idea if his legs had anywhere to stretch.
"What do you think about the idea of Lucy Melbourne?" he said as he only partially rested his eyes.
With her tablet in hand, he eavesdropped while she updated reports and cross referenced contacts. "It could be said her only daughter is simply reacting to a life of condescending comparisons to your aunt. Said daughter is imprisoned for twenty-two of a twenty-seven year sentence, returns and needs the help of mommy to get much needed vengeance. Motive is strong. And now we know she might be physically capable and hiding that fact from the world. So, there's a possible premeditated motive."
"Brusco's not going to let this Eric White move in without a fight."
She inhaled. Her cheeks expanded as she let out the breath. "Yes, I agree. She's got someone working with her, covering for her, doing her dirty work. Or is she? Was it Brusco twenty-two years ago? Did he wait for her? Did she reject Brusco on her release from prison? Did he lose it because he waited for twenty-two years only to be rejected? It's all Brie's fault? Blah, blah, blah? One thing I do know is that when there are high emotions, people make mistakes. It will work to our benefit."
"I like how you say, 'our benefit.'"
He turned his head slightly and saw her cheeks expand again as she worked to ignore him.
"Why does the lieutenant call you 'Nick'?"
Still grinning, she shrugged. "Cops do that. We save nicknames and last names for the people we are closest to. Don't artist-tycoons do that?"
"You smell fabulous."
Her smile widened as she pecked at her keyboard. "Luscious lavender."
"Excuse me?"
"My shampoo."
Had he thought her bottom lip was too small for the top? Because they looked magnificent to him at that moment. He pulled the cocktail napkin he'd tucked in the plane's magazine pocket, unfolded the miniscule tray and started sketching.
"I have work in Vegas, some appointments. I hope you weren't counting on me twenty-four-seven."
She stopped and turned to him now. "You have appointments in Las Vegas, Nevada?"
"Two, actually. Real estate agent and the mayor."
"You have an appointment with the mayor of Las Vegas, Nevada?"
He thought it was interesting the way she tagged on the name of the state. "Yes, he wants paintings of his children in and around his estate."
"In and around the estate of the mayor of Las Vegas, Nevada. Feel free to bring me as a civilian consultant."
"Surely you had days with the well-off during your time in Maryland."
She looked at him long and hard before turning her head and typing.
"I didn't intend to upset you." He took her hand and brought it in front of him.
When she didn't pull away, he lifted a corner of his mouth. She kept shifting files with her left hand. Turning over her right, he noted she wore no jewelry that day. She kept her nails short and practical. Closing his eyes, he toyed with her wrist, memorizing the small size, her flawless skin. He ran his fingers over the center of her palm to just under the wrist. He could feel her heart beat there. And it sped.
Nickie's shoulders sat heavy on her body, melting into a puddle. With his fingers, Duncan traced circles around the inside of her palm, lightly dipping in a line to her wrist. There he used his thumb, leaving a trail of heat over an erogenous zone she didn't know she had. It all seemed so casual for him, but she was feeling anything but casual. The touch of his calloused hands drew a line down the inside of her forearm to the crook of her elbow.
She forgot about her reports, forgot about her tablet, forgot about the way her pulse must be advertising what he was doing to her. He traveled back toward her wrist and started the path all over again. She felt examined and exposed. The musical electricity sped inside her.
She had an idea what Duncan was capable of. Her feelings for him were growing, only making the desire more so. More so into a greed.
"May I get you some—oh, excuse me." Nickie opened her eyes to the stewardess. When had she closed her eyes? From the look on the woman's face, she hadn't thought Nickie was sleeping. So embarrassing.
When she got the courage to turn to Duncan, he was smiling, teeth and all. His eyes lit and a few sexy lines drew away from the deep, dark chocolate. Holy crap. Did anyone say, 'No,' to this man? This was not how she worked.
Sitting straighter in her chair, she pulled her hair behind her shoulders and adjusted her tablet. She would not bait herself and ask what he was smiling about. Looking down, she realized he still had hold of her arm. Instead of pulling back she took hold of his arm and pulled it closer. The sleeves of his shirt were rolled to just below his elbows.
"Your tattoo." It was her turn to do an examination. "It's beautiful." She dipped her head to get a closer look. Touching it lightly, she saw that it was made with different shades of black—ash, gray, charcoal. Void of color, it st
ill looked alive. Hot to the touch, dangerous, fearful, and three-dimensional. This was no corner shop tattoo artist.
She looked up to him and he wasn't smiling anymore. He looked nearly as dangerous as the fire. She didn't feel fear.
"I did it while in the Middle East."
She took another look, then lowered her brows. "You found someone in the middle of a war who could do this kind of work?" He didn't answer, but then she understood. "Oh." She felt every muscle in her face relax in astonishment. He'd done this to himself. Why did that make so much sense to her?
She smiled warmly at him and placed the palm of his hand against her cheek. She knew the significance fire had in his life. "We'll wrap this up, Duncan. We're going to find each and every person involved and put them away for good this time. We're getting closer."
* * *
Duncan had his appointment with the mayor soon. He and the detective would have part of the afternoon and evening to prepare before their first night of casing casinos. He wondered what that would involve. She carried a cello case as they headed for baggage claim. It occurred to him at that moment how out of place the cello case seemed. Nickie was extremely effective at not looking like a Maryland Monticello. Lose hair, tight pants. Big jewelry and leather boots.
"Why were you allowed to bring that on the plane?" he asked as he gestured for her to take the escalator ahead of him.
"Puh-lease." She smiled as he took her bag.
He knew better than to go for the instrument.
The first thing he spotted on the luggage carousel was his long, thin case, padded and resting awkwardly on the moving belt. His supplies and materials. He managed to carry his overnight bag and hers, both their garment bags and his supplies case. The anti-Maryland Monticello act didn't spill over into refusing chivalry.
It was nice to see her minus the detective slacks and shirts, although he recognized the way she used her shapely body and honey-wheat waves to her advantage even when in uniform. Her bar-singing attire was different and sexy, but the snug knee-length midnight blue skirt and sky blue blouse she wore that day were striking. It would have been much more enjoyable if not for the reason they were there.