1
The noon sun beat on Jacqueline Cardew’s back as she fought the kitchen door’s jammed lock. Why did things always go wrong when she was wearing a suit and heels instead of jeans and sneakers? Knowing it would mean a dry cleaning bill, which she couldn’t afford, she smashed her hip against the faded green door.
With a snick, the catch clicked free and the door groaned inward. Jacqueline lost her balance and grabbed the doorjamb to keep from falling into her kitchen. Momentum twisted her so she ended up looking at the charred concrete block and rubble; all that remained of the research facility’s laboratory. She shivered as she stared at the sooty foundation and withered cacti, which surrounded the black memorial to the past.
Fire.
Death.
Ashes.
A breeze wafting across the desert bringing the stench of smoke; a vivid reminder of the horrible inferno, which had consumed the laboratory and her husband, Adam.
She whirled away from the sight, until cool air from the adobe’s dark interior rolled over her face. Feeling stronger, Jacqueline fled into her kitchen’s shadowed sanctuary and slammed the door against the past’s horrors. She kicked off one shoe, then the other. The navy heels clattered into the shadow of the ancient round-topped refrigerator. Jacqueline still smelled the ashes, but now the heavy sweet scent was stronger. As she headed toward the sink, something moved in her peripheral vision.
She whirled to confront it. An intricate origami crane and a plumeria flower lay in a pool of sunlight, at the center of her old Formica tabletop. She looked from the paper bird to the window, where a broken shutter created a spotlight for the bird. Her gaze darted around the dim kitchen, as she listened for any sound that would betray the intruder’s presence, and then a puff of air made the wings tremble.
Jacqueline stared at the yellow paper and tropical flower, which had no business being in her home, and shuddered. Someone had been in her home – perhaps still was in her home. Chills coursed over her; fear made her shake so hard she grabbed a chrome-backed chair for support.
She only heard her thundering heart.
Jacqueline tiptoed to the wall phone and pressed 9. The last time she’d found an origami animal and plumeria blooms on her welcome mat, the burly, crew cut officer had laughed in her face. Though her forefinger trembled over the 1, she pushed it.
Being laughed at for fearing a paper seal and wilted blossom had been humiliating, but it wasn’t as bad as finding the officer’s notes tossed into the prickly pear cacti next to her front steps. Jacqueline’s face heated at the memory.
She turned and glared at the crane’s delicate yellow wings.
For all she knew, the officer had left it and all the other whimsical shapes with their menacing messages. Jacqueline quietly put down the receiver, took a deep breath and forced her legs to move back to the table.
What would the hidden message say this time?
Another threat?
A declaration of love?
Whichever tone the note expressed, for Jacqueline, the crane and flower were omens of doom and violation. Yet in the three years she’d been receiving them, not a single person had taken her fears seriously. Jacqueline gritted her teeth and reached for the fluttering yellow wing.
“It’s only paper, it can’t hurt me. It’s only paper. It can’t hurt me,” she whispered the chant, “It’s only paper, it can’t hurt me.”
When the first note had arrived, her nerves had been reeling from her first serious quarrel with Adam. The yellow origami tulip had declared:
Burning desire.
Heat of the night.
Passion’s fire.
Give them back.
Charmed by Adam’s apology, Jacqueline forgave him, but the following morning, he’d denied writing the “foolish drivel.” Worse, he’d accused her of having a lover and gone into a rage. Still, she’d harbored the certainty that her husband was hiding a romantic streak.
Jacqueline knew she’d never grow beyond five foot two. Her hair would always be ash brown, and her eyes would always be the gray-blue of a stormy sky, and corpses did not send flowers much less hide messages in origami.
Paper wings pulsed beneath her fingers in a silent demand to be opened. Fingers trembling, she unfolded the legal paper until she could read the blood-red ink.
Scorching strand.
Inferno of infatuation
Inferno of endearment
Inferno of desire
Inferno of love
Inferno of passion
Inferno of ardor
Inferno of delight
Passion’s Fire
...all mine.
You won’t bring them to me.
I’ll take them.
When she covered her mouth to stifle the welling scream, the paper fluttered to the floor.
Who kept writing these notes?
Did the brawny police officer get his jollies from terrorizing strangers?
With Adam dead and only wildlife for miles, who else could it be?
She rushed to the door, secured the deadlock, and then leaned against the aged timber, finding comfort in the wood’s gentle warmth. Glaring at the table, she noticed the shaft of light now spotlighted her pepper mill.
How quickly the light moved.
Yet the crane had been at the center. A distant squeak made her gasp. Had she just locked herself in with a lunatic?
Heart pounding so hard her ribs ached, she darted across the cracked linoleum, grabbed a butcher knife, then, blade poised to slash, Jacqueline tiptoed down the narrow, dark hallway whispering, “...though I walk through the shadow of death, I will fear no evil, for thou art with me.” Unable to recall the rest of the passage, she repeated it, but as she approached the doorway to her bedroom, the sound came again. Louder this time.
Taking a deep breath, Jacqueline burst into the room, knife at the ready, looking for her harasser.
Squeeeeak.
The faded pink curtain billowed into the room. She whirled. Squeee- the wooden ring moaned against the pine rod. Then, as if exhaling, the bulge receded. Eeeak.
Squeee- faded fabric swelled into the room, again.
It had never moved before.
Jacqueline’s fingers tightened on the knife’s shaft as she inched forward. Whipping the bulging fabric aside, she slashed downward. The blade sliced through hot glaring light and arid desert air spilling through the open window, and then its tip embedded into the once-white enamel sill. “What the— ” She gawked at the window frame, where layers of paint had been sliced and gouged.
In the distance, a motor gunned. Knuckles white around the knife’s shaft, Jacqueline yanked the blade from the dry wood. She squinted past the mesquite hedge. An old blue pickup truck fishtailed onto the dirt road, trailing a plume of billowing dust.
Jacqueline slammed the window shut and locked it.
Knees shaking, she sat on her bed and wondered if the police officer drove a truck. She told herself the man deserved the benefit of doubt, but aside from Adam, who was dead, the officer was the only person she could think of who had exhibited any sort of malice toward her. Lately, the news had been rife with accounts of police officers committing crimes and firemen turned arsonist. How accurate were the reports that listed the lab’s destruction as an arson-suicide?
Adam would never have killed himself. Nor would he have destroyed their project.
Had her stalker lit the match?
With a shiver, Jacqueline pushed her long hair out of her face. Drastic measures were needed.
2
Link Gavallan squared his broad shoulders, straightening his spine to his full six-foot-two, and opened the door to his office. Mavis looked up from a stack of mail. Her piercing gray-blue eyes matched the color of the Va
ldez sky outside the window and her hair matched the snowy clouds. She rose, a lethal-looking letter opener gripped in her raised hand. He’d seen a slight shift in her grip send that replica antique Celtic sword hurtling at impudent roustabouts and pin their hats to the wall.
Drops of perspiration trickled down Link’s spine, just like they had when Mother Superior had caught his six-year-old self reading a Playboy at recess.
Mavis’ militaristic posture defied her petite stature. Her gaze never wavered, though the corners of her mouth turned up. “So, you finally decided to do some work.” Had that been warmth in her tone?
Doubtful.
Link had never felt like Mavis’ employer. “Good morning, Mavis. How’ve you been?”
She sat down, “Fine, except for this infernal contraption of Mr. Bell’s.” She stabbed the telephone with her letter opener. As if in pain, it shrilled. Mavis jabbed it a second time, then put down the miniature blade and grabbed the receiver. “Linkstone.” Her forehead furrowed as she listened. “I’ll call you back.” Mavis slammed the receiver down and turned her full attention on him. “You owe me.”
“That’s right.”
Mavis raised an elegant white brow. “I didn’t think you’d admit it.” The corners of her dainty mouth turned up, but her wintery blue eyes remained frosty. “Did you do it on purpose?”
He shook his head.
“That’s the second time this month.” She picked up her letter opener and twirled it between her fingers. The blade flashed round and round in a mesmerizing whirl. Link swallowed. “Are you still going fishing?”
He nodded.
She actually smiled. “And you’re taking your sister and her beau?” The blade flashed faster. He nodded, again. Her smile widened. His stomach churned. From what Carmen had said about Phillip, he seemed like an unlikely candidate for a wilderness camping trip. “Plus Tempest. That means you’ll be taking two canoes.”
The satisfaction in Mavis’s tone was giving him an ulcer. Worse, he felt like a dashboard Madonna.
Mavis’s smile could have belonged to the Cheshire cat. “Therefore, you have room for one more.” In the entire decade he’d known her, he’d never seen her look so pleased. Why? Surely she didn’t want to join his trip. He imagined Mavis canoeing down an icy Arctic river, making his life a living hell for two weeks. Link’s stomach rolled. What with his sister’s intended, his partner’s step-kid and now Mavis, this was sounding less like a vacation every minute.
He’d need a vacation after this vacation, assuming he survived it.
Mavis settled back in her burgundy leather chair, the picture of a contented woman. “My granddaughter will be arriving from Arizona tomorrow. I want you to take her with you.”
Link blinked. Mavis had a family? She had worked for Linkstone since they opened a decade earlier, and her expertise accounted for much of Linkstone’s success, yet this was the first he’d ever heard of a family. Of course, until last week, when Carmen’s phone call had begun the destruction of his vacation, he’d never mentioned his sister to Mavis, either. He cleared his throat. “You have a granddaughter?”
“Jacqueline.” Mavis proudly thrust the photo of a young girl at him. “She’s en route here as we speak.”
He examined the small oval face, which was dominated by thick glasses, a mouth full of metal, all topped by a wild mop of brown hair. “Nice looking kid,” Link lied as he returned the photo.
“This was taken a while back.” Mavis caressed the air above the image. He’d never seen such a tender look on her face.
“The Sheenjek isn’t a safe river, especially when the person doesn’t know how to survive in the wilderness.”
“Jacqueline will be fine and she needs to get away from … things.”
Link squinted at the photo. The kid looked younger than Tempest. Worse, Mavis, who could handle anyone wanted to be rid of the kid as soon as she arrived.
“You will take her.” The wintry gaze chilled him.
It seemed like Mavis, Carmen, Stone and Ariel were conspiring to turn his vacation into a survival expedition for troubled teens and mis-placed nerds. Ariel and Stone had told him that Tempest had been packing for a week and she still wasn’t ready. Link grasped the possible reprieve. “If she can get her camping gear ready by the time I head back for Fairbanks tomorrow, I’ll take her.”
Mavis' smile was radiant. “You won’t regret it.”
Wrong - he already did.
~0~
Jacqueline purchased a bag of chips, a can of cola, and a pair of binoculars, and then dodged vacationers clustered around the tables of rustic souvenirs and headed out of the tourist trap. Pausing on the porch, she inhaled the clean, thin air of the Rocky Mountains. Grateful to be out of the overcrowded log structure, she leaned against a totem pole, which resembled a parrot more than a native American carved eagle as it supported the porch’s tin roof. Moving cautiously, she peered past the bird’s lime colored wing and studied her mud covered Jeep Cherokee, which was barely visible behind the row of stately pines.
No one was near it.
Her spine relaxed against the bird’s crimson talons and she sipped her drink while admiring The Rocky Mountain’s snowcapped peaks which gleamed above the pines. Her gaze wandered downward to the boughs caressing the ground as they cloaked the lower slope and perfumed the air with their fresh scent. Best of all, the boughs hid her Jeep from the road and her stalker.
A pair of tourists left the trading post, the woman preening in her new moose ball necklace while the man ushered the woman toward a mud-spattered sedan as if she were wearing the crown jewels. The sight of someone proudly wearing varnished moose feces choked her. Eyes watering, Jacqueline watched the pair leave. Beyond them, a distant flash of familiar blue made her forget to breathe.
She adjusted the binoculars, impatient for the first glimpse of her stalker. There was long blond hair streaming out the old pickup truck’s window, where it whipped in the wind, hiding all features. Her jaw tensed as she tracked the truck’s progress toward the store. When the muddy vehicle turned into the Trading Post’s graveled parking area, she slipped behind the bird totem. The old truck pulled into a spot next to a Winnebago. After a final chug, its engine became silent. A moment later, the door creaked open.
Jacqueline pressed against the bright blue tail and held her breath. The soft pitter-patter of footsteps approached. Thunk, a foot hit the first step. Thuckity-thunk-squeak. He was on the porch.
Now or never.
Jacqueline’s legs wouldn’t move.
Hinges squeaked as the door opened. “Hey, Cody. What’s doing?”
“Nu’tin much,” said a voice from inside. “How’z it wit you’n Lenny?”
Embarrassment heated Jacqueline’s neck. She must be totally paranoid to believe anyone would pursue her more than four thousand miles. Jacqueline leaped off the porch, jogged to her filthy Jeep, vaulted in and slammed the door. When Jacqueline leaned forward to start the engine, she glanced in the rearview mirror and saw a shaggily bearded face peering around the Trading Post. In a blink, the face vanished.
She craned around, but there was no one. She shook her head, amazed at the lengths her imagination took. Then she saw a tiny yellow origami sailboat lying on the passenger seat.
3
Link glanced at the small, sullen female he’d picked up at Mavis’ home. She hugged the passenger door and looked out the rear window every other second. Her body language made him think her camouflage cap and jacket were more armor than fashion. He gritted his teeth and drove toward the airport. What had Mavis told her about him to make her so hostile? Her tension grew until it permeated the Dodge Ram’s cab and her ponytail bristled. Ms. Jacqueline Cardew acted like he was Jack the Ripper incarnate.
Link pointed toward the glistening white expanse on the right and kept his tone calm. “That’s Chugach.” Jacqueline ignored him, her mirrored sunglasses remaining on the traffic behind them.
And he’d thought Tempest had imposs
ible days.
Link glanced at the rearview mirror. A quarter mile back, a shiny black sedan bobbed over the centerline, looking for an opportunity to pass a rusty Volkswagen. Father back, an old blue pickup kept a sedate pace.
Normal traffic.
Why did he make Jacqueline uncomfortable? Why did she distrust him, or did she distrust all men?
“Can I ask you something?” she asked. He nodded. “Why are you taking me on this trip?” Her antagonistic tone confirmed his worst suspicions.
“Do you have a problem with me?” Link kept his attention on the road and tried to sound relaxed.
“I don’t know anything about you, and frankly, I like it that way.” She pulled her mirrored glasses halfway down her nose and peered over them. Her eyes were the same shade of hostile blue as Mavis’ eyes. “I came to see Grandma and to find a job, not to go camping. Grandma forced me to come with you.” Jacqueline jabbed her index finger toward a seedy motel. “Pull in there and drop me off.”
Mavis would have his guts for garters if he left her grandchild at the sleaziest pickup joint in Valdez. He shook his head. Jacqueline yanked the steering wheel to the right. The front tire dropped off the pavement. Link slapped her hand, slowed and merged back onto the road.
“Take me there.” She balled her fists.
He tensed for a strike. “No.”
She looked out the back window. The fight evaporated and her expression turned to defeat. “I don’t have time for camping.” No wonder Mavis figured taking the kid along was adequate payback. Still, if something happened to her granddaughter, Mavis would spend the next decade inventing new and ever worse forms of torture.
“Don’t worry, I’ll show up at Grandma’s front door when you’re supposed to be back and regale her with tales of wonder and excitement.”
“Don’t you understand the word no?”
Her lips thinned. “Grandma told me you usually camp alone.”
“So?”
“Leaving me here gets you off the hook.”
Passion's Fire Page 1