by Mina Khan
Fortunately Jen came up with an answer while her brain still scrambled. “Bus. I picked her up at the bus station.”
“Well, you weren’t kidding about late then.” He chuckled. “That last bus comes in close to midnight.”
“Try closer to one,” Jen said.
This time she didn’t need any prodding. Lynn beat Jen to the door and held it open.
Once the door shut behind them, Lynn grinned. “We still tag team pretty well,” she whispered.
“Of course.” Jen waggled her dark brows. “The grand adventures of Mizz Loca Latina and the Wasabi Shrimp continue.”
“I always hated that Shrimp bit.”
“Hey, life made you short.” Jen grabbed Lynn’s arm and pulled her down a dimly-lit hallway.
They emerged into a cheerful little kitchen, with sunny yellow walls, apple green cabinets and scuffed, but clean, cream-colored linoleum floor. A riot of painted butterflies, sunflowers and leaves ran rampant across the top of the walls. The pattern repeated itself on the wooden kitchen table and chairs.
A familiar jealousy tip-toed across Lynn’s heart. Oh well, some people were born artists and others turned into fire-breathing beasts. She dropped into the nearest chair and pillowed her head on her arms. “Is Anderson anal enough to check out bus schedules?”
Jen shrugged while rummaging through her cupboards. “If he does, he’ll find out I’m right.”
“So now you’re an artist and a know-it-all?”
“That’d be O Great Know-It-All to you.” Jen switched on the coffee-maker. “Nah, mom wants to visit and dad can’t get time off work. So I just checked on the buses.”
“What if he checks the passenger list?”
“I don’t think he seriously considers you a suspect, he just gives people the third-degree automatically.”
Lynn shivered. “Anderson is like a Rottweiler or something.”
“Don’t take it personally. It’s a small town and they tend to be suspicious of strangers.” Jen plunked down a tray with bread, peanut butter, jelly and plates on the table. “Your smartass reply didn’t help matters. Ever try being tactful?”
An eye-roll seemed appropriate. “I’m not here to make new friends.”
Jen glanced down at the tray. “Darn, I forgot the knives.” She sauntered back toward the cabinets, but the rigidity of her shoulders betrayed tension. “So what are you doing here?”
“Just wanted to see you.”
“Uh-huh, in the middle of the night when there’s a fire at my front door.” She jerked open a drawer and searched through it. The clatter of metal cutlery filled the silence between them. After she snagged two dinner knives, Jen hip-bumped the drawer close. “How long are you here for?”
“As long as you want me around.” Lynn scraped her chair back and stood. Telling Jen about her messed up life could wait.
“So you remembered me tonight, after almost a year of hardly any emails or phone calls, you just chose to fly rather than drive, then there just happened to be a fire. All coincidences, right?” Jen sighed as she placed the knives on the table and pulled out a chair for herself. “Let’s try this again without the BS.”
“If you’d answered your phone, I wouldn’t have had to fly down.”
“Darn, I must have left my phone in the car again,” Jen said, shaking her head. “And you’re avoiding my question.”
Friends since kindergarten, the woman knew her too well. Lynn glanced away from Jen’s dark, questioning eyes and looked at the sunrise framed in the window. “I-I had a dream. A vision. Whatever.” She shrugged. “I just had this bad feeling and wanted to make sure you were okay.”
Jen’s shoulders relaxed, dropped lower. "Thanks. I appreciate that.”
Lynn glanced away toward the back door, paced back and forth. The dragon inside twisted and turned, unsettled. “I should be out there investigating the fire. Helping.”
A rude snort greeted her words. “You seriously think Anderson and the others will let you, an untrained civilian, get close to the scene?”
Lynn folded her arms and glared at her sandwich-making friend. “I could teach them a thing or two about fire.”
“Yeah well, they don’t know that and I think you’d like to keep it that way.” Jen nudged the clean knife forward. “You want to help? Grab a knife and get to work.”
Swallowing her irritation, Lynn dropped into the nearest chair and picked up the knife. If Jen wanted sandwiches, she’d get sandwiches. She slapped and spread the peanut butter and jelly onto two different pieces of bread, pressed them together and then cut the sandwiches into four triangles. The first one was a mess.
“It’s good to see you and yes I do want you to stick around,” Jen reached over and tapped her left bicep. “You look leaner and meaner. Nice muscles.”
“Thanks, I’ve been working out.” Too many sleepless nights spent exercising.
“Are you still working at the PR firm?”
“Nope, I’m writing the Great American Novel.” Writing had always been her thing. But it had changed after Obaa-chan’s death. Instead of flowing out smooth and playful like a word stream, it came in jagged bursts that left her hurting. She couldn’t form the words into neat, pretty sentences or clever, catchy jingles any more. Now the words pushed and shoved out of her. And truth always showed through, raw and naked.
Lynn looked down at her sandwich and shook her head. “I-I couldn’t continue working there after Rob and I broke up. But thanks to Obaa-chan I don’t have to worry about money.”
“So what happened with Rob and the engagement? All I got was a mass email four months ago saying the wedding was off.”
The knife clenched in one hand, Lynn looked her friend square in the face. She didn’t want to talk about her ex. “Why are you interrogating me?”
“Well, maybe if you’d kept in better touch I wouldn’t have to.” Anger and hurt flashed in Jen’s eyes.
Lynn ducked her head. She seemed to have a special talent for pissing people off, especially the ones who cared about her. “I’m sorry. I haven’t been a very good friend.”
Jen leaned forward and placed a hand on her left arm. “You’re here, aren’t you? I just want to know you’re okay.”
Tears burned Lynn’s eyes as she managed a nod.
A staccato burst of knocks interrupted. Lynn whipped around ready to leap from the chair as Jen yelled “Come on in!”
Anderson and a red-faced man crowded into the kitchen. Both looked sweaty and grim. They nodded a greeting and headed for the coffee maker. Again the tell-tale trace of dragon musk tickled Lynn’s nose, made her grip the edge of her chair. She eyed the newcomers. In silence the men selected mugs from the choices Jen had set out. Anderson grabbed the pot and poured. They carried their cups over to the kitchen table and claimed the two empty chairs. Behind them, pink, orange and gold clouds streaked the sky, reminding her of the fire.
Jen smiled at the younger man. “This is Dan Roberts, Tom Green County Sheriff and volunteer fire chief for Paradise Valley. My friend Lynn.”
Anderson took off his hat and placed it on the table. Roberts stuck out his hand. His slow grin transformed his homely face into comfortable. “The man with too many hats at your service.”
Lynn met his gaze. Weariness. His hand engulfed hers for a brief, warm shake. No sparks or anything out of the ordinary.
“So any ideas what caused the fire?” Jen shoved the plate of sandwiches toward them.
The two men exchanged looks, Anderson leaned forward.
“A cigarette butt.”
What? Lynn sat up straight. Not a dragon, but something so ordinary? “How do you know that?”
“The fire spread in a wide arc and left a charred trail. We just followed it to the point of origin.” He bit into his sandwich.
“Given how dry it’s been, it could have been worse, a lot worse,” Roberts said. He took a drink. “But the wind must’ve changed and forced the fire around. Moved it away from the house and killed
the momentum.”
Anderson nodded. “I thought I heard thunder earlier.” He gazed out the window and searched the bright morning sky. “Maybe, we’ll get some rain.”
Lynn grabbed another slice of bread. Her hand shook. She needed to get the conversation back on track. “Where did the cigarette come from?”
Roberts shrugged. “A vagrant might have camped out by the fields and got careless with his smokes. We found some footprints in the dirt.” He nodded toward Lynn. “Besides yours.”
She plunged her knife into the peanut butter and focused on the work at hand.
“I have been seeing more homeless people around.” Jen’s brows scrunched up. “But they usually hang around in San Angelo, in areas with more traffic.”
“Well, that’s the more benign version.” Anderson set down his half-eaten sandwich.
Lynn swallowed past the knot of cold fear in her throat as she turned to stare at the fire investigator.
Anderson continued, “Someone might have set the fire on purpose.”
The knot unraveled and plummeted to her stomach. Had her friend made an enemy? She couldn’t imagine anyone not liking Jen, but things happened. “So which do you think it is?”
Blue eyes locked onto her, studied her. “We are still investigating.” Anderson brought the mug almost to his lips. “Did you see anything when you ran outside?”
Lynn shook her head. “No, just the fire.” That might not be the complete truth, but it wasn’t a lie. She hadn’t seen anything.
He took a sip of his drink.
Roberts cleared his throat. “Jen, I have to ask, have you ticked anybody off? Or noticed somebody hanging around?”
“No and no.” Her voice trembled at the edge of tears. “If I did, I didn’t do it intentionally and I don’t have a clue about who, why, where and when.”
Lynn patted Jen’s shoulder and glared at Roberts, who turned pink and focused on his cup.
The door swung open and weary firefighters trudged in one after another. Soon the kitchen hummed with talk of weather and fire, shuffle of feet, and the soft clatter of spoons and cups. Through it all, the smell of dragon musk grew and thickened. Lynn’s nose itched with every breath as if she’d left behind the cozy kitchen and strolled into a smoky bar. What the hell? Was her nose going crazy too?
Anderson sprawled back in his chair, nodding at people. His gaze traveled around the room. “So where’s Jack Callaghan then?”
Roberts’ eyes widened. He twisted around to scan the room. “I-I didn’t realize he was missing.” He lurched to his feet. “Anyone seen Callaghan this morning?”
Jen’s gaze flickered from face to face as heads shook in the negative and murmured “No’s” poured out. Anderson and Roberts exchanged a tense look.
A loud burst of beeps and the crackling of radio static interrupted them. Lynn almost dropped her coffee mug. She set it down on the table and opened her mouth to ask questions. But snapped it shut as Jen held up a finger for silence.
An electric quiet gripped the kitchen. A spike in the muskiness almost had her reeling. Lynn gritted her teeth and held onto her sanity. Someone in here had to be the dragon. Her gaze ricocheted from face to face. All eyes stayed glued to a little black radio on the far counter. People leaned forward, listening.
“Paradise Valley and Water Valley Volunteer Fire Departments responding,” a voice blared from the radio. “Structure fire at 3016 Wren Road. Crosses Aspen Lane and Pine Road, county map coordinates L and 4, section 18. All volunteers please respond.”
“I’m so damn sick of all these fires,” a man said, setting his mug down next to the sink.
The hair on the nape of Lynn’s neck stood at attention. All these fires? How many had there been? She watched as firefighters abandoned their mugs and sprinted out the back door. Within minutes the kitchen had emptied.
Jen rushed about gathering bottled water, cookies, towels, some blankets, and a first-aid kit. She threw them all into a wheeled cooler.
“Where are you going?”
“There’s a fire at the Jarvis house and our volunteer fire department is going to it,” she said. “So, I have to go. You can come along or stay and take a nap.”
“You’re a firefighter?” Lynn hurried out the kitchen door after her friend. Excitement skittered through her. Maybe she’d find something concrete at the scene of this new fire.
“No, I’m the fire department’s treasurer.”
“Treasurers help fight fires?” Lynn arched an eyebrow. “In their pajamas?”
Jen looked down at herself and laughed. “Ah…no and no. Could you load up? And you might want to put on shoes.” She disappeared down the hallway.
Lynn finished loading the car and buckled herself in. She drummed her fingers and counted backwards from a hundred. Both she and the dragon chaffed at being forced to wait and to use a vehicle.
On sixty-six, the door opened and Jen slid into the driver’s seat. “I essentially stay out of the firefighters’ way. Everyone turns up to help however they can.” She took a deep breath and started the old station wagon. “I’m usually on the sidelines if the firefighters need water to drink, the victims need comforting or, God forbid, if somebody needs first aid.”
“Do you know the people whose house is on fire?”
“Like I said, this is small place.”
“Okay, I get it— small community. Everyone knows everybody, everyone helps everyone.” Lynn leaned her head back against the seat. “Just don’t start singing Kumbaya.”
Jen cut her a glare.
“So, who’s Jack Callaghan?”
Her friend’s knuckles blanched on the steering wheel. “He’s my landlord and my nearest neighbor.”
“How come he didn’t show up at your fire?” She angled her head toward Jen. “That wasn’t very neighborly of him.”
“Being a neighbor here doesn’t mean right next door, he’s about two miles away.” Jen’s face darkened, grew pinched. “But he’s part of the volunteer fire department and he should have been here. I hope he’s okay.”
God, Jen was such a softie. Where most people would run away from an injured bull, she’d try to help it. And yes, where most people would have panicked and fled from a dragon shifter, or attacked, she became BFF. “You know him well?”
“Pretty well,” Jen said. “Jack’s one of the nicest guys I’ve ever met. He is gentlemanly, straight forward, and big brotherly.”
“Hmm, full of praises aren’t we? Do I sense a spark of interest here?”
The car almost swerved off the road.
“Let me repeat myself: big brotherly,’” Jen scowled. “He’s a good friend though.”
Lynn righted herself in the seat and looked around. “Holy Wasabi.”
The dry, brown West Texas countryside turned uglier with swaths of charred pasture on both sides of the road. Blackened trees stood silent witness. Soon the stink of smoke seeped into the car despite the closed windows. Her blood tingled and a thought resurfaced. “How many fires have there been?”
“The Jarvis fire will be the fourth one this month.” Jen’s lips tightened into a thin line.
Too many. And these last two were too close. Lynn stiffened as a twinge of intuition hardened inside her. She hadn’t seen anything, but she’d definitely sensed something. Smelled him. While her other faculties might be backfiring, she trusted her nose. Or had until now.
“Do you think….” She paused and rubbed her chin. “Do you think it’s something like me?”
“A dragon? But that’s not possible.”
“You know better.” Jen knew all her secrets.
“But…but I haven’t seen any Japanese or half-Japanese around here,” Jen said. “To be a descendant of the Dragon king’s daughter, don’t you have to be somewhat Japanese at least?”
As young girls, they loved hearing Obaa-chan tell the story of Kiyohime, a daughter of Riyojin, the dragon lord of the sea. She fell in love with a human and approached him as a beautiful teaho
use waitress. After a brief affair, he spurned her. In her grief she turned into a dragon and killed him.
Lynn sighed as a dull ache pulsed at her temples. The story of a grief-stricken dragon losing control seemed too close to her reality. “Jen, dragon myths exist in all cultures. I don’t think all shape-shifters have to be twenty-five-year-old Japanese-American females with a black belt in karate and a taste for sushi. There could be a gun-slinging Texas cowboy version.”
“But I thought you are all supposed to be guardians of the world?”
Nerves slipped and slid around inside her. “Yes, at least those of Japanese origin are supposed to be. As punishment, Riyojin forbade Kiyohime to ever set foot on land and said that her descendants would all be guardians.” Lynn kneaded her forehead. “However, there have always been rogue dragons, those who misuse their power. That’s where most of those dragon-slaying stories come from.”
“Madre de Dios,” Jen whispered.
“Of course, the fire-starter could be nothing more than an ordinary human who got careless like the sheriff said,” Lynn put in. “Given my history, dragons pop into my head way too easily.” But not this time. Not when her senses were overloading with dragon musk.
“I left Houston so I could paint in peace and quiet. Now this…” Jen ended on a sob. “Whatever or whoever this person is, I want him stopped.”
The dragon slithered in Lynn’s belly. She reached over and clasped Jen’s hand. Whether human or dragon, the arsonist was going down. She wouldn’t lose another person she loved.
When they reached the fire, Jen maneuvered the car between two fire trucks, parked and jumped out. Lynn shadowed her. Firefighters, dressed in yellow, milled about pulling hoses and shouting orders. Flames leapt out of windows, even as three steady streams of water doused the tiny wood-frame house.
Black smoke choked the air. Her dragon swirled inside her. She lifted her face to the sky and sniffed. The acrid tang of fire laced with a musky scent. The first whiff sucker punched her. Robbed her of breath. Of thought. Desire shot through her veins making her knees buckle. Male dragon pheromones. Must be a powerful one given her reaction.