Deadly Dreams

by Kylie Brant

  But the smell grew stronger and Adam melted away. Risa looked down and saw the flames shooting up her arm. There wasn’t pain but the smoke made her choke and her lungs heaved for oxygen . . .

  Her coughing woke her. Disoriented, she sat up, waited for the sleep-induced haze to clear from her mind. But the haze didn’t clear. It filled her nose and settled in her lungs and made it difficult to breathe.

  It took a moment to realize that it wasn’t part of the dream. Another to identify it as smoke.

  Risa bounded from her bed, went to her closed bedroom door. The heat emanating from the doorknob had her snatching her hand away again. She grabbed the comforter from the bed and folded it, wedging it tightly at the bottom of her door. Then she flipped on the light switch. Found it not working.

  “Mom!” Her mother would be home by now. Light was edging along the shade on the window. She’d be home and soundly asleep after working all night. Risa crawled across the bed and slapped a searching hand on the bedside table. Found nothing. With a stab of frustration she remembered that her cell was in her purse. Which was setting on a table right inside the front door.

  She lunged up from the bed and crossed the room to pound on the adjoining wall. “Mom! Wake up!”

  But though she pounded until her fist ached, her mother didn’t respond. And it wasn’t getting any easier to breathe in the room.

  Rounding the bed, she went to the window. Unlocked it and struggled to shove it open. The house was outfitted with double-hung windows, which meant only the bottom would move. It would be enough space to wiggle through. But first she had to remove the combination storm.

  Which proved more difficult than she’d imagined. The house was over fifty years old. The outside windows may not have been removed in that time. And the smoke was making it difficult for her to see. To breathe.

  Racked with coughing spasms, she ran back to the bed and pulled on the table. Then shoved it over near the window. Climbing on top of it, she kicked out one foot against the storm. Once. Twice. Again.

  It held tight. Her throat and lungs were burning. She leaned down and opened the drawer of the table. Took out the holstered weapon she’d placed there. She hadn’t unloaded it when she’d come home. Had been so exhausted it was all she could do not to fall into bed fully clothed.

  She drew the weapon with hands that shook. Nearly dropped it because of the sudden dampness on her palms.

  Then fired two shots at the base of the outside storm. And this time when she aimed a kick at the window, it flew open. Hung loosely.

  Risa lost no time replacing the safety on the weapon and squeezing through the window to drop to the ground.

  The shots fired had her neighbor tumbling from the house next door, security light blazing. “Did he come back? I’m ready this time, Risa!”

  Ordinarily the sight of the barefooted, short, burly Jerry Muller in a satin robe swinging a baseball bat would have given her pause. But she was on her knees, weapon beside her, gasping for air. “Fire!” Weakly, she pointed toward her mother’s window. “Hannah.”

  She wanted to tell him to call the fire department. Would just as soon as she could croak the words out of her smokedamaged throat. But he was already running for the house. Came back much too soon.

  In the next moment, comprehension bloomed. The folding step stool he carried was set beneath Hannah’s window. He climbed it with a surprising agility and cocked the bat like a baseball player waiting for a fast pitch. Then swung with all his might and shattered the window. Knocked out the jagged shards surrounding the sash and did the same to the inside window. And then, to her horror, he dropped the bat and hoisted himself up and attempted to squeeze through it.

  The fear that he’d get stuck had her staggering to her feet. Stumbling over. She could hear him grunting and swearing. Then he disappeared inside the room.

  Time slowed to a stop. An eternity passed. Compelled to move, Risa scrambled up the stepladder, intent on checking on Jerry’s progress. He met her at the window. Holding a limp Hannah Blanchette.

  “Help me get her through there!”

  Risa grasped her mother’s shoulders and helped thread her through the window’s opening. It was more difficult than it should have been. She was dead weight. Unresponsive. And Risa couldn’t help remembering just a few hours earlier when Adam had been the same.

  Panic fueled adrenaline. Powered strength. She hauled her mother out of Jerry’s arms and balanced her awkwardly over her shoulder as she backed down the stepladder. Hannah was nearly as tall as Risa although spare as a rod. Her height meant that her legs tangled with Risa’s as she staggered toward Jerry’s drive. Tripped. They both went sprawling.

  On her knees now, Risa rolled her mother over. Checked for a pulse. Sagged in relief when she found it thready and weak. Glancing over her shoulder she noted Jerry was squeezing through the window, his robe agape and showing much too much hair-covered skin.

  For the second time that evening she told him, “Call an ambulance.”

  Chapter 16

  “You should be in bed, too.”

  Risa winced at her mother’s smoke-roughened voice. Knew that hers sounded much the same. “Don’t talk,” she admonished her gently, and stroked Hannah’s gray hair away from her face. “That’ll just make your throat hurt worse.”

  “What happened?”

  Risa shook her head in mock impatience. But she answered honestly, “I don’t know yet. It’ll be a while before the investigators will have answers. Don’t worry about that now, Mom. It could have been anything. Faulty wiring. An appliance that shorted out.” She paused to sip from the water glass on the nearby table. Then made sure her mother took another drink from her own cup before continuing. “We won’t know the extent of the damage until I talk to the firemen.” The fire truck had arrived shortly before the ambulance had, and at the time, the house had been the last thing on Risa’s mind.

  Tears filled Hannah’s eyes. The sight squeezed Risa’s heart. “Silly.” The older woman managed. “It’s just a house. Filled with things that can be replaced.”

  “And everything will be replaced.” Risa picked up her mother’s hand to squeeze it reassuringly. Although silently she wondered how long a process that would be. There were things she’d have to see to immediately, for her mother and for herself. She could maybe have coworkers Abbie or Ramsey ship her some more clothes from her place near Manassas. But she’d need some things now. And so would her mother.

  “Look at the bright side.” She tried for a teasing tone. It still sounded raspy. “You wanted to get rid of those sketches of mine. Chances are, wherever you stashed the drawing pad, it’s destroyed, too.”

  But her mother just looked puzzled. “I didn’t have your drawing pad, dear. You keep it on your bedside table. I never understood . . .” A fit of coughing seized her then and Risa helped her sit up straighter until it passed. Then forced more water on her in its aftermath.

  “It doesn’t matter.” And it didn’t. It had been a poorly constructed attempt to get her mother’s mind off her troubles. And it had apparently worked too well because Hannah returned to the topic even after she sank back against her pillows.

  “The last time I saw it, it was on your table.” A hint of color flushed her cheeks. “I’ll admit I looked through it. We talked about that. But I know you need your privacy. Even when you were little, you insisted on it.”

  Risa remembered. Privacy had been hard to come by in her childhood, which had consisted of a long line of Hannah’s boyfriends in a series of houses. The men and the houses had seemed to deteriorate over time. And once she’d hit puberty, there’d been one man in particular that she hadn’t felt safe around. That was when she’d insisted on a lock on her bedroom door.

  But the pad hadn’t been in her room. She’d looked the next morning again before work. Frowning, Risa recalled her frustration at the time. It hadn’t fallen beneath the bed, although she’d found the pencil there. Wasn’t tossed in the closet or stuffed
in a drawer. It’d been gone.

  The only other answer would be that someone had taken it. She reached for her water again. Drank. And if it hadn’t been Hannah, she was out of answers. The house had a good security system. She’d insisted on having it installed when she’d bought the place for her mother.

  But the home was also equipped with smoke detectors.

  The memory had her hand jerking in the act of replacing the water glass on the table. She’d replaced the batteries herself just last month. In truth, there hadn’t been a lot to keep her occupied as she’d healed. Risa had checked the alarms to be sure they were in working order.

  And they had been. One might have malfunctioned. But all of them?

  A cold wash of dread spread over her. Her gaze flew guiltily to her mother’s face. Because she was suddenly certain who had started that fire.

  And why.

  Eduardo Morales gave a perfunctory knuckle rap on Nate’s door before pushing it open. “I’ve got news.”

  Stomach tightening with adrenaline, Nate glanced away from the computer screen. “Could use some good news for a change.” One look at his captain’s face had him doubting he was going to get it.

  “Risa’s mother’s house burned down last night.” Morales walked farther into the room and sank into a chair.

  Shock had Nate speechless for a moment. “Last night? Hell, she couldn’t have gotten home much before three. We left the hospital together.”

  Morales cocked a brow at that, but said only, “The call went out at about five forty-five this morning. Jett Brandau can tell you more. Apparently he contacted the fire department after he heard. He’s got a relationship with a lot of those guys. Might have some details.”

  Sometime Nate had come to his feet. He didn’t remember rising. His gut felt like it was twisted into pretzels. “Was she hurt?”

  Morales looked surprised. “What? God, no, I’m sorry. Risa’s okay. They treated and released her. Her mother is staying overnight. Apparently her smoke inhalation was worse. Or maybe because of her age. Anyway, don’t be surprised if you don’t see Risa today. Or hell.” He ran a hand through his dark hair. For the first time Nate noticed that he looked like he’d aged years in the last week. “Don’t be surprised if she shows up either. She’s the toughest woman I know.”

  Nate believed it. The only sign of vulnerability he’d ever seen in the woman was last night when she’d allowed herself to lean against him. Just a little. And her hand had remained in his, her fingers grasping tightly, until they’d been joined by the others.

  First her boss. Now her mother. She had to be going nuts. And he knew her well enough to know she wouldn’t be thinking about herself and her needs. She’d be checking on everybody else. He glanced at the clock. Nine thirty. There wasn’t a damn thing he could do for her now. Or for the rest of the day.

  Because he saw Morales looking increasingly speculative, he sank down in his chair again. Felt like a tightly coiled spring readying for release. “She didn’t need this on top of the shooting last night.”

  “Any reason to think the two things are related?” Poleaxed, Nate could only stare at the captain, who then went on. “FBI is on Raiker’s shooting. Then the house burns hours later. They’re looking at every angle.”

  “From what Risa said last night, they’re just in full coveryour-ass mode. Sounds like a massive federal screwup led to Raiker even being there last night. The assassin was shot and killed. I don’t know how burning the house down later would change anything.”

  The captain nodded, as if not expecting any differently. “Told the commissioner as much, but he directed me to ask anyway. My mind was heading in a completely different direction. Any chance this is related to the cop killings?”

  Nate blinked. The thought had never even occurred to him. “I don’t see how. Or why.” He shook his head. “It’s not widely known that Risa is helping on the investigation. Even the task force members aren’t sure of her role. She’d have to be seen as a threat of some sort in order for her to be targeted by the offender, and where would that perception come from?”

  “Maybe from within the department.” Eduardo held up a hand to stem anything Nate might have said next. “I realize you didn’t know her then, but Marisa Chandler was making quite a name for herself with the PPD before Raiker snatched her away. Others might have been familiar with her reputation.”

  Dryly, he responded, “Does that mean I need to install a few more smoke detectors, or am I to believe that my own reputation for ineptitude will be enough to save me from a similar fate?”

  The man had the grace to flush. But his voice, his expression was serious when he said, “It means be damn careful. At least until we get an idea on how that house fire started. You’re the face of the investigation.” Nate supposed that was true, if standing next to the commissioner while he gave a few sound bites to the press counted. “Someone starts watching you, they see Risa. You’ve been paired for the investigation. It’s a stretch, but given our guy’s liking for matches, what happened last night makes me uneasy enough to warn you to watch your back.”

  Nate rolled his shoulders. His house hadn’t burned down last night, but things had gone up in flames, regardless. If any of his sister’s friends knew where she was, they weren’t talking. At least not to him. He’d called the school and the babysitter this morning to let them know Tucker wouldn’t be there today. Given that he’d already pissed off Kristin’s boss and a coworker with his calls in the middle of the night, her work already had a heads-up she wouldn’t be in until further notice.

  Whether his sister still had a job left when she returned was the least of his worries. If she returned.

  Shoving the thought aside, he concentrated on the captain’s words. He needed to see Risa to assure himself that she was okay. The same way he had last night in the hospital, but this time he wasn’t going to be given that chance. And maybe that’d be okay. Especially if it allowed her to grab some sleep at her mother’s bedside. Or at Adam’s.

  “There’s more.” There was a gleam in Morales’s eye that should have warned him. The man took an envelope out of his jacket pocket. “You have the still photos IT was able to enlarge from the man in the video you found at the scene. Of the man they called Johnny.” He barely waited for Nate to nod before going on. “For the last couple days we’ve been working on trying to match those pictures to department IDs.”

  It took effort to keep his voice even. When he spoke, he realized he hadn’t quite managed it. “You’ve been working on that a couple of days?” Because this sure as hell was the first he’d been told about it.

  “You have to understand the delicacy of the situation.” There was no apology in the captain’s tone. “You identified a man in the video as a cop. Not just a cop, but one of the victims.”

  “I’ve since paired Johnny with another of the victims. He was found in a picture with Christiansen.” Because his fist had clenched, he consciously relaxed it. “There’s a damn good chance Johnny is a cop, too.”

  “Which made it all the more imperative that it be kept as quiet as possible while we made sure. Hell, can you imagine the outcry from our ranks if word got out we were looking at one of our own being involved with this?”

  He met Morales’s gaze. Held it. “I can more easily imagine the outcry in the public if the media ran with the rumor.”

  The man lifted a shoulder. “Politics play a part in our job, and it’d be useless denying it. Whether you want to believe it or not, me taking the front on this meant I served as shit deflector if it got out we were trolling our own personnel photos to ID someone who might be involved with this case.”

  Being kept in the dark still stung, but Nate had to grudgingly accept that the explanation made sense. At any rate, there was nothing to be done about it now. “And did you find a match?”

  In answer, Morales opened the envelope and withdrew several photos, arrayed them in a row. The first one Nate recognized as Johnny from the video. The ne
xt several were obviously department ID pictures. The captain tapped the final picture. “Walter Eggers. Been on the force over three decades. This is his most recent. And here’s an added note of interest—he’s the subject of an Internal Affairs investigation.”

  Nate’s interest sharpened. “Corruption?”

  “Excessive use of force.” He pushed away from the desk. “Proving corruption will be on you. You can start by getting him in here.” He stood, making no move toward the door, and Nate’s chest tightened.

  “There’s more?”

  “Cass Recker has been removed from the task force.”

  “What?” Anger flared, mingled with dread.

  The captain looked sober. “Internal Affairs doesn’t like the company she keeps. And a few days ago Donald Larson was questioned in conjunction with a burglary ring. They found a department cell phone on his person that had been issued to Recker.”

  Nate wanted to drop his head to the desktop and start banging it. His jaw tightened. “Is she implicated?”

  Morales hesitated. Then, sharing more than he probably wanted to, he said in a low voice, “Calls to another suspect in the ring came from her phone. Larson isn’t doing her any favors. Claims she must have made them. She’s been suspended with pay while the investigation is ongoing.”

  Sick at heart, Nate looked away. He’d never claim to have all the answers, but people like Kristin and Cass just never seemed to learn. You could tell them a million times they were in the path of an oncoming train, and each time they’d let it run over them and then wonder what the hell had happened.

  Morales moved to the door. “I don’t have to tell you that this is confidential.”

  “No,” Nate said bleakly. “You don’t have to tell me.” The captain went out the door after casting him one last look that was not without sympathy. When the door closed behind him, Nate scrubbed both hands over his face and then regarded the ceiling blindly. What the hell could happen next?