Fighting the Flames (Southern Heat Book 2)

by Jamie Garrett

  But now? She glanced down at the phone on the coffee table. She knew what she wanted to do.

  No, don’t do it! Don’t call Liam! He’s not your boyfriend. He’s not your lover. He’s not your husband—

  Husband. “You’re such a fucking idiot,” she muttered into the darkness.

  Meg took a deep breath, trying again to still her thoughts and calm her fears. The house still smelled smoky, the scent of charred wood nearly overpowering now. Like the smell of beef brisket roasted too long. Beneath the smoky aroma, a hint of dampness. Damp drywall, damp wood. Beneath that, she thought she caught a hint of gasoline. Her mind was playing tricks on her. The accelerant would have been burned up in the fire. She hadn’t noticed it before, so why now?

  She tried to settle back down onto the couch but sat up again. She was too damn restless. She listened for the sounds of the night. Outside a couple of crickets chirped. In the house, all she could hear was the low calming hum of the refrigerator. Thank goodness that was still working. Every once in a while there was a creak of wood settling.

  Then, from upstairs, a shuffling sound. She frowned. What the hell was that? Her heart skipped a beat as she looked toward the stairway, tilted her head, and tried to assess what it was she had heard. She remembered that the attic window was still open to the night air. Maybe a raccoon or a possum had scrambled from the trees onto the roof, then into the attic. Damn it!

  Meg sat on the edge of the couch, her head cocked and on high alert, but she didn’t hear anything else after that. Maybe the noise had just been the wind blowing leaves into the attic room and she had heard it down there. On the first floor, in the living room, sitting on the couch.

  You really are an idiot.

  She didn’t believe it for a minute. She tossed the blanket aside and half stood, one hand braced on the arm of the couch, the other looking at the stairway leading upstairs and then toward the hallway to the kitchen. Everything quiet. So why were the hairs on the back of her neck standing up on end?

  She turned to glance out the living room window without moving the curtains. There! A fleeting shadow of movement flashed across the house. Meg did a double-take, stared with narrowed eyes at the spot. Had she just imagined that? Had that movement been the night breeze moving a tree branch, dancing in the shadows of the streetlamp at the curb? She placed both hands on the back of the couch, one knee braced on a seat cushion, and leaned closer to the window, again leaving the curtains alone. It was completely dark inside. No one would see her peeking out, not that any of the neighbors were up and about—

  There it was again, near the corner of the yard where the driveway edged back toward the small garage. What the hell? Her heart leapt into her throat and her fingers clutched at the sofa cushion. There was no way she was imagining that, was she? She counted to five, her gaze darting back and forth across the front yard. No movement. Not even a breeze.

  Meg swallowed hard and ordered herself to stop being so foolish. She left the couch, her bare feet making no sound on the floorboards. She quickly crept down the hall along the base of the stairs toward the dining room and kitchen area. She knew every inch of the house and didn’t need a flashlight to light her way. She ventured into the kitchen, past the low hum of the refrigerator and stepped toward the kitchen sink, peering through the window above it. The window had old-fashioned curtains with a valence, a tie on each side of the drapes pulling them apart in a gentle scalloped design.

  The back yard was darker than the front. No lights out there. She stood at the kitchen sink, hands on the edge of the counter, leaning forward, trying to see as far she could in each direction.

  A deep shadow passed in front of the window. Not right in front of it, maybe ten or so feet away. She clapped a hand over her mouth to stifle her startled cry. Shocked, she stared wide-eyed as the shadow stopped moving. Was it a person? Could whoever or whatever was out there see her? Was she truly imagining all this? She didn’t move, maybe he—if it was a he—would think that she was a shadow if she didn’t move.

  For several seconds, the shadow remained frozen, as did she. Her heart pounded, the pulse in her neck throbbing wildly. Her fingers tightly gripped the edge of the kitchen sink. She didn’t dare move. Finally, the shadow did. One second it was there and the next it was gone.

  Fear bubbled up inside her. Was her brain making up shadows and suspicions with the aftermath of everything that happened? The recent news of Shelby’s death? Post-traumatic stress from the fire? From the idea that someone had shot at her in the woods? God, anyone would be going insane after all that. Was she just dealing with a wild and vivid imagination that expected the worst? She wasn’t sure, but she knew one thing. She didn’t want to stay in the house anymore. Not by herself. Quickly, she retraced her steps to the living room and reached for the phone on the coffee table.

  She stepped to the side of the couch, away from the window, and turned her back to mask the glow from the phone’s screen. Hopefully nobody outside would see anything as she quickly accessed the contact list and tapped on Liam’s number.

  She didn’t want to call him. Didn’t want to appear a weak-kneed female who needed rescuing. But at this moment, she wanted him there more. The phone rang once . . . twice . . . then three times.

  Oh, God. Maybe he was out on a call. Maybe he was on a date. Maybe—

  “ ’lo?”

  His voice sounded sleepy. “Liam!” she whispered. “Liam, it’s me, Meg!”

  “Meg? What’s wrong?” His voice alert now. She heard the rustling of sheets. God, he was in bed.

  “I think there’s someone moving around the house. I saw a shadow . . . first in the front yard and then in the back. I hate to ask, but could you—”

  Suddenly, a loud bang erupted in the kitchen. Startled, she nearly dropped the phone as she spun around to face the hallway. A small cry escaped her lips.

  “Meg!”

  Frozen, half hunched, reaching for the phone, she stared into the darkness of the hallway that led to the kitchen. Another bang. The sound of wood splitting. Someone was breaking into the house from the kitchen door!

  “Meg!”

  She dimly heard Liam’s voice from the phone, now laying screen up on the floor. She focused on the dim blue glow. Her ears rang and adrenaline surged through her. Fight or flight. Fight or flight? She glanced toward the front door, then toward the hallway that led to the kitchen. She heard footsteps quickly stepping down the hallway and coming toward the living room. Front door!

  She made a move for the front door but in the darkness misjudged the distance of the coffee table from the front of the couch. She slammed her knee into it.

  “Fuck!”

  Sharp pain tore through her leg, but it was instantly forgotten when she saw the shadow looming in the living room doorway. Too late!

  She screamed.

  20

  Liam

  Liam threw back the covers of his bed pulled on his pants within seconds. He paused only long enough to call 911 and send them to Meg’s house. The phone in one hand, he quickly pulled a T-shirt over his head, threaded his arms through it, then shoved his feet into a pair of tennis shoes. He grabbed his keys and was out of the apartment within sixty seconds of her disconnected phone call.

  In another few seconds he was in his SUV, pulling away from his apartment complex. His heart pounding, he gripped the steering wheel tightly and sped down the deserted streets, empty save for the dull cones of light offered by streetlamps. He could only pray that Meg was all right. His heart rate increased when he got within a block of Promise House and saw the dull glow of red and blue flashing lights.

  His mouth grew dry. What would he find when he got there? The emotions he was feeling right now; the fear, the anxiety, the dread, was more than concern for any “client.” It was more than for any friend caught up in a situation. Fuck. It had only been one day, but he was fucking falling for her. He slammed his hand against the steering wheel. Why the fuck had he left her alone? He should ha
ve insisted, no matter what the fuck she’d wanted. Damn it! If she was hurt, he’d never forgive his sorry ass.

  Growling through his clenched jaw, Liam turned onto Meg’s street.

  Two police cars were parked, grills inward, in front of her house, one blocking her driveway. A few neighbors had come out, more than likely wondering what the hell was going on in their neighborhood lately, all centered around Promise House. Seconds later Detectives Hodges and Petit emerged. All faces turned toward the shelter.

  Thank God. A police officer walked Meg down the front stairs of the house, wrapping a disposable blanket around her shoulders. He looked over, spotting Liam and nodded to him. All the breath in his lungs left in a whoosh. He jogged over and sat next to Meg on the porch steps, taking her hand in his. She barely seemed to notice. Another officer approached and stood behind Meg, thumbs hooked into his utility belt. The female officer sat beside Meg, one hand on her shoulder, speaking quietly to her.

  “Meg?”

  She looked up. Her cheeks were wet with tears. Even in the middle of the night, her features glowing eerily with the undulating police lights—her face pale, eyes wide, mouth slack in wordless horror. Without worrying about what the detectives might say, or the police standing so close to her, or even what she might think about it, Liam pulled her into his arms. The yellow blanket fell from her shoulders as she wrapped one arm around his waist, pressing her head close against his shoulder. Fuck, she was trembling. She began to speak and cry at the same time, her breath and tears warm against the skin of his neck.

  After a few moments, the tears slowed as she struggled to get her emotions under control She hiccupped and slowly turned her head to look at Hodges. Was she surprised by the gentle tone of his voice, the compassion she heard in it? He knew that Hodges had been rough on her, but as much as Liam hated to admit it, he had his reasons. Beneath his gruff exterior, however, the man was a husband and father. A good one.

  She sighed tremulously, straightened a little more, and winced. Hodges saw it and spoke to the female officer with Meg, who had also stood. “Has someone called an ambulance?”

  “Yes, it should be here any second now—”

  “I don’t need an ambulance,” Meg said at the same time.

  In the distance, Liam heard the wail of the siren.

  Liam glanced at Meg and then up at the detectives. The ambulance had arrived but had turned off its siren as it entered the neighborhood. It pulled up in front of the house.

  “Detectives, can you take her statement at the hospital? She needs to get taken care of.”

  “I don’t want to go to the hospital—”

  “You’re going.” Liam wasn’t taking no for an answer this time.

  “You go get yourself taken care of,” Hodges said. “My partner and I will take a look around inside. We’ll come and get your statement as soon as were finished, all right?”

  Meg offered a small nod.

  Liam paced up and down around a cluster of chairs in the small ER waiting space. His temper rose every time he envisioned Meg sitting on her front steps, her face bloodied, her eyes wide and terrified. What the fuck was going on? If Hodges and Petit didn’t come up with some answers soon . . .

  The sliding glass door of the emergency room swished open and he turned to watch those detectives enter the waiting room.

  “What did you find?”

  “How’s she doing?” Petit asked at the same time.

  Liam sighed. “She’s getting some stitches. What did you find?”

  “What I can only categorize as desperation,” Hodges said.

  His eyes narrowed. “What do you mean?”

  “We found footprints around the perimeter of Meg’s house.” He didn’t respond to the questioning look his partner gave him at the use of Meg’s first name. “We found something else too.”

  “What?”

  “A five-gallon plastic gasoline tank, filled to the brim.”

  Liam slowly absorbed the information. “What the hell? The bastard was going to try to burn the house down again?”

  “Appears so,” Hodges said. “Apparently Meg spotted him. He forced his way in through the kitchen door.”

  The air left his lungs as a combination of anger and fear coursed through him. “What the hell? She called me, told me that she had seen someone lurking in the front yard. I was on the phone with her when he broke in. Then the call dropped.”

  Hodges nodded. “We found her cell phone on the floor between the couch and the coffee table. She must have heard him and tried to escape through the front door. He caught up with her.” He shook his head, sighing as he glanced over Liam’s shoulder toward the other side of the wall of glass that separated the trauma bays from the waiting room. “You’re the one that called 911.”

  It wasn’t a question. “Yes.” He ran his hand over his face. “I fucking knew she shouldn’t have stayed at the house alone, but she insisted.”

  “Liam, until we get this mess figured out—”

  “What about the money in her bank account? The fifty thousand?”

  “Still tracking that down, but nothing on it yet.”

  “Do you still think one of the residents of Promise House is one of the targets? The middle east connection?”

  Hodges shook his head. “Not anymore. Aliyah Habib has left town.”

  A cold sensation ran down his spine. “You don’t think she’s dead, do you?”

  Again Hodges shook his head. “No. We did manage to access the last text message on her phone before it was turned off. She was making arrangements to get out of town, someplace in Ohio.”

  That was a relief. But what about the others?

  “Liam, you have to be patient. We’re looking into all the angles—”

  The fear left at Hodges’ comment, morphing into only anger. “And in the meantime she’s still in danger! She’s got a fucking target on her back, Hodges.”Petit interrupted. “We can put her in a safe house—”

  “To protect her against whom?” he broke in, shaking his head. “Someone is out there. How many times does someone have to try to kill her before . . .?” he swept his fingers through his hair, trying to calm his rising temper. He had to be calm when he saw Meg. “So now she’s finally being treated as a witness. But a witness against what?”

  “That’s what we’re trying to figure out, Liam.”

  He was about to respond when a door slid open and something moved behind him. He turned and saw Meg sitting in a wheelchair, wheeled toward them by a nurse. Behind them strode a doctor in a white coat. She looked a lot better than she had at the scene. The blood was cleaned off, her skin with a little color. He gave her a smile.

  “How you doing?” he asked, stepping toward her.

  “A few stitches, but other than that, she should be fine.” The doctor looked at the detectives, then at Liam. “I strongly suggest you not let her stay by herself for a day or two. I wanted her to stay in the hospital overnight so that we could observe her for a concussion, but she refused.”

  “You can’t stay at your house tonight,” Hodges told her. “We can arrange for you to stay at a safe house . . . actually, it’s a motel room—”

  “She’ll be staying with me tonight,” Liam said.

  Petit smiled. Hodges raised an eyebrow. Only Meg looked completely shocked. He offered a slight shrug as he amended his statement. “Unless you object and would rather go to a motel, but you’re not going to stay at your house tonight.”

  While he hadn’t expected her to blush so deeply, he held back a grin. Even with everything that had happened, she was embarrassed? Remembering the last time they had been alone? He caught the glance between the detectives and lifted an eyebrow with feigned innocence. “What?”Petit smiled at Liam and then glanced down at Meg. “Your choice, Meg. Safe house—motel—with me or you stay with Liam.” She paused. “Don’t worry, I won’t be offended if you choose him over me.”

  The subtle humor broke the awkward situation and Meg offered a sm
all smile. “Thank you, Detective Petit, but I think I’ll go with Liam.” She looked up at him. “But only if you’re sure.”

  He nodded. “I’m sure.”

  21

  Meg

  When was all this craziness going to be over? Meg sat quietly in the passenger seat of Liam’s SUV. Had she made the right decision? When she’d heard the banging on her door, all she’d wanted was for him to appear and sweep her into his arms. But now they were alone again, and the danger was gone, she didn’t know where to begin. Would it scare him off if he realized just how much he’d come to mean to her in such a short time?

  “You’ll be all right at my place.”

  He’d tried to reassure her about five times since she’d gotten into his car at the hospital. While she felt perfectly safe, she was still anxious. If someone was after her, which was more than painfully obvious, would her presence endanger his own safety? She was sure Liam would just scoff if she brought it up. She really did want to stay with him, and it wasn’t just because she didn’t want to stay in a motel room with Detective Petit.

  Surprisingly, Petit had brought a small gym bag to the hospital for her with a change of clothes, shoes, socks, underwear, a toothbrush, and a couple of condoms. After looking through the contents, she had looked at Petit, eyebrow lifted in question, and the woman shrugged. She had clearly packed anything she thought Meg would need.

  “I keep the bag in my trunk, with a set of spare clothes in case I get stuck on surveillance or something. I just took my clothes out and threw a few of yours in. That’s your toothbrush and hairbrush, by the way.”

  Meg appreciated the gesture, touched by the woman’s presence of mind, promising to return the gym bag as soon as possible. She refused to think about the condoms. The bag lay on the floor mat of Liam’s SUV between her feet.

  The truth of the matter was that for the first time since her divorce, and even with all the crap in the last couple of days, she was glad she’d met Liam. He was one of the good guys, and Lord knows, how often did she have a chance to meet a really good guy?