A Flame in the Wind of Death

by Ann Vanderlaan

  “He was a good cop, and he was clean. Someone is trying to frame him for this.” She looked back down at the list. “But whoever sent this may have just tipped his or her hand.”

  “How?”

  “Because you can’t just ask a cell carrier for this kind of information. You have to subpoena it. That not only limits the number of people who can request it, it also leaves a paper trail.” She smiled as she met his eyes, some of the weight in her chest falling away. “We’ve got our first lead.”

  Matt grinned at her. “Hot damn. Besides looking into the subpoena, you’ll trace that highlighted number?”

  “Absolutely. We’ll also check for fingerprints and you can run DNA again.”

  “You have to know that whoever is sending you this material isn’t going to be pointing you in a direction other than your father’s guilt. You know if you stir this up, it might end up sullying his name.”

  “Clearly that’s what someone wants. So my job is to find out the real truth—” She threw a splayed hand out over the table. “—because this isn’t it. For starters, I don’t even know if this log is real. It could be mocked up, based on a real copy of his records. My guess is that the highlighted number will come back connected to someone in that last case he was running. It will have something to do with those deaths. But until we know what story they’re trying to sell us, we can’t uncover the real truth. So that’s where we start.” She bent over the table and repacked the envelope, sealing it an evidence bag before discarding her gloves. “By the way, I heard from Father Thomas today. He found a longtime parishioner of Saint Patrick’s to talk to me about Father Brian. I’m going to see her first thing tomorrow morning. Apparently she’s ninety years old, sharp as a tack and the church busybody. And she’s been a member of the church long enough to predate Father Brian.”

  “She’s going to be useful, then.”

  “I think so. And next on my list for our case today is running through the companies that sent reports on red phosphorus sales. Time to start narrowing down the possibilities there.” She turned to him, stepping into him to wrap her arms around his waist. “Thank you for coming all the way up here to do this with me.”

  Reaching up a hand, he brushed the back of his fingers against her cheek. “I’m happy to do it.”

  She pushed up on tiptoe, closing the few inches between them to press her mouth to his. She started to drop back down again, but he caught her waist in his hands, holding her still. The color morphed in his eyes, warm hazel-green shifting to a deeper gold.

  She knew that look.

  She had only a second to reflect on it before she was pressed against his chest, her lips under his again. His mouth was greedy, drinking her in even as his hands slid up her torso to stop just below her breasts. His fingers twitched against her, as if he was struggling with himself to not to push her further.

  We’ve both been dancing around each other for long enough. Maybe it’s time to stop.

  As if to test him, she slipped her left hand under the edge of his shirt to run her fingers over the puckered skin at his side, waiting for him to hesitate under her touch. He simply pulled her in closer, his tongue slipping over her bottom lip to slide slickly against hers.

  Definitely time.

  She stepped back from him, a small smile curving her lips when he moved to follow her, reluctant to break contact. She wedged her hands between them and pushed him back a couple of inches. His eyes stayed on hers, intense and watchful. Then they dropped as she held out her hand to him.

  A single eyebrow arched, his gaze flicked from her hand to her eyes. “What’s this?”

  “You know what it is. Come upstairs with me.”

  His eyes darkened further, desire warring with responsibility. “What about the reports you wanted to read?”

  “I can print out the lists here and work on them later tonight. I work a lot of overtime, so I can take an hour—” Her warm gaze dropped from his eyes, down over his chest. After a leisurely moment, they skimmed back up to his face again. “—or two off the clock. Then maybe you could help me catch up afterward.”

  A slow grin curved his lips.

  He took her hand and let her lead him up the staircase, into the dimness above.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR: HESSIAN CRUCIBLE

  * * *

  Hessian Crucible: an alchemist’s pot that could withstand the feverish heating and stirring required to transmute base elements into gold.

  Monday, 5:56 p.m.

  Abbott Residence

  Salem, Massachusetts

  Leigh pushed open the door and led Matt into her quiet bedroom, their fingers still entwined.

  She turned to him, reaching up to slide her fingers into his hair, guiding his mouth down to hers for a soft, slow kiss. Their earlier urgency in the kitchen was gone now, replaced with the need to explore. Wrapping one hand around his neck to pull him closer, her other hand slipped under his shirt. Her fingertips whispered over his skin, the low groan in the back of his throat encouraging her. Her hand swept higher, but his shirt quickly frustrated her exploration, hampering her movements. She stepped back, pulling out of his arms to grasp the bottom of his shirt and slowly draw it off.

  She turned back to him, giving a hum of appreciation. Stretching up on her toes, she looped one hand over his shoulder as she ran the tip of her tongue from the hollow of his throat nearly to his jaw, smiling against his skin when his body jerked in response. She pressed her face to the hollow of this throat to inhale the scent she now associated only with Matt—the spice of sandalwood, overlaid with hints of citrus. A shudder ran through her, followed by a flood of warmth. “God, you smell good. Right from the start, I always noticed that.” Her voice was muffled against his skin.

  Matt gave a choked laugh. “I had no idea it was such a turn-on for you.”

  “Oh, yeah.”

  He tugged impatiently at her blouse and Leigh reluctantly looked up. “Don’t get me wrong. I love what you’re doing, but you’re killing me here.” He tugged again. “Off.”

  She lifted his hands to the button of her blouse, silently giving permission. He immediately went to work, spreading the material wide to slide it off her shoulders and to the floor as he looked his fill. Reaching out, he ran the back of his fingers over the side of one lace-covered breast, his gaze flicking to her face at her involuntary shiver. Then his hands slid to her waist, holding her still as he dropped his head, his lips just skimming the scalloped edge of her bra.

  The softness of his lips contrasting against the slight roughness of the calluses on the hands sliding up her torso was intoxicating. His tongue slipped under the edge of the material, lightly teasing as she instinctively arched her back. Supporting her with one hand, his free hand rose to cover her other breast, his thumb gently stroking her nipple though the silky fabric. Her breath caught raggedly and her hands closed over his biceps. She was grateful for the support a moment later, holding on tightly when his teeth gently raked over the nipple through the fabric as her knees went weak.

  Then his hands were gone, skimming down her body to her waistband. His fingers made quick work of her button and zipper, darting beneath the material to push it down to pool at her feet. She gazed at him in surprise when he dropped to his knees to help her step out of her clothes.

  Kneeling at her feet, his gaze slowly traveled up her body. Then he pressed an openmouthed kiss gently to her hip as his fingers stroked lightly up the back of her legs. Her eyes slid closed and she dropped one hand into his hair with a gentle sigh.

  That simple touch broke his control. He surged to his feet, his hands at her hips, boosting her up into his arms. Suddenly off balance, her legs instinctively wound around his waist even as her arms locked around his neck, holding on as he carried her to the wrought-iron four-poster bed under the open window. Bracing one knee on the mattress, he lowered her down, following her onto the bed. Then his body was on hers, cradled between her thighs as his mouth covered hers. There was nothing slow or
tentative about this kiss—it was wet and frantic and full of heat. She brought her knees up, cradling him closer as her hands explored his back.

  Matt’s mouth slid down her throat, nipping softly. But, just as her hands were darting under his belt, he inched his body lower, chuckling at her groan of disappointment as he slid away from her.

  Pushing back, he knelt between her thighs, making short work of the clasp at her back before slowly drawing off her bra and dropping it off the side of the bed. He sat back on his heels, giving himself a moment to take her in.

  The memory of his first, nearly clinical examination of her flashed in her mind—the two of them facing off in the cold, damp basement at the Old North Church, his detached, scientist’s gaze cataloging her features. This examination was as different from that as night from day. Now, the heat in his eyes nearly scorched her.

  Then his gaze fell on her scar, and a little of the desire in his eyes cooled. He dropped down to his right elbow, his warm breath washing over the scar just before his lips touched it. It was a gentle kiss, almost a benediction. She reached up one hand, stroking her fingers over his cheek. His gaze rose to hers for just a moment, then his head dropped and he kissed it again, but this time it was a hot openmouthed kiss that he carried down over the curve of her breast. When his mouth closed over her, she gasped, her fingers twitching spasmodically against his shoulders.

  The room suddenly darkened as if a light had been quenched and the low rumble of thunder vibrated the air around them. The gauzy drapes billowed over their heads, the cool air wafting over Leigh’s naked skin like a whisper over silk.

  She threaded her fingers through his hair as her head fell back on the pillow, cradling him to her breast as his lips and tongue explored her skin, alternately tasting and tormenting her with small nips.

  When his mouth started to trail down her stomach, her eyes flew open again. He made fast work of her thong, easing it slowly down her legs as his lips followed. When he nipped at her hip she nearly came up off the bed.

  He grinned. “Ticklish?”

  “A little.”

  He chuckled. “I’ll have to file that one away for later. But for now . . .” His mouth dropped again, this time taking care only to soothe and rouse.

  He took his time with her. When she shifted under him impatiently, he slowed his caresses. When his fingers delved deep and she cried out, he eased back. When her hands fisted in his hair, trying to draw him down, he slipped from her grasp and continued to tease.

  Tension spun into a tangled knot within Leigh, desperation winding it tighter. “Please . . .” The single whispered word sounded desperate, even to her own ears.

  Matt must have sensed that he’d pushed her to the wall because he moved in, finally covering her with his mouth. With a low moan of relief, she threw her hands over her head, her fingers wrapping around the swirling metal curves of the headboard as her back arched off the bed. She was already teetering on the edge and it seemed to take only seconds to push her over the brink. With a cry, she arched against him. His fingers bit softly into her hips, holding her still for him, forcing her to accept more. Her breath sawing, she was helpless to do anything but ride out the storm.

  Afterward, she lay boneless, her lips parted as she simply tried to draw air into her lungs. She was limp, momentarily drained of energy. She became aware of him slowly moving up her body, his lips gently grazing over her hip, then her belly, then all the way to her collarbone and throat before dropping over her mouth, stealing what little breath she had left. Her hands came up to frame his face, her fingers trailing over his temples and sliding into his hair as she sighed into his mouth.

  Pulling back finally, he pushed the damp hair from her forehead and smiled down at her. “Need to catch your breath?”

  “Nope. Got it back already.” She caught him off guard, rolling with him to straddle his hips. Lying below her on the bed, his head on her pillow, he looked up at her, his gaze skimming over her naked torso hungrily. His brow furrowed for a moment when she reached over, sliding open the drawer of her bedside table and pulling out a small, silver-wrapped square which she laid on the tabletop.

  “Aren’t you prepared,” he said with a grin.

  “Mostly just hopeful that we’d get here.” She leaned down, her breasts brushing his chest as she pulled his earlobe between her lips, nipping at it with her teeth. Her mouth slid down his throat and over his chest, feeling the muscles quiver under her lips and tongue. His hands tangled in her hair, encouraging her on with his touch and his harsh breathing.

  But his body stilled, his fingers tightening subtly when she shifted to straddle one thigh, her head drifting toward his damaged side. “Leigh . . .”

  “Shhhh . . .” She quieted him with a gentle whisper, pulling his hand from her hair to twine her fingers with his. He squeezed back hard enough to tell her that part of him was uncomfortable with this level of intimacy. He stiffened further when she pressed her lips almost reverently to a hard mass of scar tissue. She repeated the action again and again, touching each ridge and furrow, feeling his body gradually loosen under her touch. When his body finally lay lax, she looked up at him. His head was angled on the pillow to watch her, his eyes fixed on her, but his expression was relaxed, all tension gone.

  The first drops of rain started to fall, striking the roof over their heads sharply, the wind a haunting cry outside the window.

  She gave him a sly smile and bent over him to drop a kiss just over the button on his jeans. When she looked back up, his eyes were closed, his lips parted on a breath. She undid the button and slid down the zipper.

  “Lift up,” she said softly. He lifted his hips off the bed and she shimmied his jeans and boxer briefs down his legs. As he had, she allowed herself a moment to sit back and take him in for the first time. But when she reached for him, he surprised her by grasping both of her wrists and pulling her up so she sprawled over his chest.

  “What—”

  “You’re killing me here,” he repeated.

  “You felt free to tease me.”

  “You’ve been teasing me for weeks. It wasn’t intentional, but the result is the same.” He reached for the condom on the bedside table. “Time to end the torture.”

  She didn’t need to be told twice. Taking the package, she quickly ripped it open and then sheathed him in one smooth motion. Bracing herself on her hands, she settled herself over him, then rocked back and forth, letting him glide slickly against her several times. She smiled when his eyelids fluttered closed and his fist closed around the bedsheet. Coaxing open his fist, she caught his hands, entwining their fingers. Pushing their joined hands back to the sheets at his shoulders, she leaned forward over him, skin to skin, her lips just barely grazing his. He pressed up from the pillow trying to catch her mouth but she eluded him, keeping his hands pinned to the bed. Instead, she kissed a line along his jaw, his late-day stubble pleasantly rough under her lips, each kiss punctuated by a languid stroke of her hips. Only when he relaxed back onto the pillow, his fingers loosening around hers, did she finally kiss him, simultaneously changing the angle of her hips. This time when she slid back, she took him in, her own gasp matching his as he finally slid home. She held still for a moment, drawing out the pleasure for both of them.

  Thunder crashed, echoing through the quiet room as the heavens opened and the rain pounded like hail on the roof over their heads. Wind swirled into the room, bringing with it the smell of damp earth, fallen leaves and the last of summer’s flowers.

  She moved slowly at first and he let her take the lead, but she knew his control was fraying rapidly from the strength of his grip. Damp palms pressed together, her hair falling like a curtain around them, his movements became jerky. Sensation was building again, but she was determined to stay with him to the end. When he couldn’t hang on any longer, he released her hands, clasping her hips instead, bracing her as his thrusts became stronger, more powerful. Relinquishing control, she leaned over him, cupping his face in he
r hands as she poured herself into one more kiss.

  With a last hard thrust, she shattered, gasping into his mouth as her nails bit into his shoulders. One of his hands rose to wind into her hair, crushing her mouth down on his. With a low groan, his body strained against hers, and he joined her in the fall.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE: FLUE

  * * *

  Flue: also called a “windway,” a passage for air in a chimney that allows smoke to move away from a fire. The pollutants in flue gas are a signature for what has been burned.

  Tuesday, 10:03 a.m.

  Kent Residence

  Salem, Massachusetts

  Leigh lifted the cat off her lap, setting it gently on the floor beside two other cats that wound around her ankles. “I appreciate your assistance, Mrs. Kent. Father Thomas told me that no one in the congregation knows the church’s history like you do.”

  She sat in a tiny living room, which burst at the seams with knickknacks and trinkets. She was reluctant to turn around or make any sudden move, terrified she’d knock something over. The apartment had a thick, cloying scent: mothballs, potpourri and too many cats seemed to close the room in even further. It made Leigh thankful she didn’t suffer from claustrophobia.

  “I’m the longest-living parishioner.” Mrs. Kent set a bone china teacup and saucer precisely in the middle of the tiny doily-draped table at Leigh’s right elbow. The table swayed ominously, sending the tea in the cup washing from side to side before finally settling. Mrs. Kent lowered herself gingerly into a matching chintz armchair opposite Leigh. “Is this about the fire those Witches started?”

  “We don’t actually have any proof to connect this to the Witches, Mrs. Kent.”

  “But what about the pentacle? I’ve read all about that in the newspapers.”

  “Of course you did. But we need more than that to actually charge anyone.” The older woman started to draw breath as if to speak, and Leigh rushed to cut her off. “I have some questions relating to the fire at Saint Patrick’s Church. There’s been two fires in the area and I’m looking for a connection between them.” Leigh suddenly found her lap full of fluffy tricolor cat again as it launched itself from the floor back into her lap. When she wrapped her hands around its middle, razor-sharp claws expressed displeasure by piercing the soft wool of her dress pants. Leigh hissed in a breath.