Spontaneous Combustion

by Bobby Hutchinson

  “Yeah, so would I.” Shannon filled in the puzzling details of the man in the silver suit. “Trouble is, nobody but me seems to have laid eyes on him, and he was pretty obvious, a good six and a half feet tall and really—”

  She stopped for a moment as something hit her. The man in the silver was about the exact same size and shape as John Forester. He’d been the man in the silver. Which would account for the feeling she had that she knew him from somewhere.

  But if it had been John in the warehouse, he sure wasn’t owning up to it. Why not? And why would he have been there in the first place? Anxiety suddenly made her put her fork down. Could the man in the silver also have been the person who set the fire in the first place? And if John Forester was that person—

  “Shannon? What were you about to say? Really what?” Patrick sipped his wine and studied her.

  “Really—um, really strong. Big guy, huge. Sean’s size. Carried the dog and dragged me along as if I was a hundred pound weakling.”

  “Did he say anything?”

  Shannon shook her head. “Not a word.” She couldn’t make accusations based on guesses. “You do know Mom’s convinced an angel came from heaven to save me? If she’s right, I guess angels aren’t much for small talk.”

  Patrick smiled. “If he’s your guardian angel, kid, he’s got his work cut out for him. But don’t forget the dog. It was probably Salvage he was sent to save in the first place. You’re way too wicked to warrant an angel intervention, brat.”

  The conversation veered then to their family, to Sean and Linda and the baby. When they’d exhausted that subject, Shannon remarked, “I think Uncle Donald has the hots for my boarder. He’s taken her out to dinner tonight, and he’s been helping her all day to wreck my house.”

  Patrick laughed. “I think you could be right. When she was staying at Mom’s, Uncle Donald was there so often I heard Dad say he ought to just move in. Except Dad didn’t sound very enthusiastic about the idea.”

  “I’ll bet. Those two argue way too much to live in the same house. I wonder why Mom never said anything to me about Donald and Willow?” Shannon missed the long, gossipy talks she used to have with her mother. Since she’d joined the fire department, their conversations invariably ended up with Mary giving her a lecture of some sort about her job.

  “You know Uncle Donald’s reputation with the blue-haired ladies. He’s cut a wide swath through every retirement home in Courage Bay. Mom’s probably afraid he’ll do his disappearing act when things get serious, and leave Willow with a broken heart.”

  “Mom could be right,” Shannon observed. “Uncle Donald’s dangerous where the ladies are concerned. He’s so damn charming.”

  “And elusive. He’s been a widower for a long time. I don’t think he has any intentions of marrying again.”

  “Well, we shouldn’t underestimate Willow, either. Turns out she’s no shrinking violet. Give her a sledgehammer and look out. I think she’s a couple years older than Uncle Donald, so maybe she’ll have a steadying influence on the old reprobate.”

  “I just hope they practice safe sex,” Patrick said.

  They laughed and Patrick cleaned off the table and they washed the dishes together. Shannon brought out maple ripple ice cream and poured chocolate syrup on it. They had it with coffee in the living room. Cleo lay on her back in the middle of the rug, waving her paws and whimpering like a puppy, while Pepsi settled down in an armchair where he knew he wasn’t allowed.

  Shannon gave him a look, and he gave her one right back, so she caved and left him alone. At least he wasn’t urinating on Patrick’s shoes.

  “I’m taking Salvage to the firehouse when Lisa releases him, I think the crew will adopt him as a mascot.”

  “Too bad somebody wouldn’t adopt Pepsi. That animal’s gonna be a big drawback if you ever find a guy you decide to keep, kid. He’s a rotten little sucker.”

  They both studied the wiry dog. He bared his teeth and growled at them, and Patrick laughed. “Although if a guy could put up with Pepsi, he’s probably got what it takes. Maybe we should invest in a single-story house big enough for the dogs, my kids and you and me. And our walkers. It doesn’t look as if we’re ever gonna make much headway with the mating game.” He sighed.

  Shannon felt her heart ache for her brother. Three years ago his wife, Jane, had died suddenly, leaving him with his two beautiful kids, Dylan, now nine, and Fiona, who was five. Since then Patrick had barely looked at another woman, though Shannon knew he must be lonely.

  “Don’t abandon hope quite yet, big brother. Sean found Linda, which proves it’s possible for the O’Shea offspring to form lasting attachments. I’m sure that’s a big relief to Mom.”

  “Well, I got a lecture from her last week about it being high time I remarried. She accused me of being way too fussy. She’s been pushing that girl from the bank my way. Nice lady, but deadly boring.”

  “At least Mom doesn’t set me up. I’m grateful for that. In fact, she’s been all for me breaking up a couple of times. Remember when I was dating that Rudy Berzutto in high school, and Mom insisted he wasn’t right for me, and she couldn’t see why I was going out with him? I told her he was a whole lot of fun, and she said that fun didn’t count.”

  “Berzutto. Didn’t he end up doing time for stealing cars?”

  “Yeah, but that was later on. When I knew him he was only stealing horses. We got in trouble for swiping that nag from the Killarneys’ ranch, remember? All we were gonna do was take her for a midnight run. I think I’d been reading about Lady Godiva at that point. Mom came down to the cop shop to get me, and Dad was mortified.”

  Mary had given her a stern lecture, but Shannon had had the feeling her mother wasn’t unduly upset that day. They were still good friends at that time. Shannon felt lonely, remembering. She missed that camaraderie now.

  “Willow knew Mom before either of them was married. She told me that Mom wasn’t that keen on getting hitched. According to Willow, she wanted a career. You’d think she’d be a little more supportive about me having one.”

  “She’s proud of you, Shannon. She’s just scared for you, that you’ll get hurt. She’s on Sean’s case as much as yours.”

  “How does it feel to be the golden child, Mr. Mayor? You’ve got the only job our mother thoroughly approves of.”

  “Yeah, and after council meetings like that one tonight, I start dreaming of being a news correspondent in the Middle East. And there’s another meeting tomorrow morning early, so I’d better be heading home. Good luck with your renovations.”

  “I’m going to need more than luck. I’m liable to need a construction crew and a plumber before this is over.”

  Patrick left, and Shannon took the dogs around the block. She couldn’t get the thought of John Forester out of her head. By the time she went to bed, she’d figured out a sure way to tell if he and the man in the silver were one and the same.

  She’d be taking Salvage to the firehouse, and dogs had a sense of smell that was totally reliable. If Salvage showed signs of knowing John, she’d have no doubt he’d been in the warehouse.

  She fell asleep that night thinking of the big firefighter and fervently hoping every one of her suspicions about him was wrong.

  SHE WAS STILL HOPING THAT five days later when she drove to work for the first shift in her afternoon rotation. She was about to test John Forester, because Salvage was on the seat beside her. Lisa had called and said he was ready to be released. He was already running around as if the loss of his leg was only a distant memory.

  Shannon parked, snapped a leash on the dog and led him into the firehouse.

  The crew was in the kitchen, being briefed by the previous shift. The first person Shannon saw was John, lounging against the counter. She felt Salvage lunge forward, so she bent and unsnapped the leash from the dog’s neck. Without a moment’s hesitation, ignoring all the other men, the Lab went limping over to John, his tail whipping from side to side in a frenzy of excitement. H
e whined and sat back, balancing precariously on his bottom and putting his paws up on the fireman’s chest.

  “Hey, fella. Hi, there.” John crouched down and rubbed the Lab’s ears and throat. “Aren’t you a fine dog?” He stroked Salvage and tried to ease his paws to the floor, but the canine wouldn’t stay down. He tried again to jump up, and even though the rest of the crew grouped around him, patting and talking to him, the dog made it plain that John was the one he wanted to be near.

  Shannon was watching closely, and John looked over at her. He smiled and shrugged as if he had no idea why the dog was singling him out, but she knew that that, too, was a lie.

  Her heart sank and a mix of responses ran through her: conviction that she’d been right about John being the man in the silver at the warehouse; a feeling of betrayal because he hadn’t admitted it—wasn’t admitting it even now; and a sense of confusion and apprehension as to why he was being dishonest. Most powerful of all was an overwhelming sense of disappointment—in him, but also in herself.

  It came down to the simple fact that she couldn’t trust her heart. She’d been powerfully drawn to John, attracted to him both sexually and intellectually, and it was obvious he was absolutely wrong for her. He had some hidden agenda going on.

  Well, she was determined to find out what the hell it was.

  She had no intentions of confronting him in front of the other crew members, however. When the briefing was done, one of the guys took Salvage on a walk around the firehouse, and she went into the workout room for her usual half hour of exercise.

  She was sitting on the bench doing biceps curls when John came in.

  “Mind if I join you?” He put weights on the bench press machine and lay down on his back, raising and lowering the heavy bar over his chest as if it weighed nothing at all. Shannon could see that he was benching three hundred sixty-five pounds. Her estimation of his strength had been right on. If only her estimation of his character had been as accurate.

  She felt ready to explode, and the words poured out. “You were the one who brought Salvage and me out of the warehouse. I know, because the dog recognized you, John. You were the man in the silver. Why didn’t you say something when we first met? Why did you lie to me about being there?”

  He set the bar in place and sat up, facing her.

  “You’re mistaken, Shannon.” He met her eyes directly, and she couldn’t detect a single indication of guile there. She felt a twinge of doubt, but she shoved it aside.

  “For some reason,” he explained, “dogs take to me. Dogs, older ladies and kids. I’m like the Pied Piper. Salvage just sensed that I like animals.”

  “That’s a load of crap,” she snapped. “I know dogs, and Salvage knew you. If you were in that warehouse, why don’t you want to admit it? Who are you, really, John Forester?”

  Are you the arsonist? That horrible thought had been plaguing her from the instant she knew that Salvage recognized him, although she couldn’t quite bring herself to ask him. There were so many puzzling things about the scenario. If he’d set the fire, why was he hanging around afterward? And would an arsonist risk his life to save a woman and a dog? It didn’t make any sense.

  “Shannon, I wasn’t at that warehouse fire.” He leaned toward her, looking her straight in the eye, his gaze as sincere as could be. “I didn’t even arrive in Courage Bay until after the second fire. I can prove that to you. I have my airline ticket. And if you doubt my identity, I’ll show you my birth certificate, my charge cards, a picture of my father—whatever it takes to convince you.”

  She held his gaze, challenging him. “Okay, show me.”

  He blew out an exasperated sigh. “Not here. I don’t have my father’s picture with me, or the airline tickets. Come out to dinner with me on our break, day after tomorrow. We can get to know one another better, and I promise I’ll bring everything.”

  She held his gaze as she thought it over. If he was lying, he was doing a pretty elaborate job of covering up, and she wanted to know why. If he was telling the truth, then she certainly should give him a chance to prove it.

  “Okay. Day after tomorrow, at eight.”

  “Good enough. Give me your address. I’ll pick you up.”

  “Where will we go?”

  “Leave that to me. I’ll find a good spot.”

  Like a deserted road where you can murder me and dispose of the body?

  That was laughable. If he’d wanted to be rid of her, he could have left her in that burning warehouse.

  “Where do you live?”

  She thought of the ramp leading up to her back door. She opened her mouth to suggest that she meet him instead of having him come to the house, then decided the hell with it. She had nothing to hide. If he wanted a date, a date it would be.

  “Just come around to the back door.” She scribbled her address on a scrap of paper and handed it to him, wondering if she was making the biggest mistake of her life.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  SHANNON WAS STILL WONDERING that as she slid pearl studs into her ears, pulled a few more strands of hair out of the high chignon at the back of her head, and smoothed the bronze silk sheath over her hips. She hadn’t worn it since last Christmas. Was she too dressed up? Was this dress too short? When you were a scant inch off six feet, there was an awful lot of bare leg exposed in a mini.

  She’d decided against stockings, and she slid her bare feet into high-heeled sandals. She’d painted her toenails bronze to match her dress. It was unusual and fun to be able to wear three-inch heels without towering over her date, she reminded herself.

  So, O’Shea, you gonna seduce him into telling you who he is and what he’s doing here? Because you’re going to a whole lot of effort for a guy you’re pretty sure is a liar.

  Whatever works, she told herself, and then giggled at her own absurdity.

  Willow had taken off again to spend the evening with Uncle Donald, even though there was still no sign of any repairs on the house. Willow had started working at the clinic, so that was bound to slow things down, Shannon consoled herself.

  She was smoothing on lip gloss in the bathroom when the dogs announced John’s arrival, and her heart gave a thump, which she put down to nervousness.

  Taking a deep breath, she ordered Cleo and Pepsi to lie down and be quiet, which had no effect whatsoever, and opened the kitchen door.

  “I see why you suggested the back,” he said with a grin.

  “I should have said it was the only option.”

  The dogs bounded over, sniffing at his pant legs. She tried to keep half an eye on Pepsi. His spraying tactics were so well practiced they didn’t provide much warning.

  “Come in, please,” she invited. Wow. He cleaned up really good. The way it fit, his light gray suit had to be made to order, and the plain black T-shirt underneath was exactly the right dressy-casual-hip thing to wear. Very big city.

  “Hey, Shannon.” He gave her a thorough once-over and then whistled, soft and appreciative. “You look gorgeous.” He glanced down at the dogs. “You gonna introduce me to your friends here?”

  She did, and Cleo launched to her usual belly-up, aren’t-I-adorable performance. John laughed and bent over to scratch her. Shannon noticed just in time that Pepsi was getting into position. He’d already sprayed a few drops when she caught him.

  “Pepsi! Don’t even think of it.” She grabbed the scoundrel by the scruff and hauled him away. “Sorry, John, it’s not just you. Pepsi’s maladjusted. He pees on everybody.”

  John was laughing as she opened the door and herded the dogs down the ramp, intent on putting them in their run.

  She’d forgotten that her heels would sink into the grass and slow her down. By the time she came back, he was in the living room, holding a framed photo she kept propped on the mantelpiece.

  “Your family?”

  “Yeah. My brother Sean’s wedding.”

  John pointed at someone and raised his eyebrows, and she had to stand close to identify who was wh
o. He had some glorious kind of aftershave that smelled like fresh grass in a meadow, and even with her heels, she barely reached past his shoulder. Bless the man. So what if he was an arsonist. He made up for it by making her feel tiny.

  “That’s my mom, Mary. My dad, Caleb. Uncle Donald, Grandpa Brian, best man is my brother Patrick, and those are his two kids, Dylan and Fiona. That’s Sean, and his bride is Linda.”

  “And this beautiful creature is my date.” His forefinger rested on Shannon’s image, and he stroked it gently. Heat went shimmering down her spine, for all the world as if he’d touched her bare skin.

  Get a grip, O’Shea. Who’s seducing who here?

  When they made their way down the ramp and out to his car, she explained about her boarder and her uncle and what had become of the steps, and he laughed.

  It was so gratifying to be with a guy who thought she was amusing. And who drove a vintage Corvette.

  It was black, low slung, sinfully expensive. The leather seat felt butter-soft under her bare thighs and the dash had more instruments than most small planes. How did a fireman afford a car like this? New doubts piled on top of old ones.

  “Hot car, John.”

  As if he’d read her mind, he slid behind the wheel, smiled at her and said, “I went a little nuts and leased this baby when I landed in L.A. Always wanted to know what it felt like to drive around in luxury. Normally I get around on a vintage Harley.”

  She thought of Diego Larue. “I have a friend who rides a Harley. I love motorbikes.”

  “I’d take you for a spin on mine, but it’s in storage in New York.”

  “You going to ship it through? Or you could ride it cross-country. That would be something.”

  “It would indeed. I’ll give it some thought. You want to find us some music?”