As she maneuvered slowly through the wilderness, hazard lights blinking steadily in the gloom, she watched the roadside, frowning so deeply her brow hurt. Where there was one moose, there was probably another. Finally, escarpment edged both sides of the highway, and she relaxed.
Peters had warned her about the dangers of night driving. Conflicted, she’d resisted the urge to tell him that she’d lived in the region years before. She wished that she’d paid more attention to what he’d said, but no, she’d dismissed his warning and blundered ahead as she usually did. Alexis Michaels, Wonder Woman. Not! When would she realize that she wasn’t indestructible?
The adrenaline shot she’d received from her potential brush with death had worn off, leaving her anxious and frustrated.
She practiced her deep breathing exercises, the ones she’d learned to control her asthma and settle her nerves. This wasn’t usually the kind of job an asthmatic would do, but there was nothing usual about her either. She’d survived that blaze eighteen years ago and had been reborn to do what she did now. She saved lives. Paradise might not be where she wanted to go, but it was where she had to be.
Despite her best intentions to concentrate on her driving, she couldn’t stop her thoughts from wandering to what little she knew about the fires. Having been given such slight information was maddening in itself. She couldn’t see anything tying the fires together. Why the secrecy? What were they afraid of? A copycat?
She huffed out a breath. According to the police chief if some unknown pattern held, there would be another fire soon, and the locals had ten bodies and not one viable suspect. The sooner she examined the fire scenes, the faster she would be able to get into this maniac’s head.
What was really eating at her wasn’t the lack of information, but the fact that she was expected to work with a partner. The last thing she needed was someone breathing down her neck demanding answers yesterday, answers she might not be willing or able to give, answers he might not be ready to accept. Hopefully, this profiler would have the good sense to stay out of her way.
She sighed. Was taking this assignment really the smartest thing to do? The promised raise and promotion would be welcomed, moving her higher up the corporate ladder, but what price would she have to pay? Did she really want to revisit the painful memories she’d suppressed for so long? What was it Thomas Wolfe had said about never truly being able to go home again? She wasn’t that terrified fifteen-year-old. So why was she so afraid?
She straightened her shoulders. No, fear gave them power, and they would never make her feel powerless again.
Frustrated, she slapped the steering wheel once more.
Thanks to the weather and Bullwinkle, she wouldn’t be able to do anything tonight. She was no better off than she would’ve been if she had waited for the storm to end.
Fifteen minutes later, her fingers almost embedded in the molded plastic of the steering wheel, she pulled the car into the parking lot of the Paradise Motor Inn and got out in front of the office, resisting the urge to get down on her hands and knees and kiss the pavement. The scratch on the side of the car was a bad one. If she was lucky, the Paradise Police Department might cover the cost of repairs.
The fog was lighter here, lower to the ground, eerily covering the pavement to knee-depth, slithering as if it were alive, reminding her of the wisps of smoke that often accompanied her initial visits to fresh fire scenes.
The sky was black—no stars, no moon to light the way for a weary traveler. Not even the inn’s flashy neon sign could dispel the gloom. The trees, naked this late in the fall this far north, shook their skeletal branches in the wind, the rattling straining her already jittery nerves.
She looked around at the busy parking lot and sighed. Was her assigned colleague’s vehicle among those here? He knew she was arriving today. Captain Peters had notified them as soon as she was available to go. If this profiler was as good at his job as she’d been led to believe, then he should be as anxious as she was to get started.
Alexis bit her lip, nerves and regret driving her thoughts. How many people would remember her and see her as the ungrateful niece who’d run away from her benevolent uncle?
If someone did recognize her, she might have to let the captain know as a courtesy. It wouldn’t affect her ability to do the job, but if some of those people got in her way, it might make it harder to accomplish.
“Either way, there’s no going back now,” she mumbled.
The Paradise Motor Inn hugged the shores of the Amable du Fond River, upstream from the timber slide that bypassed the nearby rapids. The slide had been built around 1850 to accommodate the logging industry in the area. The river cut through the igneous rock of the Canadian Shield, dropping over eight hundred feet along its fifty-two-mile route to empty into the Mattawa River near Calvin. The area sported three provincial parks and was popular with canoeists and campers.
Alexis stared at the escarpment that edged the gorge. The first fire with a victim attached to it had occurred upriver. It was lucky that the blaze hadn’t spread to the trees—forest fires were as dangerous in Canada as they were in California. The locals said it was arson, but until she saw the scene herself, she wouldn’t know for sure. Accidental fires had been mistaken for arson in the past by inexperienced fire inspectors, and innocent men and women had been jailed because of misinterpreted evidence. The victim could well have sealed his own fate. Dismissing the idea from her mind, she walked towards the reception office of the motor inn.
Pulling open the door, she stepped inside. She wanted a drink, a meal, and a hot shower—the hotter the better—in that order. The desk clerk, a handsome man in his thirties, looked over his shoulder at the sound of the bell. There was something familiar about him that tickled her memory. Had they met years ago? Even though she’d sworn off men after her last disastrous relationship, she felt a flicker of interest for this one, a familiar coil of heat teasing her, as if her body remembered something her mind had forgotten. She chose to spend most of her time alone, but she could be flexible for this guy. He stood, limped over to the counter, and smiled at her.
He was gorgeous, tall, topping her five foot nine by at least six inches. He was muscled, but not in that overblown bodybuilder way. His short chestnut hair spiked gently on top. He was clean-shaven with a Kirk Douglas dimple in his chin under sensuous full lips. What struck her most about him were his eyes, familiar eyes that she couldn’t place, deep blue like Moraine Lake, the popular glacier-fed lake in the Rockies, the kind of eyes in which a person could drown.
“Hi,” she said surprised by the catch in her voice. “Alexis Michaels. I have a reservation. I’m a little late.” She winced—three hours was more than a little late.
He stared at her a few moments as if he’d lost the ability to speak. She tilted her head, giving him a quizzical look.
“Sorry,” he stammered. “We’ve been expecting you. Not to worry, your reservation was guaranteed.” His voice, once he’d found it, was as smooth as fine whiskey.
“Welcome to Paradise. Everything is ready. If I could just have your credit card?” He had an incredible smile. His eyes crinkled at the corners involving his whole face in the gesture of warmth and welcome. Why was it that a man’s wrinkles were sexy, character building, while a woman’s just made her look old and frumpy? Crow’s feet—isn’t that what they were called? Another example of the inequality of the sexes. They never advertized wrinkle cream for men. And why would they? This guy was drop-dead gorgeous, wrinkles and all.
Alexis handed over her agency credit card, signed the paper authorizing the expense, and pocketed the large brass key he had given her.
“Generally, we can’t use the electronic locks on the cabin doors at this time of year. There’s too much moisture from the rain, sleet, and snow. Not the best time to visit, but you’re here to work, so I guess it won’t matter.”
“That’s okay.” She smiled. “I’m hoping I won’t be here long, and if the weather changes...” She
shrugged.
Solving the case was her first priority. But would getting to know this guy be so bad?
Chapter Seven
Alexis turned to go back to her car.
“Can I help you with your luggage?” the desk clerk asked.
As much as she would like to spend more time with him, that probably wasn’t a good idea. Besides, the man was limping and after months of physio, she was in the best shape ever.
“No, I’m fine. I’m traveling light and probably won’t take everything out of the car tonight anyway,” she smiled to take the sting out of her refusal.
All she needed tonight was her duffel bag, camera, and computer. The rest she would unload tomorrow or the next day.
“Can I still get a meal here, or do I need to go into town?” she asked, not ready to make a bag of chips dinner as well as lunch.
“We stop serving dinner at nine, but the bar serves snacks until eleven,” he said. “We open for breakfast at six.”
“Okay, thanks.”
She returned to her vehicle. Having that piece of eye candy around to admire and drool over might help her deal with the stress that she was sure would surface while she was here. In fact, just seeing him made her feel better. The headache she’d anticipated thanks to the horrendous drive seemed to have disappeared, and she felt more relaxed than she had all day.
“Who says candy isn’t good for you?”
Alexis returned to her car, pulled the key out of her pocket, and checked the number on it, then the number on the cabin closest to the main building. As luck would have it, her assigned cottage was the one farthest from the motor inn itself.
“Of course, it is,” she mumbled, getting into the car and driving across the busy parking lot. Why was this place so busy? Didn’t people realize it was almost winter?
The simple A-frame log cabin materialized eerily out of the darkness as she drove closer to it, the low fog hovering above the stone walkway making it appear like a scene straight out of a gothic novel or a B horror movie. The only light visible was the multicolored glow from the neon sign. She swallowed a mouthful of discomfort. These places should use photoelectric lights that came on by themselves when the sun set. After grabbing her stuff from the back seat, she locked the vehicle. The headlights would stay on for sixty seconds, giving her ample time to get the key in the lock, open the door, and turn on the frigging light. Thanks to her uncle, she and the dark had never really been friends, but they’d definitely become enemies last spring.
Hurrying along the fieldstone sidewalk to the cabin door, she wasn’t sure whether the iron grillwork over the cabin’s windows made her feel safe or imprisoned. Were they trying to keep someone in or something out?
Alexis unlocked the door, pushed it open with her hip, flipped the two switches, and smiled.
“Now, this is more like it.”
A soothing yellow glow bathed the exterior of the cabin and soft white light revealed a beautiful interior. Unlike most generic hotel rooms, the cabin was quaint, not lacking in modern conveniences, and smelled of spring breezes rather than disinfectant.
The living room had a desk and chair on a half wall that revealed part of the bedroom, a sofa and recliner facing a forty-inch flat screen television, below which was a natural gas fireplace, the only source of heat in the cabin. She dropped her computer bag on the desk.
On the coffee table, someone had placed a gift basket heaped with fresh fruit. The tag read: “Compliments of the Paradise Motor Inn.”
Taking her duffel bag into the bedroom, she tossed it onto the queen-size bed and turned on the table lamp beside it. Close inspection of the window showed that the grillwork could be released from the inside by flipping a latch. She tested it to ensure that it worked and then relocked the window.
The bathroom contained a Jacuzzi tub as well as a separate shower, and a white cuddly spa robe she would have expected to find in a fancy city hotel. Top quality toiletry samples and a hair dryer sat on the vanity next to the toilet.
She walked back to the main room to check out the efficiency kitchenette. There was a fridge, microwave oven, and coffee maker with several coffee and sugar packets beside it. Someone had kindly stocked the fridge with a variety of beverages including a selection of premium beer. Grabbing one, she twisted the cap, and took a swig. Crossing to the fireplace, she raised the thermostat, flipped the switch, and turned on the blower. Her stomach grumble. To appease it, she helped herself to a banana. Bananas and beer—an odd combination—but after the day she’d had, it worked.
The cabin was decorated in beiges and rusts, muted earth tones that seemed perfectly suited to its log walls and pine floors, covered here and there by braided scatter rugs. Pictures on the wall were reproductions of Canadian Shield landscapes by the Group of Seven. All in all, this would be a comfortable, restful place from which to launch her investigation. Her days might be hectic, but her evenings and nights would recharge her, and if she could hook up for coffee with that yummy clerk, that would be a bonus. The Jacuzzi tub called to her, but her rumbling stomach had a different agenda.
Alexis checked the time on the clock beside the bed. The restaurant would stop serving dinner in less than an hour. Despite the chips and the banana she’d practically inhaled, she was still hungry, and her grumbling stomach demanded more food.
Once she brushed her hair, she added mascara to the lashes of her blue-green eyes and redid her lipstick. After exchanging her sweatshirt for a deep blue cowl neck sweater, opting to keep her skinny jeans on, she replaced her runners with heeled, knee-high, black leather boots, and grabbed her jacket, an umbrella, and a flashlight from her bag. Leaving the lights on, both inside and out, she turned off the fan and lowered the thermostat slightly on the fireplace. She locked the door behind her, opting to leave the car where it was, and walked back to the restaurant.
The November evening was cold. No doubt there would be snow in Paradise sooner rather than later this year. She thought back to the time she’d spent here before her parents had died. The ugliness of those last few years with Uncle Nick hadn’t destroyed the memories of the beauty and majesty of the snow-covered hills and trees.
By the time she reached the restaurant on the far side of the inn, her ears and fingers were numb. The cabins had been somewhat sheltered by the white pine trees that grew around them, but the parking lot was open to the brisk north wind. She should’ve remembered to get a hat and gloves. A sudden gust of wind and the unmistakable sensation of being watched sent shivers racing down her spine.
She stopped walking and scanned the area, convinced there were eyes on her, watching her every move, studying her as if she was a lab specimen, but there was no one around, nothing but empty parked cars. She shook herself.
“Smarten up, damn it. It’s probably just some stupid owl perched way to hell up there in the trees. Next thing you know, I’ll see Big Foot coming to take me away. I’ll have to make another appointment with Zara after all. It looks like I haven’t put all the paranoia to bed yet.”
Suddenly, she missed California more than she ever had.
* * *
He sat inside the blue car he’d liberated from the airport’s long-term parking lot, and scrunched down even lower in the front seat. Only the edge of the binoculars peeked over the dash. Why had she looked this way? With the light burned out above the car he was in, there was no way she could’ve seen him. The sudden movement made the tender skin on his back and shoulders ache.
Damn Duffy for being such a slob and not cleaning things properly. Everything had been going so well. It could’ve been worse. Arriving at the scene with the other first responders and volunteers, seeing the awe and terror on the faces of those watching had soothed the pain nicely. So why had it hurt more after than it had then? Because he’d had nothing to take his mind off it until now—now that she was here.
The skin was healing nicely, but it was tight, and if was damn hard for a man alone to apply lotion. He’d bought the spray-on kind, b
ut it did diddly squat. Still, it wouldn’t slow him down. Fire Angel’s Revenge, Act Four, was almost ready to go. He liked the name, glad he’d decided to keep it after Ralph had used it in that useless rag of his.
Now, there was someone who deserved to burn, but cancer, chemo, and radiation would take care of him soon enough. If they didn’t he would work something out. It had been a bonus finding Father Martin at Duffy’s. Not the player he’d expected, but he still had a couple of acts to go. What business did priests have telling people how to live saintly lives when they were the biggest sinners of all? His mother had sworn by them and their words and made his life miserable because of it. The last thing he needed to do was get down on his knees and confess what she thought of as his sins. If she’d thought him a sinner then, what would she think of him now? He chuckled. Not that he cared.
It had been three weeks since the fire, and he was getting a little sick of listening to people whine about having to go into North Bay for gas. So what if they were temporarily inconvenienced? Someone would see the benefit of building a service station here sooner or later. Maybe he could invest in it when they did. Just as well his boss was no longer a concern. That bastard would’ve gone on and on about it. He would have to come up with a reason why the man wouldn’t be returning from Florida, but he had months to invent something plausible.
As far as Duffy’s wife went, how long would it take her to realize she was better off without that drunken jerk in her life? Once the investigation was settled, she’d get a mitt-full of insurance money. In the meantime, he’d donated fifty bucks to the fund to help her out. And then there was Shirley. She would get over it faster since she was already screwing Ansel Curtis and everybody knew it. With Leo out of the way, it would make life better for both of them. Ansel should thank him. Of course, once that dumb ass Jake put two and two together and got five, Ansel would probably be the number one suspect. Maybe he should help that theory along. He chuckled. Tossing a red herring into the flames could be fun.
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