While Jake finished putting stuff away, Alexis checked around the vehicle looking for anything they might’ve dropped.
“Get Maya settled, while I have one last look at the back of the cabin,” she said. “I want to check the propane tank again. If I can pull off the plastic cap, there may be prints.”
She was almost to the back of the cottage when the unmistakable crack of a rifle shattered the silence, followed by the thud of the bullet impacting on the wall just above her head.
“Alexis!” Jake cried. “Alexis!” He called again. “Are you all right?”
A second shot echoed in the stillness, but she’d already dropped to her belly in the grass.
“I’m okay!” she shouted, crawling quickly to the lake side of the cabin, using what remained of its walls for cover.
She pulled out her gun and fired three quick shots into the trees, in the direction the shots had come from, not expecting to hit anything in particular, but hoping to distract the shooter. Jake followed suit with two rifle blasts. Using the opportunity to run a zigzag pattern from the edge of the structure to the open passenger side of the vehicle, heart pounding in her ears, the sound drowned out by Maya’s barking, Alexis climbed in and kept low. Jake started the engine and put it in gear. Just as she pulled the door shut, a bullet struck the side mirror on her side of the vehicle shattering it, sending shrapnel at her through the open window. She screamed, raising her hand to the side of her face that stung from the bite of mirrored glass. Jake quickly used the electronic button to close the window.
“He has one hell of an aim,” she croaked, looking at the blood on her fingers. “Have you got any sharpshooters on that suspect list of yours?”
Jake gunned the engine and sent the truck careening backward down the laneway.
“No, not that I know of, but you can bet your ass I’ll consider that from now on.”
Alexis folded herself into as small a target as she could. In her mind, she was back in that hotel and the small sting on her face became the searing heat of the bullets penetrating her side and shoulder. She gasped as terrified as she had been that day.
* * *
“Goddamn bitch,” he cursed. Why the hell didn’t women listen?
The minute he’d seen Jake turn west, he’d known where he was going and had taken a lesser known path through the bush to get here. They’d arrived before him, and when he’d seen the dog, he’d made sure to stay downwind. From his vantage point some thirty feet up the hill, he’d watched her move around the cabin.
How the hell was he supposed to know Nate Simmons had a layer of tin in his roof. From up here, the damn thing looked like it had been coated in cedar shingles, but no doubt the man had covered the tin to prevent leaks and the God-forsaken noise of rain striking a metal roof. He’d spent the night in a tin-roofed shack once, and the sound of the rain had almost driven him crazy. Lack of thorough research always got you. Well, that was his mistake. Everyone was entitled to one. The fire at the gas station sprang to mind. There couldn’t be a third.
It was the little things that screwed you up. He knew that, and yet, while getting ready for Acts Two and Three, he’d forgotten about Act One. He didn’t think there was anything here to incriminate him, but that article he’d read, the one where the reporter had called her Fire Psychic, claimed she saw beyond what was there.
He’d just settled himself to watch when her head had snapped up in his direction, as if she could feel him, know he was watching her like she had last night, but that was impossible. He’d squatted down even lower and waited until she turned away before getting comfortable. Because she might see the smoke, he hadn’t even had a cigarette, and now the cravings tore at him like a hundred spiders burrowing under his skin. He’d chewed four of those useless pieces of gum, but to no avail.
He’d wasted hours here watching her. Someone could’ve seen the truck, and he wasn’t supposed to be anywhere near this part of the district. He wasn’t on-call today, but still. If someone had seen his vehicle, remembered his plates, and heard about the shots ... How would he explain that? He hated it when his plans changed. If anything went wrong with Act Four, it would be her fault and hers alone.
What was it about women these days? Why were they all so stubborn, so opinionated, so damn sure of themselves?
“You haven’t learned a thing in the twenty years you were gone. Didn’t listen then, don’t listen now. You’re going to be sorry you were ever born.”
What the hell had she been doing in there for more than four hours? It hadn’t taken him that long to burn the damn place down.
When she’d finally come out, they’d had that cozy little picnic and had packed up their gear. He hadn’t planned to shoot her, but sitting here for so long, worrying about what she was doing had unnerved him. He’d decided she needed to go.
When she moved to go around the cabin, he’d taken the first shot, but the bitch had bent down just as he’d fired, and it had gone over her head. She’d thrown herself to the ground, and looked up right at him, those witchy eyes fixed on his position. He’d looked through the binoculars just as she’d fired three rounds up at him, the third hitting the tree beside him, the bark flying off, nicking his ear.
Where in hell had she gotten a gun? It looked like a Ruger, and that was accurate to thirty feet. If she’d hit the tree, she could hit him. Angry, he fired quickly, but in his haste, his shot went wide into the trees. Before he could fire again, Jake let loose a couple of shotgun blasts that had him ducking for cover. He was about to try a fourth shot when she found cover and disappeared around the corner of the cabin. He had her in his sights when she climbed into the car, but she’d shut the door so quickly, the bullet had shattered the mirror instead of her head. The vehicle had bucked and disappeared down the laneway.
Maybe it was a good thing he’d missed her. Whatever it was that she’d learned in that cabin he needed to know now. He’d seen her put that toolkit in the car. If she had any evidence, it was in there.
He bent down to collect his brass and cursed a blue streak when he couldn’t find one of the shell casings. He smelled the ozone in the air. It would rain soon, and he’d better get the hell out of here before it did.
Knowing Jake, he’d probably called 9 1 1 by now. He had to get away from here before the cops came. If he hadn’t found that casing, neither would they.
He needed to pull himself together. Acting without thinking had already caused him more than enough headaches. Because he’d had to return that car to North Bay last night, he’d been forced to leave before she’d returned to the cottage, so he’d missed her reaction to his note and his visit inside her place. Had she even noticed the changes he’d made?
Looking around before leaving the cover of the trees, he hurried to his truck, pulled out a cigarette, lit it, and inhaled deeply. The nicotine calmed him. Convinced everything was still on track despite her interference, he started the engine and headed home. He had work to do tonight—it was almost time for Act Four—but he’d make sure to leave her a little something to remember today. If she wanted to play games and ignore his warnings, then so be it. He’d play along, but she wasn’t going to like the way the game ended.
Chapter Twelve
Jake was a good ten minutes down the highway before he turned and read the gut-wrenching fear on Alexis’s face, but this wasn’t the time to try and comfort her. Using his Bluetooth, he called 9 1 1, identified himself, and reported shots fired, giving the location, and making sure the person understood they were no longer at the scene. Once he ended that call, he phoned Everett.
“Jake, how did it go?” the chief asked.
“Well, until someone decided to shoot at us.”
“You’ve got to be kidding me,” he cried, his voice loud in the confines of the SUV. “Are you okay?”
“We’re fine—a little shaken up—but we’re on our way into the station now.” He glanced over at Alexis. That shade of white wasn’t her best look and made the blood seepin
g from her cheek seem even redder. “We have evidence to log and the techs can remove my damaged mirror. The slug may still be in it. We need them on this as soon as possible. I’m going to drive directly into town, so if we aren’t there in forty minutes, send out the cavalry. You’ll need a team on the hill as soon as possible, but I doubt he left any clues.”
“You’re sure it wasn’t just a hunter and a stray bullet?” asked Everett. “So far, he’s only killed using fire.”
“As far as we know. Ev, he took four shots at her. I told you I believe he’s behind Nate’s death. That man is capable of anything and he’s one hell of a shot, which may narrow the suspect pool a little. He probably policed his brass, but you never know. I would say he was about thirty feet up the north slope. It looks like he’s a smoker. Maybe he left something behind,” Jake said. “We’ll have to consider additional security when she checks out the other sites. And get me the file on the Bear Island fire. I’ll explain when I get there.” He ended the call.
“Are you okay?” he asked turning quickly to look at Alexis.
She didn’t respond, sitting in as close to the fetal position as a seated adult could get, hugging herself. The cut from the glass had left a trail of blood down the side of her face, but it didn’t appear to need stitches. An inch higher, and she might’ve lost the eye. He would check her over carefully at the station and make sure there were no slivers of glass embedded in the flesh. If he found even one, then whether she liked it or not, it would mean a trip to the clinic.
He eased the truck onto the shoulder.
“Come here.”
He reached over and pulled her into his arms—the advantage of a bench seat—and held her tightly, murmuring words of comfort until her trembling eased. Unwilling to release her right away, he hugged her a few moments longer while his own anxiety subsided. Those shots had terrified him, especially when he realized he couldn’t reach her. Reluctantly, when her quaking abated, he let her go.
“Much as I’d like to stay here like this, we have to get going. I did tell Everett we would be there within forty minutes. Feeling better?”
He moved back behind the wheel.
She smiled weakly and nodded. “You would think I would be used to dodging bullets by now,” she tried to joke, but her voice didn’t carry any conviction. She took a deep breath and released it. “Did I mention that guy had hit me last spring? Suddenly this little cut became those full-blown agonizing bullet wounds. Ninety-nine percent of the time, I don’t even remember it, but there’s that 1 percent. I’m a little rattled, but I’m good. Do you think Everett could be right? Could it have been a hunter?” she asked, her voice imploring him to say yes.
He pursed his lips and shook his head. “As much as you might want to hear me agree, I can’t. A hunter wouldn’t have fired four times like that. This was our psycho making good on his threat, another warning to leave well enough alone. What are you going to do?”
She sat up straight in the seat, put on her seatbelt, and stared out the front window.
“I’m going to catch the son of a bitch,” she said, her jaw clenched.
Jake smiled at the determination on her face. If anyone could do it, it would be her.
* * *
Without another word, Jake started the truck and pulled back onto the road. Alexis stared straight ahead, a tissue pressed to her bleeding cheek, trying hard to hide the fear she couldn’t completely suppress, wishing he could’ve held her a little while longer and hating herself for being such a wimp.
Since the unfortunate affair with Bob, she’d made a point of keeping her emotions tightly reined in and avoiding anything that could lead to a personal relationship. She’d forced her heart into a dark, cold corner of her soul. It had been her only way to survive the pain of betrayal that had surfaced with his infidelity and cruel words. Some people weren’t meant to have happily ever afters, and it looked as if she was one of them.
Now, with Jake, it was different. The long ago hopes and dreams she’d suppressed scrambled into the light and demanded to be recognized. Those emotions were all mixed up with the old unresolved issues from twenty years ago. Getting involved with him in any way but professionally wouldn’t be wise. She needed to stay focused, to stand on her own two feet, and be the strong independent woman she had worked so hard to become. They could enjoy one another’s company as they had last night and this morning, but if she let her heart lead her, she might miss something vital.
Being able to find and understand this arsonist depended on her ability, her gift. She needed to get inside his head and into his mind, see through his eyes, and for that she had to remain clear-headed and as uninvolved and objective as possible. She’d come here to do a job. Her own needs and wants would have to take second place.
The sound of the windshield wipers slapping on the glass echoed in the silence of the vehicle and rubbed her already irritated nerves raw.
“Jake, I have to come clean about something.” She stopped and chewed her lip. “Before I went inside the cabin, I thought I saw a flash, sunlight on metal or glass, about halfway up the hill. I should have said something,” she admitted. “I did stop and look up, but when I didn’t see it again. I dismissed it. I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be. I probably would’ve paid no attention to it, either. It’s hunting season. You can expect to find hunters in the woods, but from now one, let’s make a point of sharing everything, no matter how insignificant it may seem.”
“There’s something else.” It was time to discuss a few of the things her gift had revealed, too. “You told me the drug dealer’s body was wrapped, right?”
“Yeah. He might’ve been twisted in a blanket, as if he’d turned over in his sleep. Why?”
“Remember when we were talking about the accelerant and I said he was in bed because of a drug? I think he was on that cot because he was deliberately wrapped the way someone rolls a joint.”
“You think he was turned into a doobie, and literally lit?” His voice filled with the horror mirrored on his face. “Did you get that from the pictures? I suppose it’s possible, but I hope to hell you’re wrong. That’s sick, truly sick.”
Nodding, she leaned deeper into the seat, watching the windshield wipers go back and forth. Given how he had reacted to this, how would he handle the rest of her insights?
“If you’re right about that, we’d better take a closer look at the photos of all the crime scenes before the bodies were moved,” he offered. “I just hope you don’t find any more sick surprises.”
Jake drove quickly but cautiously, watching the sides of the road for parked vehicles and other signs of danger. She jumped when he spoke again, her nerves still on edge.
“If he was watching us, he saw you taking pictures and collecting evidence. He must be scared, because shooting at you is definitely out of his wheelhouse.”
“I agree. He’s terrified that I’ll find something he overlooked, like the tin on the roof. I think I did find it—in fact, I found far more than he could ever imagine I would.” He’d left a piece of his soul in the cabin, and she’d collected it. “Can you convince the lab to make our samples a priority? I have a lot of information to transcribe into notes, and I would really like to look at the other fire scene pictures before we visit the scenes.”
Talking this way was helping her focus and feel more in control the way she liked it. Put the assignment first as it should be and put this latest attempt on her life out of her mind. Maybe she should test the waters and see whether or not Jake was open-minded enough to understand and appreciate her gift. Back at the cabin, she’d explained what she’d found but not how she’d done it.
“Do a lot of people around here have dogs?”
He turned to look at her, one eyebrow raised in question.
“I thought I heard a dog barking before the gunfire,” she lied.
He nodded. “There are probably as many dogs as there are kids in Paradise.”
“And I suppose the owners get
very attached to their animals?”
“We do. Maya is one of the family, aren’t you, girl.”
The little dog barked her agreement.
If Fire Angel felt the same way, having someone kill his dog would definitely be enough to set him off. She’d have to figure out a way to find out who’d recently lost a dog. Maybe this Lynette’s gossiping might come in handy after all.
“Once I file my preliminary report on the cabin fire, I’ll email a copy to Captain Peters. It won’t take me long to tag the samples I want analyzed,” she continued. “If you have copies of all the information gathered at the other crime scenes at the inn, we can be back on the road in fifteen minutes, twenty tops.”
That would give her enough time to ask Lynette about any missing dogs.
“Not so fast,” Jake said. “We need to have a good look at the cut on your face. It’s still bleeding. I have to make sure it’s clean and doesn’t need stitches. We wouldn’t want it to scar.”
“Right, the last thing I want is a scar on my face.” She had enough of those elsewhere.
To stay focused and not let her mind wander, she decided to share a little more about the wax she’d found, and the concerns she had because of it.
“I have to wait for the lab to be sure, but the fact that he started that fire with a candle bothers me. When I lived in Arizona, I often went down into Mexico for Day of the Dead celebrations. There were always rituals and a lot of them involved scores of candles, especially in the church. Lighting one was an offering. If these fires are part of a rite for him, then we can see them as one of two things—a cleansing of some sort, or a sacrifice to a higher power. Think along the lines of a sacrifice to the gods.”
“Or the devil. That’s what Ralph Willard, the gossip journalist, said when I interviewed him after the house fire. Maybe you’re reading too much into the candle,” Jake said. “Simmons didn’t have electricity. He probably used them at night, and one fell off something and rolled on the floor, melting to that spot near the hearth. By the same token, he could’ve heated a pot of paraffin wax intending to dip ducks in it to quickly get rid of any pin feathers, and he spilled it. Until you can confirm there was wax used elsewhere, I don’t think you should set much store in it. The same’s true about the safe area at the back door. None of the pyromaniacs I’ve studied—and there have been some real looney tunes—have gone so far as to stay inside while the fire burns around them. Maybe he simply ran out of turpentine by the time he got to the back door. I’ll bet the wax has nothing whatsoever to do with the arsonist.”
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