Up In Flames

by Lori Foster

  Knowing Delilah would stay in her apartment alone all day made it easier to be away from her. She’d said she intended to write, and Mick believed her. Once she got involved with her stories, not much, including him, could pull her away.

  He found her intensity rather endearing.

  An around-the-clock watch had been placed on Rudy’s room, even while he’d been unconscious. As Mick approached, the present guard came to his feet and set his magazine aside. Glancing down, Mick saw it was a periodical on martial arts. He smiled.

  “Dawson, with City Vice.” Mick held out his credentials for the guard to verify.

  He nodded. “I was told to expect you.”

  “Has anyone else been in to see him? Has he talked to anyone else?”

  The young officer rubbed the back of his neck. “Far as I know, he made a call to his lawyer and told the lead investigator that he’d speak with you. That’s it.”

  “He called a lawyer?”

  “Almost first thing after waking up. I heard he was real insistent about it.”

  Mick supposed that with an attempted-murder charge on Glasgow’s head, getting a lawyer would be a huge consideration. “He’s doing okay now? They expect a full recovery?”

  “Yeah. He’s a bit weak and shaky yet, and his leg is still healing, so they’re planning to keep him another day or so, but then they’ll ship him out.” The guard grunted. “If you ask me, he’s ready to go now, just dragging it out for the sake of a cushy bed.”

  Mick didn’t doubt the probability of that. He pulled the door open.

  The room was similar to the one he’d stayed in, only the shades were tightly drawn to keep it dim, and the TV played loudly. Mick took it all in with a single glance, then lounged against the wall. “You wanted to see me, Glasgow?”

  Rudy Glasgow glanced over at him. His face was pale, his eyes shadowed, testimony to his physical state. It didn’t move Mick one bit.

  Rudy studied Mick for a long minute before grinning and motioning him closer. “I won’t bite. Hell, even if I did, I doubt you’d feel it, I’m so damn weak.”

  Mick refused to respond to that prompt. He went straight to the matter most important to him. “Why’d you try to shoot her, Glasgow?”

  He had to shout to be heard over the television, and it annoyed him. Rudy had soft sheets under him, plump pillows behind his head, a mostly eaten meal still on the tray beside his bed. Except for his elevated leg, wrapped in gauze where the bullet had struck, and the guard outside his door, he seemed to be pampered.

  It grated that a criminal—an attempted murderer—should be treated so gently.

  With a long, lethal look, Rudy said, “That bullet may have crippled me for life.”

  Mick bared his teeth. “No shit? That’s the best news I’ve had all day.”

  “Screw you,” Rudy suddenly said, lifting himself forward in a surge of anger. He kept his tone low, his voice a growl barely audible over the sound of the TV. His right hand twisted the sheet at his side.

  Mick raised a brow, glad to see he’d riled the man. In his experience, information was always more forthcoming when your adversary was upset.

  The information he got wasn’t quite what he’d been expecting.

  Slowly, by tiny degrees, Rudy’s hand opened and he rested back on his pillows. He breathed deeply, as if that small fit of temper had taxed him, then a sardonic light entered his tired eyes and he actually chuckled. “But then,” he said, “she’s already doing that, isn’t she?”

  “Doing what?”

  “Screwing you.” He laughed again.

  Feigning ignorance, Mick asked, “What the hell are you talking about?”

  His laugh was bitter and mean. “That double-crossing bitch you protected. Oh, she covered her ass real good, I’ll give her that.”

  Impatient, Mick barked, “Turn that damn television down. I can barely hear you.”

  “You heard me just fine, but I’ll keep the set on so no one else hears. This conversation is between me and you. What you do with it after that is your own business.”

  “You planning on telling me something important, is that it?”

  “Damn right. You,” Rudy rasped, and thrust a finger at Mick, “are making cozy with an accomplice.”

  “Is that so?” Mick forced himself to speak casually, though a tightness invaded his chest. “And who would it be?”

  “The woman you protected!”

  “The woman you tried to kill?”

  “She had it coming!”

  Finally, Mick thought, finally he’d get some answers. He summoned a pose of boredom, when inside he seethed with anticipation—and something else, something damn close to dread. He blocked it; he had to know. “How do you figure that?”

  “Because she was in on the robbery.”

  Mick laughed, though he didn’t feel even an ounce of humor.

  Rudy seemed beside himself. “Why the hell else did you think she was there?”

  Mick stayed silent, not about to encourage him.

  The man smirked. “My lawyer has been in contact with her, you know. He told me that she’s got you moved in and under her spell. She even bragged to him that you wouldn’t prosecute her, not while she’s keeping you happy in bed.”

  “You expect me to believe this?” Mick knew Delilah hadn’t talked to any lawyers. He’d been with her twenty-four-seven. Protecting her, he thought... No, he wouldn’t let doubts intrude because of this scum! Delilah was an open, trusting woman. A gentle woman.

  Who drove her car into rivers and learned how to hot-wire cars. A woman who kept company with criminals...

  Mick shook his head. He knew every damn call she’d gotten. From her agent, her editor... But then, he’d just taken her word on that, when the strangers had called and she’d excused herself for a private conversation.

  “You know she’s a damn publicity hound,” Rudy continued. “Don’t you read at all? This is her biggest stunt yet, though we sure as hell didn’t know about her twisted ending until we heard the cops coming. Then we realized she’d tipped them off. There was no other way they could have known we’d be there.”

  Icy dread climbed Mick’s spine, chilling him on the inside, making his voice brisk. “A passerby claims to have seen you through the front window, and he called the police on his cell phone.”

  Rudy waved that away. “She set the whole thing up, including the guy who placed the call. Think about it—what was she doing there when she didn’t buy anything? And why the hell would a real successful writer live in that dump she calls home?”

  Mick had often wondered the same thing himself. But what did he know about a writer’s salary, successful or otherwise? And for that matter, what did Glasgow know about how Delilah lived?

  Feeling edgier by the second, Mick demanded, “Why tell me this?”

  “Why?” Again Rudy leaned forward, and this time he shook a fist. “Because I’ll be damned if I’ll sit here and rot while she goes scot-free!”

  “So you think I’ll go to the police and have them arrest her? That I’ll ask to have her prosecuted?”

  “Cut the crap. You don’t need to go to the cops because you are a cop. I know it, and more importantly, she knows it, regardless of your lame act about being a PI.”

  Mick’s heart thudded to a standstill. How did this man know what he’d said to Delilah, unless Delilah had told him? Feeling as if a fist was tightening around his windpipe, he managed to say, “A cop?”

  “That’s right. You must really think she’s stupid, but believe me, she’s a clever one. She hadn’t counted on you being in the jewelry store that day. She’d told us she just wanted to take part in the robbery, to experience it because of her twisted way of researching things. We’d get the goods and she’d get her insight. She promised to pay us nicely for our trouble.

  “But then I guess she decided it’d work out better for her if she got rid of us. If anyone got wise to what really happened, she’d be off the hook. It would have been
our word against hers, and she’s fast becoming a celebrity, while we all have records. Without any proof to back us, she’d have walked away with a ton of fresh publicity, and we’d all have done time.”

  “You still don’t have any proof—or are you stupid enough to think I’m going to believe you?” Mick had bluffed with the best of them, and right now he felt as if he’d gambled with his heart.

  “Just hear me out.”

  “Not if you’re only going to spout bullshit.”

  Again, Rudy’s hands fisted in the sheets, and his face turned an angry red. “When she realized I knew the truth about how she’d set us up, she saw you as a way out. I bet she came on real strong, didn’t she? I can tell by your expression she did.” Rudy laughed. “She figures you’ll protect her, but I want you to see justice done. That’s what cops do, right? They arrest the criminals.”

  Mick narrowed his eyes. “Or shoot them in the leg.”

  “Bastard!”

  His shout was so loud, the guard stuck his head in the door. “Everything okay in here?”

  Mick didn’t even look at him. “Get out.”

  Holding up his hands, the guard said, “Just checking,” and backed away, letting the door hiss shut behind him.

  Mick took a step forward. His heart hammered, but he kept his expression impassive, blank. “Give me one good reason why I shouldn’t take you apart.”

  “Why the hell would I lie? And think about it—how would I know all this otherwise?”

  “Your buddies who got loose?” He stood right next to the bed now, staring down at Rudy, fighting the urge to do him more damage. “We haven’t rounded them up yet—but we will.”

  Rudy groaned, but more out of frustration than pain. “Believe me, they’re long gone. Not a speck of loyalty in their veins. No, the only one I’ve spoken with is my lawyer, and he gave me some gritty details that just about pushed me over the edge.”

  Mick didn’t want to hear any details. “Give me the lawyer’s name.”

  “Not yet.” Rudy absently massaged his leg. With deep satisfaction, Mick watched the pain cloud his face. “Not until she gets what she deserves.”

  “Why would she tell the lawyer anything? It would only incriminate her.”

  The man shook his head. “He’s in love with her. He would never do anything to hurt her, including sharing this information with you. He only told me because he wanted me to understand that she had no intention of getting involved in this mess, that I couldn’t count on her to help me out.”

  “Ah.” Mick made a tsking sound of false sympathy. “So you have no one to corroborate this ridiculous tale, huh? Too bad.” The sarcasm didn’t work as well as he’d hoped; he still felt ready to shout with rage. The ridiculous tale was far too close to sounding plausible to suit him.

  “I don’t need anyone to confirm my story. You already know it’s true.”

  “Not so,” he lied. “I don’t believe anything repeated by an attempted murderer and bungling thief.”

  The man looked dumbstruck, then florid with rage. “She really did get to you, didn’t she? I understand she wore you out that first night, drugged you, then used her mouth to put you to sleep. But you’re a good sport. I mean, you paid her back in kind, right, once you’d gotten a little rest and your friends had all gone home?” Rudy jeered, his voice grating down Mick’s spine. “For a wounded man, you were tireless, I’ll give you that. But then with her in the saddle, what man wouldn’t be?”

  A red haze of pain and anger nearly blinded him. “You son of a bitch.” Mick grabbed him by his hospital gown and twisted, lifting him a good six inches off the mattress. Disappointment threatened to buckle his knees. He had begun trusting her, caring about her, even lo—

  No! None of that mattered now. The only way Rudy could have known the intimate details of Mick’s first night with Delilah, especially the playful reference to riding, was if she’d told someone.

  And why would she do that unless what Glasgow said was true? He couldn’t believe he’d let his lust for her override his professional instincts.

  Anguish tore through Mick, obliterating his reason, filling him with bitter regret.

  On the heels of those overwhelming sensations was refreshing fury, a reaction he knew how to deal with, an emotion that gave him back his breath—and his strength. He let the rage overtake him.

  He released Rudy with a wrenching motion that made the man choke and hold his throat.

  Mick backed away, knowing he’d gone over the edge. He wouldn’t let her hurt him like this. He wouldn’t let her make him forget his duty, his responsibilities.

  Goddamn it, he’d been the worst kind of fool, but no more. He didn’t verify or deny Rudy’s claims, he simply turned on his heel and walked out, but he heard Rudy alternately gasping and laughing behind him.

  Hot purpose drove Mick, made his steps long and hard and impatient.

  The guard tried to speak to him, but Mick’s throat was all but closed, his thoughts, his feelings agitated, even violent. He had to collect himself, get himself under control.

  And he had to see the lead investigator on the case. He had evidence to share—and he wouldn’t feel sane until he did.

  * * *

  Delilah heard the knock and left her desk. Mindful of her promise to Mick, she asked, “Who is it?”

  “Josh,” a voice called back, and, leaving the chain on the door, she cracked it open.

  Not only Josh stood there, but Zack, too. They made a mismatched pair, she thought, seeing them both smile at her. Josh with his dark green eyes and blond hair always reminded her of a slick cover model. He had cockiness stamped all over him, and he knew his effect on women. She shook her head. His effect was wasted on her. She had eyes only for Mick, and she liked it that way.

  “Can we come in?” Zack asked.

  If Josh looked like a model for Playgirl, then Zack, with his kind blue eyes and bone-straight, light brown hair, looked like a model for the Sunday ads, maybe for comfy house slippers. He looked warm and cozy, like a man meant for a family.

  Josh was excitement. Zack was comfort.

  Mick was both those things and more. He was everything. Too quickly, he’d become so important to her.

  She held the door open so they could enter. “Mick’s not here.”

  They both drew up short, and Josh, in the rear, almost ran into Zack. “What do you mean, he’s not here?”

  Delilah shrugged. “He said he had a surprise something or other to do and left at lunchtime, almost four hours ago. He didn’t want me to go along.”

  They shared a look. “You promised to stay in?” Josh guessed.

  She shrugged. “I had writing to do, anyway. But this overprotectiveness is getting absurd.” She gave them both pointed looks to let them know they were grouped in with the overprotective absurdity. After all, they backed Mick up every time he warned her to be cautious. She wondered how they thought she’d lived this long without them all looking over her shoulder, protecting her every step of the way.

  Zack put his arm around her. They were both overly familiar, treating her now as if she and Mick were a longtime couple. They’d come around almost every other day, and had learned to make themselves at home. “Grant the guy the right to worry.”

  “He doesn’t return the favor.” She didn’t mean to sound complaining, but it sure came out that way.

  “Meaning?” Zack asked in a gentle tone.

  “Meaning he doesn’t want me to ever worry and he looks annoyed if I do.”

  Josh dropped onto her couch. “’Course he would. He’s a guy.”

  Del warned him with a look. “Your sexist attitude is going to get you into trouble someday.” At first Josh’s attitude had rubbed her the wrong way, but now she accepted him, even liked him. In small doses.

  Zack nodded. “I’ve told him the same, but this time he’s right. Mick can take care of himself.”

  She laughed at them. They saw everything in black-and-white, especially where me
n and their roles in life were concerned. Men were supposed to protect, to defend, to cherish. Even Josh, with his variety of girlfriends, treated them all as special. And Zack made his beautiful little girl the center of his life.

  That thought brought another, and she asked, “Where’s Dani?” She enjoyed visiting with the child. Dani wasn’t the average four-year-old. She was too precocious, too aware of her surroundings.

  “Gone to the movies with a neighbor and her daughter. She said to give you a hug from her.” So saying, Zack pulled Del close and squeezed her, rocking back and forth.

  She laughed and pushed herself away. Never in her life had she been touched so much. Her parents, once they’d realized she was different, had given her space—not necessarily space she wanted, but evidently space they needed. They hadn’t known how to deal with her, so they’d dealt with her less.

  Not so with these guys. The less they understood her, the more determined they were to figure her out. And in the process, they coddled and cuddled her a lot. They made her laugh, made her exasperated, made her feel important, wanted.

  She enjoyed it all, the intimate, hot touching she and Mick shared, the friendly touching and camaraderie she got from Mick’s friends, and the emotional touching, the acceptance, the welcome. Not a day went by that she didn’t hear from one or another of Mick’s family or friends.

  It had never occurred to her how isolated she’d become. She wrote in a void, emerging only for research and publicity. But then Mick had saved her life, and in the process, changed it irrevocably.

  “When do you expect him back?” Josh asked, even as he picked up the TV remote control and started looking for a sports channel.

  Zack turned the television off. “Dolt, did you consider that she might be busy?”

  Josh glanced at her. “You busy?”

  Feeling rather conspicuous now, Del gestured at her desk, littered with small sticky notes and research files. “I was just writing the last chapter.”