Up In Flames

by Lori Foster

  “Then we can hang out and wait for Mick?”

  Zack groaned. “Writing is work to her, you idiot. How can she work if you’re here disrupting her?”

  Josh looked totally bemused by the idea that he might be a bother to anyone, and Del relented. “Not at all,” she said. “I’ll enjoy the company. I really don’t know how much longer Mick will be, though.” She glanced at the wall clock and saw it was nearly five. “I thought he’d be back by now.”

  Zack glared at Josh, which made Josh raise his brows in a what? expression, before asking, “You’re sure you don’t mind?”

  “I’ve been writing all day. My legs are cramped.” Then a thought hit her and she said, “I haven’t been out running once since Mick moved in. I miss it.”

  Again they shared a look, and it was Josh who said, “It’s not safe for you to be out traipsing around until they catch those other guys.”

  “Yeah, right,” she scoffed. “Who’s to say they’ll ever catch them? Am I supposed to stay cooped up forever?” Josh opened his mouth and she rushed to say, “Don’t answer that! I know what you think already.”

  He grinned shamelessly. “I was just going to say to wait until Mick is completely healed and I’m sure he’ll run with you. In the park. Or someplace else that’s safe.”

  “But not here,” Zack added.

  “No, not here.”

  Del sat down on the couch next to Josh. “Why not here?”

  Josh frowned, measuring his words. “Being the intense writerly type that you are, you may not have noticed, but this area is pretty hazardous.”

  “Hazardous how?”

  He glanced at Zack for help. Zack sat on her other side. “Unsavory types live around here.”

  “Really?”

  “Well, yeah...you never noticed?”

  She chuckled at his disbelief. “Of course I did. I also noticed the variety of people who live here, old and young, black and white and Hispanic, male and female, friendly and hostile. I love the atmosphere, the constant chaos. No matter what time of night I’m up to write, there’s something going on outside. People feed my inspiration, and I write better in places like this.”

  Zack reached over and tweaked a tendril of her hair. “You’re a nut, sweetheart.”

  She swatted at him, laughing.

  Josh agreed. “Most women I know want to avoid the criminal element as much as possible. You’re the first person I’ve heard who wants to embrace it.”

  “I write about the criminal element, remember? Most of my mysteries revolve around a villain. Besides, I go where my villains go. And that makes for some fun travel.”

  “Yeah?”

  “Yup. I love moving.”

  They were just getting into that discussion when Del’s doorbell rang. She glanced at both Zack and Josh, then started to get to her feet.

  Josh stopped her with a hand on her arm. “Mick?”

  Shaking her head, she said, “Not unless he lost his key.”

  Zack moved past them both. “I’ll get it.”

  Del smiled at their determination in keeping her safe. She didn’t bother telling them that she received a lot of special delivery packages from her editor. No, she just sat back and indulged them in their maleness.

  When Zack opened the door, she saw two people there, a man and a woman dressed in suits. The woman gave a faint, stony smile. “Is Ms. Delilah Piper in, please?”

  “Who’s calling?” Zack asked suspiciously. At the same time, Del stood to better see.

  The woman looked past him. “Ms. Piper?”

  “That’s right.” Del started toward the door, but Josh kept pace at her side.

  The woman flipped open her bag to display a shiny, very official badge. “I’m Detective Darney, with the city police department. This is Detective Breer. Would you mind coming with us to answer some questions?”

  Josh bristled, eyeing the badges as if to verify their authenticity. “What’s this about?”

  At his tone, the male officer spoke up. “She’s wanted downtown for questioning. That’s all...for now.”

  Confused, Del asked, “Questioning about what?”

  Both Josh and Zack flanked her, and Del appreciated their solid, comforting presence. She felt off balance and a little frightened.

  Detective Breer ignored Josh and faced Del instead. “For possible involvement in the jewelry store robbery,” he intoned, his voice so deep Del felt her skin prickle.

  “What?” She thought she shouted the word, but it came out as only a vague, rusty whisper.

  Detective Darney looked sympathetic. “You’ve been named as an accomplice,” she gently explained. “But before any charges are filed, we’d like to talk to you.”

  Del had no idea what to do; she’d never faced a situation like this! She turned to Josh with a blank stare, hoping for direction. He looked furious and concerned. “Don’t worry, sweetheart. We’ll be right behind you.”

  “Mick...”

  Zack gave her a squeeze. “We’ll get hold of him. I promise.”

  She nodded, reached for her purse, and then Detective Darney had her arm, leading her out the door.

  CHAPTER TEN

  At least they hadn’t handcuffed her, Del thought with a struggling sense of humor to temper her despair. Her throat felt tight, her chest hurt and her stomach was queasy. She almost faltered as she was led through double glass doors and into a long corridor, but the police station wasn’t a place to make a scene.

  Detective Darney’s heels tapped on the tile floor on one side of her, while Breer’s heavy steps echoed as solid thuds on the other. They had her caged in—guarding against her escape? Absurd, almost as absurd as the interrogation room where they stopped.

  Detective Breer pulled a chair out for her. “Would you like a cup of coffee?”

  Numbness seeping in, Del shook her head. The proffered courtesies, in light of the situation, were almost laughable. She drooped down into the chair.

  The plastic-covered seat squeaked beneath her. Her blouse stuck to her back from the heat and her tension, forcing her to lean forward. Sweat gathered between her breasts. The unmarked car she’d ridden in had icy-cold air-conditioning, but this room was hot, stuffy, closing in on her. Suffocating.

  Once while doing research, she’d been in a room just like this. She knew the procedure and the protocol, and tried to calm herself with the fact that she knew what to expect, though she’d certainly never thought she’d find herself in the position of being an actual suspect.

  Still, she wouldn’t panic. It was all a misunderstanding. And thinking that, she said, “If you get hold of Mick Dawson, he could explain to you that I was just a victim.”

  As if she’d summoned him, Mick strode in. He had another man behind him, and both of them wore frowns, but Mick’s was darker, and very grim. Del didn’t understand, and she couldn’t stop herself from saying in some surprise, “Mick!” and then, as relief washed over her, “Thank God you’re here.”

  His black-eyed glance lacked any emotion as he took a seat at the end of the table—a good distance from where she sat.

  Anxiety smothered her. Mouth dry, pulse racing, Del looked down the expanse of the table to Mick. It meant something, that awful distance he’d instigated, but for the life of her, she couldn’t imagine what. When he’d left her at the apartment that afternoon, everything had been fine.

  He’d even told her he planned to get her a surprise gift.

  Thinking this wasn’t exactly the surprise she’d hoped for, Del twittered nervously. The silly sound just sort of escaped on its own, a girlish giggle, a forerunner to hysteria, making her edgier. She slapped a hand over her mouth. She didn’t understand...any of it.

  She swallowed hard and reached for composure. “What’s going on?”

  The man who’d entered with Mick held out his hand. He was large and beefy, and had salt-and-pepper hair neatly trimmed above his elongated ears. Watery, pale blue eyes were closely spaced to an overlarge nose. His s
uit fit his square frame loosely, and a wrinkled tie hung crooked around his neck.

  He looked like a wonderful character, Del thought, someone she could put into a book. She knew she shouldn’t be thinking such inane thoughts at the moment, but all other thoughts cut like tiny razors, and her mind naturally shied away from them.

  She couldn’t bring herself to accept the man’s hand.

  He eased back, putting his hand in his pocket. The other held a clipboard. “Ms. Piper, I’m Detective Faradon, lead investigator on the robbery you were involved in.” He checked his clipboard, then rattled off the date and time and location.

  Del concentrated on finding her breath and centering her thoughts. She had to deal with this—whatever it might be. “Could you please tell me what this is all about?”

  Rather than sit, Faradon propped his hip on the edge of the table. Del expected the table to collapse under his weight, but it held.

  She skipped another glance at Mick. He was staring at her with such stony concentration that it struck her like a physical blow, forcing her to flinch away.

  The other two detectives watched her as well. It was like being on display, or caught in a hangman’s noose, and it hurt.

  “Ms. Piper, are you acquainted with Rudy Glasgow?”

  She shook her head, then stopped abruptly. “Yes, he’s the man in the hospital, the man Mick shot.”

  “So you do know him?”

  “I know of him.” Her heart beat too hard, too fast. “I’ve read the accounts since the shooting. His name has been in the papers. He’s...he’s unconscious.”

  “Not anymore.” The man surveyed her through lowered, bushy brows. His expression turned speculative, calculating. Finally, he said, “He claims to know you.”

  Forgetting her sweaty blouse, Del dropped back hard in her chair. Her spine offered less support than an overcooked noodle. “He’s wrong,” she replied flatly.

  “He claims,” the man continued, glancing at his clipboard, “that you set the whole thing up as a publicity stunt.”

  Del’s gaze shot to Mick and locked with his. Neither of them blinked. Dear God, surely he didn’t believe such an idiotic story.

  She shook her head. “No.”

  “That’s it?” Mick asked, his voice harsh and loud in the closed room. “No other explanations?”

  Del searched his beautiful face, his once gentle face, and her heart crumbled. The flat, compressed line of his mouth, his locked jaw and dark flinty brown eyes showed his distaste.

  For her.

  Del winced with a very real pain. He’d already found her guilty in his mind. She wanted to reach out to him, to touch him, but she couldn’t. She didn’t think he’d let her.

  “Mick?” she whispered.

  His expression hardened even more and he looked away.

  It hurt worse than anything she’d ever felt. She murmured to his averted face, “I can’t believe you just did that. I...I really can’t.”

  He gave her another sharp look, but this time she dismissed him.

  Looking down at her hands, Del said, “I don’t know Rudy Glasgow, and I didn’t set up the robbery for a publicity stunt. I don’t do that.”

  “You have been known,” Detective Breer pointed out, “for your extravagant research tactics.”

  “Tactics that have never hurt anyone or broken any laws.” She felt hollow, stiff. Wounded. “I was there that day, as I’ve already said, to see how a robber would set things up, but—”

  “Isn’t that something of a coincidence,” Detective Darney asked, her voice soft in comparison to the men’s, “that a robbery would take place while you were doing your research for a robbery?”

  “Yes.” Del’s stomach churned with an awful dread. “It’s an incredible coincidence.”

  “You’ve spoken with him.”

  Del jumped at the lash of Mick’s accusation. She didn’t quite look at him when she asked in a small voice, “Who?”

  He rounded the table until he faced her from the other side, giving her no choice but to meet his gaze. “Glasgow. I saw him today.” He slashed a hand through the air, impatient, provoked. “He knows things.”

  “What kind of things?”

  After glancing at the other people in the room, Mick narrowed his eyes on her. “Things you and I have done. Intimate details that he couldn’t have guessed at.”

  Detective Darney turned away. The men stared at her, their attention burning hot. Embarrassment hit her first, then a wave of remorse for what Mick had clearly thrown away.

  And finally her temper ignited in scalding sensation. It chased away the numbness and burned away the hurt. Her heart raced, her pulse pounded.

  Very slowly, she came to her feet. “I haven’t spoken to anyone about anything we’ve done.”

  “He knew it all, Delilah. He knew details.”

  She stared over his shoulder, her mind racing as the ramifications of that sank in. “Then he...he found out some other way.”

  “How?”

  “It’s not my job to figure it out.” She turned pointedly to Faradon. Sweat gathered at the base of her spine. She itched from the prickling of fear, mortification, loss and anger.

  “All of you,” she said, addressing the whole room, “you are looking at the wrong person. I don’t know Rudy Glasgow. I haven’t spoken with him.”

  “You’ve told no one?”

  She glanced at Mick, overcome with sadness. His distrust would not be easy to forgive, and he would be impossible to forget. But she had no choice now. “What we’ve done, Mick...well, it was special to me.” She got choked up and despised herself for the weakness. She wasn’t used to declaring herself in front of a crowd, especially a hostile crowd. And she didn’t delude herself; this crowd was hostile. They’d already condemned her.

  She cleared her throat and made a last stab to reach him. “I would never have discussed our personal situation with anyone, much less the man who shot you.”

  For a long, sizzling moment, Mick stared at her, and she held herself still, hoping he’d smile, that he’d tell her he believed her. That he’d apologize.

  He jerked away, cursing softly. His back to her, Mick ran a rough hand through his hair, and Del found herself stupidly concerned for his injury. She could feel his tension, his anger.

  She ignored everyone else in the room. At the moment, the only one who mattered was Mick. What the others thought could be straightened out later. She said steadily, “If you just think about it, you’ll know I couldn’t have done that. That I wouldn’t have done anything like that. You know me.”

  “Barely,” he said, still not facing her.

  She wavered on her feet. That he could say such a thing after everything they’d done together, after everything she’d felt for him...

  She called herself a fool, even as she begged, “Don’t do this.”

  His gaze cut toward her, accusing. “He said you were counting on our relationship to keep you safe from the law.”

  Mick’s insinuation was clear. He chose to believe a man who’d shot him in the back, rather than her. Del forced herself to straighten. Later, she’d have to decide how to deal with her broken heart.

  Right now, she had to figure out what to do to make the detectives believe her. That had to be her top priority.

  But how? She looked around at them—and saw pity from the lead investigator, interest from Detective Breer and understanding from Detective Darney. Del hated it all, and accepted that they all considered her guilty.

  “Are you arresting me?” She was proud of her steady voice, the strength in her demand.

  Faradon tapped his clipboard against the table. “Not just yet. But I don’t want you to leave town.”

  “Fine.” Del turned to walk out on wobbly legs, but he stopped her.

  “Ms. Piper?”

  She froze.

  “I may have more questions later. I trust you’ll cooperate with me?”

  She turned to face him. “The man wanted to kill me�
�or so everyone keeps telling me. Now that he’s come up with this outrageous tale meant to incriminate me personally, I have to believe it was a deliberate act against me. Of course I want him convicted and his cohorts found. I’ll help you any way I can.”

  Looking a little bemused by that heartfelt speech, Faradon murmured dryly, “Thank you.”

  Del pushed the door open and walked out. Her neck hurt, her stomach coiled. Tears burned behind her eyes, and she fought them back.

  She wanted to run, as fast as her legs could carry her. Just as she hadn’t known such wonderful elation existed until she’d met Mick, she hadn’t known anyone had the power to hurt her so badly.

  But she held her dignity intact and walked, head held high, back down the long corridor. She was more than a little aware of Detectives Breer and Darney following behind her.

  When she reached the front desk, Josh and Zack stood there, impatient and worried. Zack reached for her first, pulling her into a warm, tight embrace that was just what she needed, but not who she needed it from.

  “Hey,” he said, squeezing her a bit tighter, “are you okay? You’re shaking.”

  Swallowing back a choking sob, she nodded against his chest and allowed herself the luxury of being held by him for one moment more. Then she pushed away.

  Josh touched her cheek. “Mick didn’t return my page yet.”

  It took two attempts before the words would come out. “No need to page him. He’s here.”

  Josh and Zack frowned, their expressions mirroring each other. The irony struck her, and she almost laughed. Not only would Mick not help her, but... “He was the one,” she said, trying for a note of self-mockery in place of desperation, “who evidently brought the new evidence to the police.”

  Josh didn’t appear convinced. “Honey, are you all right?”

  “No, no I’m not.” Any second now she was going to throw up. Not because of Rudy or the robbery. She was innocent, and sooner or later they’d all realize it.

  No, she was sick at heart, and sick inside, because she loved a man who’d just turned his back on her, and she had no idea how she was going to recover.

  A deep breath, then another, didn’t really help. “Being that you’re Mick’s friends, not really mine, and being that he now thinks I’m a... Well, I’m not sure what he thinks.” She shook her head, understanding now why he’d kept his thoughts so private—because he’d never trusted her. “All I know is that it’s ugly, that everything has changed, and I have no doubt you’ll both back him up as you always do. So—” she fashioned a smile out of her stiff lips and tried not to notice the concern in their eyes, the caring “—I guess this is goodbye. It’s been swell, guys.”