Up In Flames

by Lori Foster

  “You thought I was impervious to cold, too, that I had insides made of iron.”

  Del sputtered. “Don’t bring up my coffee now!”

  “You don’t know what I go through, how I fight every day to make sure I stay deserving.”

  Deserving of what? she wanted to ask, but she couldn’t. “Mick...”

  “To a lot of people, right and wrong are clear-cut values. But not to me. I force those ideologies into the front of my mind all the time—that a woman strung out on drugs is wrong, not just desperate. That a young man with a gun is a criminal, not a kid trying to survive. I don’t even know what a white knight is, but I know what the rules tell me, and I follow those rules to the letter.”

  Del swallowed her hurt. Looking at him, seeing his pain, hurt even more. “Did those rules tell you to protect me when you knew it might get you killed?”

  His jaw clenched; his entire body tightened. But his hands didn’t hurt her. She knew without a doubt that Mick would never, ever physically hurt her.

  “An officer has to take action when he sees a civilian threatened.”

  She barely heard what he said. “Did those rules insist you turn me in because you thought I was breaking the law? Or did you do that because you thought I’d used you?”

  He tipped his head back and groaned. “Both.”

  “Mick?” She needed to touch him, to soothe him, but his hold didn’t allow for that. So she gave him the only words she knew that might help. “I forgive you.”

  His gaze jerked to hers, hot, burning, filled with relief, with satisfaction, greed, elation.

  She saw the pulse racing in his strong throat, saw the muscles in his shoulders quiver, saw the glaze of relief in his eyes.

  “I want you,” he groaned. “More than I’ve ever wanted anything. More than I wanted my mother to care, more than I wanted Angel to be safe.” He shook her slightly. “More than I want my next breath. But I’m just me, and if you try to make me more than that we’ll both be disappointed.”

  Del licked her lips. It sounded to her like he loved her, though he hadn’t quite said so. “Do you want me now?”

  He lifted her a few inches more until his mouth ground down on hers, bending her head back. His tongue thrust deep. Her body came into stark contact with his, making her aware of all his hard angles and firm muscles, and the long, hard length of his throbbing erection.

  Just as quickly his kiss eased and he gentled his hold. His velvet tongue licked, teased, then slowly withdrew. “I’m sorry,” he murmured against her mouth, nibbling on her lips, softening them. “I need you.”

  “Your shoulder,” she said in alarm, fearing he’d hurt himself.

  And Mick groaned again, a sound of half humor, half awe. “Even when I act like a marauding bastard, you don’t put me in my place.” His expression was less strained, and a half smile curled his mouth. “You’re something else, Delilah Piper, you know that?”

  “Something good?” she asked.

  He smoothed her hair, stroked her lips with his thumb. “Something wonderful,” he whispered, and then he kissed her again, this time with such sweetness, such love, she didn’t even need to hear him speak the words. She couldn’t resist him. He’d tell her what she wanted to hear sooner or later, but for tonight she had him, she had his confidences, and that was more than enough.

  * * *

  The second Mick awoke, he knew the other side of the bed was empty. He sat up in a rush, panic closing in—and saw Delilah sitting in the chair by the window. He eased back, but his heart continued to stutter and his stomach still cramped. “You couldn’t sleep?”

  A dark shadow made up her form in the gray, predawn light, and still he sensed her smile. “Watching you is more fun than sleeping.”

  He realized the sheet was around his ankles, and he cocked a brow at her. It was easier to breathe now, with her so obviously teasing. “Taking advantage of me?”

  “Yes.”

  Mick stretched and yawned. With his initial alarm gone, he realized he felt better today, less frazzled, but not completely satisfied. He didn’t think he’d be content until he had Delilah committed to him one hundred percent. And that meant getting a ring on her finger and hearing her say the vows.

  When she was officially his wife, then maybe he could relax.

  He’d made progress last night, though he hoped like hell she’d never put him through anything like that again. He hated rehashing the past. It shamed him, reminded him of how weak he’d been, how far he’d struggled. And whether Angel admitted it or not, he always knew he’d never have made it without her. If it hadn’t been for Angel, he’d be on the other side of the law right now, the one being arrested for God only knew what, rather than a cop doing the arresting.

  It was an emotional struggle he dealt with every day.

  He heard Delilah sigh as he stretched his left arm high, and grinned. She was so blatant about enjoying his body, both by touch and sight. He was glad he hadn’t spent his life chasing women and screwing around like so many males seemed driven to do. It made their relationship that much more special. She was the only woman who’d ever lived with him.

  “I thought you’d be writing,” he said as he stood and went to his dresser to get some shorts.

  She turned to watch him. He knew his way in the dark, but still he flipped on the wall switch, wanting to see her better.

  She looked...dreamy.

  “I didn’t even think about writing.”

  He frowned, stepped into his gray boxers and went to her. She wore his shirt, and that turned him on. Of course, if she’d been wearing nothing at all, or the sheet, or her own T-shirt, he’d have still been turned on. She couldn’t breathe without making him hard.

  He stood looking down at her, dreading the question he had to ask. “Did I interfere with your work?”

  “How so?”

  He smoothed her glossy dark hair behind her ears, touched her arched brows. “You were so upset, I thought...”

  “Oh, no. When I’m upset, I usually work through it at the computer. Same when I’m excited. Or sad.”

  Mick shook his head. Not much got in the way of her writing.

  “It’s just that last night was so wonderful. You were so wonderful.” She sighed again, a sigh of repletion and fulfillment, making him feel like that damn white knight she’d spoken of.

  Then she added, “I’ve been thinking, too, about Neddie, about some of the stories he told me.”

  Slowly, Mick straightened. “Let’s do this over coffee.”

  “Do this?”

  “I have a gut feeling that whatever you’re going to tell me will be the clue we’ve been missing. I need caffeine to digest it all, so I don’t miss anything important.”

  Delilah stood and did her own stretching. His pulse leaped. If this wasn’t so important... He eyed the bed. But no, it was important, and he had to see to her safety first.

  “This gut feeling of yours,” she asked, “is it like a cop’s sixth sense?”

  Mick put his arm around her and led the way to the kitchen, flipping on the lights as he went. It was only five-thirty. It’d be another hour or so before the sun lit the sky. “I just know that somehow all this stuff is related.”

  She nodded, took a stool at the counter—evidently more than willing to have him wait on her, which he was glad to do. “I think it has to do with the story I’m working on.”

  “Your newest book?” He measured coffee and turned on the machine.

  She nodded. “You got anything I can snack on? I’m starved.”

  He remembered she’d been too upset to eat much the night before, and guilt washed over him. He scrounged around until he found her a few cookies. “I can put some eggs and bacon on, too,” he offered, and she accepted with a mouthful of cookie.

  “You talk while I cook,” he said.

  She waved the second cookie at him. “Neddie was trying to go straight, you know? A condition of his parole was that he continue to be counseled, and
part of his counseling was to own up to the things he knew he’d done wrong. So he sometimes talked to me.”

  “You were supposed to absolve him of guilt?”

  “Not even close.” She chewed on her cookie, thinking, then shuddered. “He told me some gruesome stories,” she admitted. “Stuff I could never use in a book. It was too...real, and you know what they say about truth being stranger than fiction. But in a way, Neddie had this odd code of honor. He didn’t hurt anyone that he didn’t think needed to be hurt. I mean, he didn’t just choose innocent victims.”

  “He hired himself out, honey. He did what he was paid to do.”

  “I know.” She brushed the remainder of the crumbs from her hands and watched Mick lay bacon in a hot skillet. “But he only took jobs that his conscience would let him take. Like this one guy he snuffed—”

  “Snuffed?” Mick eyed her, appalled at the casual way she said that.

  She shrugged. “It’s part of the lingo.”

  Didn’t he know it. “Go on.”

  “Anyway, the guy he killed had some huge gambling debts, but Neddie said he took the job because the guy also abused his wife.”

  Mick made a face. “What a discerning fellow.”

  Delilah laughed. “That’s what I said to him. And he knew it was still wrong, but he said he half enjoyed beating that guy up and then dumping him for dead, because he hated anyone who would hit a woman.”

  “We’re in agreement on that.”

  In a voice as soft as butter, she said, “I know.”

  Mick poked at the bacon with a fork. He couldn’t take her hero worship on an empty stomach, so he steered her back to the subject at hand. “What does any of this have to do with your story?”

  “Well, Neddie told me that these guys tried to hire him to kill a man because the guy knew too much and wanted to come clean. They were afraid he’d turn evidence on them or something, so they wanted Neddie to kill him, then sink his car in the river.”

  Mick jerked around, staring at her. A limp piece of uncooked bacon dangled from the fork in his hand.

  “Neddie refused. Not only because he was out of the business and trying to go straight, but because he said he sympathized with the other guy. He said they were alike, both of them wanting to be legit, and there was no proof the guy would rat. After all, Neddie said he’d never ratted anyone out before.”

  This is it, Mick thought with a surge of triumph. This is the link.

  “I told Neddie about how I’d learned to escape a car that had gone into the river, and he said I couldn’t have escaped if I’d been dead before it went in.” Delilah tilted her head at Mick, her beautiful, light blue eyes filled with a heavy sadness. “Is that what happened to Neddie? You said he was murdered, and I know he drowned. Did someone kill him, then drive his car into the river? The paper didn’t give all the details. I didn’t know you were a cop, so I didn’t think you’d know, either. After all, it was supposed to be confidential stuff for the ongoing investigation.”

  For the first time that he could remember since becoming an officer of the law, Mick didn’t even consider what was right or wrong. He set a cup of coffee in front of Delilah and pulled out the stool next to her. Their bare knees touched, his on the outside of hers. “Neddie’s wrists,” he explained carefully, “had bruises on them, evidence that he’d been tied up, though there were no ropes or anything on him when his body was found.”

  Delilah reached for his hand, and Mick squeezed her fingers.

  “He had a wound on the back of his head, too. The coroner said he’d been struck with a blunt object, knocked out just before the car went off the bridge—or possibly as the car went over. It’d be impossible to tell for sure, but as you just said, he wasn’t given the chance to escape the car and swim to the surface. We’re thinking whoever did it hoped the car wouldn’t be found until time and the natural effects of water and cold had done enough damage to disguise a deliberate murder.”

  “He had a suicide note in his pocket?”

  Mick nodded. “Yeah.”

  Her lips quivered, and she drew a ragged breath. “That’s exactly what Neddie described, what he said the men wanted him to do.” She blinked away a sheen of tears, and whispered raggedly, “I used that whole scenario in my book.”

  “The book you’re working on now?”

  “Yes. In the last book, the hero got away by keeping his head and doing the things I’d learned from submerging myself in a car.”

  Mick shuddered. He could not think about that now. Somehow he’d figure out a way to temper Delilah’s more dangerous inclinations, without stifling her.

  “But in this book,” she continued, oblivious to his turmoil, “he was knocked out, a suicide note planted on him, and the heroine had to save him.”

  Just like Delilah to twist things around, Mick thought. But then, if any woman were capable of a rescue, it’d be Delilah Piper. He wouldn’t underestimate her on anything, once she set her mind to it.

  It was an enormous long shot, but Mick asked, “That whole scenario is too damn close to the truth to be comfortable. Does anyone know what’s in this book?”

  She nodded. “Tons of people, I’m sure. Remember I told you I was on the news, discussing my current project? We talked about that whole scene. I...I was laughing about it, bragging that it could happen, and that a woman might indeed be a hero. I never once considered that I could be putting Neddie in danger.”

  “Neddie didn’t know about the interview?”

  “I don’t know.” She covered her face. “He died shortly after that. He...he might have died because of me. Someone could have heard that radio program, someone who knew we’d become friends, that Neddie coached me on my research.”

  “And they might have assumed he’d told you too much, and that you could repeat it.” If Mick thought he’d felt fear before, it was nothing to what he felt now. Someone wanted to shut her up, to make certain she couldn’t repeat details that might be incriminating. But he didn’t know who, and until he did know, until he could get the bastards, her life was at stake.

  Delilah rocked slowly back and forth in her seat as the ramifications settled around her. “I’m to blame.”

  With a new fury, Mick tipped up her chin. “Wrong. Don’t even go there, babe. When you live the type of life Neddie did, then you run the risks. That’s just how it is.”

  “He was changing.”

  “Maybe just a little too late.” Mick pulled her into his lap. “Did Neddie give you any names, anything that might connect him with the killers?”

  She thought hard, staring down at her hands. Slowly her gaze rose to his. “You know, he did say something, but I’m not sure it’ll help.”

  “At this point, it’d have to be more than we’ve got.”

  She nodded, her brows drawn. “He said the guys who wanted to hire him should have known better, because they’d been in prison with him in ’86, all of them convicted for car theft.”

  It took several moments for it to sink in, before Mick allowed himself to believe. “Bingo.”

  “You think?”

  “I think it’ll be easy enough to check prison records. That might do it, with your testimony. Especially if the fingerprints from the apartment next to yours match up. We should have those today.”

  “Is that why they tried to kill me? They knew Neddie had been talking to me? They knew he’d...told me things?”

  Mick hugged her. God, she was precious to him. And she was also smart, so there was no point in hoping to protect her. Besides, he didn’t want her feeling guilty for Neddie’s death, not if he could help it.

  “The bruises on Neddie’s wrists showed that he put up a hell of a fight, that he tried to work himself free. But he didn’t make it.” Mick kissed her temple, her ear. “Could be they promised to let him go if he named everyone he’d talked to.”

  She shook her head, adamant in Neddie’s defense. “No, Neddie would never have done that, not if he thought they’d hurt me.”


  Her innocence amazed him. “How long did you know him, sweetheart?”

  “A few months. But we were friends, Mick,” she said staunchly.

  “That’s not enough time to really judge.”

  She leaned back and gave him a level look. “It’s longer than I’ve known you.”

  Mick scowled, not appreciating that comparison at all. “He was an admitted murderer. A car thief. Those things are not synonymous with ethics, and any man could cave when his life was on the line.”

  “I won’t believe that.”

  Mick decided to let it go. She’d been hurt enough, and disillusioning her now wouldn’t accomplish a thing. “Let’s finish up breakfast and shower, then I’ll call Faradon. He should be up by then, and if not, well, he’ll get up.”

  “You really think any of this will make a difference?”

  “I know it will.”

  “I hope so,” she said. “I want this behind us. I want us to take walks in the park and go to the zoo, and I want to get back to my research.”

  Mick groaned. He didn’t know if he could live through her special brand of daredevil study.

  But he knew he didn’t want to live without her, so he supposed he’d find a way to get used to it.

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  The phone rang while Mick was in the shower. He’d insisted that Del go ahead while he cleaned the kitchen, and when she’d protested, he claimed it had to be that way. If he showered with her, they’d never leave his house.

  She accepted that he probably was right.

  With her hair still wet and her feet bare, Del picked up the phone. “Dawson residence.”

  “Faradon here. Is this Ms. Piper?”

  “Yes,” she said shortly. Detective Faradon still wasn’t one of her favorite people, not after the interrogation she’d been through.

  “We got the fingerprints back and have some photos to go with them. We’d like you to come to the station and take a look, see if you can ID anyone. How soon can you be here?”