by Beverly Long
The fire truck raced around to the other side of the building. Jake continued to run through the crowd. On his second pass-through, when he was looking in doorways and alleys, he saw something that made his heart stop.
Janet. She was on the ground but trying to sit up. He ran to her side. “Janet. What happened? Where’s Tara?”
“He took her. He hit me and pushed me down and then he grabbed her.”
“Who, Janet? Who?”
“She called him Michael.”
Chapter Seventeen
Where would he take her? Her place? Jake didn’t think so, but he wasn’t leaving anything to chance. He ran to find Andy. He explained the situation and sent him to Tara’s.
He took one quick look at the restaurant. The fire was under control. Nel’s would have water and smoke damage, but it was still standing. Oh, God, he thought, please let me have the chance to give Tara the good news.
He was just about to jump in his own car to do something—what, he didn’t know—when Donny Miso came running up. The man was sweating like a pig but Jake didn’t smell any alcohol.
“I saw who started the fire. It was that woman from the bank. Madeline Fenton. She dumped some gas into it and threw in a match. She’s a crazy bitch.”
Masterly? Madeline Fenton? How in God’s name were they connected?
Jake nodded his thanks and took off toward the Fentons. There were lights on in the living room. He pounded on the door. Alice opened it.
“I need to see Madeline. Right now.”
“It’s a bit late—”
“Let him in, Alice,” Henry said, coming up behind his wife. He looked as if he’d aged ten years. “We just heard about the fire,” he said to Jake. Then he turned to his wife. “We can’t keep protecting her. She’s going to hurt somebody one of these days. And how will we live with that?”
Alice started to cry. “She’s not a bad girl. She’s not.”
It was all starting to make sense. Bill Fenton hadn’t started the fires all those years ago. Madeline had. And her parents had been protecting her ever since. It had cost her brother his best friend, and he’d never forgiven her.
“Where is she?” Jake demanded.
“She’s not here,” Henry said. “There are apartments above the Double-Pull. Try there. I overheard her on the telephone, talking to somebody about meeting there.”
* * *
TARA’S FACE HURT. Michael had punched her, dragged her down the street, past the back door of the Double-Pull, then up the stairs to a dingy apartment. He’d shoved her onto the floor and kicked her twice.
But he hadn’t killed her yet. She was curled in a ball, letting him think that she was hurt worse than she was. He was on his cell phone, talking loud, waving his hands.
“Don’t come yet, darling. You’ll get your money,” he said. “You did good. You and Waller can split the fifty grand any way you want. Although I was hoping the whole damn building would burn.”
Tara lifted her head just slightly. Michael had his back to her. She’d never fought back before. The bastard wouldn’t expect it this time, either. He also wouldn’t expect that she had an empty beer bottle up her sleeve. She’d seen it on the ground outside the bar, stumbled on purpose and managed to snag it before he’d yanked her up by the hair.
“You little bitch,” Michael said. She heard his footsteps cross the room and knew that he was standing over her. “You thought you could leave me. Make a fool out of me.” He kicked her in the back again.
She could not keep her moan silent. He laughed, knowing that she was in pain.
“What was I supposed to tell our friends?” he asked. “My family? You didn’t think of that, did you? You do not make a fool out of Michael Masterly and get away with it. You thought you were so smart, leaving in the middle of the night. Do you know how much work you caused me?” He kicked her again, catching a rib.
“I’m a busy man, Joanna. But I’m smart, too. I know people who know things. You know who knows a lot? The people who work on the computers. It didn’t even cost me much. A few hundred dollars and I had your hard drive and every story you’d ever worked on. Then it was just a matter of tracking down the leads. You’re not the only person who knows how to do that.”
She heard him walk across the room and heard the sound of liquid splashing in a glass. She could smell the expensive rum that he favored. “It took me a while but I found the real Tara Thompson and then when things didn’t match up, I found you. You should never have paid income taxes, Joanna. That was stupid. Your address was right there.”
He grabbed the back of her collar and jerked her head back. She could smell the alcohol on his breath. He laughed at her. “I’ve been watching you for a long time, even before that cop bastard that you’re sleeping with came to town.”
She looked in his eyes. His pupils were dilated. He pushed her head away and it hit the floor hard. He paced to the other side of the room.
“I’m the cat and you’re the mouse. You’ve been scurrying around, not realizing that you were about to be eaten. Weeks and weeks in this crappy little town. I’d have lost my mind if it wasn’t for Madeline.”
Madeline?
“She hates you, you know that? And she loves money. So it was the perfect match. And it was just by luck that I found her.” He laughed, his voice higher, more shrill than normal. “I was searching her parents’ house, looking for the key to your house, and I found her journal. She doesn’t like it that her parents love you best, Joanna. She doesn’t like that at all.”
She heard his cell phone ring but he continued talking, pacing back and forth.
“That’s probably her again. She can be a little demanding. And a little careless. That morning, when you were jogging, she could have killed you when she ran you off the road. I was angry about that. I’m the cat. You’re the mouse. I wasn’t done playing. And the fire in your garage? All her idea. That’s when I knew that I couldn’t wait much longer. She was helpful, but I knew I wouldn’t be able to control her much longer. Especially once she got it in her head that she was going to take Vernelli away from you.”
He crossed the room and knelt next to her. He smelled, as if he hadn’t showered for days. He yanked on her shoulder, flipping her to her back. She kept her arm tucked close, hiding the beer bottle.
Now he paced in circles around her. “Waller was an unexpected complication. Idiot followed Madeline here, overheard us talking. Said that he was going to the police. But Madeline was a fast thinker. Told him that she loved him and asked for his help—said the fifty thousand would allow them to run away together, to start fresh. That man would do anything for her.”
Michael kicked her in the ribs. “I want you to love me like that, Joanna. Do you understand?”
She didn’t answer. He swung his leg back to kick her again.
“Yes,” she whispered.
He smiled. “Cats and mice can be together. As long as the mice know the cats are in charge.” His phone rang again. He pulled it out of his pocket, looked at it and tossed it across the room.
“It was Waller’s idea to get you away from Wyattville. That was his uncle who picked you up, but the man was as dumb as Waller. Couldn’t even figure out a way to get you to come inside. Then your boyfriend pulled up. I should have killed him that night. He’s unfinished business. But not for long. You can’t take a mouse away from a cat without the cat getting very angry.”
From the street, there was the sound of a car door slamming. His face contorted in rage. “That better not be Madeline,” he said. “I told her to wait.”
It was now or never. She wouldn’t be able to fight both of them.
In one smooth movement, she rolled, pulled the beer bottle from her sleeve, cracked it on the edge of the radiator and sprang to her feet. She held the jagged edges of the bottle in front of her. “Don’t come near me,” she said.
He feigned surprise. “Well, well. Aren’t you full of surprises?”
Yes, she was. She’d sur
prised herself over the past fourteen months. She’d fought back. Had reclaimed her life. And now she had even more to fight for. She had Jake.
“Michael, it’s over. I’m going to walk out that door. Don’t try to stop me.”
She edged backward, never taking her eyes off him. She was a foot away from the door when he charged at her. She swung her arm, her scarred and battered arm, as hard as she could, and stabbed him. The jagged edge of the bottle went into his chest, right between his shoulder and his collarbone. He grunted in pain and staggered backward. His eyes bulged. Blood darkened his white shirt.
“You bitch.” He was spewing saliva. “I’m going to rip you apart.” He lunged at her at exactly the same time the door flew open. Jake stood there, gun in hand.
His bullet caught Michael square in the middle of his chest. The man fell to the floor.
Jake bent down next to him, felt for a pulse and looked up at Tara. “He’s dead.” He stood up and opened his arms.
Tara ran to him and he held her tight. “I thought I’d lost you,” he said, his lips to her hair.
“Never,” she said. She leaned her head back and looked him in the eye. “Is Janet okay?”
“She’s fine. Last I saw, Nicholi was holding her hand.”
“Oh, thank goodness. Nel’s?” she asked, already knowing that it was probably bad news.
“Your baby is just fine. Smoke and water damage, but you’ll be able to reopen within a few days.”
If he hadn’t been holding her she’d have fallen down. Everything she’d worked so hard for hadn’t disappeared at the hands of a maniac. “Madeline Fenton and Jim Waller were part of it,” she said.
“I know, honey. I’m getting assistance from the county. They’re bringing them both in.”
It was almost too much to take in. She had always known that Madeline disliked her—but she had been fond enough of Alice and Henry to overlook the snubs and not-so-subtle insults.
Madeline would have been the perfect weak link for Michael. She shivered in Jake’s arms, and he tightened his grip. “Don’t worry,” he murmured. “We’ll sort it all out. They’ll pay for what they’ve done.”
Tara closed her eyes. “I can’t help wondering if there wasn’t something that I could have done differently to stop all this.”
“There isn’t anything you could have done.” He gently rocked her back and forth. “Don’t beat yourself up about it. Some people do very bad things. They always have, they always will. The good news is that most people aren’t that way at all. They just go about their lives being decent, hardworking people who take care of their families and help out their neighbors.”
She tilted her head back and smiled at him. “When did you get so smart?” she teased.
“I don’t know how smart I am. All I know is that these last few weeks in Wyattville have made me remember that there are places where people make a difference, where I can make a difference. I needed to know that.”
“Well, hopefully someone will want to make a difference by operating a restaurant.”
He jerked away from her. “What? You’re selling? You’re leaving?”
She nodded. “I love you, Jake Vernelli. Very much. And if you’re in Minneapolis, then that’s where I’m going to be. I can find another job there.”
“You love Nel’s.”
“I love you more.”
He laughed. He kissed her. Sweetly. Tenderly. “I’ve got something to tell you. Earlier today I got a call from Chase Montgomery. He wanted to know if I’d be interested in staying on as police chief. Evidently my friend knew that Chief Wilks was thinking about retiring, even before he asked me to take the job temporarily. I guess he knew better than to offer it initially as a permanent position. Somehow he was confident that I’d come to love the place.”
She could feel her heart racing in her chest. “Was he right?”
“Yes, although I made him sweat for a couple minutes before I told him that this wide spot in the road has unexpected attractions and I’d be delighted to continue on.” He dropped to one knee. “I love you. I will love you forever. Marry me, Tara. Joanna,” he corrected, with a smile. “Make me the happiest man in the world.”
She reached for his hands, pulled him up and kissed him. “I can’t wait to call Johnny O’Reilly and tell him I’m going to need help with another wedding. My own.”
* * * * *
Keep reading for an excerpt of Mason by Delores Fossen
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Chapter One
The scream woke Deputy Mason Ryland.
His eyes flew open, and Mason stumbled from the sofa in his office where he’d fallen asleep. He reached for his shirt but couldn’t find it. He had better luck with the Smith & Wesson handgun that he’d left on his desk.
He threw open his office door and caught the scent of something he darn sure didn’t want to smell on the grounds of his family’s ranch.
Smoke.
The wispy gray streaks coiled around him, quickly followed by a second scream and a loud cry for help.
Mason went in the direction of both the smoke and the voice, racing out into the chilly October night air. He wasn’t the only one who’d been alerted. A handful of his ranch hands were running toward the cabin-style guesthouse about a hundred yards away. It was on fire, the orangey flames licking their way up the sides and roof. And the place wasn’t empty.
His newly hired horse trainer, Abbie Baker, was staying there.
That got Mason running even harder. So did another shout for help. Oh, yeah, that shout was coming from the guesthouse all right.
“Call the fire department,” he yelled to one of the ranch hands.
Mason also shouted out for someone to call his brothers as well even though they would soon know anyway. All five of them, their wives and their children lived in the family home or on the grounds of the ranch.
Mason made it to the guesthouse ahead of the others, and he tried to pick through the smoke and the embers flicking through the night air. He hurried to the sound of his trainer’s pleas for help.
And he cursed when he saw her.
Abbie was in the doorway, her body half in and half out of the house, and what was left of the door was on her back, anchoring her in place.
The smoke was thick and black, and the area was already hot from the flames, but Mason fought his way through just as one of the ranch hands caught up with him. Rusty Burke. Together, they latched on to the door and started to drag it off Abbie. Not easily. It was heavy and bulky, and it didn’t help that the flames were snapping at them.
Mason didn’t usually think in terms of worst-case scenarios, but he had a split-second thought that his new trainer might burn to death. The possibility gave him a much-needed jolt of adrenaline, and Rusty and he threw the door off her. In the same motion, Mason latched on to her arm and dragged her away from the guesthouse.
“I couldn’t get out,” she said, her voice clogged with smoke and fear.
“You’re out now,” he let her know.
Out but not necessarily safe. The ranch hands were already there with the hoses, but he doubted the house would stand much longer. If it collapsed, Abbie could still be burned or hurt from the flying debris.
“Are the horses okay?” she asked. Mason was more than a little surprised that she’d think of the animals at a time like this.
“They’re fine.” At least he was pretty sure of that. “This is the only building on fire.”
Mason scooped her up, and she looked at him. It was pitch-dark, probably two or three in the morning, but thanks to the flames and the hunter’s moon, he saw her eyes widen. A single word left her mouth.
“No.”
Mason didn’t have time to question that no before she started struggling. She wasn’t a large woman, five-five at the most and on the lean side, but she managed to pack a punch when she rammed her elbow against his bare chest. He cursed and put her in a death grip so she couldn’t fight her way out of his arms.
“I’m trying to save you,” he reminded her, and he added more profanity when she didn’t stop fighting.
Abbie was probably still caught up in the fear and the adrenaline, but Mason was finding it a little hard to be sympathetic with the cold rocky ground biting into his bare feet and with her arms and legs waggling around.
“We have to get away from the fire,” he snarled.
Those wide frightened eyes looked at the flames, and she stopped struggling just long enough for Mason to get a better grip on her.
He started running toward the ranch office where lately he’d been spending most of his days and nights because of the heavy workload. He could deposit Abbie there and hurry back to see if the guesthouse could be saved. He wasn’t hopeful, especially because the ranch wasn’t exactly in city limits. It would take the fire department a good twenty minutes to reach them.
The door to his office and quarters was still open, and he hurried inside, flipped on the lights with his elbow and placed her on the sofa. Mason looked down at her, to make sure she wasn’t injured.
She didn’t appear to be.
Visibly shaken, yes. Trembling, too. Pale and breathing way too fast. All normal responses under the circumstances.
Her eyes met his again, and Mason saw the fear that was still there. And maybe something else that he couldn’t quite put his finger on.