by Vella Day
“Did I say I thought you would hurt me?” Kill me maybe. “You're here for my protection. I know that.” She shrugged a shoulder and cocked her head to the side, hoping to present an attractive pose.
His mouth sagged. “You didn't believe that fact last night when you tried to escape.”
True. She opened her mouth, and then shut it when she couldn't come up with a good comeback. “Fine.” She held out her wrist. “But I promise you'll regret this.”
“So you've said before.”
He stepped over to her, slapped on the cuff, and attached the other end to the bed. He winked and walked out.
“It's not funny,” she shouted after him.
He poked his head back in the room. “Never meant for it to be.”
Furious Jake would take such aggressive action, she turned off the light by the bed with her free hand and fumed for at least an hour, hoping he'd change his mind and uncuff her.
He never did.
For at least three hours she stared at the glowing numbers on the clock as they changed one by one. Her eyelids eventually drooped as her mind relaxed. Just as she dozed off, her nightmare returned. Flames burst through the picture window, and glass flew everywhere. Her breath lodged in her throat as oain seared her body and blackness met her. She tossed and turned until the images left and were replaced by gentle rolling waves, warm silky sand, and long conversations. Finally, she drifted off to sleep.
Hunger must have awoken her, for she jerked to a near sitting position. Given she couldn't go downstairs for a bite without being freed, she kicked off the sweat soaked covers and turned over. The house was too damned hot. Why did the FBI have to send her to Florida anyway? She liked the cold, and liked her old, leaky home near D.C. where she slept with lots of comfortable blankets.
Sweat beaded her forehead and arms, forcing her to repositioned the pillows, but she couldn't get comfortable with her arm above her head. Her damn fingers had fallen asleep. Stupid Jake.
Susan had just drifted off once more when a rancid smell poked her subconscious, but her mind wouldn't engage. At first she thought her recurring visions had returned, but nightmares didn't come with the smell of sulfur.
Forcing herself awake, Susan sat up. The wall opposite her bed glowed yellow. Her chest pounded What the...? Hallucinations had taken over her mind.
Heat and light blasted her. She blinked. What kind of dream was this?
When a flame stabbed through the wall, Susan came fully awake. Ohmigod. The house was on fire! She tried to scream, but her throat had closed up. Jake's bedroom was behind hers, away from the fire. He wouldn't realize they were in danger until her bedroom was destroyed.
Her stomach revolted and bile raced up her throat. Had Jake set the fire? Could he really have wanted to kill her that badly? He'd been so nice, so gentle.
Panic nearly locked her muscles as she rattled the chains against the bedpost. Swallowing a few times loosened her vocal chords. “Fire! Help me. Jake?”
Light flickered outside her window. She yanked on her cuffs, trying to get free. The metal scraped her skin as she tugged and pulled. Refusing to give in and burn to death, Susan bucked and kicked, anything to get his attention.
Flames engulfed the far wall, heating the room to near impossible temperatures. Her chest hurt so badly, she gagged and coughed.
“Help me. Jake, help me.” Her voice faded.
Placing her feet on the floor, she pulled on the bed to move it closer to the door, but the damn thing wouldn't budge.
Why weren't the smoke alarms sounding? Why didn't Jake wake up? Had someone come in and taken him out first?
Her throat swelled up and her pulse raced as the flames danced across the room toward her. She only had minutes before the flames found the cotton bedspread and incinerated her.
“Jake!”
She couldn't breathe. Susan used all her strength to force air through her mouth. Her pulse raced. Her vision fogged. Oh, God. No one was going to save her.
5
Smoke clogged her lungs, and heat burned her chest. Susan couldn't see, couldn't think. She yanked hard on her hand, hoping the sweat would help free her wrist. Half her palm slipped out and adrenaline pumped through her veins.
“Please God, save me.” Susan tugged again, trying to ignore the raw skin.
She kicked the blankets off the bed, and then pulled her legs near her chest, away from the fire.
Pounding feet raced down the hall, and she choked out a sob.
Jake dashed into her bedroom. “Jesus Christ.”
Her mouth too dry to talk, she merely moaned. Tears streamed down her cheeks. He'd come. He would save her. Or was Jake here to see his handiwork? She choked on that thought.
“Hold on.” When his cry sounded desperate, hope flooded her system.
Through the gray smoke, she could make out Jake fumbling in his pocket. A second later he leaned over her with a key.
He must be Superman, for the cuff attacked to the bed disappeared, and she was instantly in his arms. Not wanting to fall, she wrapped her arms around his neck. Sobs of relief tore through her chest, as she tucked her chin to her neck, squeezing her eyes closed. Please God, let me live.
Jake sped out of the bedroom, down the steps, and across the living room. She coughed as tears of joy mixed with the smoke.
“Hold tight,” he said.
He grabbed the car keys off the counter with one hand and raced out the front door.
Once in the open, she gulped down the cool, clean air.
The second his feet hit grass, he set her down. Without saying a word, he ran to the car, opened the back door, and was back by her side seconds later.
“Are you okay enough to walk?”
Dazed, she looked up at him.
He gently pinched her.
“Ow.”
“Good. Come on, we need to get out of here.”
**
Jake paced the hospital waiting room. The doctors had been treating Susan for the last three hours. The attending nurse wouldn't tell him anything other than the physician would be out when he was finished with his examination. Had the smoke done irreparable damage? He'd seen enough fire victims to know inhaling hot air could burn the esophagus lining and cause death. She wasn't unconscious when he found her, but burns could become infected. Too bad Susan didn't remember how much time had elapsed before he'd arrived.
Damn. He should have checked the batteries on the smoke alarm. He should have asked for a key to the neighboring townhouses in case some careless squatter occupied the furnished apartments, but dammit, every time he turned around, someone was calling to tell him another juror had died.
Excuses. Rationalization. He hated them. Bottom line was that Jake had failed Susan. Guilt and anger rippled through him. He should have been more cautious and checked up on her. Maybe he had no right to be a bodyguard.
Jake checked his watch. The fire marshal said he'd have a preliminary report of what happened by tomorrow morning. Given the Feds hadn't come up with even a fingerprint around any of the other crime scenes, he knew the local marshal wouldn't find any incriminating evidence at the townhouse.
He was no fire expert, but houses did not spontaneously combust. Someone had found out where they were. Damn it. How?
Jake stabbed a hand through his hair. His stomach grumbled. Anxiety always fueled his metabolism. The clock might only read six in the morning, but he needed food. He bet Ms. Hungry did too.
“Mr. Yarnell?”
Jake spun around. “Yes?” He closed the gap between him and Susan's attending physician. “How is she?”
“Stable. I want to keep her here overnight for observation.”
“That's fine. Is she in much pain?”
“She didn't sustain any burns. The smoke damage seemed minimal, but the full extent of her injury isn't always easy to detect right away. Given her other injuries, she's in more danger.”
“I understand.” Infection could worm its way into the cuts.
“We'll need to get some information on Mrs. Yarnell.”
Mrs. Yarnell? He never thought he'd hear that name. Even if it wasn't real. When he'd raced in with Susan in his arms, he hadn't been thinking. Hospital records could be hacked into, and his name was the first that came to mind.
Jake didn't want anyone to trace credit card records or insurance claims. “I'm afraid all of our insurance cards and paperwork were at the townhouse that burned down. Do you take cash?”
The doctor smiled. “Never a problem.”
Perfect. He'd stop at an ATM and withdraw the money. Good thing the FBI had high withdrawal limits.
Jake scrubbed a hand over his jaw and studied the young doctor. He pulled out his badge. “I'm afraid my wife is part of an ongoing investigation. No information should be released on her condition—to anyone.” He paused to give the doctor time to absorb the information.
“Of course. Whatever you need, Agent Yarnell. We have someone on staff who can stand watch outside her room.”
Jake nodded and returned his badge to his pocket. “I intend to stay by her side also. I'd appreciate it if only medical personnel are allowed in, and then only with an ID.” While Jake figured a local cop wouldn't be in cahoots with the killer, Jake wanted to stay in charge.
“I'll inform the hospital.”
**
When Susan opened her eyes, it was déjà vu all over again. She was in a hospital bed with Jake by her side.
He smiled. “Welcome to the world of the living.”
Despite the gray streaks painted across his cheek, Jake Yarnell was a handsome man.
Her hand flew to her hair. She winced at what she must look like. The strong smoky scent assaulted her nostrils. How could anyone stand to be near her? What she wouldn't do for a shower.
“You look fine,” he said, as if he could read her mind.
“I don't feel fine.”
His smile disappeared. “What hurts?”
“Nothing more than what was injured in the explosion.” She rubbed her chest. “I have a little trouble breathing, but the doctor said that's to be expected.”
“I'm sorry I didn't hear you yell sooner. I was conked out.”
She looked around the room. “It would have helped if you hadn't chained me to the bed.”
“I had no choice.”
She could see his point, but that didn't mean she had to like it. “Are we done with tying me up?”
“If you give me your Girl Scout promise you won't try to escape.”
She rolled her eyes. “I promise.” A wave of pain raced up from her chest. “We don't have time for me to stay in the hospital a few days, do we?”
“Let's wait and see what the fire marshal says. We'll know more tomorrow.”
A knock sounded on the door, and Susan's pulse jumped ten beats and she clutched the spread. The man might be wearing a uniform, but anyone could don a costume.
Jake leaned over and clasped her hand. “When I explained the situation, the doctor said he'd have security stand watch.”
“Oh, that was nice of you.”
“I was hoping you'd see it that way.” Jake whistled and glanced to the ceiling.
She shook her head. Talk about asking for a compliment. “You want to know if I still think you're the bad guy, don't you?”
“Maybe. Do you?”
“The jury's out. No pun intended.”
His eyes widened. “You're kidding me, I hope. I saved your life, and you think I still want to harm you?” He kept his voice to a whisper. “With Peter in jail, you have to believe he's innocent, so even if you think I'd help him do whatever you think I plan to do with him, he couldn't have set the fire.”
The teasing evaporated and reason intruded. “He has enough connections for his men to burn the place down.”
Jake shoved back his chair. “I don't get you. I can't win. I'm starving. Bye.”
Her hands flew to her stomach. “You're leaving me?”
He spun around. “Isn't that what you want?” His bottom lip hardened.
“Yes.” Stupid answer. “No.” Face it; he makes me feel safe.
“I'm just going downstairs to the hospital cafeteria. When I get back, I hope you can work through your issues.”
“My issues?”
“Yes. I understand you're scared. Hell, I've been scared since the moment I saw you in the hospital, but if we don't develop a little trust, I'll never be able to keep you from harm.”
He took one step back. As an attorney, she held her ground that the accused was guilty. She never budged, always fighting for what she wanted. But what if she were wrong? Were principles more important than her life?
Her lips trembled into what she hoped was a smile. “I'm starving too and these people won't give me anything until the doctor gives some all-clear order. Can you sneak in something good to eat for me?”
He edged toward her. A slow smile dimpled his cheek. “If I do, can I wear a white hat?”
He wouldn't be flirting with her if he wanted any harm to come to her. He could have pretended to sleep through the fire and let her burn to death. “Okay, fine, but one slip...” She crooked a finger in his direction.
“I'll try to find a juicy steak for you.”
“If you can manage that feat, I might imagine you on a white horse.”
**
Off to find the perfect steak for the distrustful patient, Jake had just stepped outside the hospital when his cell vibrated. “Christ.” He didn't need any more bad news. “Yarnell.”
“It's Richard Thomason. How is Susan doing? Loving the warm weather I suspect.” The Director of the safe houses often checked up on the witnesses.
“Someone set the townhouse on fire last night—or rather early this morning.”
“Holy shit. Is she okay?” Near panic caused his voice to rise.
“We're at the hospital now. No burns, just smoke inhalation.”
“Do we have any idea who did this?” Jake could imagine Richard pacing, tugging on his perfectly knotted tie, and rearranging the items on his desk.
“The fire marshall is working it.”
“Christ. We don't need this. I'll get right on finding you a new place. Obviously, he's found you.”
“At least we know it's not Caravello. I heard he was in jail.” Jake reached his car and slid in. He waited to start the engine until their conversations ended.
Thomason didn't answer for a minute. “Who told you?”
Shit. “I don't remember.”
Jake turned the key to lower the windows. He needed air. Pissed he'd nearly mentioned Tom's name—the person not privy to some FBI information. Somehow, his friend knew everything.
“Caravello could have pulled the strings.”
Relieved Richard didn't press where his knowledge came from, he relaxed in the seat. “Perhaps.” He didn't want to be discussing his theory about Peter's guilt with Richard. “I'll take you up on your offer to move.” He chuckled, though only for effect.
“Good. I'm afraid I had another reason for calling.” The deadly low tone meant the news wasn't good.
“What?” He gripped the wheel tight and sat up straight.
“Juror number nine was killed.”
Jake lost his appetite. “When?”
“Sometime before midnight.”
Shit. “How?” Sweat beaded his chest.
Papers rustled in the background and phones rang. Richard must be moving across the office. “Gun shot to the head.”
Damn. “Who was it? I know Susan will want to know.” Because she'd spent close to year on the case, she'd gotten to know the jurors well.
“Travis Simmons.”
His hand shook at the ramification. “Thanks.”
He'd been about to hang up, when Richard called his name.
“Yeah?”
“I've never seen anything like this. I put two people in a safe house, and now both are dead. I don't know what to do.” The man sounded sincerely distraught.
He wanted to say, find the mole, but wasn't sure he'd be wise to voice his opinion. “You'll find a way to stop this guy.”
“I hope. I'll call you when I have an exact address for the new safe house.”
**
“Where's the girl?” came that horrible voice over the line.
Richard Thomason recognized the blackmailer's voice. He never should have given the blackmailer his cell phone number. “I don't know.”
“You're the head of the goddamn relocation program. If you don't know, who does?”
Richard stepped past his secretary into his office, closed his door, and lowered the shades. He could smell his own sweat. Despite the good insulation, he lowered his voice. “They were in Florida, but someone burned down their townhouse last night.”
“I know. I ordered the place to be torched. When my men came to retrieve her charred body, she wasn't there. Where did she go?”
Sweat pooled under his arms. Richard loosened his tie. “I called Yarnell a few hours ago, but he didn't answer.” Could the guy hear the way his voice wobbled?
“That the FBI guy with her?”
“Yes.” Shit. He shouldn't have mentioned Jake's name.
Loud music blasted the background. The man covered the mouthpiece and yelled what sounded like Italian. The annoying music stopped.
“Sorry about that. You've been a good guy. You've told me where all the other jurors are, but this attorney woman is a slippery one.”
“What do you want from me? I did what I promised.” His guilty conscious ate away at him. If he held on, his family would be safe.
“I want you to find the bitch and tell me where she is.”
“I've done enough for you.”
The man laughed. “Then I guess you won't mind when your two pretty little girls and your wife disappear for good.”
His chin trembled as rage filled his gut. “If you lay a hand on my family—”
“You'll what? Come after me yourself? Ha. I know you can't bring your FBI buddies with you because that would mean you had to tell them you were the mole that got the nine jurors killed. Find the woman.” He hung up.