by Anne Mather
Caitlin caught her breath. She knew that voice. It was Nathan's. Or was it Jake's? In that moment, she wasn't sure, and the realisation that it could be the man she loved in that back room filled her with despair.
"In back, you say?" The fireman frowned, donning the breathing equipment another of the men had brought for him to wear.
"Yes." Marshall answered him as the man he'd rescued succumbed to a fit of coughing. "Come on," he added, putting his arm about the man's shoulders. "Let's get you away from all this smoke."
They came towards Caitlin absurdly slowly, stopping every now and then to allow the man to try and clear his lungs. But it was obvious he'd inhaled a lot of smoke, and the effort seemed to leave him dizzy. In any event, he obviously needed Marshall's assistance to move at all.
Caitlin watched them with varying degrees of apprehension. It wasn't that she wished Nathan dead, she told herself, but if this blackened figure was Nathan, who was that lying on the ground? He was being attended to by one of the other firemen, and she was anxious to go and speak to him. But she waited for Marshall to tell her what was going on.
"What's happened?" she asked, unable to restrain herself any longer, and Marshall, who hadn't inhaled as much smoke and who had obviously recovered that much quicker, allowed the man he was supporting to slide gently to the ground.
"God!" Marshall shook his head. "When I got into the house, Jake was trying to get Nathan—" he jerked his thumb towards the man farthest away from them "— to help him carry his father outside. But Nathan couldn't wait to get out of there. He said—Jake—had started the fire, but I don't think he could. For one thing, he's been shot. See…" He bent towards the man who had collapsed full-length on the gravelled forecourt, and pointed towards his temple. "He's very weak. He's lost a lot of blood."
Caitlin stared at the man on the ground. "How do you know this is Jake?" she asked unsteadily. "It could be either one of them beneath all that soot."
"Because Nathan was only interested in saving his own skin," replied Marshall in a low voice. "He couldn't wait to tell me that his father had shot Jake, but I don't know if that's true, either."
"Oh, God!"
Ignoring the other man now, Caitlin knelt beside Jake, touching his cheek and running helpless fingers along his jaw. At least he was alive, she thought, uncaring at that moment who was to blame for his injuries. If only he would open his eyes. She had to know that he was going to be all right.
A trickle of blood ran down his cheek, and she saw that the wound was still seeping. It created a vivid splash of colour against his smoke-blackened cheek. His clothes were filthy, too, and she could only imagine what he had been doing. Dear God, what might have happened if Marshall hadn't intervened?
His eyes opened as she was bending over him, and as if suddenly realising where he was, he struggled to sit up. "Are you all right?" she asked as an ambulance whined into the melee, and Jake closed his eyes for a moment before giving her a weary look.
"I guess so," he said at last. Then, "your husband's over there, you know. I'm not Nathan. I'm Jake. His twin brother."
"I know." Caitlin's response seemed to startle him, and she hurried into a garbled explanation. "We found out. Lisa Abbott came to see me. Marshall knows, as well. Oh, Jake…" She caught her breath. "I'm sorry."
"You're sorry?"
Jake was still staring at her with stunned eyes, when there was a protesting yell from across the yard. The man who had been left to attend to Nathan had evidently gone to meet the paramedics, and in his absence, his patient had staggered to his feet. Now they all watched in horror as Nathan stumbled towards the shed, and although several of the men started after him, it was obvious they weren't going to reach him in time.
"For God's sake, Nathan, leave it!"
Jake's hoarse cry must have reached his brother, but Nathan wasn't listening to him. Shaking his head as if to clear it, he disappeared inside, just seconds before a loud blast shook the ground round them. The shed exploded in a ball of flame, sending wood and metal flying in all directions. Then an ominous silence fell as the fire-fighters all stopped what they were doing to stare at the blaze.
"Shit," Caitlin heard someone say as if from a distance, "there must have been a vehicle in there."
"Yeah," said someone else. "He must have been trying to save it. Goddammit, he didn't stand a chance!"
26
Jake drove home in the warm twilight of a spring evening.
He was glad to be out of the office; glad to be away from his desk and able to pull his tie free of his collar and toss his suit jacket into the back of the car. He felt both tired and weary, which were not the same thing at all. Tired of the unending stream of flawed humanity that passed through his door, and weary, with a bone weariness, of trying to pretend he had a life.
This time of year used to be his favourite, with the dogwoods blooming and the first lush growth of the season turning the golf course next to the apartment complex a rich shade of green, and he usually felt expectant and optimistic. The winter was over—as much of a winter as they got in North Carolina anyway—and the sweltering heat of summer was still some distance away.
But this year was different. This year he felt no sense of expectancy, no air of optimism that his life was satisfactorily on track. Not even the unexpected offer of a partnership could lift his spirits—an opportunity to be his own master, with the option to accept a case or not, as he chose.
There was no doubt that Dane Meredith's proposition had come out of the blue. Because Jake worked mainly for the public defender's office, and Meredith spent his time representing the more affluent members of the community, they had never confronted one another across a court-room. The idea that Jake's reputation for hard work and integrity might have come to the distinguished lawyer's ears was flattering. Meredith's name was a byword in Pine Bay and the surrounding area, and nine months ago, he knew, he'd have jumped at the chance. It was the kind of opportunity most young lawyers dreamed about: independence, and the support of an established firm behind him.
It was an offer he'd be a fool to reject, but the prospect of establishing himself here seemed to represent an acceptance of his present situation, and right at this moment, he didn't even know what he wanted to do.
Once, he would have said he was quite content to stay in Pine Bay. He was not without ambition, but the idea of using his talents, such as they were, for the benefit of his fellow citizens had seemed a fair compromise to him. He wasn't interested in earning fantastic sums of money, and he liked knowing the people he was dealing with.
It was true, he was ready for a change of direction, but he was no longer sure he wanted to stay here. Maybe a change of location would give him what his work could not: a rekindling of his own self-worth, of there being some purpose to his life—something he seemed to have lost in the six months since his father and his brother had died.
He sighed, refusing to acknowledge that there was more to his uncertainty than a lingering grief that the only male blood relations he had had in the world were dead. Any other regrets he had were just that: regrets. There was nothing he could do about them; no way he could change the past or undo the things that had been done. It was over now; they had all moved on, and he was only delaying the inevitable by pretending that anything more could come of it.
But when he reached the apartment complex, he didn't immediately get out of the car. Instead, he rested his forearms on the wheel and stared unseeingly towards the ocean.
The mournful cry of the sea birds scavenging among the sand-dunes suited his mood, and he felt an overwhelming sense of melancholy.
Caitlin, he groaned inwardly. God, Caitlin, tell me what I'm going to do.
He wished he didn't have to go into the apartment and face Fletch. It wasn't that he didn't want to meet the old devil, and he'd been glad enough to see him when he first got out of the hospital. Hell, he'd considered himself so lucky that the old man was well again, and the horror he'd experienced when
he'd first heard that Fletch had had a stroke still had the power to chill his bones.
Fletch had told him how he had surprised Nathan by being at the apartment. He hadn't gone into details, but Jake could guess at the old man's fury at meeting his brother there. Particularly after Jacob had been to see him and told him he had been in the hospital in New York. Fletch had never trusted Nathan, and he was bound to have suspected Nathan's motives for coming to Pine Bay.
Nevertheless, Nathan had had no right to hit him, even if Fletch had admitted that he'd invited the punch that had brought on his seizure. His brother should have realised that Fletch was old and frail these days, and not half as robust as he'd like everyone to believe.
He grimaced. He never thought he'd ever have cause to be grateful to the old janitor. He used to think the old man was a pain, snooping round the complex, spying on everyone who came into the building. But without his ever-vigilant inspection, the unlocked door to Jake's condo would not have been noticed, and Fletch would undoubtedly have died if he hadn't had immediate attention.
Jake expelled a pained breath. Christ, he thought, not for the first time, no wonder Nathan had looked so shocked to see him. He must have been terrified that Jake had been to the apartment and found Fletch's body. For he had no doubt that Nathan had believed the old man was dead.
He wondered if Nathan would have called 911 if he'd thought Fletch was only unconscious. Jake preferred not to speculate about that. They'd never know what Nathan might have done if he'd realised Fletch was still alive. As far as Fletch was concerned, the incident was better forgotten.
For his part, Jake was simply grateful his father had survived. He still blamed himself for indirectly involving the old man in Nathan's activities in the first place, and although Fletch would have none of it, the fact remained he was lucky to be alive.
Jake's own problems had been a little less easy to cope with.
It was strange, really. He'd been shot; he'd found his father's dead body in a burning house; and he'd watched his brother blown to pieces in an explosion. Yet he'd been able to attend their funerals without turning a hair. He was sure someone must have commented on his coolness, his self-possession; and if it hadn't been for his concern for Fletch, people might have been forgiven for thinking he didn't have any feelings at all.
He'd attended to everything himself, declining Marshall's offer to help with a confidence that made him cringe now. It was what his father would have expected, he'd assured him, whether that was true or not. It was his place, as the only surviving member of the family. He didn't consider Caitlin's rights or otherwise. It was important for him to keep busy. He didn't remember sleeping at all until the funerals were over.
Caitlin's father and mother did not attend the ceremonies. They sent their condolences, but they had the perfect excuse for refusing to come. Matthew Webster's doctor had advised him to rest after the shock of learning of his son-in-law's death, and besides, the journey would have been too arduous for him.
A young couple came out of the building behind him and walked across the parking lot to their car. The woman recognised him and raised her hand in greeting as they passed, but Jake guessed they must both be wondering why he was sitting here instead of going inside.
Sighing, he propped his chin on his folded wrists.
What had Caitlin thought about his behaviour? he wondered. Like everyone else, she had obviously been horrified by the way her husband died. But when the shock was over, what had she thought of him, Jake, for betraying her? For deceiving her, and seducing her, and pretending they had a future?
He expelled an anguished breath.
At the time, he'd been glad Marshall was there to look after her. It had seemed important for him not to show any emotion, and he couldn't have coped with her grief and kept his own in check. In any case, from the moment the shed exploded, he'd known that any chance they might have had was over. That day would be printed indelibly on her mind.
He remembered Marshall had tried to talk to him after the services were over, but by then he'd been so inured in the role he'd chosen to play, there'd been no way to answer him rationally. He knew Marshall had guessed about the drugs, but he had had no intention of betraying his brother's intentions to him. Instead, he had let Nathan's dirty secret die with him. It was the only way he knew to protect his father's memory.
Marshall and Caitlin had returned to England the following day, and Jake had assured himself he felt better once they were gone. There was nothing he could do to change things; no way of defending his involvement. He regretted the past, but he regretted what he'd done to Caitlin most of all.
It was when he'd had a visit from the police that he'd finally gone to pieces.
Unbeknown to him, the authorities in Pine Bay had been trying to locate him for days. Loretta had been the first to receive the news that Fletch had been found unconscious in his son's apartment, and to begin with, despite her protests, Jake had been suspected of being involved. She'd insisted he'd been away, but the janitor was positive he had let Jake into his apartment just hours before the old man's body had been found. And until Fletch regained consciousness and was able to exonerate his son, a warrant had been issued for his arrest.
Of course, Jake had known none of this to begin with. He had still been in Prescott, trying to ideal with all the details of his father's will. Jacob had left half of what he owned to each of his sons, and although Nathan's death had complicated matters, Jake was determined that Caitlin should get her husband's share.
For his part, he'd wanted nothing that was Jacob's. With the lawyer's help, he had prepared a document donating his small legacy to the town. It was up to the mayor and the sheriff to decide what they might do with it. Jake never wanted to see Prescott again.
Which was why he got such a shock when the police came to see him. It appeared Fletch had been able to tell the authorities that the father of the man they now wanted to question lived in Prescott, and when they'd contacted the police there, they'd been informed that both Nathan Wolfe and his father were dead.
But hearing that Fletch had been attacked—almost killed, in fact—had been the last straw as far as Jake was concerned. To his everlasting shame, he'd gone completely to pieces, and his much-vaunted self-control had simply collapsed.
He'd spent the next six weeks in various hospitals. As soon as possible, he'd been transferred to the facility in Pine Bay, to enable Fletch to come and visit with him. At that time, his old adversary had been a tower of strength—the only sane thing in a world gone mad.
They told him he'd experienced a brief return of the stress-related illness he'd suffered when he came back from Vietnam. Whatever it was, he remembered he'd felt pretty devastated. He'd also discovered he was no more immune to tragedy than anyone else.
Fletch had spent several weeks with him after Jake had got home from the hospital. Jake had become accustomed to finding beer bottles behind the couch and the constant scent of tobacco in the air. But what the hell, he thought, Fletch was the only person who cared a damn about him. If he felt able to make himself at home in the apartment, that had to be a plus.
There'd been no word from Caitlin, of course, but he hadn't expected any. She probably considered she was better off out of it. The short time they had had together was best forgotten. She certainly could have no fond memories of her husband or his family.
He'd returned to work after Christmas, and since then, he'd had to contend with Fletch calling him day and night. He knew the old man was still concerned about him; that, although he was supposed to have returned to his own home in Blackwater Fork, he still spent a couple of nights a week at the apartment because he was worried about him. Jake appreciated the sentiment, but he knew he had to make a life for himself, and perhaps this partnership with Dane Meredith was the first step.
Or was it?
Perhaps he ought to get right away from Pine Bay, North Carolina. With his qualifications, he knew he could find another job in another town. He
could even move right across the country, to California or Oregon. The climate would be better. He'd heard they didn't have such a high level of humidity in L.A.
But he knew he wouldn't do it; not now, not while Fletch still needed him. He couldn't trust his four half-sisters to look after their father. They had always been more interested in their own lives and their own families than in taking care of an old man who they considered deserved everything he'd gotten.
Jake grimaced. Today had been a bad day, he reflected wearily. He was letting the problems he had faced in the courtroom accompany him home. Just because Winston Miller had gone to prison, he was feeling dejected. Dammit, the kid had been found with several bottles of amphetamines in his sport bag.
It hadn't helped to go back to the office and have Loretta bending his ear because Fletch had interrupted her schedule. The old man had been calling all afternoon, she said, and she'd eventually told him in no uncertain terms, if Jake knew his secretary, to get off her back. It wasn't that Jake didn't want to see the old devil, but tonight he would have appreciated a little privacy. When he was feeling as low as he was feeling at present, he just knew he wouldn't be good company.
Still…
Fletch was not to know that, and pushing open the car door, Jake gathered his jacket and an armful of files from the back seat. Then slamming the door again, he started towards the building.
To his relief, the janitor wasn't about as he let himself into the foyer. Shifting the weight of the files from one arm to the other, he walked purposefully down the corridor towards his apartment, mentally girding his wits for the evening ahead.
He had no desire to upset the old man, and if Fletch had even suspected he was still suffering the aftermath of what had happened, he would worry all the more. Fletch didn't know Caitlin; he'd never met her, and Jake could hardly admit he was in love with his brother's widow. Anything to do with the Wolfes was anathema to Fletch; he'd consigned them both, father and son, to the devil.