by Julie Miller
“Personal problems?” A match struck inside Gideon, heating his temper to a slow simmer. “We’ve got something slightly more serious than a problem to deal with right now. That lunatic threatened to set another fire. Because of you. Because he wants to see you fight fires. To me, that not only puts the city at risk, it puts you in danger.”
“Then save the city. I’m not your concern anymore. We’re finished.”
“There’s a difference between being finished and walking out without so much as a ‘go to hell’ or any other kind of explanation.”
She was backing away from him now, closing down the lines of communication all over again. “I can’t do this right now.”
“When would be a good time, Meg?” Gideon rarely gave vent to sarcasm, but he hadn’t been at his most rational since their breakup. He paced after her. “Were you secretly married? Did I hurt you? Bore you? Do you hate kids? Want a different career? Did you find someone better?”
“No.” Her hands were out, pleading with him now. “None of those things. It’s my fault. Completely. You wanted…” She took a deep breath, gathering control of her thoughts. “It would never have worked between us. Not for forever. And you’re a long-term kind of man.”
He wouldn’t argue that. Her honey-brown eyes glistened with tears, but he couldn’t seem to let it drop. “Why? Why wouldn’t marriage to me work?”
“Not you. Me. Marriage to me. I couldn’t let you give up your—” She sniffed back a sob and spun around. “I don’t want to do this right now. I have to get to work.”
She would have bolted through the door if Gideon hadn’t reached out to stop her. He’d never laid a hand on her like this. Never used anything but a gentle touch. But he grabbed her now. He snagged her by the wrist and hauled her back a step. She stumbled into his chest and twisted around to free herself, but he grabbed the other wrist and held on. “Talk to me. We meant something to each other once. Tell me why we don’t anymore. Just explain it once and I’ll let it go.”
Gideon froze the instant he saw his two stiff, withered fingers lying against the tanned perfection of her bare forearm.
Instantly regretting his pointless burst of frustration and pent-up hurt, he released her and stuffed his hands into his pockets. “I’m sorry if I was rough. I know your uncle used to…ah, hell.” He had to turn away. “You’d better get out of here. You have your safety presentation to give.”
Maybe Meghan was more stunned by his sudden mood swing than he was. A confused vulnerability widened her eyes and pressed her mouth into words that didn’t come easily. “You didn’t hurt me. I know you never would. You have a right to your anger. Gid—”
“Go on.” He stood rooted to the spot and willed her to leave. “I just wanted you to identify Kelleher if you could. I do think he’s up to something. I’m sorry things got out of hand.”
Damn. He looked away, deep into the burned-out recesses of the building. Hand. What a freakin’ bad choice of words.
“I know you’re trying to help.” He could sense her angling to make eye contact, trying to placate him. Her hands patted the air, trying to soothe the beast inside him that only existed in his nightmares. “That’s your nature. You deserve…”
His silence finally achieved what his demanding questions could not.
She was much calmer, almost emotionless, when she spoke again.
“I didn’t grow up the way you did, Gideon. We come from two different worlds. You have the right to aspire to the kind of long-lived happiness your folks have found together. I turned you down because I didn’t think I could give you that. I couldn’t help you achieve that rose-colored future you always talked about. A healthy family. A distinguished career. Growing old together. I still can’t give you what you want, what you’d need to be happy.” She inhaled a cleansing breath. “I didn’t want to disappoint you further down the road. I knew you’d stay with me, even after you realized your mistake. But you wouldn’t be happy. And it would have killed me to see you suffer like that.”
“All I needed was you.” His words were little more than a husky whisper in the shadows.
“You needed the woman you thought I was. Not the real me.”
With that nebulous explanation she was gone.
The real me?
She wasn’t Meghan Preston Wright? An independent firefighter with a defensive chip on her shoulder and a heartful of hurt? A sensuous woman whose inability to back away from a challenge was rivaled only by her unwillingness to commit to a relationship?
The puzzle of their mysterious breakup grew more intricate and twisted by the day. Had he fallen in love with a pretense? Been deliberately deceived? Did he need to get to know her all over again? Dig beyond the secrets they’d shared and find the hidden truths?
She seemed to believe he wouldn’t like those truths. That he’d suffer because of them.
He pulled out his left hand and tried to make a fist. He’d found plenty of ways to suffer all on his own. He was no longer in a position to make any kind of demands on her. His future plans had altered the moment she’d walked out the door of his apartment two years ago. They’d changed irrevocably the night he’d lost Luke Redding.
She was right. He’d always pictured himself being connected to one woman, sharing one family. He’d always pictured her in a front porch swing beside him, looking out over a yard filled with their grandchildren, knowing the life they’d shared had been fruitful and full of love.
But she couldn’t see that same picture.
How could she think loving her was a mistake? Why was she so sure she’d disappoint him? If she thought her childhood spent in foster homes made her somehow inferior to his intact family, she was wrong. Everyone had troubles to deal with, but he’d always believed that, together, they could work through anything.
Like a partner’s death.
Painful rehab.
The ignominy of being taken off the front line.
Maybe he had more empathy for her decision now than he’d had two years ago. But he still didn’t understand why. Why would give him the release he needed to close the chapter on his time with Meghan. Why would heal his heart and allow him to move on.
Gideon closed his eyes and breathed in deeply, in through his nose, out through his mouth, centering himself in the midst of his chaotic thoughts.
Through the deep quiet of his meditation he heard the scream.
“Gideon!”
Galvanized by protective instincts that time and injury and doubt could never erase, he ran outside, his long legs swiftly taking him to Meghan’s side. “What? What is it? Are you hurt?”
She stood at rigid attention a few feet in front of the hood of her truck, one hand clasped tightly at the side of her waist, the other pressed to her trembling mouth.
Had she heard him?
Did she even know she’d cried out his name?
“Meg?”
He followed the sightline of her unblinking eyes to the windshield of her truck.
A yellow rose had been hooked beneath the wiper blade.
“Son of a bitch.” How? When?
Gideon cupped his hand around her right shoulder and moved behind her, folding his left arm across her chest and hugging his body around hers, shielding her from…from what? Unseen danger hovered in the air around them—a palpable, stalking, invisible threat. The violation of the gift was made all the more menacing by the tranquil, sunny normalcy of the day.
“Did you see anyone?” he asked in a hushed urgency against her ear.
She shook her head. “It was just there. Fifteen minutes ago it wasn’t.” Her fingers curled around his forearm and squeezed, betraying the tension she felt. “This is getting old fast.”
Good. She was getting mad. Down beneath her fear, she was getting mad.
He scanned the perimeter of the deserted parking lot, looking deep into the tall weeds and grass surrounding the abandoned site, and into the trees beyond. There was no dust on the road to indicate a vehicle drivi
ng away. And the site had been so overrun with firefighters and press and curiosity seekers, that it was impossible to tell if the man-made pathways of crushed plants were from a few moments ago or yesterday.
Had Kelleher come back? Was someone else keeping an unwelcome watch over Meghan?
With no visible suspect to pursue, Gideon circled around her, tucking her behind him as he walked to the driver’s door.
“Get rid of it.” She ground the request between clenched teeth. “Just toss the damn thing away.”
He lifted the wiper and pulled the rose free. She latched on to his shoulder and biceps and leaned in beside him for a closer look. A tiny envelope dangled from a ribbon tied to the thorny stem.
Gideon glanced over his shoulder. “Is this like the ones you got yesterday?”
She nodded. “I’m up to lucky thirteen now.”
“This isn’t just a prank.” Or a sick joke that he suspected terrified her more than she let on. “This is evidence. We’re going to use it to put a stop to this,” he promised, pulling his handkerchief from his pocket.
He wrapped the cloth around his fingers before ripping the card from the ribbon and flinging the rose off into the weeds. He couldn’t toss aside Meghan’s fears so easily. Her fingers tightened their anxious clutch as she peeked around his shoulder to watch him open the unmarked envelope and read the card inside.
What might have sounded like teasing from a trusted friend sounded instead like a scarcely veiled threat. A taunt. A dare. Another puzzle to be solved.
A warning.
Better get back to work, my love.
Or the numbers won’t add up.
“What does that mean?” she whispered. She drifted closer, until the jut of one small breast brushed against his back.
He squeezed his eyes shut to ignore his body’s instant, interested flare of heat, and focus on the task at hand. She wanted comfort from him. Calm reassurance. Not claim-staking, territorial lust.
In a clear case of mind over body, of necessity over desire, Gideon wrapped the card and envelope inside the handkerchief and turned around. He took Meghan by the shoulder and pushed her back a step so he could hunch down and look her straight in the eye. “It means you’re calling in to get someone else to cover your presentation. You and I are going to pay a visit to the police department’s forensic lab.”
Maybe she felt some of those same illicit sparks herself. She tried to pull away. “I’ll call the police myself. I can’t let you help fix my crazy life this time. I don’t want to depend on you. I don’t want to hurt you again.”
“Screw that. This is about the job. Your safety. Not us.” He released her and slipped the card into his shirt pocket. He straightened to his full height, sensing she needed his strength as well as his expertise right now.
He gentled his voice to argue this as logically as he could. “Look. The wall that’s between you and me may never go away. I don’t know what secrets you’re keeping, but it doesn’t change the fact that you’re in trouble. And that your trouble has something to do with my investigation.” He resisted the urge to brush aside the curling tendril of hair that fell across her face and obscured the seeking scrutiny of her eyes. “Think of it as a professional courtesy, if you have to. I’m not letting you go anywhere by yourself until I figure out what all this means.”
She pulled aside the windblown lock of hair herself, giving him a glimpse of her wavering will. “You don’t have to do that for me, you know. I’ll figure something out. I’m not your responsibility.”
That hesitant consideration of help from this independent woman twisted at something male and potent deep inside Gideon.
“Every citizen of Kansas City is my responsibility.” He was only interested in one particular citizen at the moment, but she didn’t want to hear that. “I’m not real comfortable with you being out in the open like this where anyone can see you. Especially since we can’t seem to spot anyone else. If you really want to be nice to me, come with me now so I don’t worry.”
Her shoulders finally softened with a resolute sigh. “All right. You can drive me back to the station house. I’ll be surrounded by my crew there. How’s that?”
“It’ll do for now.” He touched Meghan’s elbow and turned her toward his silver Chevy Suburban. “We’ll grab your stuff and ride in my car. I’ll send someone out for your truck.”
Thankfully, she moved quickly once she’d agreed to cooperate. They were buckled in with the engine running when she spoke again. “How did he find me?” She was looking out the front window, but her self-blaming thoughts were turned inward. “I mean, how long has he been following me, waiting for the right moment to make contact? How could he be so close and I didn’t even see him?”
Gideon reached across the seat and across miles of emotional distance to squeeze her hand. “I don’t know, sweetheart.”
The endearment slipped out and caught them both unaware. For one interminable moment their gazes locked and all their history—all their fears and concerns, all their unspoken desires—passed between them.
The good. The bad.
The passion. The tenderness.
The dreams they’d shared. The ones they’d shattered.
Gideon released her abruptly. He started the engine and shifted the Suburban into gear.
“I don’t know the answer,” he admitted. Then he pushed all doubt from his voice. “Yet.”
“ANY IDEA WHAT the ‘numbers’ clue means?” asked Mac Taylor, Gideon’s older brother by two years, and a forensic pathologist with K.C.P.D.
Gideon leaned his hip against the stainless-steel counter at the Fourth Precinct’s newly rebuilt crime lab and watched his big brother work. “The odd number of roses, maybe? First one, then eleven. This morning’s makes thirteen. Did you find anything when you dusted for prints?”
Mac adjusted his bronze-framed glasses and shook his head, still poring over the data on the computer screen in front of him. “Whoever wrote it either wore gloves or wiped it clean.”
Gideon had dropped Meghan off at Station 16, assured himself that she had plenty of friends around to keep her in sight through the end of her shift, and put in a call to Mac. “Her fan knows enough about what he’s doing to cover his tracks. He’s baiting her.” Even if Mac couldn’t give him a new lead, he could confirm what Gideon already suspected. “This isn’t just coincidence, is it? It’s more than a shy groupie with a crush on her who happens to have a really lousy sense of timing, isn’t it?”
“This guy is deliberate, not shy.” Mac’s right eye narrowed as he spotted what he’d been searching for. He’d been blinded in his left eye during an explosion at this same lab over a year ago. He typed in a command and the printer went to work. “He has a plan, and he’s inviting Meghan to become a part of it.” Then Mac shrugged. “Either that, or he’s a neat freak.”
Gideon grinned at the supposition. His brother was a scientist, not a profiler. But he trusted Mac’s educated guesses more than most men’s sure bets. “I appreciate you processing the evidence so quickly.”
Mac waved aside the gratitude. “You never ask for anything. Running a few tests is hardly calling in a favor.” While the printer scrolled out data, Mac pushed his chair away from the workstation and leaned back to analyze Gideon across the white and steel room. “So tell me, Gid—what’s going on here? I thought you and Meghan were history.”
“I knew the inquisition would hit sometime.” After Josh and Mitch had seen him leave the precinct office with Meghan last night, he figured it was only a matter of time before the rest of the family found out. “I don’t suppose the fact that I’m thirty-five years old and can take care of myself means anything?”
Mac lifted his hands into the air in mock surrender. “You know we’re just worried about you. I don’t have to be a scientist to figure out that you’ve had plenty to be hurt and angry about the past couple of years. You’re not one to share a lot, but we always figured you two would end up married.”
&nb
sp; “To be honest, Mac, so did I.” Gideon pushed away from the counter and crossed to the window to look out into the bright sunlight that reminded him so much of Meghan. “But I guess she doesn’t see herself as a traditional married woman.”
“What about untraditional?”
He started to laugh at the question, but then he realized Mac wasn’t joking. Is that what had stopped Meghan from saying yes? Had he talked so much about babies and fixing up a home in the country that she thought that was what he expected her role to become in their relationship? Was that the role she thought she couldn’t play?
Gideon’s smile faded. Meghan Wright was just about as far removed from June Cleaver and tradition as a woman could be. But that didn’t mean she wouldn’t make a great mother. It didn’t mean she wasn’t—correction, hadn’t been—the right woman for him.
He guessed there was still plenty of talking to be done between them. But next time maybe he was the one who owed her an explanation.
Gideon turned to face Mac. The intense scrutiny of that one eye had him wondering whether or not his brother was reading more into his feelings about Meghan than he was willing to admit to himself. “Relax. I’ll watch my back and be careful. But I’m not going to walk away from her. If there’s any chance that her fan and my arsonist are the same guy, then I’m the best man to help her.”
His answer seemed to satisfy Mac. For now. The blond pathologist blinked and turned his attention back to the printout. “I dusted her truck for fingerprints like you asked. The only clean sets I got off it were hers and yours. And some kids’. The prints were a smaller size. You want me to run them through the database?”
“No.” The boys at Dorie Mesner’s foster home had had plenty of opportunity to leave their mark on Meghan’s truck. And none of them could be involved in something like this. “What about the handwriting on the card?”
“Standard calligraphy. This guy’s more than artistic. He’s a perfectionist.” Mac stood and handed Gideon the printout of the note, enlarged and laid out side by side with a page from an artist’s calligraphy handbook. “There’s not a line or swirl out of place.”