Kitabı oku: «Baptism In Fire», sayfa 4

“Or not eating at all,” he added, doing a once-over of her body. “You’ve lost weight, Rach. You need a little more meat on those gorgeous bones of yours.”

His words brought on an involuntary shiver of awareness. God, she didn’t want him here, didn’t want to feel anything for him, didn’t want to react to his charm, his smile, his voice. But what her head wanted and what her body wanted seemed to be on opposing sides.

With an effort, she tamped down the wave of excitement building inside her, then covered it with an indignant huff. “I don’t see how my weight or my eating habits should concern you,” she snapped coldly.

He studied her for a moment, then turned back to cutting the boneless chicken breasts into narrow strips, but not before she noted the flash of pain resulting from her sharp tone and thoughtless words.

“It does when you’re working for me, and I need you to be one hundred percent on,” he finally said, his tone low and controlled.

She had lost weight. She was not eating well, and she’d noticed the difference in her stamina.

Damn! She hated when he was right.

Throwing a scathing glare at his back, she began searching the cabinets for a wok. Three cabinets and a lot of noisy banging of pots and pans later, she found one hiding under a colander.

When she spun around to place it on the stove, she almost ran straight into Luke’s wide, hard chest. Her pulse picked up speed. Her senses swirled like fallen leaves caught in an autumn wind. Slowly, she raised her head to find him staring down at her, his eyes filled with desire.

Before she could do something she’d live to regret, she moved quickly to one side in an effort to put space between them and lost her balance. He grasped her upper arms. A current of acute sexual tension shivered over her.

“This isn’t going to work,” she mumbled, referring to the limited space of the small kitchen. Her blue-eyed gaze lifted to lock with Luke’s.

Acutely aware of her silky skin against his palms, Luke had to fight to keep a coherent thought in his brain. “It will if we give it a chance,” he said, unsure if he meant the cooking arrangement or something neither of them seemed ready to address.

To avoid the off-limits thoughts chasing around his mind, Luke let her go, then surveyed the cramped kitchen. “I’ll move to the other side of the counter. You stay here and man the stove.” Quickly, he gathered the vegetables, meat, chopping board and knife and scooted around to the other side.

He’d just started working on the scallions, when the sound of the wok dropping against the glass cooktop drew his attention.

“Slipped,” Rachel said with a sheepish grin.

A wave of intense longing crashed over him. If this had been two years ago, that grin would have ignited a delay in supper and a quick trip to the bedroom. Food would have been forgotten.

But it wasn’t two years ago. It was here and now, and all they had between them was a tenuous, barely civil working relationship. He knew, better than anyone, that the chances of Rachel and him finding what they’d lost were zero to nothing.

As if this admission had opened a floodgate in his mind, the guilt and second guesses poured in. What if he’d handled Maggie’s disappearance better? What if he’d tried to understand more of what Rachel had been going through? What if, when Maggie had been declared probably deceased, instead of pulling away, he’d gathered Rachel to him and they’d lived out their grief together?

And the biggie… What if he hadn’t decided to work overtime that night and had been home where he should have been, protecting his family?

Luke had been beating himself up for two long years over the bad decisions he’d made, but none more than working that night. Rachel’s birthday had been a few weeks away, and he’d wanted to get some overtime in to take her to the Bahamas on the honeymoon they’d never had. As a result of his decision, a stranger had invaded their home, set fire to it, nearly burned Rachel alive and snatched Maggie.

Anger, hot and destructive as a raging forest fire, seared through him. His hand tightened on the handle of the knife. He sliced through the meat as if it were the throat of the person who had stolen their daughter and shattered their happiness.

Not until he heard Rachel’s gasp and looked down at where her gaze was fixed, did he realize that he’d cut his finger. She rushed around the counter and took his hand.

“Come with me, and we’ll get it cleaned out and bandaged.”

“No need to fuss,” he said, grabbing a dish towel on his way past the counter and pressing it against the cut.

She stopped abruptly. He ran into her back. For a moment he forgot his injured finger and was conscious only of her slim curves pressed against him. She stepped away quickly and spun to face him.

“Everyone knows that chicken blood carries a host of bacteria. When you contract lockjaw and your finger falls off, I don’t want anyone blaming me. We are going to clean this cut, so stop acting like a baby and move your butt into the bathroom.”

Wordlessly, and suppressing a smile at her commanding tone, he followed her into the guest bathroom. This room was much smaller than the kitchen, and he had to sit on the closed toilet seat with her positioned between his spread legs. His forehead beaded with sweat that had nothing to do with the cut finger. This was as intimate as he’d been with Rachel in over two years, and he wasn’t sure he could survive it.

In an effort to harness his raging libido, he reached for something that would take his mind off her body so close, her legs pressing his, her special spiced-honeysuckle scent filling his nostrils.

He smiled. Maggie used to cuddle into Rachel’s neck, take a deep breath and say, “Mommy smells like apple pie.” Then she’d kiss her mother’s neck, and Rachel would giggle. It had become a nightly ritual when Rachel carried her to bed and then sang her to sleep. Maggie never cared that Rachel couldn’t carry a tune in a basket. All she cared about was that her mommy and daddy loved her and would protect her.

Luke pushed the pain away and thought instead about the investigation. Much safer territory than memories of Maggie or Rachel’s nearness. “Have you done the profile on the arsonist?”

“A partial.”

She opened a bottle of peroxide, held his finger over the sink and poured out a liberal amount, watching as foam bubbled from the cut. When it stopped foaming, she poured more over it.

He gritted his teeth against the sharp sting and seriously believed she was enjoying this torture. “And?”

“And I haven’t finished yet.” Grabbing a guest towel, she dabbed at the cut.

“So what do you have so far?’ Why was she making him drag this out of her? He shifted slightly, unintentionally bringing his leg in direct contact with the back of her knee.

Rachel caught her breath. Damn him. He knew how sensitive she was there. These quarters were too close as it was. Why was he making this even more difficult? She moved away and sat on the edge of the tub, placing the gauze and adhesive in her lap. This put her at eye level with him. She wasn’t sure that looking directly into those dark, sensuous eyes of his was any better than feeling his leg against hers.

Quickly, she averted her gaze to the roll of gauze and focused on something less personal. “The arsonist probably works during the day, since all the fires occurred at night. He’s either an acquaintance of all the victims, which, given their diversified standard of living, is highly unlikely, or he stalks them, picking and choosing which woman he will go after next. I vote for the latter.”

She paused, applied antiseptic cream, then wound the gauze around his finger. “Hold this,” she instructed.

He placed his free finger over the end of the gauze. The gold wedding band on his right hand twinkled in the bathroom light. Rachel swallowed and averted her attention, glad when he asked another question.

“If he works a day job, when does he have time to stalk them?”

“Weekends. The long periods between fires tells me he is not in a hurry. He takes his time choosing his victim.” She applied the adhesive and then looked Luke directly in the eye. “Don’t underestimate this guy. Though these fires are not sophisticated and use no fancy incendiary devices, they are extremely well planned and carefully orchestrated. So, I’d say, the arsonist is a detailed planner with a basic college education and not in anything technical or chemical.”

“Why not technical or chemical?”

“The lack of sophistication. If he had any knowledge of electronics or explosives, he wouldn’t have used charcoal lighter.”

Her stomach growled, the sound magnified in the small room.

They both laughed.

“Guess we’d better finish cooking and feed you.”

They stood at the same time. Rachel found herself plastered against Luke’s chest with the door to her back. Finding herself in the same position for the third time that night, she began to wonder. Accidental? Had he planned it?

Before she had time to really think about that possibility, her senses began to swirl. She could feel his breath fanning her face, smell his masculine scent, count the accelerated beats of his heart against her breasts.

Unable to stop herself, she slowly raised her face to his. He was staring down at her, his gaze taking in every detail of her face. He cupped her jaw in his callused hand. His thumb skimmed over her cheek.

Her knees weakened. Her heart beat out a frantic rhythm in her ears. Helplessness invaded her senses. She wanted Luke as she’d never wanted anything in the last two, empty, lonely years. She wanted him to scoop her into his arms and carry her to the bedroom and make love to her into the night. She wanted him to erase all the pain and bring back the joy of love.

Her gaze met his, and his head began to lower. His lips parted a fraction. His breath whispered over her hot skin. She closed her eyes and waited for his kiss.

Chapter 4

As Luke’s mouth hovered over Rachel’s, the air in the condo bathroom seemed to grow thinner, her breathing more labored. She waited for Luke’s kiss. Waited for the touch of his lips on hers for the first time in two years. Anticipation ballooned inside her.

Then she felt him slip past her, leaving her alone—and humiliated.

It took a few moments to get her senses under control and allow embarrassed anger to burn off the desire. When she’d stabilized her emotions, she followed him back to the kitchen where she found him calmly breaking a sprig of broccoli into bite-size florets, as if the scene in the bathroom had been a figment of her imagination.

“What the hell was that all about?” she demanded, hands on hips.

He glanced up at her, his gaze brimming with the innocence of a child. “What?”

“That…that…what just happened in there,” she said, hitching her thumb toward the bathroom door, reluctant to put the incident into specific words.

He laid down the knife and leaned his forearms casually on the countertop. “Am I to take it from your indignation that you wanted to continue?”

Damn him! He was acting as if it were her idea, as if it meant nothing to him. Well, it hadn’t meant anything to her either. Nothing at all.

She glowered at him. “In your dreams, Sutherland.”

He laughed, loud and long. The sound trickled over her like rain on a windowpane, saturating her very soul. “You never were a good liar, Rach.”

Arrogant son of—

Rather than looking even more foolish, she fumed silently and continued to glare at Luke.

It was taking every bit of Luke’s control to put up this devil-may-care front. What he wanted, what he’d wanted in the bathroom, was to grab her, kiss her until she melted in his arms and then carry her off for a night of passion. But he knew that wouldn’t exorcize any of their ghosts. In the morning, she would still be the woman who could not forget or forgive him for letting her down, and he’d still be a man shouldering more guilt than any one human should have to carry.

He straightened, picked up the knife and took out his sexual frustration on the unsuspecting vegetables that still needed to be chopped for the stir-fry. “Come on, Rach, get over here and man that wok. I’m about done with this stuff.” If they couldn’t make love, he was damn well gonna see to it that she put some weight back on her. A sad substitute, and it spoke volumes about how far their relationship had deteriorated.

He didn’t look up to see if she’d moved. He didn’t dare. One more longing look from her and all his good resolutions would go down the drain. Instead, he concentrated on moving the prepared vegetables and chicken to her side of the counter. He felt the movement of the air and got a whiff of her spicy perfume as she passed by him and then stationed herself at the stove.

Thirty minutes later they sat at the table looking down at their empty plates.

“That was the best Chinese I’ve had in ages,” Rachel said, leaning back and sighing, her anger forgotten under the weight of a good meal. She’d eaten more than she had in as long as she could remember. Why? Because Luke sat across the table from her?

Luke stacked their plates and carried them to the sink, poured coffee for each of them and brought the thick, ceramic mugs back to the table, but he didn’t put them down. “The sun is going to be setting in a few minutes, and there’s an ocean breeze to cool things off. Why don’t we go out on the balcony and have our coffee.”

Rachel took her cup and followed him to the two lounge chairs facing the Atlantic Ocean. She settled into the chaise and stared out at the whitecaps tracing long lines across the deep blue water beyond the deserted beach. The light breeze carried the unique smell of the sea and a fine spray of saltwater. The silence between Luke and Rachel was broken only by the squawk of a gull searching for dinner and the rhythmic pounding of the waves hitting the beach. Luke sighed, drawing her attention.

Eyes closed, he’d stretched out on the lounge chair, his ankles crossed, his big hands cupping the mug on his flat stomach. This was the most peaceful evening they’d spent together since before the fire. It was almost as if the last two years had never happened, and any minute Maggie would come racing through the door and launch herself onto her unsuspecting daddy.

But Maggie wouldn’t come through any door ever again, never cuddle her freshly bathed body close to Rachel as she sang her to sleep. Maggie was gone, and it had taken Rachel a long time to come to terms with that admission.

“Rach?”

She smiled. Only he had ever called her by that shortened version of her name. “Yes?”

For a moment, he didn’t answer, as if trying to find words. “Do you remember anything from the night the apartment burned?”

At first, she wanted to tell him she didn’t want to talk about it. Then she decided it was time. How would she purge her demons once and for all unless she faced them? “Just bits and pieces.” She didn’t go into the flash of memory she’d had at the fire site. Besides, that had happened so fast, it hadn’t told her much.

“Haven’t you ever wondered about the details?”

She took a deep breath. “Every day.”

Silence again.

“Me, too.”

That surprised her. She’d always believed that Luke had gotten the full story from the police and the firefighters. “But, I thought—”

He turned to face her. “A.J. put Johnson on it and kept me away from the case as much as he could. That was fine with me. I never saw the files, and I never asked. Never wanted to hear it. All I wanted to know was where Maggie was, and no one could tell me that.” His voice cracked. He blinked and turned away to stare out at the rolling surf. “Just before he called you here, A.J. realized the connection between the arsons and our fire. He briefed me on the bare bones. I guess he figured we could get into it more deeply when you got here.”

For a long time, they remained silent, both staring out at an empty ocean, as empty as her heart, and kept the counsel of their own thoughts. Finally she found the courage to voice what she’d been thinking since she’d come back to Orange Grove.

“Maybe A.J.’s been protecting you for too long, and maybe I’ve been running for too long. Maybe it’s time we found out what’s in those fire reports. And not just for the sake of the case.”

He didn’t speak for a while, then finally, just nodded his agreement.

“Luke?”

He turned to her. “What?”

“I’m glad you came by tonight.” And she really was. She’d needed a night of normal activity before she jumped into the investigation with the task force.

This was the first civilized conversation they’d had in two years. She wasn’t naive enough to believe it would last beyond this night or that it meant they would ever get back together again. With her volatile temper and Luke’s sarcastic nature, Rachel was certain they’d go head to head again before this case was solved. Their relationship had been battered and beaten beyond resurrection. But for now, they at least had a tentative peace between them.

He smiled. “I’m glad I came by, too.”

Silence again.

“Luke?”

“Yes.”

“Do you ever think about her?”

He remained quiet for long moments, his gaze fastened on the horizon. “Every night and every day, every time I see a kid with blond curls—” His voice broke.

She touched his arm and without looking at her, he covered her hand with his.

The silence returned, this time comfortable and warm. What had happened tonight was not momentous, but it was a start toward healing both their wounds.

Rachel laid her head back against the chaise and closed her eyes. She wasn’t sure if she’d slept, but Luke’s sudden movement brought her alert.

Standing, he stretched his hands above his head. Muscles rippled across his chest and shoulders. A strip of bare skin came into view below the hem of his baby-blue golf shirt. “You look beat. I think I’m going to get out of here so you can get some sleep. You’ll need all your wits about you for the meeting with the task force tomorrow.”

Rachel barely heard him. Her attention was still riveted on his body. She shook herself. She had to stop this crazy reaction to him.

Tearing her gaze away, she stood and gathered their mugs. “I’ll be there as soon as I drop by the firehouse and pick up the reports…all of them.”

He gave a brief inclination of his head, then walked inside. “Want me to help you clean up?” he asked, surveying the clutter in the kitchen.

“No. It’ll only take me a few minutes. Go home and get some rest.” She walked him to the door. “I’ll see you in the morning.”

At the door, he opened it and then turned back to her. Before she could stop him, he placed a fleeting kiss on her mouth. “Thanks…for everything.”

Long after he’d disappeared from sight, Rachel stood in the open doorway, her fingers pressed to her lips, her other hand clutching the pendant.

The dream came that night.

Maggie, alone, sobbing, searching hopelessly for someone to help her. But everyone she met turned away.

Then she came to Rachel.

“Mommy?”

But the smoke thickened, the heat grew more intense, and Rachel turned away, too.

“Mommy! Mooommmy!”

Maggie’s screams jolted Rachel awake. Sweat soaked her nightgown, plastering it to her cold, damp skin. Her hands shook. She searched the corners of the darkened room for a small, lost girl. But all she found were shadows. Tears cascaded down her hot cheeks.

“Maggie. Baby.” Her anguished cry echoed around the room.

Loss, intense and searing, burned through her. Rachel lay back, her wide-eyed gaze on the ceiling. Tears trickled unheeded from the corners of her eyes to gather on her pillow. Inside her, the worst kind of loneliness any woman can ever know churned and rolled. She wrapped her arms around her body, as if filling them with herself would ease the ache of not having her baby to hold. But the ache was almost beyond bearing and she rolled to her side to reach for the phone.

When she realized that she’d been about to call Luke, something she hadn’t thought about doing in two years, she yanked her hand back.

No. She’d weathered this alone before, and she could do it now. One night of easy conversation did not convince her that he’d be any more supportive than he’d been two years ago. Of all the people in this nutty world she would not trust with her peace of mind, it was Luke Sutherland.

Twenty minutes later, cried out, wide awake and back in control, Rachel carried a fresh cup of coffee to the balcony, stretched out on the chaise and watched the moonlight play over the waves. Though she felt bone tired, she was afraid to close her eyes again…afraid the dream would come back. And why had it come back at all?

Right after Maggie’s kidnapping, she’d had the same dream every night, but in the last few months, after she’d come to terms with the realization that Maggie would not be coming home alive, the dream had ceased.

Why had it returned? Why now when she was trying to prove to Luke and A.J. that she had everything under control?

It had to be Luke. His presence tonight had brought back too many memories of a time they could never recapture. It was her own fault. She’d allowed him to come in, fix dinner, arouse her sleeping senses, get too close. It couldn’t happen again.

As Rachel sat there, sipping her coffee, her attention was caught by a lone figure coming down the beach. It was impossible in this light to tell clearly if it was a man or woman. The person stopped in front of Rachel’s condo and appeared to be looking out to sea, then turned and faced Rachel’s building. After staring at the building for a long time, he or she moved back up the beach.

Dread oozed over Rachel. She had a vivid image of the man in the Latte Factory. She’d forgotten about him. Even though her building had a guard stationed in the lobby, and he checked everyone coming and going, admitting no one without the tenant’s say-so, she still felt uneasy. Getting up, she went inside and closed and locked the sliding glass doors. She watched from behind the glass until the figure disappeared from sight, then she closed every blind in the place.

As Rachel scanned her notes and sipped her morning coffee, she found something she had overlooked in the photos. Before she presented it to the task force, she wanted another look at the last fire scene to make sure it was consistent with all the others.

Quickly gathering up her notes, she stuffed them in the briefcase, grabbed her keys and locked the door behind her. In the parking lot, she climbed into her car, started it, then checked the rearview mirror before putting the car in reverse.

Her gaze froze on the image projected there. Standing on the other side of the street was the man from the coffee shop. He stared fixedly in her direction. Unwilling to pass him, she stalled by pretending to be looking for something in her pocket. She told herself that it was a public street. The man lived nearby and had every right to be here. That didn’t stop the gooseflesh from sprouting on her arms.