Silent Scream

Chapter Nine

Monday, September 20, 8:30 p.m.

David’s jaw clenched as he cast his line off the end of Glenn’s dock. With quick, vicious jerks he reeled the line through the dark water of the lake, knowing he was never going to hook a fish as angry as he was, and not giving a damn.

Olivia hadn’t come. Hadn’t called or texted. Nothing.

Maybe this was her way of getting back at him. If so, he deserved it.

Sweat dampened the back of his shirt, despite the cooler temps of the fall night. He’d rolled his sleeves up his forearms, tossed his shoes into the dirt at the other end of the dock, and now stood in his bare feet casting for a walleye he’d never catch, going over each minute of that one night again and again, and trying very hard to stay calm.

Then his shoulders jerked forward. He’d hooked one. A damn big one. Reflex had him reeling-just as he heard the low roar of a vehicle approaching. He kept reeling as he listened, wondering if it would keep going, like all the cars had up until this point.

It didn’t. It stopped out front, the engine idling. Minutes ticked by and the engine continued to idle. Turn off the car, Olivia. Then he let out the breath he’d been holding when she did. A door slammed in the stillness of the night.

Two very long minutes later he heard the gentle slam of the back door and let out another breath. His hands continued to reel as he heard the crunch of fallen leaves and, finally, detected the faint aroma of honeysuckle. She was here.

“I didn’t think you would come,” he said, not turning around.

“I said I would,” she said quietly.

He turned then, looking into the face that had captured his imagination the moment he’d seen her. But it had been her eyes that had drawn him that first night. He found they still did. Round and blue, they’d been by turns sharp and intelligent, soft and understanding. And, later, hot and needy as she’d looked up at him, her head on his pillow. He swallowed hard.

“I’m glad,” he said simply and her lips turned up. Not quite a smile. He dropped his eyes to her throat and could see the pulse beating there, fast. Nervous, he hoped. Not scared. Please don’t let her be scared.

“I’m sorry I’m late. I needed to pick up my dog and go home. Clean up a little.”

His eyes dropped to the dress she wore. He’d seen it before. The first night he’d met her, at Mia’s rehearsal dinner. The night they’d sat and talked about everything under the sun until the small hours of the morning. He had to wonder if she’d chosen the dress on purpose, or if it was simply a favorite.

Blue like her eyes, it was made of something diaphanous that gave him teasing glimpses of her curves as the fabric rippled in the breeze. She’d left her hair down, as he liked it best. He wanted badly to touch, but his hands were filthy, so he kept them where they were, clutching his rod and reel for dear life.

He looked at his own clothes ruefully. “I was. Cleaned up, that is. Sorry.”

“It’s my fault. I should have called. Time got away from me. It sometimes does that.”

He stared another long moment, wondering how to ask the question that had burdened him for two and a half years. Why did you leave? What did I do? “I’ve hooked a fish. Hook’s set hard in his mouth. If I cut the line…”

“He’ll suffer. So reel him in. It’s nice out here, with the lake. Who lives here?”

He reeled, impatiently now. He wanted to wash his hands so that he could touch her. “A friend who’s staying in my apartment building. The one I’m rehabbing.”

“I didn’t know you’d opened it for tenants already.”

“I didn’t plan to. They just needed a place to stay. Now I’m half full.”

Something moved in her eyes and he wished he could interpret it. “That was kind.”

“So is your work with runaways. That night in Chicago, you said you wanted to do something, to give kids like your sister a chance before they ruined their lives. Lots of people talk about making a difference, Olivia. You do. You’re there at the teen shelter almost every weekend.” Even at the height of her work with the victims in the pit, she’d kept her commitment. That had profoundly impressed David.

Her eyes widened. “Wait a minute. How do you know what I do in my spare time?”

“I’ve… paid attention. Since I’ve been here.”

Now her eyes narrowed. “You’ve been watching me?”

He focused on reeling. Yes. “Kind of.”

“Kind of? What the hell kind of answer is that?” Her hand was plunked on her hip. Her very curvy hip. Her blue eyes flashed dangerously.

“Not a terribly good one, I’m afraid,” he said.

She pursed her lips, fixing her gaze on his fishing line. “Do you have a better one?”

“I think so, but it’s hard to concentrate right now.”

She huffed. “So hurry up. What are you going to do with it anyway?”

He assumed she meant the fish. “Depends. Do you like fresh fish?”

“Depends. Who’s cleaning it?”

His mouth quirked up at her disgruntled tone. “Me.”

“Then I like fish. I couldn’t help but notice the table you’d set. Is the fish for dinner?”

He’d stopped by the home store for a tablecloth, candlesticks, and some plain white china. Nothing fancy, but better than Glenn’s chipped plates. He’d turned Glenn’s gouged-wood table into something halfway presentable, in case things went well.

“Depends. I’ve got steaks marinating. I didn’t know if you’d have had a chance to eat.”

Some of the starch seemed to leave her sails. “I don’t really do steaks. But the fish sounds wonderful and I didn’t have dinner. So thank you.”

He had the fish now, lowering the rod and reeling fast. “Did the father ID the girl?”

“Yes. Her name was Tracey Mullen. We have no idea why she was in that condo, but it looks like she played mom against dad. Each thought she was with the other.”

“Divorced then?”

“Yeah. Mom comes tomorrow. Not gonna be fun. I gave the dad your message.” She hesitated. “Told him you’d risked your life to save her. He thanked you.”

“I’ve been thinking about him, all afternoon. Thinking of you, having to tell him.” The fish was close now. “Back up. This boy’s coming out.” She skittered back and he gave a final pull, landing the walleye on the dock where the fish slapped around frantically. “Big one.” He looked up, saw her face droop. “Should I throw him back?”

“Would I seem silly if I said yes?”

He met her eyes. “No,” he said gently and she relaxed. “This boy’s lived a long time. Seems a shame to end his roll.” Pulling on gloves, he took the hook from the fish’s mouth and put him back into the water, holding on until the fish gathered enough strength to swim away on his own. “I catch and release most of the time anyway. Only so many fish one man can eat. Let’s go inside. I’ll clean up and then we can talk.”

“And I’ll get better answers?”

“Yes.” And he hoped he got answers, too. Ones he could live with.

Monday, September 20, 8:45 p.m.

Barney Tomlinson sat at his desk in his office at the back of his warehouse, blearily staring at the P &L statement on his computer screen. Blindly he reached for the glass on his desk and, finding it empty, reached for the bottle he kept in his drawer.

It was empty, too. With a throttled oath, he chucked the bottle across the room where it bounced harmlessly against the wall. Cheap liquor in plastic bottles.

That’s what his life had come to. Cheap liquor, and no more of that. I’m ruined.

His wife had put a hold on their funds. Some fancy lawyer was going to become rich… on my money. He dropped his head to his hands. “My goddamn money.”

I hope the little whore was worth half your money, his bitch of a wife had sneered. She’d probably get what she was asking. Half of his money. His own lawyer didn’t seem hopeful. When there were pictures involved…

Those damn pictures. He’d sent them. That damn blackmailer. Who ruined my life. He peeked between his fingers to look at the pictures her lawyer had given his lawyer. Barney remembered that night. The sex had been good. Not great, but good. More than anything, Shondra had listened to him. Made him feel… important. Young.

Now that his money was gone, Shondra was gone, too. His bitch of a wife had gotten a good chuckle out of that. He wished she were dead. Shondra and his bitch of a wife. He’d thought it through, looked at all the angles, but every way he looked at it, he’d be the first suspect. At least when the dust cleared, he’d have half of whatever was left.

“Excuse me.”

Barney looked up, brows crunched. A man stood in his doorway, hands in his pockets. He looked familiar, but Barney couldn’t place him.

“We don’t allow soliciting here,” Barney said. “You’ll have to leave.” He started to stand, then sank back into his chair when the man casually pulled a very large gun from his pocket. He was wearing black gloves. Barney’s heart began to beat like all hell. His eyes darted around, finding the phone at the edge of his desk. Too far away to grab.

No one was here. His employees had gone home. Nobody would hear him scream.

“W-we don’t keep cash here,” Barney stammered. “B-but I have a watch.” He started to take it off but the man lifted his gun higher.

“I don’t want your watch, Barney,” the man said mildly. He rounded the desk, shoving the gun’s barrel against the back of Barney’s head.

“Who are you?” Barney demanded, then he knew. “You. You took those pictures. You fucking black- mailed me.”

“Well, technically it was only attempted blackmail. You never paid me, after all.”

“What do you want? I have no more money. You ruined me.”

“No, Barney. You ruined you. You stick your cock in places it ought not go, you gotta accept the consequences.” The man actually sounded amused. “Buh-bye.”

Buh-bye. He’d heard it before. Now he knew who this guy was. “You’re-”

He stepped back from Tomlinson’s body, now face-first on the desk. What was left of his face, anyway. He searched Barney’s pocket, finding keys, his BlackBerry, and the disposable cell he’d provided. Pocketing the keys and BlackBerry, he walked around the desk, careful not to step in any of Barney’s brains. Pausing at the door, he snapped a picture with the disposable cell, then checked to be sure he’d gotten a good one.

He had, indeed. Barney was well centered and the blood contrasted well with the white papers strewn over the desk. It would make a nice visual aid for the next bozo who ignored him. And for the College Four Minus One if they balked.

He hoped the cops would find the hollow-point bullet that had exited Barney’s head and tie it to the dead cop-turned-security-guard. It would let him pull the noose a little closer around the necks of Eric and his friends.

He pulled Barney’s office door closed and, pulling the ski mask over his face, left the way he’d come in. He wasn’t too worried about the cameras. After listening to Albert and Eric discuss their plans, he’d concluded the two had the cameras covered. Besides, the only video that would matter after tonight would be the video he took.

On his way out he unlocked the cage that held Tomlinson’s dog, just as Tomlinson did every night when he left. The dog didn’t like Tomlinson at all. The warehouse manager handled the hound, feeding it and putting it back in its cage where it would pace all day. He hoped Eric and Albert didn’t plan to kill it. It was a beautiful animal.

He closed the back gate and yanked on the twine Tomlinson kept tied to the door of the dog’s cage, just as Tomlinson did every night. The dog bounded out with a ferocious growl, jumping at the fence, teeth bared. Truly a magnificent animal.

Buh-bye, he thought as he got into Barney’s car and drove away. He’d park it a few blocks over, then retrieve his own vehicle. That way when Eric and the gang arrived, they wouldn’t see the car and think anything was amiss-like that Tomlinson was dead inside. They’d start the fire, and by morning, his grip on them would be even tighter.

Monday, September 20, 8:57 p.m.

“I’m in.” Eric was hunched over his laptop, staring at Tomlinson’s company server.

“About time,” was all Albert said, his gaze glued to the television set. He’d been watching the news to get a feel for where the cops were on the condo investigation.

Eric let Albert’s words roll off his back. He couldn’t worry about the two of them right now. He had to figure out how to get past the alarm or there would be no “them” to worry about. It had taken a lot longer than he’d expected to break into Tomlinson’s server, but he was nervous and not thinking, which explained most of the delay.

Opening a folder labeled “Maintenance,” he nodded. “The alarm’s an old design. The documentation here is from a system they bought ten years ago.”

Albert’s jaw clenched. “I don’t care about the make and model. Can you turn it off?”

“Yeah. It’ll be easy. I just have to-”

Albert held up his hand. “Shh. It’s nine.”

On the television, the anchor looked grim. “Good evening. We have an update on the fire that destroyed the lakefront condo last night. Police have identified the female victim as Tracey Mullen. Tracey was just sixteen years old.” The screen split, a photo of a pretty young girl with big brown eyes appearing next to the anchor’s face.

Eric’s stomach turned inside out and he was glad he’d eaten nothing for hours. Tracey Mullen. He stared at the face on the screen, but what he saw was her face pressed against the glass, her mouth open on the scream that echoed in his mind. Next to him, Albert had tensed and Eric wondered if the guilt was eating him like acid, too.

The screen changed to a video of a woman with bright red-orange hair wearing a jacket with SAR printed on the back and holding the leash of a German Shepherd. The woman and the dog entered the burned-out condo while three others looked on-a blond woman, a dark-haired man, and a tall guy wearing a fedora. Hat Squad, Eric thought. The guy with the hat was a homicide detective.

“This was the scene this afternoon as a cadaver dog searched for additional remains in the building,” the anchor’s voice said. “Fortunately, they found none.”

Eric released a breath. At least they’d killed no one else. The girl was a tragedy, but she shouldn’t have been there to begin with.

The video changed abruptly, now grainy and far away. “News 8 has obtained this video, taken with a bystander’s cell phone. You’re looking at the cadaver dog, who, after searching the burned building, continued tracking on the other side of the property, ending up at this stretch of beach. Police captain Bruce Abbott had no comment as to the relevance of the dog’s find on the ongoing investigation.”

The anchor reappeared. “In other news, a fatal car accident claimed the life of Joel Fischer early this morning. Joel’s car ran off the road between his home and the university, where he was a prelaw student. No one else was injured. Funeral services will be tomorrow afternoon…”

“The dog found where the blackmailer left after killing that guard,” Albert said coldly.

“But they’ll still think it was us,” Eric said, fear in his voice.

“They don’t know about us. Yet. We need to make sure they don’t find out.”

Monday, September 20, 9:02 p.m.

Olivia rubbed her hands over her arms briskly. She was partly cold, partly nervous. Mostly nervous, she admitted. She stood in the cabin’s living room, which was dominated by a wooden table covered in linen, candles, and china. The man knew how to set a nice table. And he planned to cook for her.

And then what? Nothing, she decided firmly. Nothing, until I get some answers.

He’d been “paying attention.” Watching me.

She caught a flash of white from the corner of her eye and turned to follow it. It was his shirt, she realized, thrown from the bathroom into a waiting basket. Which meant that right now, the man was half naked. Olivia drew a breath, her arms no longer cold. None of her was cold. She knew what he looked like half naked.

She knew what he looked like all the way naked. Therein lay the problem. The water started to run and Olivia started to walk, her feet having a mind of their own, stopping in the open bathroom doorway.

He was washing up in the sink, his head bent to the water. He still wore his trousers and she told herself that was a good thing. Otherwise, she would have had serious trouble keeping her resolve. Must have answers before… well, just before.

She leaned against the doorframe undetected and simply watched him. If anything, he looked better than he had that night, stronger, muscles more defined… just better, which really wasn’t fair. At the moment though, she found it hard to complain.

The dark hair at his nape was wet and curled just a little, and her fingers itched to reach out and touch, but she silently stayed where she stood. He still hadn’t seen her. Razor in hand, he lifted his eyes to the mirror, then froze, watching her reflection. When she said nothing, he straightened and started to shave, meeting her eyes in the mirror every time he rinsed his blade.

It was an intimate thing, watching a man shave. She’d watched Doug shave, all the months they’d been engaged. She’d missed this, the intimacy. She missed the sex, too, but the intimacy most of all. That sense of belonging to someone, that he belonged only to her. She’d thought she’d had that with Doug, but had painfully learned she had not.

She drew a breath, steadying herself. She wouldn’t have it here either. David Hunter would never belong to her. She knew that. She wondered if he knew it, too.

As she watched his muscles move, his eyes meet hers, and she felt everything inside her go liquid and needy… she wondered if belonging, the exclusivity of it, even mattered. Too soon he was finished with the blade. But he didn’t turn, still watching her in the mirror.

“Why have you watched me?” she asked huskily.

His throat moved as he swallowed hard. “I needed to be sure you were all right. You were working that case… all those bodies coming out of the pit. You were pale and stressed. Evie said you weren’t sleeping. Not eating. I worried.”

She lifted her chin. “So if you were so worried, then why didn’t you call?”

He turned then and the room seemed a whole lot smaller and the air seemed a whole lot thinner. His silver gaze was piercing, yet uncertain.

“Well?” she pressed and had only a second to prepare before he stepped forward and slid his fingers into her hair, lifting her face.

“I’m sorry. I need to know,” he said harshly, and then she couldn’t breathe at all. His mouth was on hers and it was exactly the same. Exactly as she remembered. Hot and necessary. All the reasons that she shouldn’t kiss him back vanished like mist as she stood on her toes, her palms flat against his chest, touching all that bare skin and hard muscle. Mine. For this second, mine. Then her arms were around his neck, winding tight, pulling herself higher. Closer.

He made a sound deep in his throat, rough. Needy. One hand tightened in her hair and the other roved her back and sides impatiently as he deepened the kiss and she remembered how it felt. His mouth on her. His hands on her. God, the man had amazing hands. Touch me. She wanted to scream it, but there was no air. Her dress fluttered against the back of her legs as he grabbed a handful of fabric at her hip and twisted it in his fist. Visions of him ripping her dress over her head taunted. Tempted.

Just like last time.

He pulled away abruptly, his chest swelling as his breath beat hard and fast against her hair. But although his grip gentled, he didn’t let go. His one hand cradled the back of her head, pulling her cheek against his bare skin. The other hand splayed firmly against her lower back, as if he’d keep her from bolting.

Just like last time.

She eased from her toes, her hands sliding down his skin, finding a natural resting place on his back. And she held on, because she needed to. If she pushed away, he’d let her go, but she didn’t. Couldn’t. He rested his cheek on the top of her head.

“It was real,” he murmured, sending a shiver down her spine. “I didn’t imagine it.”

She thought of how she’d left him, sprawled in his own bed, snoring softly. He’d had way too much champagne at Mia’s wedding while she had been one hundred percent sober. For long months she’d wondered what he’d remembered. If he remembered what they’d done. What he’d said.

“It depends,” she said cautiously, “on what you think you imagined.”

“I remember Friday,” he said quietly. “Everything about Friday. Saturday, not so much.” Friday had been Mia’s rehearsal dinner. The first time she’d seen him. Saturday had been the wedding, and Saturday night… Well, that’s why she was here.

His fingers began moving against her scalp, gentle circles that made her eyes drift closed. “I was sitting on the steps of the church,” he said, “dreading going in.”

“Another wedding you’d leave alone,” she murmured.

He stiffened, his fingers going still. “I told you that?”

“Saturday night, after the reception. After a couple glasses of champagne you told me… quite a lot. I wondered how it could be true. How a man who looked like you could possibly be alone.”

“It’s just a face, Olivia.”

She leaned back to look up at him, at the face that made women everywhere swoon. His gray eyes were sad. And alone.

She ran her fingertips over his jaw, felt it twitch, and realized how tautly he held himself. “It wasn’t just your face. I kept thinking, he’s got to be mean, proud, stupid, something. I kept looking for a flaw, but never found one.”

“I have a lot of flaws. Believe me.”

She leaned against his chest again, her words defeated. “Not that I could see.”

His fingers resumed their slow massage and she could feel herself melting against him. “You wore this dress at the rehearsal dinner. I was hoping that was a good sign.”

“I wondered if you’d remember.”

“Like I said, I remember everything about Friday. I was sitting on the steps and you almost fell into my lap.”

She felt compelled to defend herself. “My heel hit a rock and I tripped.”

“One more reason to be grateful for a woman in high heels,” he murmured. “You didn’t hear me complaining, did you?”

“No.” He’d been sweet and funny, tending to the knee she’d skinned when she’d fallen. He’d helped her into a side entrance of the church, his arm around her as her heart cantered. Then he’d found her a chair, crouched at her feet, and tenderly cleaned the blood from her knee as she’d stared down into his face. Which was far from “just a face.” She’d been all but mesmerized. “You put a Little Mermaid Band-Aid on me.”

“My niece, Grace, had skinned her elbow that afternoon.” He still sounded faintly embarrassed, charming her now as he had then. “I had them in my pocket.”

“So you said.” As he’d looked up with a boyish, bashful grin. And that was the moment he had me. He never had to be smart or funny or thoughtful or polite. But he’d been all those things, too. He’d been perfect. “Friday was a nice night.” Perfect.

“It was. I didn’t want it to end.” Neither of them had. After Mia’s rehearsal dinner, they’d ended up at Moe’s, a restaurant run by his friends, where they’d had pie and coffee and talked until the owners swept up around them and finally turned out the lights. “I don’t think I ever closed a restaurant down before.”

“When Moe knew I was moving out here, he asked me to tell you hello.” He said nothing more for a long, long moment, still holding her. Then he sighed quietly. “Hello, Olivia. I should have said that months ago.”

She pulled back, met his eyes, her own hardening. “Then why didn’t you? Why did you move here in the first place?”

He didn’t blink. “Because of the next night. Saturday night.” He paused, his gaze unflinching, and her cheeks grew hot. “There’s a lot I don’t remember about that night after Mia’s wedding, Olivia, but I remember enough.”

Her chin lifted a fraction. “Such as?”

His eyes changed, shifted. “Like how you felt when I danced with you, holding you against me. How your bridesmaid dress dipped low in front.” He slid his hand from her hair, gently tracing the edge of her bra through the thin dress she wore, sending current charging all over her skin. “How I wanted to know what you looked like without it.”

He dipped his head, brushing his lips over the curve of her shoulder, his fingertips teasing the fullness of her breast. “But somehow,” he whispered, “I know how you look without it. I shouldn’t. But I do, don’t I?”

She was trembling now. You have to make him stop. But she couldn’t. Didn’t want to. “Yes.” It was barely audible, but from the sharp intake of his breath, she knew he’d heard. Touch me, she wanted to plead, but once more there was no air in her lungs.

Abruptly he slid both hands down, covering her butt. Her whimper of relief was muffled as he took her mouth again, hot and demanding. A shudder shook him and he tore his lips away.

“God. I remember how you felt in my hands,” he muttered, kneading her flesh and she lifted on her toes, up into him. He was already hard.

She knew how it felt to press against that hard ridge, to feel it throb against her. She needed to feel it again. Now. She made a frustrated noise and he finally lifted her, pressing her into the door frame, his body hard between her thighs.

Almost, but not nearly enough. Just like last time. She rocked against him and heard him utter an oath, then his hands found the bare skin of her legs, trembling as they caressed.

Unsteadily, he feathered kisses up the side of her neck to her ear. “I remember how you taste, Olivia.” It was a harsh whisper, wringing a moan from her lips. He ground into her and her head lolled against the door frame as she let the memories in. This. This is what she’d craved, all those months. All those months he’d stayed away. “Don’t I?” He kissed her neck, hard. “Do I know how you taste?”

She nodded, every muscle clenching.

“And I know how you sound when you come.”

“Yes.” The word was nearly a sob.

“And then…” He was breathing hard, his fingers digging into her inner thighs, pulling her wider, rocking up into her, so close that if it weren’t for their layers of clothing, he’d be inside her. She met each thrust, so damn close. Almost there, just from a few whispered words and the thrust of his hips.

She swallowed hard. “What?” she whispered, her voice raspy. Desperate.

“Your mouth… I can still feel your mouth on me. Hot and wet.” He shuddered. “I wasn’t sure if I’d dreamed it. Tell me I didn’t dream it.”

“You didn’t.” The memory hit her hard and she jerked her face away from him. Stop this now. “Why?” she asked roughly. “Why didn’t you call? If you remember all of it, why have you stayed away all this time?”

His hips stilled. “I woke the next morning with a hell of a hangover. Alone. The last clear memory I had was the reception, drinking champagne. Dancing with you. Then I woke up in my bed.” He swallowed. “Naked. I wasn’t sure how I’d gotten home. What was reality and what I’d fantasized. Then I smelled you on my pillow.” He turned his face into her hair. “I knew you’d been there. You’d gone without a good-bye or a note.”

He lifted her head and she opened her eyes. His gaze was intense. She saw confusion swirling there, and hurt. And something else she couldn’t define.

“Why did you leave?” he asked urgently. “I need to know.”

“Let me down.” Instantly he did. Her knees were weak, but her feet were solidly on the floor, where I should have kept them all along. She wanted to look away, but forced her eyes to remain on his face. “When I… when I came,” she said, “what did I say?”

He frowned slightly. “My name. Why?” His frown deepened, his eyes narrowing when she said no more. “Why? What did I say?”

She drew a breath. She’d never done a one-night stand in her life before David Hunter, not that he’d believe it. And rarely had she done that, even with men she’d known for years, but… God. She’d been caught up in some kind of evil genie spell, because not to take him into her mouth had never entered her mind. His body had bucked and bowed and he’d been so goddamn… beautiful. Then he’d thrown his head back, clenched his teeth and… said the word that had said it all.

She realized her own teeth were clenched. “Dana,” she said tautly. My sister’s best friend. Who was married to someone else.

His gray eyes abruptly shuttered, becoming unreadable. “And?”

Olivia’s mouth fell open. “And? That’s all you have to say?”

He shook his head hard. “No. That’s not what I meant.”

And? Like it was nothing. Like I was nothing. “Let me go.”

“Olivia, wait.”

She shoved at his shoulders. “No. Let. Me. Go.” She twisted, her dress falling back down around her legs. He reached for her and she smacked him away.

“Olivia, wait.”

A sob was building but she’d be goddamned before she let him see her cry. She made it out of the room, grabbing her purse from the kitchen counter, him on her heels. He made it to the door ahead of her and slapped his palm against it.

“Listen to me.”

“I did,” she spat. “That’s the problem. Let me go or I swear to God you’ll be sorry.”

Slowly he backed away. “I am. I am sorry.”

“Yeah, right,” she scoffed and yanked the door open. She stopped herself, forcing herself to calm down. Driving when she was this angry was dangerous. She stared straight ahead, not trusting herself to look at him again. “I don’t do one-night stands, David. Believe it, or don’t. I don’t care. But hear this clearly. I don’t play second-string. When I’m with a man, I want him to be thinking of me. Only me.”

“Olivia, please. I… don’t have any excuse except I’d had too much to drink.”

“And?” she asked sardonically. “From now on, stop watching me. Please.”

“All right,” he said hollowly. “I won’t bother you again.”

“Good.” She got to her car and out to the main road, then the shakes hit and she pulled over. This always happened when she got emotional. That’s why she didn’t like to get emotional. She groped for her cell phone in her purse and hit speed-dial one.

“Well?” Paige asked, bypassing greeting.

“Sal’s Bar,” Olivia said darkly. “In thirty.”

“Then… it didn’t go well?”

“Y’think? I’m gonna text Brie, see if she can meet us.”

Paige sighed. “Are you okay?”

“Oh, sure. I’m just peachy. See you in thirty minutes.”

David stood in the doorway of Glenn’s cabin, knuckles pressing into his throbbing temples. And? And? His stomach was churning. He’d blown it again. And he’d hurt her. Again. “You stupid, dumb fuck.”

But standing here wouldn’t help anything. Shoulders heavy, he closed the front door and started to clear the unused table when his cell phone rang. It was Paige.

Of course it was. “What?” he asked wearily.

“You know, for a gorgeous guy with a really sharp brain, you are a stupid SOB.”

He closed his eyes, too tired to fight. “Thank you, Paige. See you tomorrow night at the dojo. You can rip me a new one then.”

“I’m on my way to Sal’s to meet her and Brie for major mojitos. What did you do?”

“This is none of your business. Really.”

“I’m going to have to tell her you know us both. I’ve never lied to her. I won’t start.”

Terrific. “Go ahead. Not much you can tell her that’ll make it much worse.”

“That bad?”

“Oh yeah.” I don’t play second-string, she’d said. “Paige, who hurt her?”

“You mean, besides you?”

He flinched. “You know, you’re not helping here.”

“I’m sorry. I just hate to see her this upset and I’m going to have to make it worse by saying you and I are friends.”

“Well, at least we’re still friends,” he said morosely.

“God. David, I’m sorry. I don’t mean to twist the knife. You want to know who hurt her? Most recently, it was her ex-fiancé.”

David’s eyes narrowed. “Micah Barlow?”

“You know Micah? Oh, wait, he’s in Arson now, so you would. Well, yeah, Micah was in it, but he wasn’t her fiancé. That would have been Micah’s best friend, Doug.”

Second-string. “He left her for someone else, didn’t he?”

There was a pause. “Yeah. And it almost killed her.”

Good going, Hunter. “Just do what you need to do to make her okay. Say what you need to say. Call me anything you want. I won’t bother her anymore.”

“David… Dammit.”

“Tomorrow at the dojo, just let me know that she’s all right.”

“We’ll think of something. Just hang in there.”

I hung on too long. That was the problem. But how could he fix it?

Monday, September 20, 11:15 p.m.

“It’s easier when the stuff is already here,” Albert muttered. Like Eric, he carried a gas can in each hand. Mary quietly brought up the rear, carrying the spool of fuse line. Her eyes were still red-rimmed and swollen.

I should be grieving, Eric thought. Joel was my friend. But all he could think of was getting this job done and getting the hell out of Dodge.

“Last time we got lucky,” Eric hissed back. “The glue was there. I told you, the fork trucks here run on propane and the tank is out back. We can’t use it to light the fire.”

Dressed all in black, each of them wore gloves and this time, ski masks over their faces. They stepped over the dog, who’d finally gone to sleep after eating the steak they’d injected with a narcotic Mary had left over from a back injury. She looked back.

“He’s breathing,” she said. “Good. I don’t want anyone else hurt.”

“He’s a dog, not an ‘anyone,’” Eric muttered, putting his gas cans down next to the back door. Not a girl. Whose face he could still see every time he closed his eyes.

“Let’s dump the gas outside,” Albert urged. “Don’t risk triggering the alarm.”

“We have to destroy what’s inside.” Eric sliced a hole in the door’s window and broke away enough glass so that he could crawl through. “Plus the video from the security cameras is inside. We need to take that with us. Give me a boost.”

Grumbling, Albert did so and prepared to come through himself.

“Wait,” Eric said, staring at the alarm panel. “The alarm’s not set. Whoever was last out must’ve forgotten.”

“Or we’re about to get caught,” Albert said. “Open it. I want to do this and get out.”

Eric opened the door and took his gas cans, then stepped aside to let the others through. “I’ll get the video first, then I’ll pour my gas. Mary, you start laying the fuse.”

The video was where Tomlinson’s secretary said it would be. Eric imagined she’d remember his phone call when the police began asking questions, but that was okay. He’d used the bastard’s disposable phone. Let it lead the cops to the real bad guy.

He popped the tape from the recorder, then spread his gas among the boxes stacked near the loading dock before meeting Albert and Mary at the back door. “Got the video. Mary, light the fuse.”

“For Joel,” she said, then touched the flame to the fuse. “Let’s go.”

They ran to their car, Eric looking over his shoulder, watching for the moment flames became visible inside. When they did, he snapped a photo using the texter’s cell.

“What was that for?” Mary asked as they drove away. “Why did you take a picture?”

Eric and Albert shared a glance. “Let’s get out of here,” Eric said. “Then we’ll talk.”

Albert drove quickly, then pulled onto a side road where they’d be shielded by trees. They jumped out and replaced the license plates they’d taken from Eric’s car, then got back in and took their ski masks off. Once they’d climbed back in, Albert started driving again and Eric turned back to Mary. “It’s like this,” he began.

Her face went pale as she listened. “Oh my God. We just… Oh my God. The guard… He’s dead? Are you sure?”

Eric nodded. “He was shot in the chest.”

She closed her eyes. “I can’t do this.”

“You must,” Albert said harshly. “Until we find this guy and kill him ourselves.”

Her eyes flew open, widened. “Kill him? Us?”

“How else can we be sure he won’t leak those pictures to the cops?” Eric asked.

She shook her head, hard. “I can’t kill anyone else. I can’t.”

“You already did,” Albert said again, more harshly. “Don’t even consider running away, unless it’s to off yourself like Joel did. He saved us a hell of a lot of trouble.”

Her jaw clenched. “I hate you.”

“The feeling is mutual,” Albert said. Then silence fell over the car as the three of them drove back to the city.

Thoughtfully he tapped the steering wheel of his unobtrusive white panel van. Interesting. The three of them had turned on one another but seemed to be sticking together-for now anyway. He’d have to see how that played out over the next few days and whether or not they decided to run away.

He’d waited until they were out of sight of Tomlinson’s warehouse before pulling out behind them. Now he stopped on the side road, just as they had and changed his plates, too, in case he’d been caught on the security cameras of the other warehouses.

Back behind the wheel, he reached for his video camera. He’d been parked at the fourth warehouse down from Tomlinson’s, sitting in the back of his van, filming the three of them going in, then coming out. They’d worn black ski masks tonight, but he got their eyes-especially Mary’s as she looked back to check on the dog. He’d even gotten Eric on tape, taking a picture with the disposable cell.

The video would provide some excellent clips to send to Eric and his pals. Now, home. He still had work to do. It wasn’t like Eric and the gang were his only concern. No, sir. He hadn’t gotten to where he was by putting all his eggs in a single basket. Nor had he gotten to where he was by being afraid of sacrificing a few eggs. What was left of Tomlinson was frying up right now. It was time to start a new omelet.

Monday, September 20, 11:55 p.m.

Olivia pushed her glass to the middle of the bar. “I’m done.”

“I thought you were going to drown your sorrows,” Brie said, sitting on her left. “You’ve nursed that one glass all night.”

“Maybe you just need time to process whatever happened,” Paige said quietly from her right and Olivia gave her a sharp look. Usually Paige egged her on, fanning the flames of ire at the injustice of men, but she’d been uncharacteristically muted tonight.

The three of them sat at the bar, morosely looking at their reflections in the mirror behind it. A redhead, a blonde, and a brunette, all in a row. “The two of you could be on magazine covers,” Olivia said. “But between us, we can’t find a decent guy. Why?”

“Because men are dogs,” Brie said disgustedly. “And you’re beautiful, too.”

Olivia smiled at her in the mirror. “And you’re drunk, babe.”

Brie sighed. “One of us needed to be.”

“It wasn’t easy seeing Micah today, was it?” Olivia murmured.

Brie’s eyes closed. “No.”

Paige’s black brows winged up. “You saw Micah today?”

“It’s an arson case,” Olivia said. “Barlow’s assigned. We needed cadaver dogs.”

“That’s surprising,” Paige said. “I thought he’d die before asking Brie for anything.”

“He called everyone else on the list first,” Olivia admitted. “But he knows his job.”

“His job was never the problem,” Brie muttered. “But we’re talking about you. I can’t believe you had sex with a fireman in Chicago and never told me. I’m still mad at you.”

“No, you’re not.” Olivia sighed. “And I didn’t have sex. Exactly.”

Brie leaned forward, chin on her fist. “What did you have, exactly?”

“Maybe she doesn’t want to talk about it,” Paige said uncomfortably.

Brie frowned. “Whose side are you on anyway?”

Paige flinched. “Why would you even ask me that?”

Brie leaned forward more so that she could see Paige. “What’s with you tonight?”

Olivia turned toward Paige. “Yeah, what’s with you?”

“Nothing. I just think that sometimes there’s more to it than meets the eye.”

Olivia sighed. “He obviously didn’t think there was anything wrong with screaming someone else’s name… in the throes of passion.”

Brie patted Olivia’s hand. “Although, sometimes ‘And?’ means more than ‘And.’”

Olivia shook her head. “We need to get you some coffee.”

“No, I don’t wanna be sober. I was just wondering what he thought he’d said.”

“Or what he’d done,” Paige added. She signaled to the bartender. “Sal, can we get a cup of really strong coffee for our friend, here?”

Brie frowned. “Spoilsport. When did you become the responsible one?”

Sal put three steaming cups of coffee in front of them. “You need a cab, Brie?”

“I guess so,” Brie said glumly. “Dammit.”

“I’ll drive her home,” Paige said, then drew a breath. “Liv, I just think you should reconsider. This guy’s nice. From what you said, I mean.”

Brie was still frowning. “No, he’s not nice. Focus, Paige. He’s a jerk.”

Paige hesitated, then blurted, “Look, Liv, I need-”

Olivia’s cell phone buzzed in her pocket. “Wait a minute.” She checked the caller ID. “It’s Barlow. I have to take it.”

“He’s a jerk, too,” Brie muttered.

“Shh,” Olivia hissed. “Sutherland. What’s up?”

“Another fire,” Barlow said. “You should come.”

She slid off her stool. “Where?”

He gave her the address. “We’ve also got another homicide. Guy looks like he was shot in the head, then left in the building to burn. And Liv, we’ve got another ball.”

Olivia’s pulse started to race. “I’ll call Kane and we’ll be there as soon as we can.” She hung up and put enough cash on the bar to cover her tab. “Gotta go, girls.”