From Winter's Ashes: Girl Next Door Crime Romance Series - Book Two (18 page)

As Joselyn took the stack and flipped through, she started second-guessing every sliver of recognition she saw in the smiling faces.

One guy kind of looked like a clerk at her grocery store. Another reminded her of an excessively allergic blind date she’d been on six months prior. Poor guy could hardly get a word out. Shame too. He’d seemed nice. And cute. At least, from what she could tell between sneezes, which, with that much repetition, tended to make anyone’s face pinched and red and unfortunately repugnant. But it all had proven her curse: She was “good-guy” repellent and catnip to dirt bags. It was hopeless.

Poring over the pictures again, she knew she’d over-analyzed their faces. These were not the same guys.

She shook her head and extended the file back to Archer, praying no one noticed how much the pages shook in her hand.

Finn started to reach out, but then pulled back and forked his broad fingers through his hair. “I, uh, just thought of something. Joss, you said your dad owned a few laboratories?”

“Yeah. Some of those were hit pretty hard by the economy, but they’re surviving. Why, what is it?”

“Well, you were drugged. I don’t know what type of labs, but is it possible that one of them has that Seco—whatever it’s called—stuff? Maybe one of those red-flagged employees had access to it before they were terminated?”

“I don’t think they’re in the same vein, but I’ll check it out.” Archer scribbled on his notepad. “Oh, and the Five-Alarm Arsonist is off the table for now. The fires he started weren’t nearly as destructive as yours and none of the other victims were drugged. In fact, none of them appeared to be targeted. More the wrong place at the wrong time.

“Plus, the fire team hasn’t had any trouble identifying the accelerants and origins of the other fires. Since your case doesn’t fit his profile, we’re thinking whoever targeted you picked the date to throw us off.”

Joselyn could only nod at first. “W-What about Stuart?” That drew a glare from Finn, one she ignored.

“Looks like he alibied out for the night of the fire. But we did confirm he was the one following you guys in the Grand Prix. Borrowed it from his landlord. The young lady, Cheryl Thomas, had quite the distaste for you, Joselyn. We looked into her, but she’s clean. Other than her poor taste in men.”

“I don’t know any Cheryl Thomas. What’s she got against me?”

“It would seem Stuart utilizes her company from time to time. She said he talks about you constantly …” Archer paused, the look on his face said he didn’t care to finish that thought, but he did, and Joselyn wished he hadn’t. “Says he asked her to dye her hair black and that he, uh … calls out your name.”

“
Eww
.” She’d skipped lunch, but what remained of her breakfast threatened an encore.

“They’re still holding Stuart for the other violations, and we’re working to get more information. Personally, the guy gives me the creeps—and that’s saying something.” Propped against the desk, Archer looked ill at ease. His solid confidence and ruthless discipline were as dependable as Joselyn’s chronic loneliness. That meant the restless vibe she sensed alluded to something he wasn’t saying. Knowing Archer, she was fairly certain she wasn’t ready to hear whatever it was.

Summoning the last of her nerve, Joselyn untied the belt from her coat and slipped it from her shoulders. Was she dressed right? Would her ensemble broadcast that she was an outsider like a glaring scarlet letter?

Having only attended a few staunch Masses while visiting her father’s home in Scotland with her parents as a kid, she hadn’t the slightest idea what to expect.

Yia-Yia had believed in God, but she wasn’t the church-going type. And that suited Joselyn fine growing up. One less place she would be scrutinized for her family. Well, maybe family wasn’t the right word. Name, wealth, notoriety, maybe.

Family
was
the right word for the thing she desired most, but for some reason, was deprived of time and again. 

Sadie had assured her that jeans were acceptable, but it felt wrong. Sacrilegious or something. So Joselyn donned a long bohemian-styled smock dress and a black shrug from her store. Thinking it was still casual but more acceptable than jeans.

But being here now, walking through the church doors with Sadie and Archer, the breezy fabric felt like an iron vest, constricting its fashionably woven threads to wring the air from her lungs.

What if the shrinking material looked too tight? Showed too much cleavage? Pressing her hand to her chest, she felt her heart hammer beneath her palm.
Breathe
.

She wasn’t overly busty, but she checked herself anyway, smoothed her fingers over the straight neckline to the empire waist, assuring the propriety of her attire. If nothing was hanging out, then why did she feel like she’d already made a spectacle of herself? “
People will stare, make it worth their while.”
She remembered one of Yia-Yia’s favorite Harry Winston quotes but couldn’t rile any confidence.
People
were
staring at her. They were smiling like she was a few frayed threads away from unraveling, and they couldn’t wait to cash in on the next front-page exposé.

To confirm her paranoia she tugged on Sadie’s non-Archer clad arm and spoke low through a plastered-on grin. “Are these people just inordinately friendly or have I already committed a cardinal sin?”

“Uh, I’d go with option number one.” Sadie laughed and linked arms with Joselyn, steering their little trio toward another door opening to what Joselyn gathered was the chapel.  Sanctuary? Whatever.

Someone was flagging Sadie down, so Joselyn untangled her lifeline from Sadie’s arm and asked Archer for directions to the restroom.

Wandering the halls like a foreigner in a strange land, Joselyn came upon an opening for a child’s play area. Squeals and giggles fragranced the air with an equally foreign but unimaginably sweet aroma of innocence that worked to sedate her nerves.

Watching the families, with babes clinging to their daddies’ legs, something about the scene seemed peaceful. Normal. Joselyn couldn’t recall the feeling but wished for it, wished back on every day of her lost childhood.

Absorbing the hum of chattering little voices was calming until a couple rounded the corner and Joselyn’s breath hitched in her throat.

The young man was tall and blonde, average by all accounts. But it was his wife and daughter that completed the comparison. The woman had porcelain skin with inky-black hair and pale blue eyes—the little girl, a perfect carbon copy of her mother.

The man touched the small of the woman’s back and whispered something near her ear. Joselyn remembered her father’s affinity for affection with her mother—as if the slightest contact was the joy and privilege of his life. It was clear he had loved Charisma Whyte. He had doted on her and looked on her with such adoration. And back then, Joselyn had felt loved by him too. If only as a reflection of his love for his wife, but it had been enough.

Freefalling into some vague fissure of memory, Joselyn remembered for a single fleeting moment what it felt like to have a family. To know you are loved as surely as the sun rises each morning.

The man plucked the little girl with outstretched arms from her mother. She wrapped her tiny hands around his neck, and he kissed the tip of her nose. “Love you, munchkin.”

“Wuv you, Daddy.” The timid little sound of love drifted to where Joselyn stood, and all she was missing came flooding back. Her mother, whose life was ripped away like one perfect, beautiful wave, crushed in an instant, and dragged back from the shores to oblivion. Her father, his love revoked when she’d needed it the most. And now Yia-Yia … 

Drinking in the view of her past life for one more moment was all she could handle before she darted into the restroom, composed herself in the stall, and then headed back out to the sanctuary.

The music hadn’t registered through her emotional fog until a rush of sound gave way from the doors. This was nothing like the Mass she remembered. The potent melody of a sort of rock ballad enveloped her, gluing her flats to the floor behind the last row of chairs.

And this time, no one was looking at her. Rather, they were immersed in this atmosphere of praise. Recklessly abandoned and pouring out their love. And though Joselyn didn’t fully understand it, it was beautiful. Safe.

Free.

And then the words seeped into the barren places of her soul.

You unravel me, with a melody

You surround me with a song

Of deliverance, from my enemies

Till all my fears are gone.

A hand slipped into hers, and for a moment, she wasn’t sure it was real or imagined. Dream or reality.

From my mother’s womb

You have chosen me

Love has called my name.
[1]

When she lifted her eyes, and saw the way he was looking at her, she still didn’t have her answer. 

Chapter 23

Cold sweat stung his eyes as he wormed through the dank space. Here he was reduced to some lowly creature while she was out gallivanting around town like she didn’t have a care in the world. She should never have had warning of her imminent death. But now that she had, he’d expected caution and cowering. When he’d recovered from the blind fury of his failed mission, something in him had looked forward to her languishing in the terrifying knowledge of what was coming. What was inescapable. And yet … she was going about life as usual. Shopping, running errands, attending
church
, and getting cozy with that effing firefighter who’d ruined it all.

His anger swelled in his throat, nearly choking him.

Maybe they should both pay for this.

If he timed it right, he might get twice the satisfaction in the finale. And there’d be no escaping this time. Pearls of icy water soaked through his sock cap. The plastic over his boots making a faint crunch in the dark, putrid slush.

The girl might not be as high maintenance as the tabloids would have people believe, but one thing she absolutely was—predictable. And that meant he would do what he does best and follow through with his plans.

He got into position and looked up. Perfect. He couldn’t bring himself to smile, but the tension in his jaw waned, a sense of purpose like a charge of antifreeze snaking through veins long since devoid of warmth.

Oh yes, she was playing into his plans quite beautifully.

Chapter 24

Finn Carson

“What is she doing here?”

He probably should be asking himself the same question. Yes, he’d tailed Sal, who was tailing Joselyn. Tailed them, and lost them. And then Finn got to drive around for another thirty minutes trying to uncover the slip.

He’d almost given up until he turned into the private drive of an assisted living facility and spotted Sal’s unmarked car about a hundred yards from Joselyn’s Rover—parked in the first reserved spot.

The tailing exercise was a good gauge of Sal’s competence, Finn rationalized. A test, if you will. But that wasn’t why he’d done it.

Something about the familiar way Sal had put his hands on her the other day had Finn restless. They’d been poking the bear to rile a reaction, he got that, but it made him question all the time Joselyn and Sal were spending together. And how much of it was actually
together
.

Finn couldn’t stand the possibility of getting duped all over again, so he was seeking out confirmation of where she was always sneaking off to with her undercover protection.

Finn could easily identify what he was feeling. Jealousy. It surged the exclusive and well-worn Joselyn-only path straight to his heart, just like it had ten years ago.

Why
he was suddenly so possessive of Joselyn was a question with a more difficult answer, so he ignored the frightening implications his heart was sending to his brain.

He didn’t consider himself a man that scared easily. Nor did he consider himself easily fooled. But Joselyn was his Achilles’ heel. Her hypnotic beauty a kind of rare kryptonite for his usually sharp instincts.

Yesterday at church he thought he’d breeched her defenses. She seemed … softer somehow. And when he’d utilized his “hands-on in public” privileges, she’d been a willing participant. Like when he’d held her hand, tucked her under his arm, whispered against her peppermint hair. Even now, the phantom smell of her sweet and spicy shampoo invaded his senses as if she were sitting right next to him.

He groaned at the stupidity of it. Had he learned nothing the first time around? He needed to snap out of it before he did something he might regret.

Like what you’re doing right now?

After parking his truck what seemed a half a mile from the entrance—and Joselyn’s VIP spot—he strode toward the door, stubbornly undeterred by his failing common sense.

The bitter wind stole though his Carhart, and the ripped edge of his dark jeans sluiced through the soggy remnants of melting snow. He shoved his hands in his pockets, shielding the exposed skin from the biting fragments of ice that hung in the air, and hastened his steps until he entered the building.

The reception wasn’t much warmer. The hearty woman behind the counter had a scowl to rival a bulldog’s. He hadn’t been expecting a security checkpoint and felt a prickle of nerves kindle heat in his palms.

“Hi, my name is Finn Carson. I’m looking for Joselyn Whyte.”

The middle-aged woman hocked up a disgusted grunt. Her dusty brown hair was pulled back in a nubby no-nonsense pony tail, which she tightened before she spoke. “Now
she’s
getting visitors? You people must think you run the world.”

Well then. Time to fight dirty. Finn dialed up the dimples.

“Not the world, no ma’am. The Almighty is on that one. Too big a job for lil’ ol’ me. These hands might be able to wield a Halligan and hose over at Kirkwood Station 1,” he paused to wink, the woman’s snarl softening when faint red splotches colored her jowls, “but their main job right now is taking care of the little handful that strutted through here not too long ago. Black hair, blue eyes, legs for days. That one’s mine. She grows on you. Now, you’re doing one heck of a fine job guarding this place. Top notch. But if you could point in the direction of my girlfriend I’d—”

“Joselyn’s
boyfriend
?” Another woman emerged from behind the desk. She was about the same age but was wearing a smile and a sassy crop of blonde hair. The cranky one abruptly turned and stalked off.

“Yes, ma’am. Is she here?”

“Wow. Good for her. I’m Rosie, a friend of your girlfriend’s.” Rosie stuck out her hand, and Finn shook it, having to tug his fingers back when the woman held on too long. “Sorry, it’s just Joselyn’s never had a man come visit her here before. Let alone one that looks like you.”

Finn’s mind worked to make sense of it all. Had Joselyn had other visitors here, female ones? Was that what this woman was implying? Was Joselyn visiting someone here? Or perhaps the Whytes were benefactors or something? But then she’d mentioned something about her grandmother. But she hadn’t said where she lived—or anything specific really.

“Go on back. They’re in the common room. The rehearsal shouldn’t last much longer. Have to keep ’em pretty short or we get some dozers.”

He had no idea what the woman was talking about but thanked her and started down the hall. And then he heard something.

The further he walked, the more the swelling sound intrigued him. It was definitely music. It sounded like … show tunes? Finding his way in, no one noticed Finn settle into a seat near the back of the room.

He heard her before he saw her. She emerged from the right side of the cardboard set, an elderly woman linked with her arm, and they were singing. It sounded like Joselyn was helping the older lady remember her lines, but even through the clutter of noise, the sweet sound of her voice called out to him. He sat there grinning like a fool, and there wasn’t a thing he could do to stop it. Sort of like when she accidently sang aloud in the car. He might as well have folded right then and there.

Dragging himself from the trance-like state of awe, he focused on her movements. She was dancing, simple steps—guiding a line of old folks with sparkling prop canes in the choreography she seemed to know quite well. It dawned on Finn then that Joselyn was running the show, and it was quite possibly the most adorable thing he’d ever seen.

The music stopped, and she crossed the stage to the male lead. “Okay, Harvey. Do you need a break, or are you ready to rehearse the next scene? The one where you dance with Helena.”

The man hacked out a cough before he could muster any dialogue. “You mean I don’t get to practice with you?” To Finn’s surprise—and by the looks of it, Joselyn’s too—the man stepped up and took Joselyn in a waltz stance, only his one hand strayed
way
south and grabbed a handful.

Joselyn yelped, jumping back, and Finn couldn’t restrain a burst of laughter. She whipped her head around. Her eyes, even from a distance, seemed to bulge from their sockets. Turning back, she pulled at her shirt, brushing her hands over her hips, and clearing her throat to command the room and silence the heckling.

“Harv, I’ve warned you twice now. What was it you called it? T&A?
Yeah
, restricted areas, pal. One more strike, and I’m sending you back to knitting circle. If you’d like to continue to participate keep those hands to yourself, mister. Last chance.”

The man simply shrugged, and a few of his silver-haired buddies were indiscreetly offering fist bumps.

“All right, everyone. Let’s call it for today. Great job with the choreography. It’s really coming along. Oh, and Greta, I’ll have those costumes for you to hem here tomorrow.”

She moved a few props out of the way and then helped a woman into a wheelchair, avoiding looking at him, which told him quite a bit about how much she appreciated his intrusion. And then, she was in pursuit, those violet-blue eyes blazing her trail.

She didn’t say a word but grabbed his hand, yanked him up from his chair, and towed him out of the room.

“Sal is a dead man. He’s not getting any more treats.” She tugged her hand free and slapped her arms across her chest.

“What are you talking about?” He smiled at the stubborn set of her chin, making her gorgeous glaring eyes light with even more fire.

“Sal told you I was here.”

Finn shook his head. “I followed you. Well, I got lost for a while too, but I was curious where you two kept sneaking off to. And now that I’m here, I’m not sure I fully understand.”

“You followed us? Geez. You could have just asked, you little snoop!”

“Would you have told me?”

She huffed, and she looked so stubborn and cute Finn took a step forward and grinned down at her. “I rest my case. So what is all this?”

“
Mamma Mia!
”

Laughing a little, he shook his head. “Yeah, that part I got. What are
you
doing here?”

“I have a feeling this line of questioning might get tiring. I’ll give you three.”

“Three?”

“Questions.”

“And you’ll answer anything I ask?”

“Within reason.”

“Okay. I’ll try again. What are you doing here?”

“Directing the Christmas musical.”

“Aww, come on. You gotta give me more than that.”

“Hey, I answered your question. That’s one.” She propped her hands on slender hips hugged to perfection in painted-on denim. Finn fought the urge to thread his arms around to her back, crowd her closer, and perhaps pull a Harvey. She’d probably deck him again. He smiled at the memory. And all that followed.

Worth it.

“Fine. Why?” He quirked his brow.

“I do it every year. Yia-Yia used to love musicals.”

“Yia-Yia?”

She nodded her head back toward the room.

“Yia-Yia lives here?”

“Yep, and that’s three.” Turning on her heels, she started back toward the common room, but Finn hooked her arm and dragged her back until she was nestled against him.

“I got gypped on that last one.” He laced his finger at the small of her back, keeping her in place—though she didn’t seem inclined to resist.

“I never said I’d be fair.”

“And you might recall I don’t like to share. You owe me one more for Harvey’s trip to ‘restricted areas.’ Either that or I get my own helping to even the score.” He’d never tire of teasing her.

Her face lit into an enigmatic smile that revved his engine while she primly waggled a finger like a schoolmarm scolding a naughty child.

Mixed signals left plenty of wiggle room so, without asking permission, he leaned in and pressed a slow, lingering kiss to her lips. Enough to distract her while he inched his hands down to claim a victorious handful, or two.

She caught on and pushed back. “Hey, now,
Frisky
. Same rules apply for you and Harvey.” But again she smiled in a way that communicated something very different.

“What about Sal? Why does he get treats and not me?” Finn folded his empty arms.

“Oh, I think you’re getting plenty of treats—and definitely more than cookies and coffee.”

“Hmm. I guess you’re right. My treats
are
sweeter.”

A pretty shade of rose pinked her cheeks. Helpless, he reached out, tucking an impossibly soft lock of hair behind her ear, then stroked her elegant cheek with the backs of his knuckles. Just once. It wasn’t nearly enough, but he couldn’t seem to stop touching her. Finn had never once struggled with addiction. Did this count?

“Hey, Joss?”

Their eyes met, and she nodded. She was so close he could kiss her if he leaned down a few inches.

“I have several more questions I’d like you to say yes to.” More than one of those would involve permission to touch her again.

“Pick one.”

“Only one?”

“Which one is most important to you?” To his surprise, she slipped her arms beneath his coat, encircling his waist. A mere moment later a troupe of nurses shifted into sight and shuffled around them. Had Joselyn heard them coming? Was she playing up the ruse?

He decided he didn’t care.

Her initiative, her nearness, tempted him to change his mind about which question she needed to say yes to. But his conscience whipped the scoundrel within into submission, regardless of how badly he wanted answers.

How badly he wanted lots of things.

He lifted his hands and cupped her face, the silky smooth skin beneath his touch begging to be explored. But he couldn’t. Not here. So he pressed a soft kiss to her forehead, hearing the stuttering inhale of a shakily indrawn breath that was no steadier than his own.

“Will you … introduce me to your grandmother?”

After an hour of visiting with Yia-Yia, Finn decided he had never met anyone quite like her. She was fun and lively, quirky and honest. Above all, endearing. Even if a little forgetful.

Why was she living here? She didn’t seem to have a great deal of physical limitations beyond the standard slow and cautious movements afflicting most aging folks.

In perfect and not-so-contented silence, Joselyn walked beside him through the maze of sage green hallways. The place looked like a resort but smelled like a hospital—a strange mix of sterilizing agents, latex gloves, and stale bread. When they got to the double glass doors at the exit, she stopped and fished around in her purse.