From Winter's Ashes: Girl Next Door Crime Romance Series - Book Two (8 page)

Chapter 10

Finn Carson

“Is she doing all right? I can’t image how scary this must be for her.” Lorelei Carson’s query forced his gaze from the phantom image of Joselyn’s retreat down the hall. He was about to answer when Sadie jumped in. Foolishness warmed his face. His mom wouldn’t have thought to direct her question at him as their long standing rivalry was no secret.

“I don’t know, Mom. She’s had a tough life. And she’s always so strong. Too strong. It’s like she worries about burdening anyone with her pain so she carries it all alone.”

“Tough life?” The filter in his brain must have malfunctioned because before he could check himself he was spewing his ugly, careless thoughts out loud. “The girl’s an entitled little brat—princess and sole heir to the Whyte Empire. Should we get some violins in here? How hard could it be?”

Oops.

“Finnegan Carson! Don’t you break your mama’s heart, making me think I didn’t raise you right. The only person being a brat here today is you. Don’t think we missed your little sideshow performance as Oscar the Grouch during lunch.”

“I just meant—”

“You were
just
being a jerk.” Sadie flicked his ear. “You have no idea what her life has been like. I guarantee you never bothered to ask. So get off your high horse and understand this: You mess with my girl, big brother, I’ll kick your—”

“All right, you two. Cool it.” Cal Carson was a man of few words. When he spoke, you listened. “There’s enough strife in the world. Leave it there. It has no business in this family, you hear?”

Sufficiently chastised they each grumbled, “Yes, sir.”

“And Finn,” his stern voice held an authoritative warning not to be trifled with. “You best examine your heart, son. Because the next time that thoughtless garbage comes outta your mouth you better hope you brought your shovel to start digging your way out of that deep hole. I’m sure not gonna help you.”

Monday marked the first official day of Finn’s mandatory two-week sabbatical. After sleeping in and wasting away in front of the tube for two hours of mindless monotony, he had to get out of the house. When his phone rang, he welcomed the distraction and prayed the chief had a change of heart.

“Hello?”

“Finn. It’s Archer.”

“Hey, man. What’s up?”

“I, uh, heard from Joselyn. She’s meeting with the investigators from state at her place at two and an insurance adjuster after that. I’ve had a couple guys canvassing the neighborhood. See if we can catch a break. Maybe this guy’s still trying to keep tabs on her.”

“Okay? Sounds like a plan.” Finn scratched his chest, working back a yawn.

“I’m gonna head over there a little early. About an hour. Thought maybe you should come too. To keep up appearances and hear more firsthand about what we are dealing with.”

He sat a bit straighter. “Does Joselyn know you’re asking me?”

“It’s possible I may have failed to mention it.”

“All right, fine. It’ll probably mess with her. Might be fun.”

Archer tsked. “Always an ulterior motive with you. Someday you’ll have to tell me about this colorful history between you two. Story’s bound to be a doozy.”

“I hate to disappoint, but there’s really not much to tell. It’s a simple case of clashing personalities.”

“Don’t insult me. I read people for a living. And there’s a whole lot more to this story. I’ll get it outta you.”

“Good luck with that.”

“See you in an hour. And remember, as far as everyone is concerned, this is your girlfriend’s house that burned down. No baiting her, no glaring, and absolutely no bickering. This guy could be anybody. And that means you’ve got to play the part.”

Finn grumbled and hung up.
And we’re off.

With that thought, a rush of nervous energy clamored through him. He’d never been a great actor. Bluffing was a different story. Maybe he could channel his poker face and no one would see through to his disdain.

It was obvious Joselyn had some acting chops. It might be easier for him to fake it if she wasn’t being her snooty self.
Here’s hoping.

A whimper pulled him out of his head. Soft paws propped on his knees, adoration swam in the dog’s big brown eyes. “I’ve got this, right buddy?” He ruffled Dodger’s ears setting the tempo of his feathery tail to a lively allegro.

Getting ready, Finn forwent shaving, leaving a healthy two days of stubble on his face. Throwing on his favorite pair of dark wash jeans, a gray henley, and his dark brown leather bomber jacket and boots, he headed out with Dodger for a short walk before driving the two miles to the devastated remains of Snow Whyte’s home.

He’d known it was bad, but this … this was a new level of destruction.

Kirkwood was a charming and close-knit little town in St. Louis County. Quiet, tree-lined streets formed a grid surrounding the historic downtown area that hubbed around a beautiful old train station, a farmers market, and maybe a dozen novelty shops and cafes. And even more refreshing was that even though the wealthy suburb housed some of the most impressive plantation and Craftsman-style homes around, they often shared a lot line with modest, saltbox cottages and lacked the distinct air of pretension that could be found in surrounding suburbs of St. Louis.

All this to say that nothing burned for long without notice and prompt attention. Home fires were usually extinguished in time to preserve, at the very least, most of the exterior shell. What Finn saw when he pulled up to the deceased bungalow was nothing but bare bones.

Splinters of charred wood held up what was left of the sagging upstairs bedroom, minus the floor. The stairs Finn had risked climbing at nothing but divine prompting now contained a scorched handrail, three partial steps near the top, and a heap of crumpled pieces and soggy ashes.

Finn and Archer rummaged through what they could of the crime scene in perfect, stunned silence. There wasn’t much to look at. The house was tiny. Couldn’t be much more than 1,200 square feet on two floors.

Why would someone as wealthy as Joselyn live here?
His own apartment, while only a one-bedroom loft, was at least as large. The billionaire entrepreneur’s daughter lived in a shoebox? It didn’t compute.

And yet, taking in the extent of the destruction, he felt his heart soften. She’d lost everything. Despite their past, that fact alone earned her some compassion.

Archer came around to the backyard, slipping a palm-sized notebook into his breast pocket. “Ground appears to have been too cold and hard to get a footprint. I don’t see any pattern of broken branches or crushed leaves where he might have hidden out. The cement block foundation held up pretty well, but the cellar is littered with debris that fell through the floor. It’s definitely not safe to go snooping around down there.”

“Huh,” Finn grunted in response. “What about the basement windows? A few of them looked like they were still intact. Any signs of forced entry with the latches?”

“Not that I can see. And because several of them were blown out it’s hard to tell if anything but the fire caused that. I’m sure the fire unit has a few tricks up their sleeves.”

“They do. Plus those accelerant dogs can pick up the tiniest trace of liquid residue. It’s incredi—” The words slowed to mush on Finn’s lips. Over Archer’s shoulder Joselyn’s lithe form strutted toward him in catwalk fashion. Cinematic slow motion played in his mind as her jet-black locks tossed in the faint wind, her hips swayed with a confident swagger, and long slender legs clad in tight jeans seemed to go on for miles. Her face was mostly hidden behind large stylish sunglasses, yet even without the addition of those exotic eyes, she was a knockout.

And he was down for the count.

Archer leaned in. “Dude, close your mouth. You’re slobbering.” And then he whacked Finn on the back, bringing everything back to rights. Archer turned and greeted Joselyn.

“What is
he
doing here?”

“
He
is here in support of his girlfriend.” Archer nudged Joselyn toward Finn and then spoke through gritted teeth. “Dig deep, lovebirds. Cavalry’s here.”

Forcing himself to action Finn sidled up next to Joselyn, slipped his arm around her waist, molding her to his side. She stiffened but stayed in his possession while introductions were made.

“Thank you for meeting us here, Miss Whyte. I know this must be difficult, but we’ve been struggling with some of our findings and wanted to see if you might be able to help.” The bomb and arson squad investigator, probably about thirty, like Finn, was tall and lanky with dark eyes that didn’t seem to miss a thing. Including Joselyn’s looks.

“I’ll try. What have you found out so far?” Unlike when she barked at him, her voice was sweet as spun sugar.

“Well, that’s the problem. We haven’t found anything. The dogs seemed to sense an accelerant—”

“That’s good. Helps to identify the origin and pattern of the fire.” Finn spoke close to Joselyn’s ear, keeping his wits by enlightening her with a brief tutorial. That is, until that sugared mint fragrance of her windblown hair drew in with his breath, the delicate notes played in harmony with the crisp breeze to wrap around him like an intoxicating cyclone.
Witch
.

“Generally, yes.” Joselyn’s fan-boy continued. “But the issue is that the dogs sensed the accelerant virtually everywhere, on every surface, which would seem impossible. Then we ran tests.” He shook his head. “We didn’t find any ILRs.”

“Ignitable liquid residues.” Archer filled in the gaps since Finn’s brain was temporarily out of commission.

“I’m sorry. What does that mean?” Joselyn asked.

“It means that the dogs found something we can’t find. Either it’s something unknown that we can’t detect, or somehow the samples contain impossibly miniscule amounts that can’t be tested. The other peculiar thing is the origin.” The guy actually scratched his head. “We can’t find that either.” He motioned for them to follow, and Joselyn peeled away from Finn’s side.

Her eyes were cloaked by the dark lenses, but Finn noticed the subtle strain of her brows as she took in the interior of her home, her teeth marring that pouty bottom lip.

“You all right, babe?” Finn’s question gave her a start. Or maybe not the question so much as the endearment. He felt her heated gaze beneath her shades, but at least she stopped torturing that pretty lip before he did something stupid like soothe the bite with a stroke of his thumb. Or something else.

Okay, he really needed to focus on the scene of the fire. Once upon a time he’d burned for her. She’d left his heart in a pile of ashes no more recognizable than the place she called home.

Homeless
. The reminder whispered through his chest.

A place or a feeling. Maybe they had more in common than he thought.

Chapter 11

Joselyn Whyte

“I’m just fine.” Joselyn gritted out.

Did he think this was funny?
The teasing glint in his eyes suggested the whole thing was a game to him.

Joselyn tamped down her irritation with her
boyfriend
, forcing her brain to make sense of the investigator’s findings. Or rather, the lack thereof. Most of the spiel sailed straight over her head. The gist, she’d surmised, was that the entire first floor of the house ignited in one perfectly orchestrated flame by an undetectable accelerant. Like an explosion, only without the bang.

To be honest, she could scarcely concentrate on anything being said when her heart was breaking anew at the sight of her destroyed home and all of her possessions lost forever. But more than material loss, the house held her childhood. Her recovery. Her second chance. It had been her sanctuary from her father and his brutal rejection. And now it was a heap of ashes. Just like everything else.

At some point she’d switched onto autopilot. She hoped she’d provided helpful information for the investigator but couldn’t seem to remember anything about the rest of their conversation other than his strange, probing eyes. When he was gone it was the insurance adjuster’s turn, and he declared the home a total loss. Shocker.

Finn had played his part to a T. Doting, supportive, concerned. Every so often his arm would slip around her waist, his hand anchoring at her hip, and all her higher brain functioning vacating the premises like the world’s most efficient fire drill. Frankly, it was absurd his touch had registered at all through the thick wool of her newly acquired Burberry belted trench coat.

“Fashion is the armor to survive the reality of everyday life.”
She murmured the old Bill Cunningham quote, wrapping her arms tightly around her new trench as if it might turn into a coat of arms, and then let herself take a mental health break from the scene to remember her retail therapy.

Despite the fact that Archer’s partner had stalked her day’s excursions—following her to the nursing home, her boutique, and to West County Mall—she found she hadn’t at all resented the intrusion. For the first two stops Sal had remained in his car monitoring the surroundings from a discrete distance. For the third he’d let her bribe him with a venti caramel macchiato and a birthday cake pop from Starbuck’s in exchange for his escort through the magical wonderland of Nordstrom for an hour of overindulgent retail bliss. It might seem shallow to some, but there was something so comforting about trying on the various styles and testing the decadent fabrics against her skin that she’d almost felt …
at home
. Which was delusional, but for a moment she’d been nearly weightless and unburdened, twirling in a dress Sal described as “
caliente
” and laughing at a dramatic retelling of one of his rookie bloopers as an FBI agent.

“… about your home, Miss Whyte.”

“Huh?” She snapped back to the present, trying to grab a clue from the questioning faces around her as the stout, balding insurance adjuster packed up his briefcase. “Oh, uh … thank you, Mr. Franklin.”

“We’ll be in touch. Have a nice day.” He showed himself out. Joselyn and her two bodyguards stepped gingerly in the marked off path toward the door as well.

“I have a question.” Archer’s voice, while kind, held an unmistakable edge of accusation.

She turned to encounter two sets of intense eyes. Archer’s unflinching honey-hued peepers would intimidate Al Capone, but it was Finn’s jade stare that tied a noose around her airway.
Gulp.
“Shoot.”

“Why didn’t you tell me about your stalker when we went over possible suspects?” Archer’s arms crossed over his dark suit, the bulky form of his muscled shoulders straining against the well-fitting coat.

“You have a stalker?” Finn crossed his arms to match. His height and width were an inch shy of the Archer’s, though both men were unnervingly enormous. And so ridiculously good-looking if she didn’t know better she’d say this was all scripted and she was secretly being punked. If only.

Joselyn sighed in defeat. “His name is Stuart Garber. He grew up in that yellow house next door. I didn’t mention it because he’s harmless. And he’s been hassled enough by my father’s muscle as it is. He has a little crush, that’s all.”

“A little crush? More like an obsessive infatuation.”

“Archer, I think that’s taking it a little far.”

“Joselyn, in the past ten years the guy’s been arrested three times for breaking into your house. And once for attacking you outside your store after work.”

“I know. That’s why I have a restraining order. But he didn’t really
attack
me. He tripped and sort of fell on me. There may have been some inappropriate fondling when he refused to get up at first. I’d say it was more of an ill-executed come on. Not much worse than some of the blind dates I’ve had to endure, to be quite honest. Plus, I heard he’s been in therapy.”

Okay, blabbermouth. Insert foot anytime.

Archer pinned her with his intimidating FBI glare. One he must have practiced in front of a mirror for years because it was really
that
good. “Just because you’ve taken pity on this guy doesn’t mean he’s not dangerous. We can’t protect you if you’re keeping things from us. That means no more secrets. We clear?”

Joselyn swallowed the guilty lump in her throat, nodded, and looked away. The wind skipped a few brittle leaves past her feet, whistling as it raked through the naked, craggy branches of the unadorned trees like sad wooden wind chimes. The air was sharp and refreshing, hitting her lungs with a zing. No burned or bitter trace of the injustice she’d suffered remained, save the pathetic sight before her.

Archer cleared his throat and nodded once, as if satisfied with his lesson for the day. “Since it might not be
your
enemy we are dealing with here, we are looking into disgruntled ex-employees and are rooting through a massive list of layoffs from your father’s companies from the last three months. It’s gonna take some time.”

An unfamiliar ringtone broke into the conversation. It took several moments for her to realize it was her purse that was jangling.

“Hello?”

“I see you got the new phone I ordered.” No social niceties for Declan Whyte.

“It came this morning.” When she realized both men were still watching her, she turned away. “What’s up?”

“Leland is taxiing me in at Spirit Airport. I’d like you at dinner tonight.” His voice, as always, a command, not a request.

“That’s fine. What time?”

“An hour. Bring Finn with you.”

Before a rebuttal could form on her tongue he was gone. She closed her eyes and took a deep yoga-type breath. It was worth a shot. Those people had relaxation down pat, right? “Oh,
muffin
?” She sing-songed and turned back around.

When the endearment registered, Finn’s perpetual scowl went full pit bull. Sexy pit bull. The jerk. She tipped her shades down her nose. “We have dinner with my dad in an hour. We better get a move on.”

“Wha—”

Archer’s firm back slap severed Finn’s protest. “Ahh, meeting the parents already. Good luck, buddy.” He flashed a wave in Joselyn’s direction and skirted to his car, tossing a wicked smirk over his shoulder. “Have fun, you two. No PDA in front of the parentals.”

Ignoring that, and the heat tinting her cheeks, she turned to Finn and rubbed her hands together connivingly. “Okay, you’re not giving me much to work with here, but lucky for you I’m a miracle worker. Let’s go fix you up. My father won’t take you seriously in that man-boy getup, and seeing as I’m a giver, I won’t feed you to the wolf.” Actually, he looked like model Gabriel Aubry stepped off the pages of her archived
Vogues
, but it was more fun this way.

His inability to process manifested in a sort of paralysis, forcing Joselyn to close the gap between them, grip the front of his coat, and tug him along to their cars. “Come on, I’ll follow you.”

“Where?” He mumbled in a daze.

“To your place for a makeover,
muffin-puff
. Try to keep up.” She patted his chest with satisfying condescension and smirked to herself as she slipped behind the wheel.

She loved that she’d thrown him, but not five minutes later when they pulled into the parking garage of Downtown Kirkwood’s trendy new lofts she realized the joke was on her. Oh crap. Why had she insisted on coming to his place again? In her attempt to embarrass him she’d unwittingly lured herself into his den.

Okay. Get a grip. Same thing as before. Cool and confident.
Prying her white-knuckled grip from the smooth woodgrain steering wheel, she stilled the nervous jitter of her fingers by mangling the soft leather of her petal-pink Valentino couture satchel.
Sorry pinkie, desperate times.
She issued the silent apology to the tortured tote, exited her SUV, and followed Finn to his door.

It wasn’t the first time she’d been to his place, but it was the only time she’d been here alone, without her trusty ally, Sadie. As the door swung open her legs obeyed her cue to proceed ahead, depositing her behind enemy lines.

A bounding ball of grey and tan fur crashed with exuberance into her legs, excited paws clawing at her jeans and purse. “Well, you’re new. Hi, pooch.” She surrendered to the floor making kissing sounds while the pup lavished her with affection. She scratched his ears, beneath his chin, and then he rolled over for a belly rub. She obliged. The sweet pup was so content he was actually purring, his eyes rolling back, tongue lolling out to one side. Joselyn immediately fell in love. When she became aware of the silence she found Finn observing her from a few feet away. His eyes sparkled with amusement, yet his lips held a firm line.

“And who is this?” She couldn’t hold his gaze, focusing her attention on the dog instead.

Taking a few steps forward, he squatted down next to her. “This is Dodger. He was abandoned. I took him in. Though, you might not want to get too attached seeing as how he mauled your purse.”

Looking to Finn’s hands she viewed the severed petals of one of the flower decals from her new bag. “It’s no biggie. You didn’t mean it, did you Dodge?”

She kept her eyes trained on the pooch, and her effort was rewarded with a lick to the nose.

“Must be nice. You can buy a new one without batting an eye.”

The snarky edge in his voice snapped her head in his direction. She met his arrogant glower in a contest of wills. “Just because I have money, doesn’t mean I value things any less.” Mindlessly, her fingers clasped around the rectangular edge of her mother’s priceless locket. “What’s your problem with rich people, anyway? It’s not like you ever wanted for anything in your life with your perfect little home and family. And this loft? So very Oliver Twist.”

Dodger pranced to the threshold of the foot between them, volleying his attention back and forth before emitting a slight whine. The heartbreaking sound softened the fierce latch of her anger.

Finn opened his mouth to retort, his eyes ablaze. Without a thought she dashed her hand across the divide, covering his mouth gently with her palm. Simply too tired to go another round at the moment, she spoke softly, “Maybe we should call it a draw and move on.”

After the second of shock skittered away, the angry bind of his brow softened. And she could have sworn she’d felt the slightest press of his lips on her palm as his fingers circled her wrist and pulled it away.

All vocal ability ceased in that moment. His eyes locked and loaded to stun. And she was. Stunned. Frozen. Hypnotized.

Look away.
Self-preservation warned.

But then Dodger’s bark erupted to fill the silence. Finn flinched and released the hand he was cradling in his own and set it on her lap.

“All right, babe. Different clothes is fine. But I draw the line well before guy-liner and hair gel.” He nodded, throwing her with his light, unaffected tone. “Let’s go find something that will impress Declan Whyte.”

She shook her head, hoping to shake free whatever screw was loose in there. “Why,
babe?”

Finn rose to stand and shrugged. “I dunno.
Sweetie
didn’t seem to fit.” He grinned in response to her playful sneer. “Why,
muffin?”
He challenged back.

“I was trying it out. There’s always cuddle monkey or schmoopsy-poo, if you prefer. I might save those for a larger audience.”

He laughed, and the sound seemed to ping around in her chest. “By all means, don’t hold back. But remember, two can play that game,
sweet cheeks
.” He teased as she followed him up the stairs.

He hadn’t seemed that way in high school, but for the past few years she’d known Finn to be a bit of a ladies’ man. She wasn’t sure how far that went, exactly, but he dated a lot of—let’s call it flashy—women. Entering his bedroom—seeing it as other women did—felt disturbing, and oddly intriguing in a self-destructive, come-in-little-red-riding-hood kind of way. “So this is where the magic happens.”
Oh flip, did I say that out loud?

Too busy absorbing the simple, masculine decor and dark wood furnishings, she collided against his back. “
Umph
.” She teetered back on her wedge-heeled boots and blindly reached out to steady herself. She ended up yanking on his shirt with one hand and grabbing his waist with the other.

Only since she’d wrenched so hard on his the fabric that other hand was grabbing warm, muscled flesh. The sensation so unexpected it took a regrettably long time to unhand him.
Bad hand. Very bad.

He swiveled around to view the no doubt splotchy heat of her embarrassment coloring her pale cheeks. Quirking a dangerous eyebrow over those eyes, emerald starbursts inside a deep blue ring, he slid behind a sly grin. “Care for a preview?”