Gold Fire (22 page)

Disgusted, she picked up the fire extinguisher and headed toward the front door. She wasn’t sure she’d closed it behind her in her initial panic.

She had. But she hadn’t been looking at it when she slammed it behind her, or she would have stopped right there. Even in the faint glow from the streetlight down the block, black letters stood out against the faded white paint of the door. The fresh spray paint still dripped and ran, giving the words an eerie look, like the title of a horror movie.

ONCE TRASH, ALWAYS TRASH

Zoe’s chest constricted painfully, shallow breaths scraping her throat. She glanced at the ruined hulk of the trash can in her driveway, then back at the message on her door as she swallowed against the hard lump in her throat.

Now she got it.

Chapter
Twelve

J
ase browsed through the new fishing lures at Marshall’s Hardware, selecting one called a Silver Flashing Wiggler. Dangling the bit of metal and plastic to catch the sunlight, he considered the likelihood of a trout mistaking it for a bug. Not much, he decided. Too much flash and not enough wiggle. Trout were selective, and it took just the right combination to catch their attention.

A streak of red-gold touched the corner of his gaze, and he looked up to see a bouncy red ponytail cross the end of the aisle. His eyebrows shot up. Zoe?

He walked to the end of the aisle and looked toward the front of the store. It
was
Zoe, heading for the checkout counter, hair swinging in rhythm with her hips. He turned quickly, looking past the bait and tackle aisle to make sure Marshall’s hadn’t added a cosmetics section between electrical and paint. They hadn’t. Since a hardware store was the last place he expected to see Zoe early on a Sunday morning, he followed her.

He was no more than twenty feet behind her and about to call her name when she spotted a large, hairy man coming through the front door of the store. She stopped dead, staring. Jase winced, and hoped she didn’t make her revulsion obvious. The man’s ZZ Top beard and long gray ponytail looked clean, but decidedly unkempt, matching his ripped jeans and worn sandals, not up to snooty Alpine Sky standards, he was sure. Neither was the tie-dyed bandanna wrapped around the man’s head like a sweatband. He didn’t blame her for staring, but felt slightly embarrassed that she didn’t move politely aside. He had started forward to take her arm and forcibly move her out of her shocked stare when she gave a delighted squeal of “Pete!” and threw herself into the man’s arms.

Zoe clung to the big man’s neck as he spun her in a circle, then set her down, both of them laughing. Jase watched, mesmerized, as they exchanged greetings like long-lost relatives. “Long lost” was an apt description for the hairy man, who looked like he might have been wandering the mountains for the past couple of years.

He didn’t realize he was staring until Zoe saw him and stared in return. “Jase!”

“Hi,” he said, his gaze moving from one to the other.

She looked more off balance than he felt, so he stepped forward and held out his hand to the large man. “Jase Garrett. I’m a friend of Zoe’s.”

“Far out.” The man gave him an engaging grin and shook his hand. “Pete Parnelli. I’m part of Zoe’s family.”

It seemed like an odd way to say it, rather than Uncle Pete or Cousin Pete. Zoe must have sensed his
confusion. “I grew up on a commune. Pete’s practically like a dad.”

If the rest of the commune members looked like Pete, he imagined proper, well-dressed Zoe was the black sheep of the family. The idea amused him so much he had to bite back a grin. “I’d heard there was a commune up on Two Bears,” he told Pete. “Been there a long time, hasn’t it?” Stuck in a time warp from 1970, obviously.

“That’s us. The People’s Free Earth Commune,” Pete said proudly. He nodded at Jase’s hand. “You fly-fish?”

Jase realized he was still holding the Silver Flashing Wiggler. “When I can.”

“Outasight. Ever tie your own lures?”

Jase let the grin through, enjoying Pete’s open friendliness. “Wouldn’t be a true fisherman if I didn’t try. I’m not very good at it, though. You?”

“I’ve had some luck with a few I made.”

“Some luck?” Zoe gave his shoulder a friendly shove. “Aren’t you the modest one.” From the way she said it, Jase suspected the guy was a master.

“You should have Zoe bring you up sometime. I’ll show you the secret to making a lure they can’t resist. Then we can try it out.”

“Far out!” Jase purposely repeated the outdated slang while raising an amused eyebrow at Zoe. “Why don’t we do that, Zoe?”

Zoe’s enthusiasm backed down a notch. “Um, work’s pretty hectic lately, but I’ll try to get up there soon,” she told Pete. Grabbing her shopping basket, she moved to the checkout. “Gotta run now, but it was great to see you. Tell Mom I said hi.”

Pete flashed a peace sign, told Jase, “Later, man,”
and sauntered off. Jase fell in behind Zoe as she handed a can to the clerk.

“What are you doing, following me?” she hissed. “And quit sucking up to my family.”

He smiled. “Rein in that ego, honey. It’s not all about you. I come here all the time.” He tried to see what she was buying, but the clerk was too fast getting it in a bag. It looked like turpentine. He tried to picture her in paint-stained clothes, brushing a new coat of latex on the walls, but couldn’t see it. “Pete seems like an interesting guy. I wouldn’t mind going up there to see how he makes his lures.”

She scowled at the counter and didn’t respond. She was probably still mad from last night, but he suspected it was the invitation to visit the commune that really pissed her off. She stayed at a low boil as she swiped her credit card and signed, then grabbed the bag from the clerk. “See you around.”

He watched her leave. The clerk looked at him, then pointedly at his hand. “You buying that?”

Jase held up the Silver Flashing Wiggler, giving it one last consideration. “If you were a trout, would you eat that?”

The kid gave him a bored look. Probably only responded to a Big Mac set directly in front of him. “Never mind, I don’t want it.” He set the lure aside. “Can you tell me what you just rang up for that lady?”

The kid hesitated, as if trying to decide whether there was a reason not to do it. “Why?”

“Because we were talking and she recommended the product, but I forgot the name.”

“Oh. Mason and Hewett painter’s solvent.”

“Huh. I wonder why she thought I needed that,”
he mused out loud. When the kid didn’t respond, Jase gave him a helpless look to kick-start some customer service instincts.

He shrugged with disinterest. “Most people use it to take off spray paint.”

Jase frowned, not sure why she’d need that, but getting a bad feeling about it. Spray paint that had to be removed was generally where it shouldn’t be. Like graffiti. “I’ll have to come back later,” he told the clerk.

“Whatever.”

He didn’t see her car in the parking lot, but that didn’t matter now that he knew where she lived. Ten minutes later he pulled into the driveway of 8411 Larkspur just as she was dragging a new plastic garbage can out of the back of the Escort. He took it from her and set it inside the carport next to a blackened, half-melted piece of plastic. He studied the twisted mass. “You’re hard on garbage cans.”

She shrugged and looked away. He took another look at the melted mass, sniffing. Then looked around. In front of his truck on the gravel drive he saw a large black smudge with a light center. He gave her a puzzled look. “You set it on fire?”

“It’s none of your business.”

He didn’t buy it. Zoe had a temper, but it wasn’t like her to pull something so irresponsible. He strolled over to the blackened stones, pondering them as she retrieved her bag from the Escort. What had happened here? Spray paint remover, he remembered, and his gaze automatically went to the house. The pale yellow aluminum siding was faded, but clean. In fact, the whole front of the house was tidy and free of graffiti, which made the front door stand out—the center was
covered with a large piece of cardboard. It hadn’t been there last night. Dread settled in his gut as he strode to the front door.

She slammed the hatchback. “Hey! If you want to help, you could carry this for me.” When he didn’t stop, she ran around the corner of the house to intercept him. He was already ripping off the duct tape that held the cardboard to the door. “Jase, leave that alone. I told you, this is none of your business.”

But the cardboard was already off.

ONCE TRASH, ALWAYS TRASH
. He’d known he wouldn’t like what he found, but the lurid letters were a kick in the gut. He could only imagine how they’d made her feel. Heart pounding with sudden fury, he turned. “Why didn’t you tell me about this?” he demanded.

She stood straight, pale and tight lipped. “Because it’s none—”

“It
is
my business, goddamnit! It’s because of me that someone did this to you, and you know it. I told you to get out because it was going to get rough, and now someone else is telling you, too. When are you going to listen?”

“Never.” She hadn’t flinched when he yelled, and, tilting her chin up the way she did when her stubborn streak kicked in, she held her ground as he stepped close. “I make my own choices, and I fight my own battles. Besides, it’s just stupid graffiti.”

“And a burning garbage can that could have set your house on fire.”

She met his hard stare. “Big deal.”

“Don’t play dumb, Zoe, it doesn’t look good on you.”

He knew adding insult to injury wouldn’t help, but
damn it, she made him furious. Apparently, it was mutual. “Leave,” she ordered through gritted teeth.

Instead, he snatched the bag she held in her hand and pulled out the paint solvent. “Get me a rag,” he snapped.

“I certainly will not. This isn’t about you.”

He already knew arguing with her was futile. He dug his keys out of his pocket, using one to pry the metal lid off the can of solvent.

“Jase, I mean it.”

He set the can aside and pulled his cotton T-shirt over his head. Wadding it into a ball, he picked up the can.

“Jase, stop!” She made a desperate grab for the shirt, but he held on. Her expression crumpled with defeat. “Don’t ruin your shirt.” Frustration kept the edge in her voice, but he knew he’d won when she sighed deeply. “I’ll get a rag.”

“Thank you.” He meant it; he really liked the T-shirt.

She disappeared inside, leaving him on the porch. Two minutes later she came out with two rags. He took them both.

“One is for me,” she said, reaching for it.

He jammed the extra rag into his waistband, out of her reach. “No, it isn’t. Zoe, look at me.” He waited until she huffed out an impatient breath, folded her arms, and met his eyes. “Listen to me carefully, because this is nonnegotiable. There’s no way in hell I’m going to let you debase yourself by kneeling out here where all your neighbors and anyone driving by can see you while you scrub this filth off your door. I’m doing it, and you’re going in the house. If anyone sees it before
I get it off, at least they’ll know someone’s got your back. Is that clear?”

Her eyes were suddenly overly bright. She blinked and swallowed hard, then turned without a word and went inside. He let out a relieved breath. Then tried not to be furious at the world that Zoe was so unaccustomed to having someone take her side.

Picking up the can, he set to work.

•  •  •

Zoe spent the next hour peeking out the living room window. He’d put his shirt back on—she tried not to be disappointed—and she could see small sweat stains under his arms. When she could tell he was finishing up, she poured two glasses of lemonade and went outside.

He gave her an appreciative smile as he took the glass. “Thanks.”

An hour had given her plenty of time to feel guilty . . . and grateful. She sat on the edge of the porch, bare feet planted on the sidewalk as she made her confession. “I’m the one who should thank you.”

He settled beside her and took a long drink, downing nearly half the glass. She watched his throat move as he swallowed, noticed the thin sheen of sweat on his neck, the bulge of muscles in his upper arm. Realizing she was staring, she looked away before he noticed. If he weren’t so physically distracting, it would be easier to say this. Feeling awkward, she rubbed her toe across the rough cement surface of the walk, then glanced at him and spit it out. “I’m sorry I was so bitchy. I’m not used to people taking my side.”

“I gathered that.” She noticed he didn’t deny the bitchy part, but he smiled at her, a slow smile that gradually widened to a grin.

Responding to his smile was automatic. For a moment she was caught by the warmth in his eyes, her heart tripping as her mind went blank. As infuriating as the man was, he had a physical attraction she couldn’t deny. She liked looking at him. Liked remembering what it had felt like when he’d held her close and . . . 

Damn it! She blinked and frowned, irritated that she could lose herself in a simple gaze. She kept her eyes on the sidewalk. “Jase, I appreciate what you did, but . . .”

“But you still won’t do what I asked. You won’t walk away.”

“I can’t. But I can do something else.” She met his expectant gaze. “I have an idea who might be behind everything that’s been happening to you.”

“So do I—Matt Flemming.”

“No.” She glared, indignant. “You keep accusing him when he’s been nothing but considerate of you.”

“Uh-huh.”

It seemed the only way to convince him was to prove him wrong, which she intended to do. “Someone else has a lot to gain if you sell, and he’s totally without scruples. He could easily have done everything that’s happened, or arranged to have it done.”

“Who?”

She paused, remembering how he hadn’t wanted to rat out Jennifer. But he’d had years of loyalty to base that on; she had no reason to protect David. “My direct supervisor. David’s doing anything he can to suck up to Ruth Ann Flemming and get me out of his way. Matt doesn’t think highly of him, but if he can get you to sell, Ruth Ann would probably give him whatever he wants.”

“You work with a fun bunch of people.”