Last Light (32 page)

Behind them the house roared, a noise almost like laughter, booming through the night as the roof raised up, torn free from its anchors, and then crashed back down to earth.

David had taken the pilot seat while TK held a gun on Blackwell, now handcuffed and restrained in one of the rear seats.

“Do you know what you’re doing?” Lucy shouted above the gusting flames. She climbed into the front passenger seat.

He nodded grimly. “Kind of. Did a few hours on a trainer for a story. I can get us up—” His voice trailed off in a definitely non-reassuring manner.

“Do it.” Lucy found two radio headsets and placed one on David’s head and took the other for herself. “I’ll call for help.”

“Keep an eye on the instruments,” David said, no stress revealed in his tone but beads of sweat dripped down the side of his neck. “Especially that one, the horizon indicator.”

He worked both hands and feet and they lurched up a few feet, then winds from the fire buffeted them, driving them toward the flames. David hunched over the controls, his face a study of furious concentration.

The world glowed orange in every direction, flames reflected from the instruments, as the firestorm tossed them about like a child’s toy.

TK KNEW SHE
was going to be fired. Why else would Lucy have sent her back to Beacon Falls alone the day after they caught Caleb Blackwell while Lucy remained in Canterville, finishing up their case?

Lucy could have at least given her time to say goodbye to David Ruiz. She still couldn’t believe how calmly he’d taken charge, piloting the helo, saving them all.

TK almost didn’t bother coming to her appointment with Valencia. After all, if she was out of a job, with the gym closing for renovations, she needed to find a place for her bike and get on the shelter and emergency-housing lists. People who’d never experienced homelessness had no clue how much work it took. You didn’t just show up and expect a good Samaritan to let you crash for the nigh; there were rules and regulations and paperwork and curfews and priorities and quotas...

She rapped her knuckles against Valencia’s office door at the very top of the Queen Anne’s round turret. The location fit her—Valencia and this job here at Beacon Falls always seemed too good to be true, something out of a fairy tale, just like this house perched on this bluff overlooking so many endless possibilities.

If it was one thing TK was sure of, she didn’t belong in any fairy tale. TK’s life was made of the stuff of reality: blood and grit and dirt and pain. No happily-ever-afters guaranteed. It was a miracle she’d lasted as long as she had.

But still...it had been nice while it lasted. As she stood waiting, she could almost understand Carole Blackwell’s temptation to create her own fairy-tale ending—even if the woman had ended up burned alive inside her own dream-come-true palace. She wondered if Carole knew about the other women Caleb had killed over the years? Had the mother ever in her wildest dreams imagined she’d created such a monster?

Valencia opened the door herself. “TK, thanks for coming.” As if TK actually had a choice.

TK stepped inside. The room was octagonal with a tall ceiling that mirrored the conical shaped roof above it. There were windows filling six of the walls, the views stunning. Magical. A realm not suited for a grunt like TK.

She scuffed her boots before stepping on the thick Persian carpet and waited, at parade rest, expecting Valencia to take her seat behind the elegantly curved desk that fit the room perfectly.

Valencia surprised her, moving instead to one of the two overstuffed chairs in front of the windows. There was a table between them with a teapot and china cups waiting.

“Please.” She gestured to the other chair.

“No thanks,” TK said. “I prefer to stand. No sense drawing things out. I know I screwed up. If you’re going to fire me, just tell me where to sign the paperwork and I’ll be gone.”

Valencia frowned, then looked away as she busied herself pouring tea. The delicious aromas of cinnamon and cardamom filled the air, reminding TK of the homes she’d visited in Afghanistan. Those women knew how to make a cup of tea. “Tell me what you did wrong.”

TK came to full attention. Appropriate for an after-action account when you were the one responsible for almost getting your team and civilians killed. “I should have listened to Lucy and waited before going to confront Alan Saylor with the photos. She has more experience interviewing witnesses, she’d already met the subject, and she had a plan. I should have trusted her, never gone there alone or approached Alan Saylor the way I did. I endangered my team, his family, and the mission.”

To her surprise, Valencia smiled at that. “What would you do differently next time?”

Not that there was ever going to be a next time, but TK humored her. “I would have trusted my team, not gone off on my own.”

It was a humbling admission, but somehow saying the words out loud made her feel better. Not because they were what Valencia expected to hear, but because it had been so long since TK could trust anyone. But Lucy and Ruiz? They’d risked their lives for her, despite her blundering stupidity.

So typical. She finally found a team as good as the one she used to have with the Marines, and she went and lost it. Again. What the hell was wrong with her? Wilson had warned her when they ran parkour that she needed to learn she couldn’t do it all alone. Had she learned the lesson too late?

“You’re not here for me to fire you,” Valencia said, interrupting TK’s mental flagellation. “You’re here because I want to offer you a position on Lucy’s new team. On a probationary basis, but you’d be moving from per diem to fulltime. Is that something you’d be interested in pursuing?”

“Ma’am, yes, ma’am,” TK said automatically.

Valencia laughed. It sounded human, gruff and throaty, not at all like a fairy-tale princess, and TK relaxed.

“Sit down, please.” Valencia gestured again to the chair beside her. TK obeyed. “There’s one more thing I’d like to discuss with you. It’s a personal request, so feel free to say no.” She poured a cup of tea for TK.

“What do you need?”

“I’ve lived here all my life.” She waved in the direction of the rear wing of the house where her personal quarters were, “and I quite enjoy my independence and solitude. But with this new investigatory initiative, Beacon Group will be drawing more attention, and Xander insists that we have on-site security present.” Xander Chen was Valencia’s assistant—an older man, totally devoted to Valencia and her work. “I understand you have some experience in that arena? Perhaps could assist us in designing a protocol, finding a reputable service?”

“Of course, no problem.”

“And while I accept the necessity of having strangers monitoring the grounds, I despise the idea of having strangers prowling around inside my home.”

TK startled, jostling her cup, but managing to catch it before it spilled. “Wait. You want me to move in? Here?”

“Is it too much of an imposition? I can assure you, you certainly would have no duties other than overseeing security. And, of course, Xander is also here if you require time off or are gone with the team on an investigation. What do you think?”

TK tried and failed to hide her smile. She raised her teacup, the delicate bone china would not have lasted five minutes inside Sal’s gym. What Valencia was offering—a home, a real home—was something TK hadn’t had since she was a girl. Something she couldn’t even admit yearning for all these years.

Maybe fairy tales did come true.

She touched her teacup to Valencia’s. “I guess it’s worth trying. On a probationary basis, of course.”

<><><>

LUCY HAD JUST
stepped out of the shower when her cell phone rang. She grabbed a towel, wrinkling her nose against the smell of smoke that still permeated her hair, and answered. It was Valencia. “She said yes.”

“To the job or the place to live?”

“To both. Good call on the living situation, by the way. Oh and she apologized. Said she should have trusted you and that it won’t happen again.”

Lucy was doubtful about that. But... “She’s got a lot of potential. I think it’s worthwhile, giving her a second chance.”

“So do I. What do you think about David Ruiz?”

“Ruiz? On our team?” She’d assumed the reporter would return to some form of journalism.

“Just a thought. Once his family situation is resolved.”

Lucy paced through the room, her wet feet cold against the tile floor. “Let’s not rush things. I’m flying back tonight.”

She’d sent TK home yesterday while she’d spent the day in Abilene, being interviewed by the state investigators, taking care of paperwork, dealing with the car rental people, and, since her clothes had been ruined, shopping for a cell phone, two new pairs of boots—neither quite as colorful as Megan’s, but just as comfortable—and a fun dress to wear while she traveled home.

The dress was totally impractical as she couldn’t wear her gun with it, but it made her smile—and she couldn’t wait to see the expression on Nick’s face when he saw her in it. Might be enough to keep him from asking too many questions about her trip.

“I’ll be heading out as soon as I’m sure the FBI forensic accountant doesn’t need anything.”

“The final nail in Caleb Blackwell’s coffin.” Valencia’s tone held an unexpected trace of venom. As if she took Blackwell’s crimes personally.

“Something like that. Although I hear he’s already working a deal. Full confession, including the names and locations of his victims to avoid the death penalty.”

“What does David think about that?”

“The irony wasn’t lost on him. But he’s been busy. Thanks for your help, arranging the compassionate furlough for his father.”

“Least the state could do since it might take weeks for the official pardon to come through. Not to mention the reparation money.”

“He and his father spent the day with Maria. I don’t think they’re quite at the point where they’re thinking about the future.”

Movement at her feet caught her eye. She froze. It was the damn scorpion. She’d been poised to step right on it. The ugly creature had its tail raised, ready to pounce.

“I think I have your next case for you. A missing person. Local, this time.”

Lucy barely heard her as she held her breath and stared at the scorpion. She was naked except for a towel, her only weapon a cell phone, and…she scanned the space within arm’s reach. Her cane was propped against the wall immediately behind her. Beside it was the TV stand where she’d left her Beretta and remnants of her breakfast.

The scorpion must have sensed something. It skittered closer to her foot, its tail quivering, preparing to sting.

Lucy extended her arm, chose her weapon, and with one lightning strike, hit her target.

“Email me the info and I’ll review it on the plane,” Lucy said, returning her focus to the phone. “I’ll have the team ready to go first thing in the morning.”

She hung up. The upside-down coffee mug on the floor at her feet rocked as the scorpion protested its confinement. Lucy grabbed the Bible from the nightstand drawer, used it to weigh down the mug, then scribbled a note for the maid:
BEWARE OF SCORPION.

She’d finished dressing, loaded her bags into the Mazda she’d rented, and was ready to head back to Abilene and from there to the airport, when there was a knock on the door. She opened it to find a tall man in a conservative navy suit, grinning down at her, his face hidden by a pair of sunglasses.

“Jake Carver,” she greeted him, opening the door wide. “My favorite forensic accountant. Wow, you clean up nice.” Last time she’d seen Jake, she’d been helping him to prep for a deep-undercover assignment with the Reapers, an outlaw motorcycle gang.

“You called for an accountant, figured I’d best dress the part.” He took off his glasses. “How are you, Lucy? Heard you’ve moved on to greener pastures.”

She nodded through the door to the sheriff’s department across the street, bustling with activity despite the early hour. “And yet still causing trouble and making work for the Bureau.”

“Yeah, sounds like that sheriff of yours is pretty much done for. Seriously, only you could come to solve a cold case and find a serial killer. Why’d you need me?”

She explained about Blackwell’s forfeiture scheme. “Who knows how many victims there are. And besides, if Blackwell somehow skates on any of the state charges, or ever comes up for parole—”

“I’ll be there ready and waiting with federal time. No parole. RICO, public corruption, maybe a little misappropriation of funds.” His grin widened and he nodded. “Sounds like my kind of fun. But I do have a favor to ask.”

“What do you need?”

“Your room, if you’re leaving. The clerk said they were full up between the reporters and the hotshot crews fighting the fire. But she said you were booked through the end of the week.”

“No problem, it’s all yours. I’ll change the reservation before I head to Abilene.”

“Thanks.” He grabbed a duffel that reminded her of TK’s rucksack. She gestured for him to bring it inside. “What’s with the bed covers?” he asked, tossing his bag into the far corner.

“Be careful,” she cautioned.

He froze, bent over, and rose, holding her note in his hand. “What the—”

“Welcome to Texas. Have fun.” She started out the door but he called her back, holding her cane in his hand.

“Hey, I think you forgot this.”

“Nope. You can trash it. Doesn’t go with my new style.” She swooshed her skirt with one hand and he laughed.

She could live with the pain, live with the fact that she’d always have to watch where she was going so her bad foot didn’t trip her up, but she couldn’t live with everyone labeling her as less than who she was.

Her first stop in Abilene was the medical center. Drew Saylor was out of ICU but still pale, although he was awake and chatting with his wife and Alan. Lucy stopped at the doorway, debating leaving instead of interrupting, but Alan spotted her, jumping to his feet and racing to give her a hug. He looked past her anxiously, then frowned a question.