Trial by Fire (12 page)

No, any woman would
not
do.

He freed his mind to roam where it desired. The hair cascading over his lap became flaxen silk, the cat eyes gazing at him from between his legs green as cut emeralds. Her plump breasts bounced in rhythm to her ministrations on his cock, his ass.

“Kat.” He moaned, his body heating like a torch.

God, yes, to have Kat working him, doing those things to his body, he’d promise anything. Whatever she wanted. However she wished. He’d gladly be hers, only hers, now. Next week, next year. Always.

Come boiled in his balls, shot from the base of his spine.

“Ahhhh, God! Yes!”

He erupted like Mount St. Helens, came with more violence than ever before. On and on, thick rivulets of semen jetting over his flat belly. When the last of the tremors subsided, he lay panting, blinking in amazement as his room came into focus. If this was how he exploded from simply imagining Kat’s hands and mouth on him, he could hardly wait for fantasy to meet reality.

Christ, he hadn’t even once touched himself.

Nope, no other lady for him.

Whistling, he pushed aside ominous thoughts of arson and murder. Notes and stalkers. Tomorrow, the terrible sense of approaching doom would begin to fade. None of that had anything to do with him or Kat. A crackpot, most likely. An isolated incident.

“Katherine McKenna,” he said aloud. Liked how her name sounded on his lips. “You’re
mine,
angel.”

The grin stayed fixed on his face as he showered again, pulled on his favorite boxers, and slid between the crisp sheets. Sleep descended fast for a change, deep and content.

For a while.

Until a monster pursued a terrified little boy through his mother’s garden.

And caught him.

7

Homicide Detective Shane Ford turned out to be a pretty cool guy, despite Howard’s initial dread of the meeting. A tall, lean man in his mid-thirties with over-long sable hair, keen intelligence in his gray eyes, and an easy smile, Ford dispelled most of Howard’s tension over talking with the cops.

Unlike Peters and Holden, the detective was courteous, taking him patiently through the night of the fire and the events leading up to this morning, including Kat’s involvement and their first date. Though Howard’s concerns seemed ridiculous in the light of day, he told Ford about the fleeting glimpse of what he believed was someone in his front yard, and the reappearing ugly green Buick.

Ford, to his credit, treated his disclosures seriously in light of the awful photograph. Seated in Howard’s living room in a leather chair, the detective tapped a ballpoint pen on his knee, studying his notes with a slight frown.

“I assume you have reason to believe the woman in the photo is the victim from the fire,” Howard said, taking advantage of the lapse. “Or you wouldn’t be here.”

Ford looked up, nodded. “I do. The room in the picture appears to be identical to the Hargraves’ bedroom. Besides, the woman in question matches the description of a woman reported missing yesterday by her husband. Dental records should settle the ID today, one way or the other.”

“Jesus.”

“Yeah.”

God, he wished Tommy and Eve hadn’t seen the charred remains. Still, better anyone other than Sean, who hadn’t returned his phone call this morning. “Why bother to burn her? The killer obviously didn’t care about concealing her identity.”

“Punishment, retribution, or for a sick thrill. Any number of twisted reasons.” The detective spread his hands. “Why’d the bastard throw the murder in your face? Maybe he picked you at random, but we don’t know enough to speculate at this point.”

“The head game with me could’ve been an afterthought. I could’ve been anyone. He might move on and forget about me.” Sounded good, but Howard wasn’t certain he believed the claim even as he tossed it out.

Ford’s lips thinned. “We’ll know soon enough. A sociopath isn’t going to stop killing. He’ll either raise the stakes, or move to another hunting ground and we’ll never hear from him again.”

Both of those options sucked. His burgeoning hope that the killer would simply disappear deflated. If the psycho left town, it might take years, if ever, for him to be caught. In the meantime, the bastard would kill as before, in another county or state. Howard’s creepy problem resolved. . . . At the expense of countless victims and any leads the cops might’ve gained.

Recalling the mystery woman’s hollow resignation staring at him from the photo, guilt assailed him for his selfishness. He’d never backed off from trouble like a lily-livered little pissant, and he wasn’t going to start now. If some sick puppy insisted on bringing this filth to his door, he’d find out who and why. When he did, the perv had better pray the cops got to him first.

Ford stood, concluding his visit. “I won’t keep you. I need to get in touch with Miss McKenna about the fire and the pickup truck she saw leaving the area.”

“She already told all that to the cop who showed up.” He hated the thought of Kat being put through the drill again.

“The officer gave me his notes.” The detective gave Howard a speculative look. “But I prefer getting her observations in person. Once the drama passes, people often recall details they hadn’t before and don’t even realize are important. Since Miss McKenna was gone by the time I arrived on the scene, and I couldn’t reach her yesterday, I need to talk with her as soon as possible. ”

Made sense. He didn’t have to be thrilled about it, though. The idea of the spotlight being put on her as the only possible witness to murder scared the hell out of him.

“Detective . . . do you think she might be in any sort of danger from this sicko?”

“Wouldn’t hurt for her to be careful for a while. Does she need to know about the photo? Tough call, but from a cop’s viewpoint, the fewer details shared about a case early on, the better. Unless it becomes necessary, of course.”

Yeah, that’s what worried him. Keeping the creep’s little present from her put him in a bad position, considering. Put her at a disadvantage, too.

Ford shook his hand, promising to be in touch, and left.

Howard paced the living room, wrestling with his conscience. Agonizing over what to do about Kat. Despite his reluctance to create lasting ties, she’d already gotten under his skin. He’d almost convinced himself he might have something positive to offer her, and now this. Despite his hopes, the truth wasn’t easier to dismiss in the light of day.

A crazed murderer was playing games with his life.

A killer who might’ve been watching Kat. Good God, what was he going to do? Leave her protection to the police? Entrust her safety to bozos like Starsky and Hutch?

Not frigging likely.

“But the sick bastard won’t get to her through
me
.” Anger churned his gut. Let him try.

In the kitchen, Howard poured one more cup of coffee and glanced at the clock on the wall. Not quite nine thirty. He had time to run errands, come home and straighten the house, and get cleaned up for dinner with Kat. If he hauled butt.

Polishing off his coffee, he set the mug in the sink, then tried calling Sean. On the fourth ring, he winced as the answering machine picked up. Again.

Hi, you’ve reached Sean, Blair, Bobby, and Mia,
each voice piped through the phone in merry greeting. Ghosts standing sad watch over Sean’s empty house.
Leave your message at the beep.

“Hey, bro. It’s me again. Pick up the phone or I’m gonna come over there and kick in your door. Dammit, I mean it, Sean!” Nothing. He pinched the bridge of his nose in frustration. “I’ll be there in twenty. If you get this message, call my cell.”

Hanging up, an electric thrill of fear jolted him into action. Grabbing his wallet and the keys to his truck, he hurried out the door.

Please, God, let him hang on one more day. Don’t let me find him dead.

A prayer he’d repeated several times a week for months. Something had to give. Sean had reached the crossroads and remained mired there, immobilized. His best friend would either survive the loss of his family, or he wouldn’t.

A tall enough order for any man whose loved ones had been wiped out in one tragic twist of fate. Add the fact that Sean had been working overtime with the B-shift team instead of attending his son’s varsity football game, had responded to a call leading him straight to the burning, mangled husk of a familiar car . . .

“You know they’re not going to be okay when they don’t cry,” Clay, B-shift’s FAO, remarked sadly to Howard after the funeral.

To this day, Sean had never cried. Not once.

He knew because they’d discussed it. Or rather, Howard beat his head against the wall while his friend shut down. Closed him and everyone else out. Sean wanted him to give up so he’d be free to drown.

Not gonna happen.

In minutes, he turned down the long gravel drive leading to Tanner’s place. The sprawling log home came into view, a rustic jewel set against the beautiful, multicolored carpet of a Tennessee holler. Thirty acres of heaven Sean and Blair shaped into the perfect place to raise their children, now a hellish prison without bars.

His friend’s Tahoe was parked next to the house. He pulled in behind it and shut off the engine. Stomach clenching in dread, he mounted the porch steps and pounded on the front door with his fist.

“Sean! Open the door!” Silence. He pounded again.
“Sean!”

Dread morphed to panic. The frame splintered on the third kick, banging open like a gunshot. He ran through the living room, down the hall toward the back of the house. Halted in the doorway to Sean’s bedroom, letting his eyes adjust to the gloom.

The odor hit him first. The sickly sweet stench of old vomit and despair. Gagging, he clamped a hand over his mouth and searched the room. The shades were drawn to block out the light, but he made out the tall form on the bed. Too still.

“Sean?” He moved closer, flipped on the bedside lamp. “Oh, my God.”

Capsules littered the floor in front of the nightstand, along with the container and an empty fifth of Jack. Bending, he snatched the small bottle and read the label. Sleeping pills.
Sweet Jesus, no.

Howard placed the medicine bottle on the nightstand. Heart in his throat, he sat next to Sean. Dressed in sweatpants and a plain white T-shirt, his friend was on his stomach, face turned away, covers tangled around his legs. Terrified, Howard laid a hand on his shoulder. Felt the slight rise and fall of even breathing.

Not dead.
He could’ve wept with relief, but they weren’t out of the woods yet. Shaking his friend, he said gruffly, “Wake up, buddy. Come on.”

A muffled groan met his efforts. After several failed attempts to wake Sean, he hauled the man up by his shirt and rolled him over. Took one wrist, checked his pulse. Slow, but strong.

Sean stirred, moaned, lost in his private hell. “Nooo, don’t go . . . Daddy’s sorry . . .”

Howard closed his eyes briefly, heart twisting. Reaching out, he patted his friend’s cheek. “Sean, it’s me. Wake up.”

The man’s face was cadaver gray, a day’s growth of whiskers shadowing his cheeks. At least he hadn’t thrown up in bed, thank God, so the smell must be drifting from the bathroom. Surfacing from the depths of one nightmare into another, he blinked at Howard in confusion.

Sean’s voice was the rasp of a rusty can. “What the fuck?”

“That’s what I’d like to know, buddy.”

“Howard?” He sounded unsure whether he might be dreaming.

“In the flesh.”

“How’d—” He swallowed, turning an interesting shade of split pea soup. “How’d you get in here?”

“Let myself in.”

“You don’t . . . have a key.”

“You don’t have a front door.”

Green eyes closed. “Shit.”

He fell silent for a moment. Best to let his friend’s brain cells start firing again before he gave him the third degree. He could almost see the wheels turning as Sean processed what he’d done to himself.

“When did you start bingeing?” Howard asked quietly.

Apparently uncomfortable having this conversation while flat on his back, Sean sat up. Slow. Eased himself to rest against the headboard. “What’s today?”

“What day do you think it is?” He struggled to keep his temper under control. Anger borne of fear for the man he loved like a brother.

If possible, Sean’s face sickened even more. “I . . . I don’t know,” he whispered, hanging his head in shame. “Did I miss the Tuesday shift?”

Cruel as it seemed, he allowed his friend to stew over the question before answering. Let the possibility loom thick and heavy in the air between them. “No. It’s only Monday.”

Sean blew out a breath, but said nothing.

Howard lifted the pill bottle from the nightstand with a shaking hand. “You wash some of these down with the Jack?”

Shuttered eyes met his. “I’m still here, aren’t I?”

Howard’s temper erupted. His hand shot out, grabbing the front of Sean’s shirt. He yanked his friend close, got in his face. “Don’t shut me down again! Not
me
!” he shouted, shaking him hard. “How many did you take? Answer me!”

Startled, Sean grabbed at the steely arm holding him fast. “Stop, goddammit!”

“Tell me!” Howard roared.

“Almost the whole bottle!” Tanner shouted back. Panting, he hesitated as the truth reverberated from the walls. Fell into the silence like a dead, stinking corpse. He went limp as Howard took him by the shoulders.