Trial by Fire (36 page)

“Oh, baby, no.” His fists clenched, the need to pummel the monster who’d hurt her washing over him like a red tidal wave.

Calm. Focus, or you won’t get her out alive.

Every one of his senses on alert, he stalked slowly through the living room, searching every shadowy corner. Without his noticing, the afternoon had quickly become evening, the days much shorter now with winter coming on. Dying rays of the last sunlight hardly filtered through the drapes.

He moved down the hallway, half expecting an ambush. None came. He didn’t turn on the lights, didn’t care to announce his exact whereabouts sooner than necessary. Stupid, since he had no doubt that his nemesis knew he was here. He felt the other man’s awareness singing along an invisible connection, charged with tension.

Drawn to his bedroom, he crept to the doorway. Stepped inside. The stench of gasoline assaulted his nose.

“Paxton here,” he said, trying to keep a leash on his seething fury. He peered into the room, taking in the silhouette of a man standing on the other side of his bed. Kat lay on her back, motionless, one wrist handcuffed to a slat in the headboard. “I’m unarmed and alone. I did what you said.”

“How noble,” the figure sneered. “And dumb. Then again, you always were a sniveling little bastard.”

The bedside lamp was switched on, bathing the room in a soft glow. Their captor stood behind the lamp, using its protective glare to his advantage. Blinking, Howard swung his gaze to Kat, studied her anxiously as his vision adjusted. She stared at him through wide, terrified green eyes, silently beseeching. A livid red welt marked the left side of her face, already forming an angry bruise, her eye swollen half shut. Her right hand was sliced and bleeding.

He could only thank God she was fully clothed, that the murderer’s plan hadn’t included time to violate her. His fists clenched at his sides, a muscle in his jaw jumping.

The monster wasn’t dead.

He was
fucking
dead.

“Baby, are you all right?”

After a brief pause, she nodded at Howard, eyes glittering with unshed tears. “I’m okay.”

The man stepped into the pool of light, a lighter in one hand, a gun in the other, pointed at the center of Howard’s chest. Blood dripped from a long, nasty gash down the side of his face. An older man, maybe not quite Bentley’s age. Salt-and-pepper hair. Fit and hard. Cold.

Death incarnate.

He’d stared into those steely blue eyes before. His heart shrieked in protest even as his mind warred with itself. Struggled to suppress the night of horror that had nearly destroyed him. Had altered his life forever.

“Cat got your tongue, boy?” A corner of his mouth hitched up. Smug asshole. “You look like you’ve seen a ghost . . . Howard Paxton Whitlaw.”

A fissure. A crack in the dam, growing wider, wider . . .

Until he didn’t have a prayer of holding back the flood. Washing in with the truth to spill like toxic waste into every corner of his mind. The unspeakable tragedy.

A moonlit garden stroll through his magic forest, tomatoes ripening on the vine.

A loud argument. A soggy thump.

The dirt squishing through his toes as he went to investigate and saw . . . and saw . . .

“No.” Howard felt the blood rush from his face. His knees turned to water and he had to concentrate to remain upright.

His mother, crumpled on the ground. An oily puddle forming around her dark head.

A man, standing in the darkness with a shovel.

This man.

Digging a hole to bury his sweet mother in the garden she’d loved so much.

Oh, God. Sweet mother of God.

“Frank Whitlaw,” Howard choked out. The agony was almost too much to bear. The horror of the truth too great. Only his desire not to fold in front of the man he hated more than anyone on earth kept him standing firm. “
You.
You killed my mother. Buried her in the garden.”

“Oh, honey,” Kat whispered. He felt her love reach out, try to soothe his pain despite her own.

“With the greatest of pleasure.” The devil grinned. “Did ya like the little gifts I left for you with the other whores? Took the ring and necklace right off Liz’s dead body before I planted her like a seed in her own tomato patch.”

Howard took a step forward. “You sick sonofabitch—”

“Back off,” he growled, tensing, raising the gun higher.

“You were dead. The police said so. They found your body in your truck.”

“A body,” he smirked. “Burned beyond recognition, with my wallet conveniently lying nearby. Nobody missed the drifter who played my role. Frank Whitlaw was dead, and who wasn’t happy as shit about that? They didn’t
want
to know any different. Besides, no DNA back then. All told, I got the last laugh.”

“Where have you been all these years?” Not that he cared much, except talking might give Howard precious minutes to figure out what to do.

Frank waved the gun, bragging. “Drifting from state to state. Mostly putting cheating whores out of many a man’s misery. A game of stealth and a public service all in one.” He snickered at his own joke.

“But after thirty years, the game sorta lost its challenge. Got curious about the old stomping ground a few months ago and blew in to investigate. Imagine my unpleasant surprise to learn the little bastard I’d left for dead hadn’t died after all—and you’d been adopted by Bentley Mitchell, no less. Oh, that’s rich.”

“You’ve been here for months?” The idea made him sick.

“Yep. Watching, learning your routine at the station and at home. Planning.” His eyes shone with wicked glee. “You’re a loose end, boy. The one who got away, and that just ain’t acceptable. So I mapped out the perfect game of revenge. It’s only fair, considering how you ruined my life. I loved Liz once, and you took her from me.”

The nightmares. Somehow, on a subconscious level, he must’ve sensed Frank’s presence. Nothing else made sense.

Still, the whole scenario was incomprehensible. Why would Frank go to such extremes to kill him, now a grown man and a virtual stranger?

“I want to know how you could murder the mother of your child. How you could try to kill your own son. Murder defenseless women. What revenge are you raving about?”

Frank’s gaze hardened. “How? Easy. Your whoring bitch of a mother got exactly what she deserved for spreading her legs for another man, then pawning off her bastard son as mine for five fucking years! Like I didn’t know. Then she planned to run off and leave me, taking your sorry hide with her. After everything I did for her!”

Bastard son.
The room tilted.

“Wh-what?”

Frank’s finger tightened on the trigger. “You not having a clue makes this extra sweet. You’re not my son,” he snarled. “You’re Bentley Mitchell’s bastard.”

In an instant, his world shattered. Howard swayed on his feet, struggling to comprehend.

Why had Bentley kept the truth from him? To protect Georgie? There was no way Bentley hadn’t known, or at least suspected.

Suddenly, he was out of time for answers.

“My plans have been realized. Bentley gets to watch his only son burn. Trial by fire, the ultimate, most satisfying judgment,” he said, holding up the lighter, eyes gleaming with malice. “After I make my escape in the chaos, I’ll return to get rid of his sanctimonious ass and his precious wife, too.”

Yeah, that wasn’t going to happen. Not while Howard had breath left in his body.

“You won’t get away from here undetected. By now, the neighborhood is cordoned off and the house is surrounded. ”

“You’ll never know, will you?” Flicking on the lighter, he took a couple of steps backward, keeping the gun trained on Howard. Held the flame toward the gasoline-soaked curtains.

A voice blasting from a megaphone outside identified himself as Detective Shane Ford. “We’ve got the house surrounded. Let’s talk about this.”

Ford said something else, but Howard focused on Frank. Their captor hesitated, distracted for a moment by the cop’s voice. The man turned his head the barest fraction, glanced out the window, though he couldn’t see the front of the house from here.

It was the split second Howard needed.

He launched himself at the other man, putting his body between Frank and Kat. His nemesis snapped his gaze back to Howard with a vicious curse, and fired.

The bullet punched Howard’s side as he barreled into Frank, taking him to the floor.
Shot.
The sting barely registered. His sole focus was winning the fight for their lives. They rolled, knocking into furniture, each battling for the upper hand. Frank was quick, wiry. Much stronger than he appeared. He bucked, throwing Howard to the side, scrambling for the curtains. With a flick, he set the fabric ablaze, then tossed the lighter.

The curtains went up like a blowtorch. Howard had less than two minutes to get them out of here before the rest of the room ignited.

Howard fell on him once more, grabbing at the wrist holding the weapon. Frank kicked and with his upper body, lurched sideways, smacking Howard’s skull into the wall. Seeing stars, he fought to keep his attacker from bringing the muzzle of the gun between their bodies and finishing the job.

Desperate, he levered his torso across Frank’s, using his full weight and sheer strength to pin the other man. Getting a good hold on Frank’s wrist, he slammed the man’s gun hand into the floor twice. Hard. Bone cracked and the asshole howled, the weapon tumbling from his fingers.

“Howard, hurry!” Kat screamed. The blaze licked at the ceiling, the walls, spreading rapidly outward to his dresser and a stuffed chair.

Grabbing the gun, Howard flipped it and smashed the butt into the killer’s head. Relief and gratitude swamped him when the man went limp, unconscious.

For one moment, as he rose on trembling knees, he considered putting a bullet in Frank Whitlaw’s prone body. Making damned sure he’d never pose a threat again.

But Bentley—no,
Dad
—hadn’t raised him to be cold and ruthless. For the first time in his life, he was proud to be his father’s son.

Leaving the murdering bastard to face the flames would have to be justice enough. Pitching the gun aside, he crouched by the fallen man.

A quick search of Frank’s pockets produced no key for the handcuffs. No more time. He lurched for the bed, dizzy.

“Hurry! Oh, God, you’re bleeding!”

“I’m all right.” He wasn’t, but it didn’t matter now. “Scoot over.”

Kat made room for him as he knelt and grasped the links between her wrist and the cuff attached to the headboard slat. He pulled with all his might, but no use. He needed leverage.

“H-Howard, the fire!”

The edge of the bedspread ignited. Jumping off the bed, he stripped the cover and hurled it into a corner just as the material was engulfed.

The smoke began to thicken. Kat coughed, shaking her head. “Get out!”

“No!”

He redoubled his efforts, this time leaning back and planting one foot against the headboard as he pulled. Muscles bunching, straining with the effort. The slat bowed, and he heard a crack as the wood began to give.

Careful not to smash her hand, he kicked the weakened slat. The wood snapped and she was free, cuffs dangling from her wrist.

“Let’s go!” Grabbing her arm, he yanked her off the bed just as it went up in flames.

He pulled Kat for the door, but she was limping badly. Without breaking stride or sparing a glance for their would-be killer, he swung her into his arms. Cradling his precious burden against his chest, he moved quickly down the hallway, toward the front door.

Toward freedom.

Shifting her, he unlocked the door and pushed outside. Into the clean, cool air. Vaguely, he was aware of the sticky warmth saturating his middle, the front of his sweats. Blood pumped with every staggering step, every heartbeat, flowing steadily.

Her fingers twined in his hair. “You can put me down,” she whispered, raising her head to kiss his cheek.

“Never,” he vowed, hugging her tighter.

He managed the steps and started across the lawn, dazed by the sight of dozens of vehicles and flashing lights. Cops and men in SWAT gear on the perimeter, lowering their weapons. Behind the police line, several fire engines blocked the street and a couple of ambulances waited.

He spotted his team, waving, joining the chorus of cheers. Bentley, who’d been standing with them, began making his way through the crowd toward his son.

Strangely, as he carried Kat toward safety, the cheers became yells. Frantic shouting. A look of sheer panic bloomed on Bentley’s face. Sean and his team were waving now, but not in joy.

“Get down, get down!”

A loud
pop
split the air. Howard jerked, gasping, trying to retain his hold on Kat. His legs gave out and he sank to his knees. He fell forward onto the ground, curling his body around Kat, protecting her.

A volley of gunshots peppered the evening like fire-crackers. Over and done in a few seconds.

“Howard?” Kat wriggled underneath him, eyes wide with fear. “What happened?”

“Kat . . .” His breath left him in a wheeze. He thought he’d known pain. He was wrong.

White-hot talons of agony spread through his back, wrapped around his chest to constrict his lungs. Setting them ablaze. Dazed, he saw the Pez candy from his front pocket scattered on the grass like confetti. What a stupid thing to notice.