Читать книгу Sleeping Beauty Suspect - Dani Sinclair - Страница 11

The doorbell rang. It wasn’t the first time, either. Flynn had heard it several times without waking completely, but this time someone followed the ring with a rapping hard enough to bring him to full consciousness. One eye slit open. The pounding continued. His sleep-drugged mind forced both lids apart. Where was he?

His living room, bathed in shadows, came blearily into focus. Flynn swore and tried to sit up. Pain shot through his shoulder and down his leg. He’d fallen asleep on the couch when he’d meant only to sit down for a couple of minutes.

Groaning, he made it to his feet and limped to the door. He remembered turning off his phones after Murray and Arlene dropped him at the house, but things got a little vague after that. He must have grabbed a banana from the kitchen counter, intending to sit for a minute and eat it and then take a shower. The peel and half the banana were now on the floor next to his shoes. He didn’t remember kicking them off, either.

Flynn muttered under his breath and reached for the door handle. A Channel Three newsvan was parked out front. A reporter and cameraman were walking away.

He shut the door quickly, hoping they hadn’t seen him. The media was the main reason he’d turned off his phones in the first place. Well, them and his well-meaning family. He’d been too tired to talk with anyone when he finally got home.

He reeked of smoke and stale sweat and his stomach rumbled in warning. Other than half a banana, he hadn’t eaten since yesterday, and not all that much then because they’d gotten one call after another.

“Shower first.”

Maybe water would wake him the rest of the way. He wasn’t usually a sound sleeper. Being a fireman meant moving alertly the minute the alarm sounded. But with one thing and another it had been a hard shift yesterday and this morning.

He peeled out of his dirty clothes as he started down the hall. Man, he was stiff and sore. It took several minutes of standing under the hot water before he started to feel almost human again.

His stomach rumbled.

“Right. I got the message.”

The bruise on his shoulder was badly discolored. He had a series of other bruises he hadn’t even known were there. The scrape on his leg where he’d gone through the porch roof looked particularly nasty and the bruise on his hip was trying to outdo the one on his shoulder. He hadn’t come off that fall nearly as well as he’d originally thought.

Then again, he was alive and he hadn’t landed on his back on the tank. That could have done some real damage.

Running a hand over his prickly jaw he knew he needed a shave, but his stomach protested that could wait. A quick swish of mouthwash took care of the day-old-sock taste in his mouth and he padded naked into the bedroom in search of fresh clothing.

The doorbell rang again. Flynn swore. While tempted to ignore it, there was always the possibility it was one of his family or someone from the department. If it proved to be another reporter, he’d send them on their way.

Stepping into a pair of jeans, he tugged up the zipper as he headed for the front door, trying not to favor his bad leg.

“Chill already. I’m coming.” He flung the door wide.

“Go away,” was already on his lips when he found himself drowning in an unexpected pair of silvery blue eyes.

“You!”

Sleeping Beauty was awake and standing on his doorstep.

WHITNEY CHARLES stumbled back a hasty step and the wracking cough started up again. Her hand reached for the iron railing leading to the front door as the spasms doubled her over. She wasn’t sure what she’d expected when she decided to come here, but she hadn’t been prepared for a half-naked man.

“Easy. Take it easy.”

She struggled for breath as he reached toward her.

“I’m not going to hurt you.”

She wasn’t afraid. She just couldn’t stop coughing long enough to tell him so. She waved him back, trying hard to calm lungs that felt as though every breath was being pressed from them. The sun rode low on the horizon, but as she inadvertently looked up, she discovered it was still bright enough to make her squint. She turned away, trying to catch her breath.

“Mistake,” she managed to gasp out.

“What’s a mistake?”

“I’ll…come…back.” When she could talk and not look like a fool.

“You won’t make it down to the sidewalk coughing like that. You should be in the hospital, but since you’re here, come in and sit until you catch your breath.”

She considered ignoring him, but he was probably right. She couldn’t stop coughing. He held the door wide so she could step inside past him. The scent of an herbal soap and shampoo were unmistakable as she brushed up against him. So were the telltale droplets of water on those nicely sculpted shoulders, one discolored by an ugly bruise.

Inside the small house, shadows were gathering in the corners of the surprisingly open room. Someone in the not so distant past had given this old rambler a major renovation. Most of the interior walls had been knocked down to open what had no doubt been several cramped rooms into one large great room including a contemporary kitchen set apart by a counter with stools. The ceiling had been raised to give the house an airy, open feeling despite its size and age.

While far from upscale, the house suited the man quite well. The furnishings were mostly well-worn family rejects. Exactly the sort of thing a bachelor might be content to have around. Was he?

She got her coughing under control and nearly tripped over his shoes. He hurried to pick up the shoes and a neglected banana sitting nearby, partly peeled.

Before she could stop herself, her gaze skimmed over his nicely formed chest and came to a halt on the snug jeans riding low on his hips. He hadn’t snapped them. Only a fragile zipper held them in place.

A spark of heat sent her eyes back to his face. “Sorry. I’ll come back another time.” Her voice had taken on a husky edge from all the coughing.

“Hey, no problem. You’re here now.”

He blocked her path when she would have turned back to the door. “It’s the banana peel, isn’t it?”

“What?”

“Yeah. I don’t blame you for what you’re thinking, but I’m not really a slob. I sat down to eat it and fell asleep. I don’t even remember kicking my shoes off.”

What she was thinking was that he was gorgeous, and endearing. She liked that he was embarrassed by the banana. She definitely liked the way he looked and the way he smelled, and she was fascinated by the way the damp strands of his thick, dark hair curled about strong, open features. What she didn’t like was the avid curiosity in those open gray eyes. She should leave.

“I should go. You aren’t dressed.”

“I was working on it when you rang the bell. Apparently, I slept the afternoon away. I woke up a few minutes ago and took a quick shower.”

“Feel free to finish the job.”

He smiled. The man had a killer smile.

“I figured you’d be another pesky reporter.”

Her stomach lurched. He’d talked to reporters? What had he told them?

“I didn’t really care about the impression I’d make on one of them. Look, have a seat. I’ll be right back.”

He turned and limped down the hall without waiting to see what she’d do. Undecided, she stared after him. The man was built like a Hollywood hero. Handsome without being too handsome. In fact, pretty much perfect if you didn’t count the limp and the bruises. She didn’t. Still, this had been a bad idea. What had she expected to accomplish by coming here?

HALF AFRAID she would go, Flynn hurried. He desperately wanted some answers from a wide-awake Sleeping Beauty. Who was she? What had she been doing in that abandoned house? Why had she run from the hospital? And what was she doing here of all places?

Dressed in a fitted pair of white linen slacks and a crisp, pink blouse, her hair gleaming with restored color even though it hung untidily about her face and down her back, she was a far cry from the dirty waif he’d spoken to in the hospital. Obviously she’d showered as well. She was slender and petite with nicely rounded curves in all the right places. In a word, beautiful. What was she doing here?

Listening for the front door, he snatched a navy T-shirt from the dresser drawer and skimmed it over his head. The door didn’t open and he relaxed when he heard her coughing again. There wasn’t much point bothering with underwear now. She’d never know and the shirt covered his chest and most of the ugly bruise. He grinned as he decided to skip socks as well. The shirt was enough for decency.

Obviously, she knew he was the one who’d pulled her from the fire, but how had she known who he was or where he lived? She must have come here to thank him.

Flynn snapped his jeans and left the room. He found her still standing, and much closer to the front door. She was staring at the line of picture frames on top of the bookcase that displayed his family.

Her head jerked up at his approach.

“Why don’t we start over?” he suggested. “I’m Flynn O’Shay. And you are…?”

“I’d rather not say.”

That stopped him for a full second. “Why? Is it a secret?”

She began to cough again. He flipped on the recessed lights overhead and turned back toward the kitchen to pull a glass from the cupboard next to the sink. “Is that why you skipped out of the hospital this morning? So you wouldn’t have to leave your name?”

Filling the glass with cold water from the jug in the refrigerator, he carried it over to her. She leaned weakly against the wall as the painful coughing wracked her.

“You do realize you shouldn’t be running around after all that smoke you swallowed. You need to give your lungs a chance to heal.”

She accepted the glass and managed a few sips before trying to speak again. “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome. Why don’t you sit down? You didn’t come all this way just to cough at me.”

She handed him the glass and their fingers touched. Soft skin, beautifully manicured nails without polish and still no ring. He was strangely pleased by the latter. She drew her hand back quickly. There was a tint of color in her cheeks.

While her outfit was casual, he had a feeling it had cost more than most of the contents in his house. There was something classy about her that said, I’m not from your part of town. Too bad she was out of his league because she intrigued him.

“What happened to me?”

Her abrupt question rocked him back. He ran a hand over his jaw in a bid for time to think, and rediscovered the bristles. No wonder she looked wary enough to bolt. He was not making a great first impression here. Flynn tried for a light approach.

“Okay, you got me. What happened to you?”

Her glare should have been registered as a weapon. He held out pacifying hands. “I gather that wasn’t a trick question? Okay, look, before you get a crick in your neck staring up at me, have a seat. The furniture may not look like much, but it’s comfy.”

To prove it, he went over, set her water on the coffee table and plopped down on the recliner, praying she wouldn’t scoot out the door. After a moment’s indecision, she came and perched on the edge of the chair across from him.

Now that he had enough light to study her features, he saw that circles darkened those striking eyes. A furrow was etching itself between her eyebrows. He put her age in her early twenties and revised it up a notch after considering her for a moment.

“Were you doing drugs?”

“What?!”

Outrage started her coughing again. He got up and handed her the glass.

“Sorry. That was the speculation I heard at the hospital. I take it you weren’t doing drugs?”

“I don’t…use drugs,” she got out between coughs. Her outrage was too genuine to be faked.

“Got it. Didn’t seem real likely. I mean, why get all dressed up to go to an abandoned house and mess with something like that?”

Flynn averted his stare from the rise and fall of her chest as she struggled for breath. He waited while she got the coughing under control.

“How did you come to be inside that house?”

In answer, she shook her head. The hint of fear he’d glimpsed at the hospital again lurked in the silvery blue of her eyes. She was definitely scared and trying not to let it show.

“Okay, let’s come at this from a different direction. What’s the last thing you remember?”

“Getting ready to go to bed.”

“In an evening gown?”

She managed a scowl before concentration pleated her forehead. “I came home after the party. I was having a glass of wine. The doorbell rang.” She stopped. “I don’t remember anything after that.”

“Nothing?”

“Why would I make that up?”

“Okay, relax. If you get all worked up you’ll start coughing again. So you came home after some party.”

“My father’s sixtieth birthday party.”

He nodded. “Alone?”

She offered him a troubled look. “A…friend dropped me off.”

Flynn wanted to ask about her “friend,” but decided not to press his luck. For some reason she aroused his protective instincts and he suspected she wasn’t the type to appreciate that. He got the distinct impression that she was used to taking care of herself.

“So you were having a glass of wine and someone rang the doorbell. You went to answer it and that’s the last thing you remember?”

She nodded. It didn’t take a genius to see she was straining to remember more.

“Are you prone to seizures?”

The glare was hot enough to sizzle. Flynn spread his hands. “Hey, I had to ask. What about dizzy spells?”

“No!”

“How much wine did you drink?”

“I wasn’t drunk.”

“That wasn’t my question.”

Her eyes darkened along with her scowl. “I didn’t come here to answer questions.”

“Why did you come here?”

“I wanted to know what you saw.”

“Smoke, mostly.”

She stood. “You can’t help me.”

“I did save your life today,” he challenged mildly without rising.

She hesitated and inclined her head. “Yes, you did. I wanted to thank you.”

“No problem. That’s why the county pays us the big bucks.”

“They do?”

He grinned. “Nope, but we live in hope.”

She didn’t seem to know how to handle his teasing.

“Your bruises, are they from when you fell through the roof?”

“How did you know about that?”

“The entire rescue was on the news.” She sounded disgusted. “That’s where I got your name.”

Scellioli!

Sally had told Flynn there was video footage. “Well don’t you think a rescue justifies telling me your first name? Last I heard they were calling you Sleeping Beauty. While it’s catchier than Jane Doe, it’s not a moniker I’d want.”

Her skin darkened with color. She started to cough again. “Come on, Beauty, we can work on the name thing in the kitchen. I don’t know about you, but I haven’t eaten all day.”

“Don’t call me that!” she managed to gasp out between coughs.

“I didn’t coin it,” he protested, “and believe me, it’s better than what the guys at the station house are going to settle on me. They’re merciless. Do I look like a Prince Charming to you? That’s a rhetorical question, by the way.”

She didn’t smile. In fact she looked horrified.

“Hey, that’s my ego you’re trampling.”

“Prince Phillip.”

Flynn stared at her. “What?”

“In Sleeping Beauty his name was Prince Phillip, not Prince Charming.”

He grinned wryly. “I’ll be sure and point that out to them. Do you like eggs?”

“What?” She shook her head as if to clear it. “Eggs?”

“Yeah, you know, those white oval things with the thin shells and yellow centers? Hens lay them, people eat them. You aren’t allergic, are you?”

“Of course not. What are you talking about?”

She followed him to the kitchen.

“There’s no ‘of course’ about it. Lots of people are allergic to eggs. I’m talking about feeding us. I’m starving. I know there’s a nice big steak in the fridge with my name on it, but I’m not sure what else is in there. I’m thinking steak and eggs and toast. Or maybe baked potatoes. I might still have a couple of them left. I was going to go shopping after I came off shift. I know there’s an apple. There might even be enough lettuce left for a salad. If you don’t want to eat you can watch me.”

He began pulling ingredients from his refrigerator. Eggs, cheese, green pepper, there were even grapes and a couple of apples and ice cream for dessert. Plenty of stuff to cobble something decent together.

“You cook?”

“Don’t sound so horrified. We take turns cooking at the station all the time. I’m no gourmet, but I’m not so bad. Burning things is frowned on at a fire station.”

He turned the gas on under the cooktop’s grill. “Of course that doesn’t stop Smokey, so nicknamed because he was foolish enough to start a grease fire one night. He’ll never live that one down.”

“You don’t have to cook for me,” she managed to say.

“No, but it seems rude to cook for myself and then eat it in front of you.”

“I can’t stay here.”

He began pulling more ingredients from the refrigerator. “I don’t remember inviting you to stay. I’m just offering to cook us some dinner while we talk. Or did you eat when you changed clothing?”

“No, but…” She started coughing again and took several more sips from the water glass.

“Pull up a stool at the counter and stop trying to talk. I’ll impress you with my mastery. My stomach is making demands. And I believe that’s yours rumbling in agreement?”

She blushed again. After a moment’s hesitation she took a seat at the breakfast bar, still striving to control the urge to cough.

“Don’t fight it too much. You need to purge those lungs. Let’s see what else we have in here.”

There was only one potato so he went with the eggs, conscious of her eyes watching him with a bemused expression. “Don’t you cook?”

“Not very often,” she admitted.

“I like to cook. Mom wanted me to become a chef instead of a fireman but this way I get the best of both worlds.”

Her expression was understandably confused. He was deliberately trying to keep her off balance so she wouldn’t leave. That pleat between her eyes wasn’t new. She was a worrier and she wasn’t sure what to make of him. It only made sense. He was a big, muscular guy and she was alone in a strange house with him. She was understandably nervous. Any sane young woman would be, so he did his best to appear nonthreatening as he chopped onions and the green pepper that had passed its prime but was still usable.

“You can call me Kathleen,” she announced abruptly.

He looked up. She wouldn’t meet his eyes.

“Why not give me your real name? Or is it something unique like Cher or Sting or—”

“That is my name.”

“Your first name?”

Her gaze dropped. “Middle,” she admitted. “My first name is Whitney.”

“See? That wasn’t so hard. Whitney Kathleen…what?” He turned to the cooktop and flipped the steak.

“Charles,” she added after a long hesitation.

“Well, Whitney Kathleen Charles is unusual, but not all that unique. Certainly better than Beulah. That was my mother’s cousin’s first name. She hated it. Everyone called her Bee and she wasn’t too fond of that, either, but she claimed her middle name was even worse. I never did learn what that was, come to think of it. I’ll have to remember to ask Mom one of these days.”

“Are you always like this?”

“Like what?”

Slender shoulders rose and fell quickly. “You don’t even know me.”

“Hey, cut me some slack. I’m working on it. I’m trying to put you at ease.” He smiled at her. “Is it working?”

She didn’t smile back, but he thought some of the tension eased from her shoulders.

“How come you disappeared from the hospital this morning?”

The tension returned. A barely perceptible shudder ran through her. “I don’t like hospitals.”

“Something else we have in common. Noisy, smelly places.”

“People die there.”

He filed that away for later sensing this wasn’t a good place to probe at the moment.

“Well, you came pretty close to asphyxiating in the fire. Oxygen would have helped. And it would have been better to have told someone you were leaving.”

He had a strong urge to rub that pleat between her eyes away so he kept his fingers busy rinsing lettuce for the salad.

“The press is going to find out who you are sooner or later, you know,” he warned. “A beautiful woman in an expensive evening dress inside an abandoned house that someone set on fire? That’s a story they’re bound to keep in the headlines for a while.”

Her fingers trembled. “You’re saying the fire wasn’t an accident?”

Flynn looked to see if she was kidding. She wasn’t. The fear was right there on the surface now.

“No. It definitely wasn’t an accident. Someone poured enough accelerant over the downstairs to send that place and everything inside it to ashes in under five minutes.”

She closed her eyes. “Someone tried to kill me.”

The words were a flat, bald statement. At least she wasn’t having hysterics.

“I’d say that’s a good bet. See that blinking light on my phone? I’ll give you odds most of those calls are from reporters. The rest are probably from my family, but that’s another story. Everyone wants details. People came to the door several times while I was trying to sleep this afternoon. I was too tired to answer.”

She nodded grimly. “Channel Nine was leaving when I arrived.”

He got out silverware, napkins and placemats and set them on the counter beside her. “Who’s trying to kill you, Whitney?”

“I don’t know.”

The words were a bare whisper. She carried the items over to the table. He watched her position them with almost painful precision. Frowning, he set two small salads on the counter and walked over to the stove to finish scrambling the eggs.

“I’m not hungry,” she announced.

“Yes, you are, you just don’t realize it yet. Your mind’s so busy worrying about what happened to you that it forgot to listen to your stomach. Give the food a try. I promise you’ll feel better.”

Dividing the steak and eggs, he placed the two plates in front of her and rinsed out the pan while he waited for the toaster to pop.

“Why are you being so nice? You don’t even know me.”

“Do you have to know someone to be nice to them?” He pulled a second glass from the cupboard and got the pitcher of cold water from the refrigerator. “I was raised to be nice to everyone. My mother would nail my hide to the wall if I wasn’t. She’s a little thing like you, but she’s got a core of granite.”

“I’m not little.”

He measured her with his eyes as he came around the corner. “Five-three?”

“Four and a half.”

Flynn grinned. “I’m six-one and a quarter. Everything under five-ten is little to me. Water okay with you? Given the circumstances I don’t figure you want a beer and I don’t have any wine or sodas.”

She shuddered. “Water’s fine.”

“Figured as much. Let’s eat while it’s hot.”

He added more water to her glass and waited for her to take a seat. She neatened her already straight silverware beside her plate, unfolded her paper napkin and settled it on her lap just so. His mother had raised her sons to have manners, but there were manners and then there were manners.

“You’re an only child, aren’t you?”

She paused in the act of adjusting her salad bowl. “Yes, why?”

“No reason.”

Her head tilted in puzzlement. “What made you ask that?”

Flynn forked up a bite of steak, chewed and swallowed before he answered. “You’re so self-contained.”

He watched her think about that as she speared a piece of lettuce with dainty precision. “Do you consider that a bad thing?”

“Nope. I wish someone would contain my brothers at times. Meals at Mom’s house are noisy affairs. There’re four of us boys and we learned to speak up and eat fast or lose out on seconds.”

Whitney brushed hair back from her face. Flynn found himself noticing a light, womanly fragrance that wasn’t perfume and wasn’t shampoo. Whatever it was, he liked it, but he told himself to get a grip. Of course he was attracted to her. What man wouldn’t be? But this woman had some serious issues going on.

Like the fact that someone wanted her dead bad enough to burn a house to the ground around her.

“Those pictures in the other room are of your family?”

Flynn nodded at her question and cut off more steak. “Yep. Ever since Neil and his wife had their first child, I’ve been inundated with pictures of my nephew, Devin. Phyllis is convinced no child was ever that perfect. I can’t wait to see what happens when the next one is born. She’s pregnant again,” he added.

Whitney took a tentative bite of her eggs and began eating with more enthusiasm. “There was a second woman in one of the pictures.”

“Ronan’s wife, Sally. She’s interning at Community Hospital. My brother’s a pilot for Sky Air. Their schedules hardly ever mesh, but it seems to work for them.”

“No wife for you?”

Flynn grinned impishly. “I know how to run faster than my brothers.”

“Smart.”

That surprised him. “Not a fan of marriage?”

“Too restrictive. Why would anyone want to give up control to another person?”

He wondered at the shadows in her eyes. There was a story here, he was certain, but this wasn’t the time to ask. He kept things light. “I don’t think marriage is supposed to be about control, but on the other hand, I can hardly believe the perfect woman is sitting here having dinner with me.”

Her tendency to blush fascinated him. He couldn’t remember any other woman ever blushing around him.

“What do your other brothers do?” she asked quickly.

“Neil’s a lawyer and Lucan’s a cop.”

She stilled. Very carefully, she set down her fork. “I should go.”

He covered her hand with his.

“Why are you afraid of the police?”

“I’m not.” She pulled her hand free.

“Yeah, you are.” Flynn leaned back to give her space. “The minute I said my brother was a cop you turned to stone.”

“I need to—”

“Finish your meal.”

He thought she’d bolt anyhow. It was touch-and-go. After a second she picked up her fork again, but he knew it wouldn’t take much to send her running for the front door.

“Look, Whitney, you came here for answers. I wish I had some for you, but I don’t. We got a call to respond to a house fire with a victim trapped inside. When we got there I found you crumpled on an old mattress, unconscious. I barely saw you through all the smoke. The fire was spreading so fast my partner and I barely made it out. That’s the sum total of what I know about the situation.”

The fork in her hand quivered slightly as she raised her eyes to meet his.

“How did anyone know there was a victim trapped inside?”