Читать книгу Burning Love - Debra Cowan - Страница 12

Late the next morning, Jack walked into the fire investigator’s office as they’d agreed on last night. The trim blonde sitting behind the oak desk looked up from her computer. This must be Darla, Terra’s secretary. The woman, who Jack judged to be in her late-twenties, gave a smile that didn’t quite warm the sadness in her eyes and asked if she could help him.

He flashed his badge and told her he was supposed to meet with Investigator August. Anticipation that he’d been trying to ignore tightened his body. This was a job, he reminded himself. That’s all it would be.

Just as the secretary rose, Terra walked out of her office and said, “Darla Howell, this is Detective Spencer.”

Jack shook her hand, noting that the lush flowers he’d seen in Terra’s office yesterday had been moved out to the secretary’s desk.

“You’re working with Terra on Harris’s murder?” Darla asked quietly.

“Yes.”

“I was Harris’s secretary for a year before he retired. If there’s anything I can do to help you guys find this sicko, just ask.”

“All right. Thanks.” Jack smiled, noting the affection in the squeeze Terra gave the other woman’s shoulder.

His gaze shifted to the leggy fire cop and he wondered how she was holding up. “How’s it going today?”

“Busy.” As she stepped back into her office, she smiled tiredly and waved him in behind her. “You’ve got good timing. I just returned from a safety inspection so as soon as Darla brings me the last videotape, we’ll be ready to go.”

“Okay.” Moving inside Terra’s space-at-a-premium office, he hitched a thumb over his shoulder. “I noticed you moved the flowers from your secret admirer.”

“It seems a little strange to keep them when I’m not interested.”

“Between safety inspections and fire investigations, you must have your hands full.”

“Yes, and then some. The city also provides fire safety classes for the public and I teach training classes whenever they’re needed.” She moved around her desk and picked up a jacket from the back of her chair. His jacket.

She handed it to him. “Thanks for letting me borrow this last night. I hope you didn’t freeze after I left.”

“I was fine.” Immediately the delicate scent of flowers and soft woman drifted to him. He remembered the slight shiver in her shoulders when he’d draped the jacket across them. Remembered, too, the way he’d wanted to curve his hands around them and pull her closer. His fingers clenched on the camel hair and he asked gruffly, “Were you warm enough?”

“Oh, yes. It was great. Were you at the scene late?”

“About three hours.” He’d had a patrolman drive her back here, but that hadn’t meant she’d been out of his thoughts. Standing this close to her, inhaling her warmth, brought back the uncomfortable reminder that her green eyes had been the last image in his mind last night before going to sleep. And the first when he woke up. His nerves pinged.

“Can you talk about what happened there?” she asked.

“A shooting, the result of a domestic dispute.” Jack rubbed his neck, not liking the tension that settled there. Trying to ignore the provocative scent stealing up from his jacket, he kept talking. “A neighbor heard the victim threatening his wife and came over after calling the police. The neighbor walked in on the victim beating his wife and jumped him. He wrestled the gun away from the victim and it went off.”

“Will charges be filed?”

“No, the wife declined. Said she knew her husband would’ve killed her if the neighbor hadn’t stepped in.”

Darla appeared in the doorway with a videocassette and a green folder. “Here you go. Want me to shut the door?”

“Thanks.” Terra took the items and checked the date on the labeled tape case. She placed the cassette atop four others, which all sat on a filing cabinet tucked into the corner of the full office. Perched on top of the metal filing cabinet was a television with a built-in VCR.

The anticipation that had coiled in Jack’s gut earlier now settled tightly in his shoulders. Terra’s hair was pulled back in a sleek ponytail, revealing the elegant curve of her neck. Today she wore the long-sleeved, white shirt and navy pants of her uniform. A red-and-white patch, embroidered with the words Presley Fire Prevention, was sewn over her left breast.

The regulation clothing emphasized her long legs and trim waist. Not that they needed emphasizing. Her arms and legs, lean and slender, were perfectly suited to a swimmer. She walked with a flowing grace reminiscent of skimming through water. Jack had no trouble at all imagining her in a swimsuit, those legs bare and wet and glistening.

He hadn’t seen her in uniform before, had seen only her badge. Nor, for that matter, had he noticed a fire department insignia on her vehicle. “You drive the red SUV, don’t you?”

She nodded.

“Don’t you have a fire department vehicle?”

“No, just my red truck. It’s not marked, in case I need to go stealth in an investigation.”

“Go stealth?”

“Undercover.”

“Or a stakeout?”

“Yes.”

He grinned, getting a mental picture of her skulking around in the dark. Skulking was not what he would want to do with her in the dark. The thought darted in and out, but he didn’t need this kind of distraction. They had a case to work.

As she made a notation in a file, his gaze rested on a framed photo on the wall. He recognized her and Harris Vaughn in full turnout gear, appearing to walk straight out of a fire. Blood-orange flames swallowed the sky and walls of black smoke billowed around and behind them. Jack could almost feel heat pulsing from the picture.

At the sight of her walking out of those flames, a cold knot congealed in his gut. Jack didn’t need the photo to remind himself that he wasn’t interested in a woman in a high-risk job, but he sure wished his body would get the message.

“I stopped by your gym on the way over here,” he announced. He had no intention of acting on any of the damn crazy impulses that shot through him whenever she was around. “Your swim two nights ago checked out.”

“So, you’re marking me off your suspect list?”

“Yeah.” He grinned. He hadn’t really considered her a suspect, but he was glad to have his instincts backed up. “Records from the phone company detailed the times of your phone calls, and both the waitress and owner at Charlie’s Steakhouse confirmed the time you were there night before last. Three gym employees also remembered seeing you enter the gym or leave the pool. Now we can focus on who really did this.”

“Great.” She pulled over one of the chairs in front of her desk and turned it to face the television in the corner behind him. “Have a seat here and we can get started.”

She flipped on the set and slid in a videotape. The picture flickered then images filled the space—flames and smoke and a storefront. “This is the janitorial supply store,” Terra explained.

Just then the door opened and Darla stuck her head in. “Sorry to interrupt, but I think you should see this, Terra.”

“What’s going on?”

“I found a card with those flowers.”

“The ones delivered yesterday?” Terra frowned. “I didn’t see a card. There’s never been one before.”

“It was stuck down inside the stems and greenery. If I hadn’t started to water it, I wouldn’t have seen it either.”

“Is it signed?”

“No.”

Jack’s lips twisted. “Guess your secret admirer still isn’t ready to ’fess up.”

Terra sighed. “Just throw it away.”

“I really think you should take a look,” Darla insisted.

Jack noted the strain around the secretary’s mouth, the worry in her eyes. And the fact that Darla had on a pair of latex gloves. Evidently, Terra noticed that, too, because she rose quickly from her chair beside him.

He stood as well, his shoulder grazing hers. From the corner of her desk behind him, she plucked up a pair of gloves and pulled them on before handing him a pair to don, as well.

Darla reached across and handed the card to Terra, who took it carefully. She glanced down at it and Jack saw her lips tighten.

Were the flowers from Dane Reynolds? Jack recalled the homicide scene last night when the pretty-boy reporter, his faithful cameraman on his heels, had headed straight for Terra. At Jack’s flat look, Reynolds had possessed the good sense to steer a course away from the willowy fire investigator, but Jack had seen the glint of emotion in his eyes. Avid interest. Or was it obsession?

Just thinking about the hungry look the reporter had aimed at Terra and the lush roses she’d removed from her desk put a hard knot in Jack’s chest. The same knot he’d felt the night before when he’d draped his jacket around her slender shoulders.

Something in him had responded to the vulnerability in her face, a vulnerability she hid pretty well. That’s what it was about Terra August which drew him to her. That, plus he’d been in a similar situation once—called on to do a job after losing a loved one. Called on to be a cop while the man, the husband in him, nearly shattered.

He suspected Terra had at least some of those feelings. Torn between trying to do her job and not give in to the grief.

She passed the note to him and Jack noticed that her hands were unsteady. This time it was concern that had him wanting to reassure her.

The words jumped out at him first. “This is between you and me.” But it was the flames drawn around the words that had him narrowing his eyes.

An instinct he’d only ever felt for his mom, his sister and his late wife roared to life—a fierce possessiveness. He told himself to rein it in even as his jaw tightened.

“How did I miss this?” Irritation etched Terra’s voice.

“I didn’t see it either,” Darla said. “Besides, this is the first time there’s been a note. It didn’t occur to me to check for one.”

“Do you have an evidence bag?” Jack asked.

Darla nodded and retrieved a plastic baggie from a shelf behind her desk, then gave it to Jack.

Jack gestured for Terra to carefully slide the card inside. “Before now, there have been no cards with the flower deliveries. There also haven’t been any murders.”

“You think this is related to the arsons?” Shock widened Terra’s eyes.

“Well, the murder shows the arsonist’s acts are escalating. You said so yourself. Why not a note, too? This could definitely be meant as a threat.”

“It sounds like a threat to me,” Darla agreed. The phone rang and she hurried back to her desk.

Terra’s green eyes clouded. “Could all the flowers I’ve received been sent by the arsonist?”

“Good question. Can you remember when the other deliveries were made? We know you received the latest one yesterday.”

“The day following the fire at Harris’s.” A slow horror unfolded across her refined features. “I received the others on the day after each fire set by the serial arsonist.”

“Are you sure?”

She closed her eyes for a moment. “Yes, fairly certain. That’s about the time Dane Reynolds started showing interest. I assumed all the bouquets were from him. I didn’t connect them to the arsons at all!”

“They still might be from him,” Jack pointed out quietly.

Terra froze. “Are you kidding?”

“Isn’t it possible Reynolds could be the arsonist?”

“Anything’s possible, but…yuk.” She shivered. “Why? What would be his motivation?”

“Didn’t you say the desire for attention was a motive?”

She nodded, her fingers stroking down her throat in what Jack was beginning to recognize as a sign of nervousness. Was he the one making her nervous? Or the topic?