Читать книгу Deadly Obsession - Maggie Shayne - Страница 8

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So if the bullshit I wrote was true, then why the hell didn’t I practice what I made so much money preaching? You know, that whole “live in the moment” and “milk the joy out of every second of your life” bit.

I should. I knew I should. It was just a hell of a lot easier to tell other people what to do than to do it myself. Because, seriously, if I were giving advice to me—and I was, because my inner bitch never shuts the hell up—the conversation would go something like this:

Inner Bitch: “Say it back.”

Me: “I can’t say it back.”

IB: “Why the hell can’t you? He said it. He laid it right out there for you. He said, I love you. And what did you say back to him?”

Me, flooded with shame: “I said, ‘You’re shitting me.’”

IB: “Yeah. Real romantic.”

Me: “I was fucking surprised. Shocked. I wasn’t ready.”

IB: “No one’s ever ready, dumb-ass. You still have to say it back.”

Me: “It’s too late now. I let the moment pass.”

IB: “He’s waiting for you to say it back.”

Me: “Or maybe he’s changed his mind. He hasn’t said it again, after all.”

IB: “Why would he say it again? That would be like sticking his finger into a socket for the second time, hoping for a different result. Say it. Or you’re gonna lose him.”

Me: “I’m not gonna lose him.”

I glanced across the car at my favorite cop and silenced the imaginary conversation in my head. Actually, it wasn’t all that imaginary. My inner bitch and I had been having it over and over again since that night by the campfire a couple of weeks ago when I’d absolutely blown the chance to move this relationship up to the next level.

And I was sure there was no getting that moment back.

I was also sure that things had been a little awkward between Mason and me since then. My fault, I knew. I hadn’t responded the way I wished I had. But dammit, I was scared shitless to think of changing anything about this thing between the two of us. It was good. It was more than good. It was freakin’ amazing. It was bliss. Why fix what isn’t broken? Why move things to another place when the place they’re in is so damned wonderful? Why risk screwing it up? Why?

He looked at me, caught me staring. “What? Have I got fettuccine on my face?”

“No. You have gorgeous on your face. It’s all over you, in fact. Damn irritating.”

He smiled, flashing the dimple of doom. “Thanks.”

“De nada.”

Say it. Tell him. Just tell him. You can’t leave him hanging another minute.

I hated to admit it, but Inner Bitch was kinda right.

“So,” I said, as we rounded a corner, “Mason, um, I’ve been meaning to, uh, you know talk to you about—”

“Holy shit!” He hit the brakes so hard that my seat belt hurt me. Then he jerked the wheel, gunned the car to get us out of the road and hit the brakes again. I saw the flames, then the people standing around outside—one filming everything on his damn smartphone—and then Mason was getting out of the car and shouting at me to call 911 as he ran toward the chaos.

“Mason, wait, where the hell are you—” I jumped out of the car, too, phone to my ear, running after him. “Mason!”

“Nine-one-one, what’s your emergency?”

“Um, house fire. Big one. Right off State Route 26 near Glenn Aubry.”

“Yes, help is on the way, ma’am.”

I clicked off and shoved the phone into my pocket, running now, despite my killer heels, because Mason hadn’t slowed down. Someone was screaming that there were kids trapped inside, and I wanted to punch them in the face, because there would be no stopping him now. Mason and kids was like me and...bulldogs.

Somehow I caught up to him and grabbed his arm from behind. Smoke stung my eyes and throat, and the heat was like a living thing. There was roaring and smoke, that acrid smell of burning stuff that wasn’t like any other smell. House fires didn’t smell like wood fires or campfires. They smelled like destruction.

He glanced back at me, removed my hand firmly, looked me right in the eyes and said, “I have to.”

“I know you do.” Dammit, dammit, dammit.

And then he was gone again, pulling his shirt up over his face and charging right through the front door, into the jaws of hell.

I swore it got hotter and wondered if that was because he’d just provided additional fuel.

You really should’ve told him.

“I know, Inner Bitch. I know.”

I stood there for what felt like a hundred and ten minutes but in truth was really only two. Fire trucks came screaming up. I ran over to the first one that stopped, jumped up on the running board and yanked the door open, startling the firefighters inside. “Hurry. My detective is in there!”

“Your—”

“Someone said there were kids inside. Detective Mason Brown went charging in to save them. Go get them out. Now.”

“We’ve got a cop inside!” the driver shouted to his fellows as he jumped out. By then more men were jumping out of the other trucks. Hoses had been unrolled and water was cranked on. They all started beating the hell out of the flames with their hoses. A couple of them, wearing so much gear I didn’t know how they could walk upright, ran inside.

I’d never seen anything like this fire. No matter how much water they put onto it, it kept burning, kept coming back to life, like one of those trick birthday candles you can’t blow out. The crowd had backed up into the street now. Neighbors in their bathrobes and slippers, some of them even barefoot, shaking their heads and muttering to each other, and hugging their kids close to them. I glimpsed them in my peripheral vision but couldn’t take my eyes off the front door. Flames were shooting from the roof and licking out from every window. I was way too close. My face felt like it was getting an extreme sunburn. Someone grabbed my arm and said I should move back, but I just jerked away from his touch and stared at that door.

“Universe, if you take him from me, I swear I’ll never write another word. Don’t you dare even think about—”

Then I saw him. Mason came stumbling out the front door with a limp, unmoving child in each arm, their heads bouncing against his shoulders. They were both bundled in blankets. He wasn’t. His whole face was black with soot and he dropped to his knees before he even got clear of the flaming wreck of a house, just at the bottom of the front steps. Firefighters surged around him. The first two took the kids, unmoving in their blankets, and the next two picked Mason up by either arm and carried him across the lawn. Someone shoved a gurney under him, and his bearers dropped him onto it as it trundled toward a waiting ambulance.

The crowd closed between us, but I fought my way through it to get to his side, elbowed myself up close, grabbed hold of his hand, and saw that the skin was peeling off it and sticking to mine. I sort of yelped and yanked my hand away, and swore and cried all at once. The EMTs were working quickly, putting an oxygen mask on him and then cutting away his shirt to reveal that his left arm was badly burned, and the flesh underneath was trying to come away with the ravaged fabric.

Oh, God, it looked awful! They draped a clean white cloth over his arm and started soaking it in bottles of sterile water. I’d lost track of the kids. I think they’d been put into the back of another ambulance, and I knew they were as surrounded by EMTs as Mason was. But I couldn’t take my eyes off him. His eyes were closed. He wasn’t moving.

When one of the guys adjusted the oxygen mask, he smeared the black away from Mason’s cheek, and I realized it was soot, not charred skin, and almost sank to the ground in relief.

Someone grabbed me by the shoulders. “Easy, ma’am. Easy. Are you family?”

“Yeah.” I blinked. “No. Is he... God, is he...?”

“He’s alive. His vitals are good. Not great, but good. We’ve gotta get him into a burn unit. We’re gonna airlift him to Saint Joe’s. It’s the closest one. All right?”

“Airlift him?” Oh, God, it was bad. It was bad.

“Can you let his family know?”

Oh, God, the boys! And his mother. I nodded, mutely. “But I have to go with him.”

“You can’t, ma’am. We need room to work on him. If he has family, they’re gonna need your help more than he does. I promise, he’s in good hands.”

Already they were moving the stretcher into the back of the ambulance. I jerked free of the EMT and lunged toward Mason and leaned in close to his face, “I love you, too, Mason. I love you, too.”

But he couldn’t hear me. I’d waited too long. Dammit, I’d waited too long!

Then they peeled me off him and put him into the ambulance. It sped away screaming. I turned in a slow circle, not knowing what the hell to do next. I saw the ambulance with the children inside just as they closed the doors, but I had time enough to see them working on the kids. They must be alive, too, then.

Not so the body on the front lawn. The firemen who’d gone inside must have brought it out after Mason had emerged. It had a blanket over it. Too big to be a child. I hoped.

They were finally making progress beating down the flames. One of the firemen said something about gas, but I didn’t have time to listen. I had to go. I had to get to the boys, Mason’s nephews, who were at my place with Myrtle and my nieces.

Oh, Lord, how was I going to handle this?

I got into Mason’s oversize black Monte Carlo, his pride and joy. I had tears streaming from my eyes. I couldn’t let the kids see me like this. I didn’t know what to do. So I pulled my phone out of my pocket, stared at it for a long moment, and then I did the best thing I could think of.

I called my sister.

* * *

“Snap the fuck out of it!”

I’d been in midrant, complete with hiccuping sobs, when my big sister, who never even said damn, brought my runaway emotions to a sudden halt.

“Do I have your attention?” Sandra asked.

“You do.”

“Okay, first. Set the phone on your lap and put me on speaker so you don’t get killed, okay?”

Apparently she’d discerned from my initial projectile word vomit that I was driving while having a complete breakdown and talking on the phone. I did what she said and paid attention to the road. If I wrecked Mason’s ride he’d never forgive me. If he lived.

God, let him live.

“I’m going to meet you at your place, Rachel. But before you get there, I want you to pull yourself together. Right now.”

“But I don’t know how bad it is. I don’t even know if he’s going to—”

“Yeah, and you know what? Neither do those boys.”

Cold water in the face might have been as effective. But I doubted it.

“They’re kids. Their father is dead, and their mother is in a maximum-security nuthatch. At this moment, you are all they have, Rachel. You need to step up for this. It’s important.”

That brought me to full attention. I sat up straighter, and my tears dried up like they’d never been there. “I don’t know what to do for them, sis.”

“You go in there and you tell them the truth in the most positive manner possible. Live your books for once. Tell them you’ve got no reason to think he won’t be just fine, and make sure you sound confident when you do. If you look scared or uncertain, they’re gonna be terrified. They need a mother figure. So talk to them. Reassure them, and most of all, make sure they know that you’re there for them, no matter what happens to their uncle.”

I blinked hard, because those words hit me deep. I did not want to be a mother figure to those kids. I’d said it over and over.

“You would, wouldn’t you, Rache?”

“What?”

“Be there for the boys if anything happened to Ma—”

“Yeah. I would.” And it was the truth, even if I had only just realized it. I was shocked, to be honest. I’d become way more attached to the dynamic duo than I’d been aware of. Josh was like Myrtle’s freakin’ littermate, and Jeremy was Mason’s mini-me, with a fair amount of teenage angst (most of it hard-earned) thrown in.

“Then you have to let them know that.”

“Okay.”

“I’ll be there by the time you arrive.”

“Okay.”

“Now hang up and call his mother.”

“Aw, jeez, Sandra—”

“Tell her not to drive. I’ll send Jim to pick her up and drive her in. Tell her he’ll be there soon. Just as fast as he can.”

“Okay.”

“Hang in there, sis.”

I nodded hard, disconnected, thanked my lucky stars for a big sister who knew how to talk to me and called Mason’s mother. She took it pretty well, I thought, and I did a great job holding it together as I tried to reassure her, and told her my brother-in-law was on his way to pick her up.

And then I was home, rolling slowly through the wrought-iron gates I’d left open and along the driveway up to the my house. My haven. I shut off the engine, got out, then stood there a second looking at my front door like I was looking at my own grave. I did not want to walk in there and blow those kids’ lives to hell and gone. How much more could they take?

Then Sandra’s minivan pulled in behind me. The headlights shut off, and she was out and hugging me hard before I even took another breath.

It made me choke up when she hugged me, so I pushed her away, wiped at my eyes, looked into hers. “How’s my face?”

She took a tissue out of her purse and dabbed some smudged makeup away. “You’re good. You can do this.”

Nodding, I marched up the front steps, opened the door and stepped inside.

Joshua, Jeremy, and Sandra’s daughter Misty were playing video games on the sofa. Jere and Misty sat close enough so their elbows were bumping. Ah, young love. My other niece, Christy, who I think was trying out for the role of the bad twin lately, sat in a chair off to one side, her nose glued to her smartphone.

Myrtle was the only one who noticed we’d come in, and she came barreling across the living room unerringly and bashed me in the shins with her forehead, which was her typical greeting. I yelped, because bulldogs have skulls made of lead, and the kids finally noticed us there, paused their game and turned our way.

Jeremy met my eyes and went a shade paler. “What happened? Where’s Uncle Mason?”

I drew a breath. “Your uncle was hurt a little while ago. He’s going to be okay, though. They’re taking him to the hospital. We’re all going to meet him there, okay?”

Joshua blinked slowly and didn’t say a word. He looked terrified. They both got off the sofa, moving toward us.

Jeremy said, “Hurt how?”

I swallowed my fear and tried to feel confident. “There was a fire.” Be straight with them, said my sister’s voice, echoing in my head. “There were kids inside, and you know your uncle. He ran in to get them out. And he did. But it looked like he got burned a little, and he probably took a few whiffs of smoke in the process.”

Jeremy nodded, joining us near the front door. “Let’s go, then. Josh, c’mon.”

Josh moved slower, like he was sleepwalking. He had this shell-shocked look, and his eyes were wide and unblinking, and kind of vacant.

I crossed to him, put my hands on his shoulders. “Josh, you don’t have to be afraid. He’s gonna be okay.”

His lips trembled. His tears welled. “Wh-what if he’s not?”

“I refuse to even consider that,” I told him. Myrt was at his feet now, affectionately butting his hands where they hung at his sides and getting no response. “I’ll tell you this much, though,” I said. “I’m not going anywhere. I’m sticking with you two. The both of you. No matter what.”

Josh wrapped his arms around me. If I got all tight in the throat, it was just because I wasn’t used to such blatant displays of affection from a twelve-year-old kid. But I tightened my arms around him and hugged him to me and stroked his hair and tried to blink back the flood of tears. I loved the kid. I loved Mason, and I loved his boys. What cave had I been living in that I hadn’t realized it sooner?

“Did someone call Gram?” Jeremy asked. He was at the door, itching to go. Misty stood in the background with tears welling, and Christy had stopped texting.

“Jim’s picking her up,” Sandra said. Then, to me, “You okay to drive?”

“I am.”

“All right, the girls and I will take care of things here, then we’ll be along.”

I hugged my sister. I didn’t hug often, but it was called for. “Thanks, Sandra.” When we pulled apart, I saw Misty all wrapped up in Jeremy, whispering that she wouldn’t be far behind him.

Then the three of us headed out, jumping into Mason’s car without even thinking about it, because it was closest. As soon as we got to the end of my almost-private dirt road and took a right to head for the I-81 north ramp, instead of left toward I-81 south, Jeremy said, “Why are we going this way? The hospital’s—”

“They took him to Saint Joseph’s in Syracuse, Jere. It’s apparently the standard place to go for burns.”

He was looking at me like I’d just kicked him in the shins, and he opened his mouth to say something else, then glanced at his kid bro and bit his lip. He was growing up. Graduating high school in a few weeks. He swallowed what I told him and knew what it might mean. I could see that. “Just a precaution, I think. I mean, if you have burns, you want a burn unit, and that’s the closest one.”

“Yeah. Okay.”

But he was scared. Terrified.

And so was I.

* * *

Mason was hurting like hell and resenting the fact that they’d dragged his ass all the way to Syracuse when there were three perfectly great hospitals within a half hour of his home. And while they’d cleaned (excruciating) and dressed the burns on his left arm and shoulder, and doped him up with enough morphine to slow down a rhino, he was still in pain. Not just the arm, either. His chest hurt like hell. Every breath was torture. It felt like he had shredded glass lining his lungs.

And then he saw Rachel, behind Jeremy and Joshua, with an arm around each of them, and the pain took a backseat. She was all smudged with soot but still in that sexy red clingy dress she’d worn for their weekly date night. He’d been admiring it all night long. She was wearing a big phony mask of confidence and ease, but he could see the fear behind her baby-blue eyes.

Damn, he loved her eyes. Even when they’d been blind, they’d been beautiful.

“Uncle Mace!” Joshua broke into a run. Mason managed to lift his left arm out of the way before impact, wincing because it hurt to move the arm at all. He tousled the kids’ hair with his good hand. “I’m fine, Josh. Don’t worry, I’m fine.”

“I was so scared,” Josh said.

“I know. I’m sorry.”

“You’ve gotta be more careful, Uncle Mace. We need you.”

The kid meant every word. Mason looked over Josh’s head at Jeremy. “C’mere, you.”

Jeremy smiled and went to hug him, as well. “The nurses in the waiting room said you saved those two kids’ lives. Said you were a hero.”

“Yeah,” Rachel said, still standing back, giving them room. “She was all cow-eyed when she said it, too. If she didn’t have your life in her hands, I’d have to kick her ass just to establish my dominance.”

“I can’t help it if I’m irresistible to women,” Mason told her. “It runs in the family. Be forewarned, Jere.”

Jeremy grinned. “Yeah, I’m fighting them off all the time myself.”

“I’ll be sure to let Misty know,” Rachel said.

* * *

I leaned against the doorjamb and forcibly held back tears—relieved ones—while Mason continued to talk and tease and joke. Bit by bit the terror left the boys’ faces. God, he was good at that. How did he get to be such a pro? Was it because he was a cop, or because he was their uncle? I was damned if I knew. I had a ways to go to catch up, though. His mind-easing, reassuring abilities were damn near supernatural. Even with me.

Eventually I could tell the emotions were coming out whether I liked it or not, and I didn’t want to lose it in front of the boys, so I said, “I’m going to get food. We really need some junk food. I’ll be right back.” I started to leave, but when I reached for the door to open it, Mason’s partner, Rosie, was standing on the other side.

“Hey, buddy,” he said, eyeing Mason hard, assuring himself that he was all right. “I can’t leave you alone for a minute, can I?”

“Apparently not. Boys, I need a minute. Would you go out and see if your grandmother got here yet? She’s probably out in the waiting room giving the staff a hard time.”

“Yeah. But we’re coming right back,” Jeremy said. He took Josh by the arm. “C’mon. We’ll scope out the cafeteria while we’re at it.” He sent Rachel a very grown-up look. “We’ll get the junk food, Rache. You can hang here.”

The boys left. I didn’t. I was eyeing Rosie, then Mason, then Rosie again, and my NFP (for Not Fucking Psychic, because whatever I had, it wasn’t that simple) was heating up to a slow simmer. “What?” I asked. “What’s going on? I can see something is.”

Rosie gave himself a shake. “I’ll never get over that shit. Yes, something’s goin’ on. That fire is goin’ on. You saved the kids, Mason, but their mother didn’t make it. And it was arson.”

* * *

Peter’s wife was dead, according to the TV news. Police were investigating the fire, which had been ruled arson only hours after the flames were doused. Then again, hiding that fact hadn’t been her goal.

The kids had survived, which defeated part of her purpose, but she supposed the lesson had been delivered all the same. Peter would think twice before he treated her like garbage again. Like some disposable toy he could use and then throw away. He would make her his top priority or else. And he had to know that now.

She’d warned him. She’d warned him. But he was just like the rest.

She picked up the remote to turn her little 27-inch flat-screen television off, but then they flashed a picture that brought her to a stop. It was a man, on his knees on the front steps of the burning house, one of her lover’s kids in each arm. His clothes were charred, and so was he. The caption read Hero Cop Saves Children. The reporter was running her mouth. Gretchen Young turned up the volume and sank onto the love seat—her apartment didn’t have room for a full-sized couch.

“This tragic arson, resulting in the death of thirty-six-year-old mother of two Rebecca Rouse could have been an even bigger tragedy had it not been for the actions of off-duty homicide detective Mason Brown. Brown, a decorated member of the Binghamton Police Department, was off duty when he saw the fire and rushed inside to rescue Rouse’s children, ages three and eight. Detective Brown has been in the news before, most notably for solving our city’s first-ever serial killings last year and, more recently, for arresting his own mentally ill sister-in-law for another spate of bizarre murders. The hero cop is listed in satisfactory condition at Saint Joseph’s Hospital. Police aren’t commenting on the arson investigation, though newly minted Police Chief Vanessa Cantone will hold a press conference tomorrow afternoon.”

Gretchen hit the rewind button, then paused the TV on the shot of that hero cop. He was the kind of man she deserved. The kind of man who would know exactly how to love a woman like her. How to make her feel important. Special. Treasured.

Peter Rouse wasn’t worth her time after all, was he?

She looked at her bag of tools on the kitchen counter, where she’d dropped it after coming home from her night’s work. The bag, a little black leather satchel like an old-school doctor might carry, had been her gift to herself way back when she’d graduated and received her pin.

She wouldn’t part with the bag. But she could afford to get rid of a few of the tools it held. Since they knew it was arson, they were going to need an arsonist. Peter Rouse’s punishment wasn’t quite complete. Yet.