Up in Flames. Rita Herron
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Redhill,” she whispered. “Thank you for saving me.”
He shrugged, but his jaw remained rigid as if he didn’t want or expect her gratitude. “How are you feeling?”
His rough, thick voice skated over raw nerve endings.
“I’m fine.” She clutched the sheets between shaking fingers, praying she was wrong about the bad news. “Did you find Natalie?”
He nodded, stepped toward her. Shadows haunted his eyes, eyes that had seen violence and death and sorrow.
“I’m so sorry. My partner tried to save her….”
“Oh God, no…” Her voice broke, and she curled into a ball, and pressed her fist to her mouth to stifle a sob.
He lowered himself onto the bed, gently stroked the hair from her face, then wiped a tear trickling down her cheek.
“How?” she asked in a tortured whisper.
“A head injury. The firefighter managed to get her out before the flames reached her.”
Thank God. She couldn’t stand that image in her head. Still, grief swelled in her chest.
She sucked in a sharp breath, determined to hold herself together until he left, but another sob escaped her, and he pulled her into his arms and held her. The gesture was so kind that it undid her, and she clutched him, not wanting to let go. For the first time in her life, she didn’t want to be alone.
Poor Natalie. She had been so young and vivacious, so full of life with so much ahead of her. Her new apartment, internship, classes at the College of Art & Design…
He stroked her hair again, and she gulped back more tears, the tension in his hard body reminding her that he was only a stranger being kind, not a real friend. She couldn’t lean on him….
Finally she swiped at her eyes, managed to regain control. “What about your partner? Is he okay?”
He cleared his throat, then glanced down at his hands. “Parker is alive, but in critical condition. He suffered burns and multiple wounds. His leg was crushed and his lung collapsed.”
With an anguished look on his face, he pulled away and stood, putting distance between them. Guilt tightened her throat and chest. Why had she survived and Natalie died? Why had his friend suffered?
“I’d like to ask you some questions about the fire…if you’re up for it.”
She drew her knees up and wrapped her arms around them. “I don’t know what I can tell you. I went to the ladies’ room, then I heard something crash and I heard screaming. People panicked and ran out.”
“You don’t know how the fire started?”
She shook her head. “The stall door was stuck, so I had to crawl underneath it. By the time I reached the door to the bar, a beam had fallen, and flames filled the doorway blocking my path.” She hesitated, felt those moments of panic and fear clawing at her. Saw the fire chewing at her legs when she’d fallen. Heard that second beam come roaring down on her. Her own scream of helpless terror.
She’d thought she was going to die. Had tried to push the beam off of her, first with her hands, then her mind, but there had been no time.
“Did you see anyone suspicious before then?” he asked.
“I…don’t think so.” Her head felt fuzzy, disoriented again, and she closed her eyes, tried to concentrate, but all she could do was think about Natalie screaming. Natalie dying. Natalie never coming back.
“You were at the café earlier tonight, too, weren’t you?”
She clenched her hands, forced her eyes back open. “Yes, I can’t believe it. Two fires in one night.”
He frowned. “You were inside when the fire broke out?”
She nodded reluctantly.
“Why did you run away?” he asked, his voice harder now. “We were questioning everyone at the scene.”
She couldn’t quite look at him. “I don’t know. I was upset. I just wanted to escape.”
“Did you see anything suspicious inside the café?”
“No.”
He studied her for a long moment, and she willed him to leave, not to push her anymore. Her head ached, her eyes hurt and grief for Natalie clogged her throat.
“I’ll let you rest,” he said gruffly. “But I’ll be back tomorrow when you’re feeling better.”
She nodded, miserable, still shaking uncontrollably. She wanted to curl up and cry for her friend, wanted to be alone in her sorrow.
Yet she didn’t want him to go. Didn’t want to be alone. She’d been alone all her life.
But he stepped out the door and closed it behind him, leaving her with her misery and the memory of her friend’s face to haunt her.
His question echoed in her head. Had she seen anyone suspicious at the café or the bar? Had someone set that fire intentionally?
If so, then he had murdered Natalie…
HIS BODY SWELLED with arousal as he lingered in the shadows across from the Pink Martini. So much chaos. People panicking. Crying. Screaming. Gawking in horror and awe at the amazing fireworks display he’d started.
The firefighters had worked so diligently, sweating and shouting orders, hacking away fallen debris to save the injured and extinguish the mountainous blaze. They’d done their best to drown out his handiwork, but they had been too late. Too late to save the woman and man who’d died.
Death…such a nice perfect ending to a dull day. Except neither had actually melted into the fire because their bodies had been rescued first.
Adrenaline fired his blood at the thought of watching flesh and skin sizzle, and he realized that the high from watching wood and plastic burn was no longer enough to satisfy him.
He wanted, needed more. Craved the deeper, more exhilarating euphoria arousing him now at the thought of a body being consumed by the flames.
Yes, next he wanted to see a human burn.
Maybe the redhead…
Her hair was the same rich red, orange and yellow of the flames. He was drawn to her. Wanted to touch her. Make her quiver with fear. Elicit a scream from her pale throat as he turned her body into a playground for his pleasure.
He had seen the terror in her eyes when she’d been trapped in that bathroom. But she had shown amazing courage by running through the blaze.
Then she’d gone down, and a surge of excitement had seized him. She had been trapped beneath the fiery beam of wood. The fire would have eaten her alive in seconds.
Had it not been for that cop. The one man he hated.
It was the second time tonight Bradford Walsh had shown up and ruined his fun. Pretending to be some kind of savior…
But he knew the real detective Walsh—Brad boy he liked to call him.
Brad boy, the traitor.
Soon everyone else would see him for the weak failure he was.
A chuckle rumbled from his chest. Brad boy had no idea who he was dealing with. Or the power he possessed.
He had the gift of fire in his fingers. He would use it again and again, make each mark more impressive.
And no one could stop him.
Chapter Four
Rosanna Redhill’s tortured, tearstained face haunted Bradford as he drove back to the bar. The firefighters were still battling the remnants of the blaze, the arson investigator from the county surveying the scene.