All Night Long (14 page)

She had one big advantage, she thought. She knew the layout of the house. Pamela’s bedroom was a trap. There was no place to hide.

The good news was that the upstairs was fully carpeted, and whoever was down below was making a fair amount of noise. If she was careful, she could move about up here without alerting him.

She slipped off her loafers. Holding them in one hand, she tiptoed to the doorway of the bedroom.

Under cover of another flurry of footsteps downstairs, she made her way past a guest bedroom and bath.

She paused when she reached the top of the staircase, flattened her back against the wall and risked a peek around the corner.

The narrow beam of a flashlight arced through the shadows at the foot of the stairs, but she could not see the outline of the person wielding it. Talons of fear gripped her insides.

When she heard the ring of shoes on the tile floor of the kitchen, she moved into the master bedroom.

The curtains were open in this room. Moonlight slanted onto the pale carpet through the sliding glass doors. She could see the railing of the deck that overlooked the lake.

The deck was her goal. It formed the roof of the breakfast nook on the first floor. There were no stairs leading down to the ground, but if she could get out without alerting the intruder, she could hide in the shadows of the eaves until he left.

She walked silently across the carpet, trying to time each step with the sound of activity down below.

When she reached the slider, she unlocked it gently and then hesitated.

Something metallic clanged loudly in the vicinity of the kitchen.

She would never get a better opportunity, she decided. She eased the door open and stepped outside onto the deck.

Shutting the slider very softly, she moved into the shadows of the tall storage locker that the Webbs used to protect the deck furniture during the winter.

A moment later light flashed inside the master bedroom. The intruder was already upstairs.

The flashlight beam disappeared almost immediately. The prowler had left the master bedroom and was heading down the hall to Pamela’s old room.

She never sensed the presence of the other person on the deck until a man’s palm clamped across her mouth. Strong fingers closed around the hand in which she clutched the screwdriver, disarming her with a flick of one powerful wrist.

“It’s me,” Luke said against her ear. “Don’t freak.”

I
t was all she could do not to dissolve into a limp puddle of relief. Too much, she thought. One more shock tonight and she would be a mindless wreck. A body could only take so much adrenaline.

Luke reached around her. He grasped the handle of the door.

It dawned on her that he was going to enter the house and confront the intruder. Another dose of panic hit her overwrought nervous system.

She grabbed his arm with both hands.

He paused. In the moonlight she saw him turn his head slightly toward her, curious why she was trying to restrain him.

“Are you crazy?” She mouthed the words and yanked harder on his hand.

He put his mouth very close to her ear again. “Stay here.”

No.
She wanted to scream the word aloud. But men like Luke did not respond to the emotional approach.

“Gun,” she whispered, instead, going for the logical angle.
Gun, as in, maybe whoever is in there has one,
she added silently.

Luke patted her on the shoulder in what was no doubt
intended to be a reassuring manner. In her considered opinion, it was nothing short of patronizing.

When she refused to let go of his arm, he seemed to get a little annoyed. He pried her fingers away and opened the door very quietly.

The unmistakable odor of kerosene wafted through the opening.

She thought she heard Luke whisper something that sounded a lot like “shit,” but she couldn’t be sure because he was moving too quickly.

He closed the door, grabbed Irene’s arm and hauled her toward the deck railing.

Belatedly she realized what he intended.

She tried to be philosophical about the plan. A few broken bones were going to be a nuisance, but they beat the heck out of the alternative.

“It’s okay, I just came up that way,” Luke whispered. “Hold on to my wrists. Go over the side. I’ll lower you as far as I can. It’s all grass and shrubs down there. Soft landing, guaranteed.”

“Oh, sure.” She looked over the side. The view reminded her of the one time she had mustered the courage to climb up to the high dive board at a swimming pool. She had taken one look at the long drop to the water and immediately climbed right back down. “What about you?”

“Believe me, I’ll be right behind you. That bastard is saturating the house with whatever he’s using for an accelerant. When he puts the torch to it, this place is going to go up like a bomb.
Move,
woman.”

As soon as his powerful hands tightened around her wrists, she took heart. His fingers felt like iron manacles. He would not let her fall.

She scrambled awkwardly over the side and found herself dangling a short distance above the ground. Luke released her. She dropped lightly onto the lawn, stumbled and sat down hard.

That hadn’t been so bad, she thought, scrambling to her feet and brushing off her hands.

She looked up just in time to see Luke swing himself over the side of the deck. He hung there for an instant, found the edge of the breakfast nook window frame with one foot and then bounded down to the ground in one easy motion. She realized that it was the window ledge that had made it possible for him to climb up to the deck in the first place. Men and their upper body strength.

He grabbed her hand. “Let’s go.”

They plunged into the trees.

The muffled roar of a distant freight train shattered the night.

Except that there were no train tracks anywhere near Dunsley, Irene thought.

She did not need the whoosh of the flames or the wave of heat behind her to tell her what had happened. The intruder had ignited a firestorm.

Luke drew her to a halt.

“Stay here,” he said. “Got your phone?”

“Yes, but—”

“Call nine-one-one.” He turned away.

“For God’s sake, where are you going?” she called after him.

“To see if I can find the bastard. He’s on foot, same as us. Probably parked out on the road somewhere. Maybe I can catch up with him.”

“Luke, for the record, I think that is a very bad idea.”

But she was talking to the night. Luke had melted away into the shadows.

Glass exploded. Irene watched, stunned, as the flames engulfed the house with breathtaking speed. She yanked her phone out of her pocket and dialed the emergency number.

Somewhere in the distance an outboard motor roared to life. She knew then that Luke was not going to be able to run down the arsonist. The intruder wasn’t fleeing toward a car. He had used a boat.

I
need a drink.” Luke shut the front door of the cabin with a sharp, definitive movement. He slammed the bolt home and headed for the tiny kitchenette. “Got any of that beer left?”

“In the refrigerator.” Irene watched him warily, uncertain of his mood. This was the first time he had spoken since they had finished talking to Sam McPherson at the scene of the fire. That conversation had not gone well, in her opinion. Luke’s silence in the SUV afterward had not helped. “Look, I’m sorry you got involved in this thing. I never meant—”

“If you say that one more time, I will not be responsible for my actions.” He opened the refrigerator, took out a bottle and popped the top. “You know, for the first time in my life I’m starting to believe that there just might be such a thing as bad karma. Nothing else can really explain why I ended up with you for a paying guest here at Sunrise on the Lake Lodge.” He took a long pull on the beer, lowered the bottle and looked at her with narrowed eyes. “I mean, what are the odds?”

It dawned on her that he was coldly furious. The
unfairness of it all annoyed her. She stood in the middle of the room and folded her arms.

“I didn’t ask you to follow me to the Webb house tonight,” she said.

“No, you sure as hell did not.” He leaned back against the counter, crossed his feet at the ankles and drank more beer. “In fact, you drove out of here with your headlights off in an effort to make sure I didn’t see you.”

“This isn’t your problem.”

“Maybe it wasn’t in the beginning, but it sure as hell is now.” He raised his brows. “You do realize that McPherson is currently contemplating the possibility that you and I are responsible for that fire tonight?”

She swallowed hard. “Yes. But we’re the ones who called in the alarm.”

“Wouldn’t be the first time that an arsonist set a fire, called the fire department and then hung around to watch the excitement.”

“I’m aware of that. But Sam has to realize that we have no motive. Neither of us stands to benefit from any insurance policy that the Webbs might have on the place.”

“A lot of arsonists don’t do it for the insurance money. They’re addicted to the thrill of the flames. But that’s beside the point in this case. You want to talk motive? Fine. Let’s start with me.”

She frowned. “You don’t have one.”

“Exactly.” He nodded, as though trying to encourage a slow student. “You, on the other hand, do.”

She nearly choked on her outrage. “What on earth are you talking about?”

“It wouldn’t take much to make you look like a prime suspect. Everyone in town knows you’re obsessing over the idea that Pamela Webb was murdered. You want to force McPherson to conduct a serious investigation, right?”

“Yes, but—”

“Setting fire to the victim’s house is certainly one way of getting his attention and ensuring an investigation of some kind.”

She was horrified. “That’s weak. Very, very weak.”

“If you believe that, you’re in denial.” Luke studied her with a hunter’s cold, calculating gaze. “No matter how you slice it, I’m your alibi for that fire tonight and you’re mine. Problem is, neither of us has a lot of credibility here in Dunsley. I’m the new guy in town. No one knows much about me. That makes me a natural suspect. But you’re in an even worse position because you’ve got a history around here. McPherson would have to be a really bad cop not to be suspicious of both of us.”

She unlinked her arms and threw them wide. “But there was someone else there tonight. We saw him.” She hesitated. “Or her.”

“McPherson’s only got our word on that.”

“Okay, you’ve made your point. You know something? I think I need a drink, too.” She marched to the refrigerator, opened it and took out the last bottle of beer. “By the way, I am well aware of the fact that you saved my life tonight.” She removed the top of the bottle. “Thank you.”

“Huh.” He drank more beer.

“True, you scared the living daylights out of me, appearing out of nowhere up there on the deck. But if you hadn’t been there, I might not have realized what the intruder was doing until it was too late.”

“You were scared? How the hell do you think I felt when I realized you had broken into the Webb house in the middle of the night and that there was someone else inside with you? You want to compare heart palpitations, lady?”

Best to ignore that, she decided.

“You never did tell me why you followed me,” she said after a while.

“That should be obvious. I’m renting a cabin to a woman who has a bad tendency to get into trouble in the middle of the night. An innkeeper has to take precautions when he’s dealing with guests like you.”

“You’re really pissed, aren’t you?”

“Yeah, I’m really pissed,” he growled. “You shouldn’t have gone anywhere near that damn house.”

“You know, you make it hard to be properly grateful when you take that senior-officer-chewing-out-a-subordinate attitude.”

He brooded for a moment.

“Why the hell did you go back there tonight?” he asked.

She leaned against the edge of the sink and contemplated the label on the beer bottle. “You heard what I said to McPherson. It’s been bothering me that Pamela didn’t leave a suicide note. Tonight, after you and Jason left after dinner, I got to thinking about it. I still had the utility room key. So I drove out to the house to take a look. The intruder interrupted me while I was searching upstairs.”