Burn for You (20 page)

“Fine. I won’t.” She started the car. “Where does he live?”

“I’m not dragging you all over the city when you should be at home sleeping.”

“Jason, nothing for nothing, but I’ve humped an eighty-pound pack full of medical supplies through the mountains of Afghanistan for two days straight. If you think I can’t handle being awake for over twenty-four hours, you’re an idiot.”

“Victoria—”

She started the car and backed it out of the parking spot, essentially kidnapping him. If he wasn’t so ticked, he might’ve laughed.

“You said you didn’t want to argue. So, let’s not argue. Just tell me which way to go or you’re going to waste more time.”

He sighed. He’d never met someone so headstrong. “Fine. He lives in Lincoln Park.”

“Got it.” Without any direction from him and without consulting her GPS, she pulled out into traffic and headed toward Chicago’s Lincoln Park neighborhood.

Jason strummed his fingers on his thigh.

What the hell had happened to Preston? Had his place been burglarized? Was he sick? Injured?

Maybe it was lucky he had Victoria with him. If Preston was hurt, he probably wouldn’t call an ambulance, and he definitely wouldn’t leave his house to go to a doctor or the ER.

The best Jason could do was to bring the hospital to Preston.

Chapter 16

The nervous energy radiating from Jason filled the whole car. Out of the corner of her eye, Victoria caught him checking his watch again. Thankfully, Sunday morning traffic was light, and they would make good time into the city. But
good time
evidently wasn’t good enough for Jason.

Like a horse at the starting gate, he fidgeted in his seat—bouncing his knee one minute, tapping his thigh with his fist the next. He muttered the final directions, telling her where to park while sitting forward in his seat, hand on the door handle as she pulled up to the opulent townhome.

“Dang, your brother’s rich.”

“He’s a true crime novelist. A really good one.” He opened the door before she even had the car fully in park.

She got out and jogged to keep up with him. He tried the front door, and when it didn’t open, he banged on it. Hard.

A man—Preston presumably—with a nice light gray suit and perfectly tied powder blue tie answered immediately. “Thank God, you’re here.”

“Preston, what happened?” Jason pushed his way into the house and Victoria followed.

“My housekeeper had a baby.”

“Oh, shit. Did you call an ambulance?” With ground-eating strides, Jason strode to the kitchen and peeked his head inside. “Where is she?”

Victoria started up the stairs, ready to help the new mom and baby who might be in a second floor bedroom.

“At the hospital,” Preston said, his tone confused.

Victoria froze on the third step.

“Where else would she be?” Preston asked.

Jason walked toward Preston, his mouth set in a tight line. He spoke through clenched teeth. “You said there was an emergency.”

“I didn’t actually say that. I said I needed your help.”

“You
implied
there was an emergency.”

“Well, there is. What the fuck am I supposed to do without a housekeeper this month? She wasn’t supposed to have the baby for another month. I hadn’t lined up a replacement yet.”

Jason let out a humorless laugh, tilting his head back as if searching the ceiling for patience. “I thought you’d been robbed. Or hurt.” He returned his gaze to Preston. “Christ, Preston. I left the scene of a hotel fire to help you.”

“A hotel fire?” Preston’s eyes sparked with interest. “Which hotel?”

“That’s not the point!”

“Is it related to the other two incidents you told me about?”

“I don’t know!” Jason threw his arms up in the air and let them fall with a smack against his legs. “And I’m not going to find out any time soon either. I actually frickin’ left the scene of a possible arson to deal with your complete and total non-emergency.”

“I thought you were leaving anyway to go home and get some shut-eye.”

He pointed an accusing finger at her. “You’re not helping, Toria. Shut it.”

She bit back a smile. She couldn’t help it. She kind of loved seeing him all worked up like this. Preston caught her gaze and smiled too, but turned serious again before Jason noticed.

“I’m sorry I bothered you, Jase,” Preston said. “But this is a huge problem. I’m up against a deadline. I’ve already put my editor off three times. I can’t delay turning in my manuscript again or I’m toast with this publisher.”

“Then get writing. What the hell does your housekeeper have to do with this? So your house gets a little messy while you write. You’ll be done soon enough.”

“Are you kidding me? I can’t write like this. Suzette makes my meals in advance for the week. She cuts bell peppers into perfectly uniform, French-fry-sized sticks. That’s my writing snack. I can’t write without sixteen green pepper sticks, sixteen red, and sixteen yellow.”

“So, that’s what you called me here for? To cut up fucking bell peppers for you?” Jason started for the door. “Slice your own goddamn peppers.”

“I know when the next fire will be.”

Jason froze, and Victoria held her breath. How could Preston know when the next fire would be? How could Preston know there would
be
a next fire?

Preston grinned. “You haven’t figured it out yet?”

“Preston…how could you—you weren’t even there. You didn’t see anything…” Jason’s pained expression made Victoria wonder if he wasn’t coming to the conclusion that his brother—former foster brother—might be involved with last night’s hotel fire in some way.

“Did the fire start before or after midnight?” Preston asked.

Jason glanced at Victoria and they answered together. “Before.”

“On August twenty-sixth then?”

“Yes,” they answered together again.

“How about an exchange? I tell you my theory and you cook me some meals and stock my fridge with cut peppers so I can concentrate on writing.”

“Preston. This isn’t grade school. I’m not playing games. You tell me your theory or I walk and figure it out on my own.”

“Okay. Suit yourself.” Preston started for the kitchen. “I’m afraid you’ll have to excuse me. I’m not up for visitors. I have a week’s worth of peppers to cut so I can finally focus on my work.”

“Preston, so help me God. If you don’t get back here right now and talk, I’m going to arrest you for obstruction.”

“No you won’t,” he sang over his shoulder, continuing to walk away.

“Don’t test me. I’m serious.”

Preston just laughed and disappeared around the corner and into his kitchen. She could hear him rummaging in the fridge, opening and closing drawers, whistling happily while he worked.

Jason came and stood next to her, resting an arm on the staircase banister. “What the fuck is the significance of August twenty-sixth?”

She pulled out her cell phone. “Don’t know. Let’s google it.”

“Aren’t you going to introduce me to your friend?” Preston yelled from the kitchen.

“Aren’t you going to get your ass out here and tell me what I want to know?”

“I’d rather meet your friend. Is she the famous Victoria?”

She lifted her gaze from her cell, smiling at Jason. “You told him about me?”

“I didn’t need to. He subscribes to the
Chicago Tribune
.”

“Hmm.” Of course he did. Same old Victoria. Silly girl who thought someone might be interested enough to talk to his friend about her.

’Fraid not.

She returned her attention to the web browser on her phone.

“Are there any religious holidays associated with August twenty-sixth?” Jason asked.

“According to Wikipedia, it’s the Christian Feast Day of Alexander of Bergamo.”

“Not relevant,” Preston called out, evidently eavesdropping on her and Jason.

“Ah, check this out.” She tilted the phone so Jason could see. “It’s also Women’s Equality Day in the US.”

“Feminism lives,” Preston yelled. “Damn the man, but you’re getting colder.”

“Goddammit, Preston.” Jason walked over and poked his head into the kitchen. “Fine. You win. I’ll cut your stupid peppers. Just tell me what your theory is.”

“And make seven lunches and seven dinners.”

“You want breakfast too?”

“No, a banana and yogurt will be fine for breakfast. I can handle that.”

“You sure?” Jason asked. “You don’t need me to come over every morning and peel the foil lid off for you? Want me to spoon it into your fucking mouth?”

Preston chuckled, unperturbed. “Are you offering?”

Sighing, Jason shook his head. “I will cut a week’s worth of peppers and make seven lunches and seven dinners. Now out with it.”

“Okay, hang on.” Preston emerged from the kitchen, darted past where Victoria still stood at the bottom of the stairs, and jogged up to the second floor. All that movement and not one wrinkle to his perfectly pressed suit.

She raised her eyebrows at Jason who was returning from the kitchen.

“Preston’s a bit…eccentric,” he said.

“You think? Sixteen green, red, and yellow pepper sticks a day?”

“It’s more than just some weird idiosyncrasies.” He lowered his voice. “He hasn’t left his townhome in over four years.”

“What? Are you serious?”

Jason nodded.

Well, that explained things. No wonder Jason had been so anxious to see what was wrong. He’d said he thought Preston might’ve been hurt, and he’d probably worried that Preston wouldn’t leave his house to get medical attention. All sorts of mundane things could become serious when one was a shut-in.

“Look at this,” Preston said, emerging from an upstairs bedroom. He unfolded two newspaper clippings on his way down the stairs. He held the first one up. “June twenty-fourth. The warehouse caught fire on
June twenty-fourth
.”

“Okay…” Jason sent a questioning glance to Victoria.

She shrugged.

Preston held the second clipping up. “And look at this. The daycare center explosions happened on July twenty-fifth.”

Jason crossed his arms, brows drawn together. “Okay, so they’re each approximately a month apart.”

“No,” Preston said, excitedly. “Not
approximately
. The dates are
exact
. Six twenty-four, seven twenty-five, and eight twenty-six. Don’t you see? There’s a good chance the next event will be on—”

“Nine twenty-seven,” they said in unison.

“September twenty-seventh,” Jason said. “That gives us—”

“Four and a half weeks to figure out who did this,” she finished for him.

Preston folded the clippings into neat squares. “Excellent. So, that’s settled.” He tucked the clippings into his breast pocket and then clapped Jason on the back. “The kitchen’s that way. Groceries were delivered this morning. I like my steak well done.” He bowed to Victoria. “Now, if you’ll excuse me. I’m off to write. The deadline still looms, people.”

At the top of the stairs, Preston paused. “You can bring my peppers up as soon as you’re done cutting them, Jase. You remember how I like them.” And with that he disappeared into an upstairs room.

Victoria bit her bottom lip, trying to keep her amusement under wraps. “Looks like you’ve got your work cut out for you.”

“Me?” Jason’s annoyed expression melted into amusement when he looked at her. “You mean
we
. You’re going to help, Ms. Toria. We’re in this together now.”

* * *

The adrenaline rush that had kept Victoria going through the night and into the morning was quickly receding. She worked on a yellow pepper, trying to remember Jason’s specific instructions.

Not surprisingly, Preston was very particular. According to Jason, the person who did Preston’s shopping was instructed to purchase only the peppers with four sections. Any more or any less than that were not to be bought, and if it meant his personal shopper had to visit more than one store, then so be it. Each pepper had to be cut into four sections, precisely on the pepper’s natural creases, and each of those sections had to be sliced into four equal sticks—hence the sixteen sticks from each pepper. Obviously, any seeds had to be removed, and Preston also insisted that the sticks be straight, so the curved ends had to be chopped off.

Jason held up a green pepper stick that still had the curved bottom end. “You have no idea how badly I want to leave this one as is and stick it on his plate.”

A tray divided into three sections sat on the kitchen island—because obviously the different colored peppers could not touch one another.

“You should do it,” Victoria said, smiling. “I dare you.”

He put the pepper on the cutting board again and chopped off the curved end. “I totally would if I didn’t think it would ruin his whole damn day.”

She studied Jason while she continued her mindless slicing. Under all the annoyance, under all the complaining about Preston’s outrageous requests, Jason clearly cared about his foster brother. Because here he was, suit jacket and tie tossed aside, shirtsleeves rolled up, sitting at the kitchen island, spending a ridiculous amount of time making perfectly precise cuts through twenty-one bell peppers.

Twenty. One. Bell peppers. That was a boatload of peppers.

Focusing on the mundane task wasn’t exactly easy with Jason’s muscular forearms on display. While
cooking
, no less. Was that not every woman’s fantasy? A man who wore kitchen chores well? This wasn’t helping her decision to nip this friends-with-bennies thing in the bud.

Needing something else to think about, she asked, “What happened to Preston?”

“What happened to him?”

“Why is he…the way he is?”

“If you’re wondering if there was some sort of traumatic event that made him unwilling to leave his house, the answer’s no. Biochemistry is about the best explanation I have.”

“But surely there’s treatment? Therapy? Medication?”

Jason nodded. “Sure. But Preston doesn’t think his hermit lifestyle is a problem. He’s pretty happy with the way things are. And much as I’d like to argue with him about that, he’s obviously doing well for himself.” He pointed his knife, gesturing to the gorgeous modern kitchen surrounding them.

“But the success of a person’s life is measured in more than material things. Sure, he has a beautiful home, but what about…everything else.”