Come Gentle the Dawn (7 page)

Brie rubbed her brow, feeling a headache coming on. Great, he didn’t sleep well at motels. Neither did she. “It’s a small couch. You wouldn’t be comfortable on it. Take my word.”

Linc softened his features and gave what he hoped was his best puppy-dog look. “We had a rough start. How about if we both get a good night’s sleep to put us in good stead for tomorrow?”

She wasn’t prepared for the sudden pleading look in Linc’s eyes and felt like a heel for trying to turn him down. “Oh, okay,” she grumbled. “But I warn you, Tanner, I won’t be your cook or bottle washer. Tomorrow’s Sunday, our day off. I don’t want to have to jump out of bed and feed your growing-boy appetite in the morning.”

Linc tried to look properly grateful. “No problem. All I like in the morning is coffee, anyway.”

Brie shot him a disparaging look. “At least we agree on that.”

Allowing a bit of a friendly smile, he murmured, “Not bad for two people who are opposites, eh? I’m impressed, too.”

“Well, just don’t expect the Ritz, Tanner. You make up your own bed on that lumpy couch. I’m going to grab the shower first, then hit the sack. You’re going to have to wait your turn. I’m dead on my feet.”

“No problem,” he said. “Ladies first, anyway.”

Brie wrinkled her nose, trying to figure out how to short-circuit the nightmares that stalked her. She still had some sleeping pills left from her stay in the hospital. But what if there was a haz-mat call? She wouldn’t be able to function properly in that groggy state, and Jeff wouldn’t be returning until tomorrow afternoon. Groaning, Brie shut her eyes, trying to think clearly and not succeeding.

Following her directions, Linc found her small white home with green trim on the outskirts of North Canton. The one-story house was hidden by a long gravel driveway lined with oaks, elms and maples. A large overhead sulfur lamp lit the entire front of the house, which was embraced by blossoming white and purple lilac bushes. They stood window-height in some places. Tulips, daffodils and hyacinths were in full bloom in front of the shrubs.

“Nice place,” Linc murmured as he shut off the engine. He’d meant it.

“This is Camelot, the place where I go and hide when the world gets too much to take,” Brie said, climbing out. She fished for the key from her purse and opened the door.

“Come on in,” she invited Linc, who was hanging back. Was it her imagination or was he looking around
the entire area as if he were an investigator? Brie shook her head, not caring. Throwing her purse on the Formica counter in the small kitchen, she headed for the linen closet in the hall near the bathroom. She found sheets, a pillow and a blanket, and put them in Linc’s waiting arms. “The living room is that way,” she said, pointing. “I’m getting my shower then going to bed.”

He gave her a nod. “Sounds good. Good night. And thanks”

Brie barely responded, going to the kitchen to pour herself a glass of chablis instead of downing a sleeping pill. In the bathroom, she shed her clothes, dying for a bath, but it was too soon after her burn injuries to subject her tender, still healing flesh to it. With a sigh, she stepped into the warm shower and scrubbed her hair and body. By the time she finished, she was so groggy she could barely stand. After she slipped into a pale apricot silk nightgown that brushed her slender ankles, Brie opened the bathroom door and padded down the carpeted hall to her bedroom. Before the accident, she had always worn gowns that showed off her shoulders. Since then, because of the terrible scars, she wore only gowns with high necklines that hid the telltale scars. Some of them were still visible, but a robe would hide them from her eyes as well as Linc’s curious, always penetrating gaze.

Bed had never looked so inviting as she quietly shut the door. Moonlight streamed in through the floor-to-ceiling windows on the east side of the room; the pale ivory sheer curtains lent a radiance to the scene. But Brie couldn’t appreciate any of it tonight. The instant she snuggled beneath the quilt her grandmother had made for her, she was asleep.

Linc took a shower and stepped into his light blue pajama bottoms. He tightened the drawstring and opened the door, waiting and listening. Damp dark hair clung to his brow, and he tamed it into place with his fingers. It had been nearly a half hour since Brie had gone to bed. He turned off the hall light, stepped up to her door and carefully turned the brass knob. The door opened without a creak. He waited a few more seconds, listening. Then, he pushed the door open just enough to see. There, lying on one side of the brass bed, was Brie sleeping soundly, the moonlight outlining her form.

Her face was almost radiant and was without a trace of the previous tension around her full, sensual lips or eyes. His heart beat harder, and he took a deep, steadying breath, his body going rigid with need of her. She looked soft and warm, vulnerable and incredibly feminine. With a shake of his head, Linc slowly closed the door. It must be moon madness, he thought wryly. No woman made his head spin like that.

Padding to the living room, which, in his opinion, had so many plants it bordered on being a jungle, Linc went directly to the massive cherry rolltop desk. He turned on the Tiffany stained-glass lamp and, with painstaking thoroughness, he began his investigation. He found a stack of letters and committed the names of the correspondents to memory. If he had time, he’d read the contents of each later. Another small drawer yielded several color photos. In one, Brie was smiling brilliantly, her arm around a man in a haz-mat uniform. He had to be John Holcomb. Linc felt the stirrings of envy as he absorbed the happiness evident in Brie’s face. Her eyes
were like dead embers now compared to the photo. He pushed aside his personal feelings and noted that Brie was at least fifteen pounds heavier in the photo, and sported a golden tan. Her beautiful sable brown hair was curling richly around her shoulders. Had her hair been burned off in the explosion? More than likely, and he was suddenly sad that had happened, because she was lovely with dark hair framing her face. His throat constricted with emotion as he gazed at her. Where her cheek had once been filled out with a rosy bloom, it was nothing but flesh over bone now.

He cradled the picture between his hands, lifting his head and staring into the darkness toward the bedroom. The trauma of the explosion had devastated Brie much more than he had first realized. No one looked like a prisoner of war as she did now without the ravages still inside her, still eating her up. His forehead furrowed deeply as he stared down at Brie. The report on her had said she suffered internal injuries and burns. Had she sought therapy afterward to cope with the trauma? More than likely not. Who of them did? Linc recalled her every move at the haz-mat scene. Brie had been professional, like a man would have been. She hadn’t lost her touch. So how was the trauma affecting her?

Having more questions than answers, Linc continued his search of the desk. There were several photos of Brie with Holcomb, his wife and child celebrating Christmas, Easter, birthdays and other holidays. Linc got the impression that Brie was part of Holcomb’s family.

Going back to the letters, he opened the one with the latest postmark, which was only a few days ago. It was from Carol Holcomb.

Linc folded the note and put it into the pink envelope.
Aunt Brie.
You endear yourself to everyone pretty quickly, don’t you? What is it about you that makes people want to reach out and become a part of your existence?

The next letter was from Steve, her brother.

So you’ve locked yourself up since the accident.

He glanced at the names on the next letter—Mr. and Mrs. Vernon Williams. Her parents.

Linc’s mouth twisted as he put the letter in the stack. He stared down at six others. Were they all from friends and family who were worried? Driven to find out and rationalizing that his decision to read them was for the purpose of his investigation and not his personal need to know, Linc spent another twenty minutes perusing them. By the time he was done, his face was grim. The other six letters were from members of the haz-mat team. Some had sent funny cards; others more serious, but they all contained one message: Brie was special, respected and cared for by her family of coworkers. He sat back in the chair, the Tiffany lamp casting light and making deep shadows around him.

Everywhere he looked, Linc saw life. Huge ficus trees, almost as tall as the eight-foot ceiling, graced two corners of the pale green living room. Behind the bamboo couch with fluffy ivory colored pillows were two tall, slender palms, adding a wild touch to the room. He liked it, realizing he was privy to another facet of Brie’s existence. The room throbbed with vibrancy. She had embraced life in ways he had seen few people able to do.

Linc stared at the stack of unanswered mail and returned the letters to their drawer. Framed pictures of
lions, cheetahs and other animals graced the walls. Was that how Brie felt? Was she a wild lioness who demanded freedom? He smiled. He hadn’t missed the mark on her after all—she was feline…

Why are you running from everyone’s offer of help? Is there something they don’t know? Are you mixed up with a criminal element and afraid to talk for fear they’ll blow the whistle on you, too? Or maybe you really were secretly in love with John Holcomb and are afraid to admit that to anyone. Rubbing his face, Linc got up, running his hand across his chest where an ache had centered.

Brie moaned and tossed violently, throwing the quilt off her. She lay floating between sleep and wakefulness, aware that her nightgown was sticky against her flesh. Her breath came in ragged gasps as she saw herself turning from John to head to the haz-mat van. She felt her heart start a hammer of warning. No! Oh, God, please, no! she screamed silently. Come back, John! Come back! Helplessly, Brie watched the unfolding drama before her.

Just as before, Brie heard the powerful explosion, felt the blast of annihilating heat. Then blackness overcame her as she was slammed to the concrete surface. A scream tore from her lips when she regained consciousness. She rolled over on her back. Her ribs hurt, and she gripped her right side as she sat up. Warm liquid was running down her face, blinding her. A metallic taste was in her mouth, and her nose was bleeding heavily. Brie felt another scream building deep inside her, clawing up through her like a caged animal that had to free itself. She lifted her chin to look at the drums. The raw cry finally tore from her. Brie sprang up, fighting
pain and dizziness as she lurched forward, trying to get to where John lay facedown three hundred feet away.

Brie jerked upright in bed, burying her face in her hands, her shoulders hunched and broken. She barely heard the door being torn open; she was not aware of the light being turned on.

Linc froze, one hand on the doorknob, the other on the light switch. Brie was breathing hard, her gasps hoarse. She sat on the edge of the bed as if she were prepared to leap off it. He had heard her scream and thought that someone had slipped into her bedroom and attacked her. His wide eyes traveled from the closed windows to Brie. Without thinking, he started toward her out of some instinct to comfort her. His mouth opened then closed. He tasted the bitterness of bile as he stared at her heavily scarred right shoulder. The upper buttons of the gown were open and moved aside enough for him to see some of her injury. Twisted pink flesh clearly showed the path of destruction the explosion had collected from Brie.

He knelt on one knee and raised his hands to settle them on her shaking shoulders. She was in so much pain that unexpected tears came to his eyes.