Fire Angel (11 page)

That was not good — without sleep, the brain ceased its proper functioning; lapses in memory and concentration could seriously affect her ability to do her job. No wonder her brain kept drifting back to Jake instead of focusing on the case.

She turned off the tap and wrapped herself in the fluffy, white towel that hung on the bar. She slipped on her mules and walked into the kitchenette. She poured milk into a ceramic cup and placed it in the microwave oven to heat. Hot milk would help her fall asleep. She looked at the clock on the radio, 7:35; if she could get a five hour power nap, she would be good to go.

Despite what people said, you could never catch up on sleep; it was not a race, nor was it a bank account where you could deposit sleep like money until you needed it. All you could do was give your body what it needed on a regular basis. Tonight, she would try to crash at her usual time; by tomorrow, she should be back on schedule.

The microwave beeped. Alexis reached for the cup of hot milk and carried it over to the computer. She opened her email program, and after deleting the usual junk, crafted a message to Captain Peters, asking him to call her at 12:30
P.M.
, her time. She gave the inn's number as well as her cabin's extension number. She sent the message, muted the sound on the computer, turned out the lights in the living room and kitchenette, and went into the bedroom.

The curtains obscured the light, allowing enough of it into the room for her to be able to fall asleep. Alexis had no problem sleeping in the light; it was the dark that caused her distress. She was surprised that rehashing all those memories with Jake hadn't upset her more. She drank her milk and climbed between the sheets. She was asleep within seconds.

• • •

Jake unlocked the door to his apartment. Maya lumbered to the door to greet him. He bent over to pet her.

“I guess you need to go out, eh girl?” He walked across the room to the door that led to the deck and opened it. While he waited for her to attend to business, his mind drifted back to those few moments when he had held Alexis in his arms. His body had reacted suddenly, with a hunger he had not felt since Irena. His dark-haired, dark-eyed wife came to mind, obliterating the pleasant memories of Alexis. Before he could travel any further down that road, Maya barked.

Jake left his coat, hat, scarf, gloves, and boots out on the veranda to air, and closed the door after the small animal came inside. Sensitive to his brooding, the dog returned to her favorite spot in front of the fire and promptly went back to sleep.

Jake helped himself to a bowl of cereal and while he ate, he jotted down a few notes for Minette and their staff. Spending time with Alexis would be a good thing; he just wished the circumstances were different. He regretted the minutes in her cabin when he'd been so hard on her; he was grateful now that she had not taken the Fire Angel's advice and left. After tonight's fire, he'd need all the help she could give him and more to catch this guy. It was as if the killer knew what would incapacitate him too — and it didn't require Rohypnol. If the killer could keep him off his game, he had a good chance of getting away with it.

He smiled, remembering the softness and pliancy of her lips under his, and the way she had fit so perfectly in his arms on that foul-smelling, incredibly uncomfortable police cruiser seat. He should have taken her up on her offer; if he had, right now, he could be cuddled with her on the couch, or stretched out on the bed holding her, just holding her close would be enough. It would have to be until he told her the rest of the story. He knew she was concerned about his leg; he had seen her staring at it when he walked with her, had felt her eyes on him when he had walked away. She would have to know the truth sooner or later.

He padded to the bedroom. He removed his shirt and undershirt, unsnapped and lowered his jeans and briefs, and dumped the clothes in the hamper. Minette would wash it later; he'd left her a note on the table. He sat down on the chair across from the toilet to remove his sock and his leg.

The stump was killing him. He had been standing way too long. The new biometric leg should be ready any day. He would call Andrew Shillingham at the hospital when he got up to see if it was ready yet. It wouldn't make him into The Bionic Man, but it was a hell of a lot better than the one he was using. This prosthetic had done its job well, but it was loose, and when it was loose, it rubbed.

He reached down and began unlacing the cuff. When he had finished, he rolled down the upper cuff and yanked sharply on the prosthetic. It made a loud pop as the artificial leg came away in his hand. Suction held it in place; the lacing just kept it aligned.

Jake placed the leg on the counter and, using the metal bar to assist himself, he stepped into the oversized sit-down style shower. Using the special razor, he cleaned up the scruff on his face and then let the water pour over his aching body. The leg throbbed, both the part that was there and the part that was not. Phantom pain — that was what the doctor called it, but it certainly felt real. It burned just as it had the afternoon it had been blown off and the rest of his team had been killed. It was a permanent reminder of what could happen if you placed your trust in the wrong person, like he had, and it had been a difficult lesson to learn.

Irena; memories of his Afghani wife assaulted him again. She had been exotic, beautiful in a way so different from the memory of Alexis that had haunted him, and he had become enthralled. He had gone to Afghanistan to help, to make life better for the women and children, or so he had believed. How could you help people who didn't want to be helped?

He had been there primarily as a profiler, teaching the local Afghani police how to identify potential terrorists in their midst. He had also provided security for medical and supply shipments. Irena's father and brothers, members of a radical group whom no one had suspected, had seen his potential value and had used her to get to him. Part of the Canadian contingent, but not actually a soldier, he was ripe for the picking. As his wife, Irena could come and go from the base with impunity.

Had she ever really cared for him? When she had lain in his arms, feigning love, what had been going through her mind? Had it bothered her in the least when he had been injured, and those men she had come to know had been killed by a roadside bomb her brothers had planted? He had not seen her after the bombing, but he knew she was dead; she had walked into a restaurant packed with military and civilian alike and detonated the bomb strapped across her chest. He shook his head; he would never have believed that someone could be brainwashed like that.

Jake turned off the tap, got out of the shower, and wrapped himself in a terry robe. He headed into the bedroom, using the crutch that he kept in the bathroom for that purpose. He lay on the bed, but sleep would not come. He had given his love and his trust; look what it had gotten him. He shook his head. Irena was gone; she wouldn't hurt him or anyone else again.

He had learned his lesson. Thoughts of Alexis seeped into his mind; she was as different from Irena as the sun was different from the Earth. She was nobody's pawn. She stood on her own two feet and fought for what she believed.

He stared up at the ceiling, remembering what Alexis had told him tonight. It was a good thing James was dead, because after what he had learned, he was ready to kill him himself. She had broken away from those who abused her and had become a better, stronger person for it. He didn't hate Irena, but he pitied her and what might have been. He was broken in more ways than one; his leg was only the physical sign of a much greater problem. He had lost the ability to trust his emotions.

His thoughts returned to Alexis. She had trusted him tonight with a secret that she had carried for a long time, a secret he doubted she had shared with many. Could he trust her with his? As her partner, he was forced to put his life in her hands, something that surprisingly he didn't hesitate to do, but could he trust her with his heart?

A crazy man, a man who murdered people for who knows what reason, had her in his sights. For the first time in years, Jake felt his heart stirring again as it explored a love he had thought long gone.

He put his arms up and laced his fingers behind his head. The note was a threat, one he intended to take seriously even if she didn't. He had a chance to heal his brokenness here, a chance at the future he had dreamed of years ago; he was not going to blow it, but he was going to tread carefully. Once bitten, twice shy. He had dived into the relationship with Irena; this time he would test the waters first.

Once she knew him better, she would understand how much he cared for her, how much he had always cared. In time, he hoped that his heart would be able to trust again, and if she were patient with him, they could travel that road together. As far as his leg was concerned, he could do almost everything he had been able to do before; surely she would accept his physical disability and not let it come between them. She had scars of her own; wouldn't that make it easier for her to accept his?

He thought about what she had said about the arsonist and last night's fire. The killer was someone they knew, someone with access to inside information, someone who could come and go at will. He thought about all the people in town who fit the bill — police officers, medics, firefighters, ambulance drivers, cabbies; the list was endless. He had an age range; or did he? He wasn't even sure of that now. How would he be able to narrow the list of suspects? He would have to pull dossiers on every man in town over twenty-five, damn it! Paradise was a small town, but it was still an awfully long list of names.

If she were right, and God help them all if she were, the killer and his body count were chilling — August, September, October and now November — one, five, six, and now at least twelve — that made eighteen dead and it wasn't over. What next? December and twenty-four, January and forty-eight, February and ninety-six, March and one hundred and ninety-two; he fell asleep with bodies piling up in a nightmare he couldn't shake. At the top of the pile, a faceless maniac, held a lifeless Alexis in his arms, and laughed amidst the flames.

• • •

“And that's the whole story, Captain. I guess I should have told you all of this when you gave me the assignment, but I didn't expect this to happen. I really thought the chance of being recognized was slight; I thought I could handle it.”

“And how do you feel about it now?” he asked, his voice sounding tinny on the cabin's speaker phone.

“More determined than ever to solve the case. He killed women and children for no reason. This S.O.B. thinks he can scare me away, but I won't let him, and I hope you won't either.”

“Michaels, you're the best I have, and I don't think there is anyone else who could do this particular job. Do I like the fact that my best agent is in danger, no, but I won't pull you out, at least not yet. Do your job; that's all anyone can ask of you. As for the rest of it, everyone has to go home sooner or later, and it's not always a pleasant experience. Once you've closed the case, go and see your uncle. Put this behind you once and for all.”

“Yes, sir; Gramps always said that your fear gives your enemy power. My uncle can't hurt me now; from all accounts, he's a broken man. I won't let him scare me again, and I won't let this maniac scare me either.”

“Good girl! Now, go get this guy. Stay safe.”

They spoke for a few more minutes and then, Alexis hung up the phone. She looked at the clock, 12:55. No wonder she was starving. She opened her duffel bag and took out a clean pair of jeans and a forest green sweater. She brushed her hair into a sleek pony tail. She used moisturizer on her face and added mascara to her almond-shaped eyes. Thanks to her sweater, they appeared green today. She pulled on a pair of socks and her leather shoe boots.

She had promised the chief she would stay safe, so she needed to get the rest of her gear out of the car. She grabbed her car keys and headed for the parking lot.

It was one of those rare fall days that everyone enjoyed; the sun shone in a clear sky, the air was crisp, and there was barely a whisper of wind in the trees. As she walked down the sidewalk to her car, she looked up. She had asked Jake about the grillwork over the windows last night, while they had waited for the firefighters to bring out the last of the bodies. She recalled his answer clearly. He'd made her smile at a time when there had been precious little to smile about.

“My parents owned the motel before David and I took over. They'd close the place come October and reopen in May. About ten years ago, raccoons got into the cabins; someone had forgotten to check the locks on some of the windows. The animals are nimble-fingered; they managed to tear the nylon screens and pushed open the sliders. The little guys burrowed into the stuffing of the mattresses, chairs, and couches. The cabins had to be gutted.

“Mom and Dad redid them the following year, making them more luxurious, and that's when they added the grillwork: to ensure that those little bandits didn't get in again. I thought about taking the grills off, but most people felt safer having them on once they knew why they were there.

“When you go out tomorrow, look up into the trees. You'll see huge nests made of twigs and leaves up high where the strong branches meet the trunk; those are winter nests; raccoons don't hibernate, but their metabolism slows right down, and they sleep most of the winter. As long as there's snow on the ground, you don't see them. If we have a mild winter, they'll come out and forage for food, and then climb back into their nests.”

And sure enough, there they were, right where he said they would be. There were two in the trees right beside her cabin. She hoped the raccoons didn't decide to come back and visit for old time's sake.

She walked over to the car, opened the trunk and took out the large suitcase she had left in there the night before, as well as the box of munchies she had brought with her. Remembering the four-footed bandits, she carried the box directly into the kitchen and returned for the suitcase.