McIver's Mission (24 page)

And now she had Shaun. She still had her doubts about
the wisdom of their current arrangement. Not that she had any real objections
to sharing his home. She and Shaun were each so busy with their own lives, it
was sometimes difficult to find time for each other. Now, no matter how late
she had to work, she knew she could go home to him. At least for a while.

She frowned. They hadn't talked about how long she
would stay with him. She knew he didn't intend for it to be any more than a
short-term arrangement, until she could find something else suitable. A week? A
month?

She pushed the thought aside and focused on the
pretrial memo she was finishing up.

At least until Lieutenant Creighton showed up at her
office.

Chapter
14

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"
I
assume there's a reason for this visit." Arden forced a smile even though
her stomach tightened.

"There is," Creighton agreed.
"Preliminary reports indicate that the fire in your building was
deliberately set, and that it started in your apartment. In your bedroom, to be
precise."

She exhaled slowly as his words confirmed her
suspicions. Her fears. Someone had to have been inside her apartment to start
the fire there. In her bedroom. "And you think the fire is related to the
letters."

"I do," he agreed. "We're investigating
the owner of the building, of course. Most often, arson is implemented for
financial gain, so we're following all leads. But we can't discount the
possibility that this attack was directed at you, especially considering the
content of the last letter.

"You've pissed somebody off," he continued,
"and it makes sense that this was directed at you. If whoever set the fire
knew you were out of the building, it might just have been an attempt to scare
you. If he didn't know, he might have been trying to kill you."

She felt the color drain from her cheeks. She'd known
that she was the target, no matter how hard she tried to deny it, but she'd
never thought that someone—some nameless, faceless person that she didn't even
know—could want her dead.

"Sorry to put it so bluntly," he apologized.
"But I want to make sure you know what's going on here."

"I don't know what's going on," she
protested, hating the helplessness that threatened to overwhelm her. "I
have no idea who could be doing this."

"You represent a lot of women who are the victims
of domestic violence. It isn't a stretch to think that a man who beats his wife
would exhibit other forms of deviant behavior."

"Men who batter their partners rarely act
violently toward third parties. They usually try to hide the darker side of
their personality." Everything she'd ever read about domestic violence
confirmed this fact.

"Statistically, you're probably right,"
Creighton agreed. "But you know that not every perpetrator can be slotted
into a designated mold."

She nodded, but she still couldn't imagine who would
target her.

"If you think of anyone at all who might have
reason to threaten you, call me," the lieutenant instructed.

Arden nodded.

"I'll get in touch with you as soon as we have
any more information. Where are you staying?"

"With a … a friend."

"McIver?"

Arden frowned. "How did you know?"

Creighton grinned. "I am a detective," he
reminded her. "And I didn't figure he would have hired a P.I. if he didn't
have a personal interest in the situation."

Arden felt her blood chill. Shaun had hired a private
investigator? Why? And why hadn't he told her about it? She shook her head. No,
Lieutenant Creighton must have made a mistake. Shaun wouldn't do something like
that. Not without her permission. Not without discussing it with her first.

She forced her voice to remain casual as she asked,
"What makes you think he hired an investigator?"

"Joel Logan contacted me to get copies of the
incident reports. He's a good guy," Creighton assured her. "Used to
be a cop."

Arden nodded. She didn't care about Joel Logan, but
she sure as hell intended to find out what Shaun was up to.

She sat for a long while after Lieutenant Creighton
had gone, thinking about the situation, but she still couldn't believe Shaun
would do something like this without first discussing it with her. It was
her
life that had been threatened, after all. What right did he have to interfere?

Fueled by righteous anger and indignation, she pushed
through the heavy paneled doors that led into Madison McIver Law Offices.

"Can I help you?" The pretty young woman
behind the front desk asked in a sweet voice.

Arden vaguely remembered the receptionist from her
first visit to Shaun's office, but she walked straight past the desk. She was a
woman on a mission, and she would not be diverted.

"Excuse me, ma'am. You can't just go back
there."

Arden continued to ignore her. Shaun's door was open.

"What the hell did you think you were
doing?"

Shaun glanced up, then from Arden to the receptionist,
who was hovering nervously behind Arden.

"I'm sorry, Mr. McIver," she said in a
tremulous voice. "I tried to stop her, but—"

Shaun waved off the apology. "That's okay,
Claire."

Arden noted, with increased annoyance, that the woman
practically bobbed a curtsy before scurrying back to her desk.

"Hello, Arden," Shaun said politely.
"Is there something you wanted to talk—"

"Damn right there's something I want to talk
about," Arden snapped. "Who the hell is Joel Logan?"

"Joel Logan is a private investigator,"
Shaun explained calmly.

"I know that," she admitted. "Although
not through any revelation on your part."

"I should have told you," he agreed, his
tone placating.

Arden was not to be placated. "No, you shouldn't
have
told
me. You should have discussed it with me
before
you
hired someone to pry into my life. You might even have considered whether or
not I wanted your interference."

"That's exactly why I didn't discuss it with
you."

"Why?"

"Because you would have said that it was your
problem and you would deal with it."

Arden blew out an exasperated breath. "Well, it
is my problem, and I would have—I will—deal with it."

"Uh-huh," he agreed.

"Dammit, Shaun. I don't want you involved in
this."

"Too late."

She narrowed her eyes. "When did you hire this
private investigator?"

"A few weeks ago."

"Why?"

"Because I was concerned about you."

She crossed her arms over her chest. "How
concerned were you?"

He frowned. "What kind of question is that?"

"Were you concerned enough to have sex with
me?"

She hated to think that it might be true, that Shaun's
interest in her stemmed from a desire to protect her rather than a desire for
her. But she couldn't deny the possibility. "After all, if I'm sleeping in
your bed, you know where I am."

"I won't deny that I'm more comfortable having
you stay in my home. I know you're safe there."

She felt betrayed by his response, by his admission
that he had ulterior motives for pursuing a physical relationship with her. And
it hurt, so much more than she'd expected it to. She'd been let down often
enough that she should have been expecting it. But she'd thought Shaun was
different. She'd believed he cared about her.

"Stop it," he said gently.

She lifted her chin. "Stop what?"

"Jumping to all kinds of unwarranted conclusions
about our relationship."

"Are they unwarranted?"

"Yes," he insisted. "I'm not pretending
to care about you because I'm concerned about you. I'm concerned because I
care."

She wanted to believe him, but she was afraid to trust
him, afraid to trust her own feelings for Shaun. And she was even more afraid
of what kind of information his investigator might turn up. There were still
things she didn't want Shaun to know. Things she might never be ready to tell
him. Things she definitely didn't want him learning from a third party.

"Lieutenant Creighton is handling this."

"And I'm sure he's doing everything he can. But
he's only one man, and this is only one of his cases. I need to know that
someone is making it a priority to find this guy. I can't just sit around and
wait for him to make his next move."

She dropped her eyes, unwilling to let him see her
fear.

"Did you think I wouldn't find out that the fire
in your apartment was deliberately set? Did you think I wouldn't connect this
arson to the last letter you received?"

Arden didn't dare admit that she had hoped he wouldn't
find out it had been her apartment that had been torched.

"Where were you when the fire started?" he
asked.

She frowned. "I was at the library doing
research."

"But you had been home."

"Yes."

"How long were you gone?"

"Why all the questions?"

"How long were you gone?" Shaun repeated the
question slowly.

"I'm not sure."

"You're lying."

"I'm not lying," she snapped. "I didn't
check my watch when I left."

"You must have an idea what time it was when you
decided to go to the library."

"Why are you cross-examining me?"

"What time?" he repeated.

Arden turned away from him. "It was about seven
o'clock."

"And what time did you leave the courthouse
again?"

"Around eight."

"So you were gone less than an hour, and in that
time, your apartment was destroyed."

"That doesn't prove that I was a target."

"Maybe it doesn't prove anything," he
admitted. "But it sure as hell concerns me."

"I'm sorry. I didn't… I don't—" She blew out
an exasperated breath and stepped away from him. She remembered his reaction
after the fire: his fear and concern, and the way he'd made love with her,
slowly and tenderly, until she felt as if she were really cherished. "I'm
not used to having people worry about me."

"Then you'll have to get used to it," Shaun
said. "Because I'm not going away."

* * *

Shaun
tried to convince Arden to go to bed early that night. After everything she'd
been through in the past week, he knew she had to be exhausted. But she
insisted that she had reading to catch up on, and she settled down on the sofa
with a stack of legal journals. He wasn't surprised that she'd fallen asleep
less than half an hour later.

He
was
surprised when he heard her scream.

It was a deep, blood-curdling sound wrenched from
somewhere deep inside her. He dropped the book he'd been reading and leapt from
his chair. She sucked air into her lungs, prepared to scream again. He wrapped
his arms around her, and she fought against him, thrashing and whimpering.

"It's me, Shaun. It's okay. You're safe."

The words must have penetrated the haze of her
subconscious, because she stopped fighting and collapsed against him, sobbing.

He brushed his hand over her hair, stunned. He'd never
seen her like this. So completely vulnerable, so obviously terrorized.

"Jesus, Arden. You're shaking." He rubbed
his hands briskly over her bare arms, trying to warm her.

"I'm okay," she said. "Just a little
cold."

"You're not okay."

"It's not the first time I've had this
nightmare," she admitted, her voice not quite steady. "And I'm sure
it won't be the last."

"Tell me about it," he said.

"I don't want to talk about it. I don't want to
relive it again."

"Not talking about it hasn't helped you
forget."

She shook her head. "It's just a nightmare. I
know that, but I can't stop it. It keeps happening, over and over."

"What is it?"

She closed her eyes but finally responded. "It's
the night Denise and Brian Hemingway were killed."

He continued to hold her, but he didn't ask any more
questions. He just waited for her to talk.

"She first came to see me just a couple of months
before that," Arden told him. "Her sister had taken her to the
shelter after she was released from the hospital. Her husband had beaten her up
pretty badly. She had a couple of cracked ribs, a dislocated shoulder, multiple
cuts and bruises. And he'd knocked Brian down the stairs, when the little boy
tried to stop him from kicking his mother.