Operation Reunion (10 page)

Chapter 16

K
ayla awoke from the dream with a gasp. For a moment everything seemed strange. Nothing looked right. Disoriented, she jerked upright. Once she had, the familiar outlines reassured her; she wasn’t in the bedroom, but the living room.

But nothing could reassure her after that dream.

The peaceful quiet of the night surrounded her; this had always been a quiet neighborhood. It was one of the reasons she’d chosen it. Deciding to move had been instantaneous; she knew there was no way she could stay in the house that her parents had died in. She’d sold it to the first person who’d been willing to buy, taking a loss and not caring.

Dane had tried to slow her down to no avail. Hayley understood, she thought. Her mother had died of natural causes, she’d told her, otherwise she never would have been able to stay in her home—which wasn’t far from Kayla’s—either.

But whether or not he agreed with the move, Dane had helped. As usual. In fact, he’d been the one who’d found this house in the first place, although she’d fallen in love with it the moment she’d seen it.

As usual, he’d known exactly what she’d needed, just how much space, the big trees providing a sense of privacy and the small garden that was glorious in the spring and summer, tempting her outside. The little house had nestled in that setting like a fairy tale cottage, and she’d nearly giggled in appreciation.

Dane had helped her change the inside slightly, opening up the kitchen to the living room so it didn’t seem so small and closed in and then adding the big windows to look out on that garden, which in turn inspired her to keep working on it.

She’d been happier here than she’d thought she could ever be again. And yet now it seemed like a hollow, echoing place she wanted to escape.

She’d given up on sleep after two restless hours in her empty bed. Dane’s absence hammered at her, no matter how she tried to pretend, going about her routine as if nothing had changed, hoping the ritual of washing her face, brushing her teeth, checking her alarm, would soothe her troubled mind and allow her to sleep. She had to work tomorrow, and there was no way she could miss the scheduled sessions—there were new people just starting on the long, sad path, and she needed to be there to help.

None of it worked.

Finally conceding there was no way she was going to sleep, she’d gotten up and moved to the living room. Curled up on her couch, she’d turned on the television, then turned it back off, picked up a book then put it down, finally grabbed her phone and played a mindless game until her eyes couldn’t bear it anymore.

Just before two she’d finally dozed off, only to have her weary brain take Dane’s words and tweak them into a too-real scenario; she’d been putting the photographs he’d moved back the way they’d been when she’d caught a glimpse of her own reflection in the glass of the framed portrait of Chad. A reflection of a wrinkled, gray-haired woman who looked a bit mad.

Needing to move, she uncurled her legs and stood up. She didn’t turn on the lamp on the table beside her, didn’t want the light to emphasize the emptiness of what had once been her beloved little home. In the dark, she could pretend it wasn’t empty, pretend Dane was just in the other room, as always.

She could be in denial.

How long are you going to live in complete denial, Kayla?

“I’m not,” she said aloud to the quiet room.

Denying she was living in denial.

She let out a disgusted sigh, angry at herself, at Dane, at the world in a way she hadn’t been for a long time.

Defiantly, she walked over to the shelf of photos. She picked up the one of Chad Dane had moved and put it back, telling herself she wasn’t glad she couldn’t see any reflections in the dark.

She admitted she was glad she couldn’t see Dane’s, the pain was too raw, too fresh. But then, she didn’t have to look to see the images in her mind. She knew them as well as she knew her own image. The picture of her whole family, the last taken while it had still existed, the shot of her parents at their twentieth—and last—anniversary. Then Chad with Troy, working on the motorcycle they had later crashed into the sound, which had then resulted in the joyriding incident; a guy couldn’t be without wheels, Chad had said, laughing it off.

And then Dane. She had many more of him, some in other places in the house, but the one here was her favorite. It captured the essence of him, quiet yet energetic, thoughtful yet not brooding, serious but with a grin just about to break loose and light up his eyes.

And everything else within a hundred miles,
she thought.

The ache welled up inside her until she nearly cried out at the pain of it. And there in the dark, she moved the pictures once more. Held Chad’s for a moment, thinking the words that had kept her going for so long; she had to do this. She had to care about Chad because no one else did. She was all he had. But the old mantra wasn’t working tonight.

She put the photos back exactly as Dane had moved them, with Chad’s portrait blocking him.

Because he’d been right.

She did cry then, unable to stop it. She felt the despair building, knew she was on the verge of a meltdown the likes of which she hadn’t had in a long time. Before she’d always had the mysterious, unknown killer to blame for the destruction of life as she’d known it.

Now she was very afraid she had no one to blame but herself. She—

An explosion of sound so loud she felt it as much as heard it was followed instantly by a simultaneous flare of yellow light and a shock wave that knocked her into the bookshelves.

She staggered, too stunned to even grab at anything for support. She went to her knees. She heard an odd, crackling sound. Struggled to her feet. And then she smelled smoke. Only a little, then suddenly it billowed out of the back of the house, harsh and thick. She coughed.

Fire. The house was on fire. Smoke was filling the room, making her cough harder and harder, and she realized flames could soon follow. But it was the smoke, wasn’t it? Wasn’t that the real danger? Didn’t more people die of smoke inhalation than actually burned?

Stop thinking, start doing, she ordered herself, while you can still breathe at all.

She dropped to her knees and found some clearer air. She began to crawl, not really thinking of anything except getting away, getting outside. She headed for the front door, or at least where she thought it was; had she gotten turned around in the chaos?

It was getting harder and harder to focus, to breathe; her body was slipping out of her control as it coughed forcefully, trying to rid itself of the smothering smoke.

She heard a yell from outside, over the sound of the fire licking away at her home.

Dane?

No, Dane was gone. He’d left her; she’d thrown him away.

Dizzy with fear now, she tried to reach for the doorknob. She couldn’t find it as the smoke spread, lowered.

Was it gone?

Everything else was.

Dane was gone.

Chad was gone.

Her parents were gone.

Why not join the parade?

The last thing she remembered was a rush of cool, night air, and the fleeting thought that maybe death wasn’t so bad after all.

Chapter 17

S
irens.

Quinn came awake sharply. Immediately alert, he was assessing before Hayley even stirred beside him. He raised up on one elbow. The noise continued, and he turned his head slightly. North to south, he thought. And far enough away that he began to relax a little. A few blocks over and pulling away, he thought. And out here a block was a significant distance.

The sirens stopped. The only sound was the drip of rain from the eaves; the summer shower had started just after one. He knew that because Hayley, who loved the sound, had gotten up to open the window. Naked. Which had inspired him to welcome her back to bed in a way that had made him think very fondly of the Northwest’s ever possible rain.

“Quinn?”

Hayley’s soft voice came out of the dark. Just the sound of her saying his name was enough to tangle him up inside; sometimes he still had trouble believing this incredible woman was his.

“Can you tell where it was?”

“It’s all right. It’s not too close. Go back to sleep.”

He dropped back down, rolling to his side to pull her into the curve of his body. She was soft and warm and sleek and smooth and he wanted her all over again despite the fact that they’d made love well into the night last night, as if they’d needed to reassure themselves that they were fine after seeing Dane and Kayla’s love start to crumble before their eyes.

He heard another sound that distracted him from the decision of whether to let her sleep or pursue the urge that was building in him. This one was from inside, the sound of a dog’s quiet footfalls. Cutter.

The sirens must have unsettled him, Quinn thought. Probably even hurt those super-sensitive ears of his that seemed to hear at incredible distances even for a dog.

And then Cutter was there, his head up to see into the bed, looking at them. Even in the dark Quinn knew it because he could see the faint gleam of the dog’s eyes reflecting what light there was. He had a vague memory of reading that dogs could see better than people at night. It had been in the spate of dog research he’d done after the drug cartel case. The case that had brought Hayley—and the uncanny, sometimes too clever Cutter—into his life, changing it forever, in ways he would have never dared hope for.

“Hey, furry one,” Hayley said to the dog, reaching out a slender arm to stroke the dog’s head. “We’re okay.”

As if that had been all he needed—to know his people were okay—the dog gave Hayley’s fingers a quick swipe with his tongue and turned away.

“That dog is....” Words failed him.

“Yes, he is,” Hayley said, and he could hear the smile in her voice. “Lucky me, I have two of the most amazing males on the planet right here with me.”

Well, if that was how she was feeling, that made his decision easier. He leaned over her and nibbled lightly on her ear and felt with satisfaction the tiny shiver that went through her. He pulled her closer, ready to—

Cutter was back.

This time he nudged Hayley slightly with his nose. His cold nose, Hayley indicated.

“Settle down, Cutter,” she told him. “It was just sirens, and they weren’t that close. Somebody’s having trouble, but not us.”

But the dog began to pace, then pace and whine, from the bed to the bedroom door and back again.

“Is he usually like that?” Quinn asked. He’d seen a lot of unique behavior from Cutter in the past few months, but not this. “After he hears sirens, I mean?”

“No,” Hayley said. “They’re rare out here, and they wake him, of course, but he settles back down quickly. And he never whines like that. This is...odd.”

Odd. Used in conjunction with Cutter, that was never something to ignore. Quinn sighed. Shelving his erotic plans, he sat up. Hayley sat up beside him. Quinn reached for the lamp on his side of the bed.

Light flooded the room. The room that, thanks to Hayley’s gentle understanding, was as much his as hers. She’d told him she wanted to make changes anyway, once she’d decided to stay here after her mother’s death, but she’d been putting it off. So she’d insisted they move everything out of the house, put back only what he liked, and make mutual decisions on adding new things. “That way it’s new for both of us,” she had said. “I don’t want you to feel like a guest in someone else’s house.”

Because he’d practically been living in the Foxworth office, in a room at the back downstairs that he’d converted to a functional bedroom, he wasn’t about to complain, but he appreciated the gesture more than he’d ever expected he would. In return he decided not to rebuild on the property Foxworth owned next door, although he’d had the ruins of the house there removed. Now Cutter had lots of room to run and explore without ever leaving home turf.

The dog had stopped his pacing when the light came on and had spun around to look toward them. After a moment, when they didn’t move, he sat in the middle of the floor and began to howl. Loudly.

“What the...?” Quinn exclaimed.

“I don’t know,” Hayley said. “He’s never done that.”

She got up and went to the obviously distressed dog, kneeling beside him. “Cutter, sweetie, it’s all right.”

Quinn watched as she hugged the dog reassuringly. Cutter accepted the gesture with another swipe of his tongue, this time over her chin, but the ear-splitting howling resumed.

Only now, in between howls, the dog seemed to be focusing on Quinn. And when Cutter was focused on you, Quinn had quickly learned, it was good to pay attention.

Feeling a bit like the sheep these Belgian breeds were known to herd, he got out of bed himself.

“Okay, dog,” he muttered as he joined Hayley crouching beside the animal, “you got us both up, now what?”

The howling stopped. Cutter darted away, disappearing for a moment into the small walk-in closet off the master bathroom.

He came back with a shoe.

Hayley drew back, startled, as the dog dropped one of her lug-soled slip-ons in front of her, then raced back to the closet.

He came back again, this time with one of Quinn’s battered, lace-up military boots, which he dropped very nearly on Quinn’s bare foot.

Then Cutter spun on his hindquarters and darted to the bedroom door, where he sat, looking over his shoulder at them with every evidence of impatience, as if he were waiting for his not-too-bright humans to get the message.

Quinn looked at Hayley, whose expression told him she was as bewildered as he was.

But if there was anything he’d come to know since these two had made his life something full of joy and wonder instead of the steady slog of determination it had once been, it was that you ignored this dog at your peril.

Hayley sighed.

Quinn echoed it.

“I guess we’re going...somewhere,” he said. “In the middle of the night. In the rain,” he added with a wry grimace at the dog.

“Yes. And given this started with the sirens,” Hayley began.

“We start by finding where they went,” Quinn finished.

* * *

Dane hadn’t been asleep—in fact, he had just made himself stop pacing the floor again when the knock on the door startled him. Considering the hour, it had been more of a pounding than a knock. His brows furrowed. Probably woke the neighbors in both apartments beside him. He picked up his phone and tapped it to see that it was after 2:00 a.m.

“Dane Burdette, Redwood Cove police, open up.”

For a moment he thought it was Jarrod, the cop from downstairs, making a lousy joke. But the guy didn’t seem the type. A million scenarios cascaded through his mind as he crossed the living room. Maybe they’d finally found Chad. But why would they be here? Wouldn’t they go to Kayla?

Fear spiked through him. If his long suppressed suspicion was true, if Chad really had murdered their parents, then what would stop him from coming back for his sister? It sounded crazy; she’d been his sole defender for so long, but then, Dane didn’t get how somebody could kill their parents in the first place.

His brain raced through all those chaotic thoughts in the time it took him to get to the front door. He shifted his phone to his left hand and grabbed the doorknob just as another hammering came.

“Okay, okay,” he was saying as he pulled it open.

Two uniformed officers stood there. One about his own age, one older. They both looked stern. No, beyond that. They looked grim. And wary. Watchful. It was a small department, and he wondered what was so important they sent this percentage of it to his door and at this hour.

“What’s wrong?” he asked.

“We need to talk to you, Mr. Burdette.”

Puzzled, and still fighting the chaos of his thoughts, he stood aside to let them in. The older man’s name tag said
R. Carpenter, the younger D. Harvey.

“Is this about Chad? Did he come back?”

The two men exchanged glances. “Chad?”

“Chad Tucker. He— Never mind. If this was about him, you’d know the name, right?”

“Tucker. Related to Kayla Tucker?”

A stab of foreboding shot through him, and Dane’s stomach knotted. “Her brother. Is she all right?”

“Interesting that you’re worried about that.”

It took everything he had not to let his rapidly building panic show. “Her brother,” he said slowly, “likely murdered their parents ten years ago. Then vanished. If he’s back—”

“I remember a little about that case,” the older officer said. “It was pretty ugly.”

“Then you should know why I’m worried. Is Kayla all right?”

“How do you know about that case?”

“I lived next door at the time. I was the first one there, when Kayla started screaming.”

“Were you?” the older man said, in an odd tone.

“She was just a kid. Sixteen. If you’d heard what she sounded like, you would have come running, too.”

“And you were how old?” It seemed the older officer was taking charge of things, and the younger one was staying silent. Dane wondered if he was a trainee or something. He looked young enough.

“Eighteen,” he answered.

“The same age as the primary suspect,” Carpenter said.

Apparently he remembered more than just a little about the case, Dane thought.

“I think you’d better come with us, Mr. Burdette.”

“I’m not moving a step until you tell me if this has to do with Kayla, if she’s all right.”

“From what a witness tells us, you had a fight with Ms. Tucker earlier tonight.”

“A fight? What the....”

Mr. Reyes. He supposed the little scene in the driveway could be interpreted that way.

“We’ve been...disagreeing. About her brother. She insists he’s innocent, I think he’s not.”

“Where have you been since that time?”

“Here. I came straight here.”

The younger officer looked him up and down. The older officer walked around him, looking at him even more intently. Looking for what? Dane wondered.

“You’re still dressed.”

“I knew I wasn’t going to sleep so I didn’t bother trying.”

“Hmm. Convenient.”

Dane didn’t like the way this was going. And he still didn’t have an answer about Kayla.

“What the hell is going on?”

“What have you been doing all night?”

“I had an online chat session with a company in Dublin we’re prepping a video for.” He added, “It was 1:00 a.m. here, but nine in the morning there.”

“They can verify that?”

“Sure.”

“I’d like to take a look around your apartment, Mr. Burdette. Do I have your permission?”

“You tell me if Kayla’s all right, you can look all you want.” He was starting to feel desperate now.

The older officer moved to face him head-on. Dane got the distinct feeling he was being studied, assessed. Why? He was just forming some vague idea that the man wanted to see how he’d react to what he was about to say when the words came and blasted any further thoughts out of his mind.

“Ms. Tucker’s home was firebombed tonight.”

A sensation Dane hadn’t felt since the night he’d heard Kayla’s screams from next door flooded him. He staggered slightly as an enervating chill sapped strength from his muscles and put his brain in a fog. He heard a sound and vaguely realized he’d dropped his cell phone.

Kayla.

“Is she...?”

He couldn’t say it. He just couldn’t. The officer just looked at him, waiting, for what Dane didn’t know.

The phone he’d dropped rang. Feeling as if he were moving underwater he looked at it. Hoping against hope Kayla’s familiar photo would be showing.

There was no photo at all. Just a name, the most recent one he’d added to his contact list.

Foxworth.

Slowly, still feeling that numbing paralysis, he bent to pick up the phone.

The officer beat him to it. He glanced at the screen. “Foxworth again,” he muttered.

“I need to answer it,” Dane said, a little amazed he could still talk at all. But Foxworth, either Quinn or Hayley, might know something, and at least they’d tell him. Unlike these guys, who seemed to be playing some kind of game he didn’t know the rules to.

“Put it on speaker,” the officer said.

“Speaker?” Didn’t they have to have a warrant to listen to somebody’s calls? he wondered.

“You were the last one to see Ms. Tucker. And we haven’t had a chance to check out these Foxworth people yet. If you’ve got nothing to hide, put it on speaker.”

Nothing to hide. And it wasn’t a suggestion or even a request. It was an order. And Dane suddenly, belatedly realized that these deputies weren’t here to deliver bad news.

They weren’t here to tell him the woman he’d loved for years was dead.

They were here because he was a suspect.