Picture Perfect (Butler Island) (17 page)

Although desire and need pulsed
through his body, he remained in control. It was unhurried, attentive, tender.
The kind of kiss a man only unleashed when he wanted to convey how deeply he
cared.

“Sorry about that”, he uttered as he
pulled away. “I couldn’t help myself.”

Olivia lightly brushed her fingertips
across her tingling lips before resting the palm of her hand against his solid
chest. “It’s okay. You were beat by a girl twice in one night; obviously I
questioned your masculinity”, she playfully explained.

Grant smiled in spite of himself. He
loved her quick wit; it kept him on his toes. Most girls would’ve been clingy
or downright boring by now.

But not her.

After they left the carnival they sat
in the driveway in his truck, their mouths mating, their hands wandering. He’d
never felt this way about anyone before. He wanted more than anything to take
her back to his bed and spend the rest of the night making love to her.

 But he couldn’t.

 He’d told her she had to set the
pace and if she wasn’t ready to take that leap with him, he certainly wasn’t
going to push. He was eager to hear her say she wanted him—
eager to watch
her come again.

Until then, he’d settle for this:
making out like two love-crazed teenagers in the front seat of his truck.

Oh, how life was good…

CHAPTER 13

“What time did you get in last
night?” Ty asked as he carried his bowl to the bar.

Olivia stood at the stove, carefully
spooning her cheese grits into her bowl. “Um, just before midnight.”

“Did you have a good time?”

“Yeah, it was fun”, she uttered,
trying to sound as nonchalant as possible.

There was a momentary pause, and
then…

“Was Grant on his best behavior?”

Olivia froze and then quickly
recovered by turning around, taking a seat at the bar. “
Yes
”, she
answered cautiously. “Why do you ask?”

Because I’ve seen the way he looks at
you…
“No
reason—just wanted to make sure.”

After the awkward conversation with
Ty at breakfast, Olivia settled into her darkroom to check on her enlargements.
Yesterday, before the Winterfest Parade, she’d enlarged some of the photographs
taken the night of the theater fire and had left them to dry. Carefully, she
unclipped the black and white prints and flipped through them.

She was impressed with how well
they’d turned out. She’d captured Ty and Randall hosing down the front of the
building; Chief Handler shouting orders in his handheld radio; various angles
of the brick building consumed with hellish flames.

But her favorite was the one she’d
captured of Grant.

It was taken automatically by her
time-lapse feature as the roof was collapsing. He had just emerged from the
blaze and was running toward the camera. His hat and mask had already been
removed and black soot was smeared around the edges of his
face. Behind him was a thick haze of smothering
smoke.

But that’s not what made this picture
her favorite.

There was something about his blue eyes—they
were ironically translucent, revealing his mind, his heart. Relief that he and
his “brothers” had made it out of the collapse unharmed.

 And
weakness.

 Not for the punishment his body had
just endured—but for
her.
A realization that for the first time in his
life, he was running toward something—or someone—that mattered…

This was the kind of photograph that
Adversity Magazine loved: an image that stimulated an emotional response. On
Monday, she was going to head to the post office and send it off. Olivia smiled
at the notion: who would’ve thought that her latest masterpiece would star her
hometown?—
her hero
?

Olivia sighed as she positioned
herself behind the wheel of her Mini Cooper. A familiar wave of gratification
and content washed over her. Buckling her seatbelt, she turned the ignition and
maneuvered her vehicle out of the post office parking lot. She felt this way
every time one of her photographs was en route to its published destiny. Some
people were addicted to drugs or alcohol; others gambling. But for her, an
overwhelming sense of euphoria seeped from her pores whenever she
satisfactorily submitted a meaningful and expressive work of art.

The late
afternoon sun was steadily plummeting
from the western sky, transforming
the atmosphere into a canvas of variegated brilliance. Instead of heading home,
she decided to use the picturesque ambiance to her advantage.

After she’d received permission from
Chief Handler several weeks ago to accompany the fire department on their
calls, she’d visited city hall. Chief had requested she fill-out the necessary
paperwork relieving the department from liability in the event she was to
become injured. Thankful for the opportunity she’d been given, she’d
immediately traveled there.

During her brief visit, Mayor
Cliffburg had propositioned her. He’d explained that the newly renovated
building lacked artwork and asked if she’d be willing to provide her services.
She’d accepted his offer, aware that opportunities to make money in the small
town were few and far between. Olivia had concocted the idea of photographing
various landmarks on the island and the mayor immediately fell in love with the
concept.

So with sunset looming and her
euphoric mood intact, she decided to head to the first landmark on her list:
the boat warehouse. It had a vintage appearance; one that she thought would
benefit from both color and black-and-white photography.

Located adjacent to the marina, the
warehouse specialized in repair and maintenance of the area’s numerous
watercrafts: everything from Jet Ski’s to fishing boats to sailing vessels. The
warehouse was temporarily closed due to damage it incurred from the tropical
storm that’d skirted along the Florida Panhandle back in early October, but the
owner, Mr. Morgan, had given her special permission to photograph the interior
and exterior of the metal building.

After parking her car near the
marina, she cased the exterior, searching for the perfect angle that not only
captured the enormous structure, but also showcased the kaleidoscopic sunset
above. Once she was satisfied with the amount of images outside, she carefully
entered the building.

Beams of light infiltrated the large
windows near the ceiling, casting a radiant glow to portions of the dimly lit
storage facility. Her eyes scanned the room in a smooth, panoramic motion,
finally landing on a small sailing vessel located in the back corner. She
quickly journeyed toward it, her camera emanating a rhythmic “click” as she
accumulated images. Realizing that she had roughly twenty minutes of daylight
left, she trekked along the back of the warehouse, when suddenly she discovered
she wasn’t alone.

She caught a glimpse of a man dressed
in black, his face covered with a dark ski mask. He was meandering through the
aisles toward the middle of the building, randomly dumping liquid on the boats
surrounding him. Olivia hid behind a fourteen foot Pontoon boat parked along
the back of the dim warehouse, relentlessly photographing the event.

And then, the unthinkable—

He struck a match…

In an instant, she heard a
whoosh
,
witnessed a ball of fire, felt a rush of searing heat. She raised her arm,
shielding her face from the intense blaze and when she removed it, the mystery
man in black had disappeared.

She needed to get out of there.

 
Fast.

After fleeing the burning warehouse,
Olivia reached into her pocket for her cell phone and called for help. Less
than five minutes later, the fire engine arrived, along with several of the
department’s finest following closely behind in their personal vehicles.

Olivia observed Chief Handler
directing the scene, carefully examining the blaze like a flame whisperer and
then calling out orders to extinguish them.

“This is the work of an arsonist”,
she said as she approached.

Never removing his eyes from the
flames, he answered, “Most likely. But we won’t know that for sure until we
extinguish the fire and search the building for evidence.”

“There’s no need, Chief. I was here
when the fire started.”

“What?”
he asked as
he turned to face her.

Olivia handed him her camera. “It
was
arson. Here’s your proof.”

“Alright, now that everyone’s here,
let’s get started”, Chief Handler announced as he stood in front of the
enormous flat-screen T.V. in the corral of the fire station.

“I’m sure you’re all wondering why I
called a mandatory meeting this morning… As you are all aware, the island has
seen an abundance of fires in the last several months. We’ve all speculated as
to how these fires were started. At first, we believed it
was purely coincidental. But as the numbers
increased
, our opinions rapidly changed.”

“Investigations by the state fire
marshal corroborated our theory, but we still had zero leads—
until now.
It appears as though we are dealing with a lone arsonist. And I can say this
with confidence, because Olivia witnessed the arsonist in action.”

“What was she doing there?” Jimmy
asked.

“From what I understand, the mayor
hired her
to photograph various places
around the island. Basically, she was at the wrong place at the right time.”

“So did she get a good look at them?”
Randall inquired.

“Not them—
him.
And
unfortunately she wasn’t able to make an ID; he was wearing a ski mask.”

“So, Chief, if the arsonist was
wearing a disguise, how can we be sure it was a ‘he’?” Jarrod questioned.

“I asked that question, too. Olivia
said, and I quote, ‘if it wasn’t a man, then the town is being
burnt to the ground by Chyna Doll, the woman
wrestler.’”

Everyone laughed. WWE had been a
favorite source of entertainment for years and although the woman wrestler was
retired, everyone was familiar with her appearance. How could they not be?—she
had bigger biceps than half the guys at the department.

“Olivia may not have seen his face,
but she still captured him setting fire to the warehouse on her camera. We’re
getting closer to catching this guy…”

Shit, they’re on to me!

He tried to maintain his poker face;
tried not to squirm like a bucket of earthworms in his seat. How could he have
been so irresponsible? He knew
better than
to set a fire without searching the premises
first.

He’d gotten careless—driven by the
need for overtime money and fear of what his bookie would do to him if he was
late on another payment.

Next time, he
would
be more
careful.

But until then, he needed to destroy
what little evidence they had on him and he knew exactly where to start…

Little Miss Olivia…

CHAPTER 14

With another shift successfully
completed, Grant drove to Olivia’s. It had become a part of their routine:
every third day, he left the fire station and spent time with her. Keeping
their relationship hidden was becoming more difficult by the day, but if
sneaking around was the only way to make her feel comfortable, then he was more
than willing to oblige.

After parking his truck along the
street, he drifted toward the front door and rang the doorbell. Within moments
Olivia answered the door, the sexy little number she wore rendering him almost
speechless.

“What’s the matter, Womack? Cat got
your tongue?” she teased as she held the door open.

His eyes swept down the length of her
body. Her honey-blonde hair was haphazardly clipped to the top of her head,
random strands falling around the frame of her face. A jade terrycloth jacket
covered much of her upper body, except for the fact that it was unzipped
midway; exposing a navy tank top underneath. His eyes traveled further south,
focusing on a matching jade mini skirt that made her killer legs appear longer
than they actually were—and he should know; several weeks ago those seductive
legs were wrapped around his waist. Finally, his gaze landed on her perfectly
pedicured feet, her toenails painted a pale shade of pink.