The Right Kind of Trouble (29 page)

“No. I can't … No.”

“Then wait for me.”

She managed a wobbly smile as he walked away. She turned her attention back to the devastated ruin of the museum. She'd put the past five years of her life into this place. More, really. She'd been thinking about creating something like this for more than ten years and it had actually been an idea her parents had talked about. They'd never been able to make it happen, so she'd decided to make it happen for them. Now it was ruined.

She rose and took a few steps, turning from the sight of the museum and all those ruined dreams. It was too much to look at just then.

A man's face, the familiar sneer, caught her eye and she turned away before Joe Fletcher could draw near. “Fucking leech,” she muttered. He always seemed to be around whenever her misery was at its all time highest.

She bumped into somebody and this time it was a familiar voice that reached out to her. “Moira.”

“Charles,” she said, feeling deflated. The strength drained out of her and she sat once more, right in the middle of the sidewalk. Charles looked around and then shrugged, sitting with a smile next to her. Nobody gave them another look.

She wished she had the energy to put on a brave front, but she was so tired and all she could do was nod at him.

“This is … awful.”

“Yeah.” She nodded in agreement. There really wasn't anything to say.

“Do they have any idea what happened?” Charles stared out over the museum, the same as she.

She didn't answer, staring at the fireman who'd just emerged. He had something in his hand. Frowning, she tried to see it and then, as he held it up, she thought she might be sick.

“Is that a…”

She lurched upward and stumbled off to the side.

There was no
thinking
about it now.

She wretched, the small bit of her dinner boiling up out of her throat to splatter onto the pavement.

A gas can. One of those old-fashioned, metal gas cans.

Somebody had actually done this on purpose.

A gentle hand smoothed her hair back from her face.

Charles. She was so tired, she almost leaned against him.

But then she pulled herself together and staggered upright, somehow.

“Let me take you home,” he said quietly. “You being here, this isn't helping. It isn't good for you.”

*   *   *

The sight of that dick Hurst hovering around Moira made Gideon wanted to hit something.

Actually, it was like that in the best of times.

Right now, when she was fragile and looking bruised, it made it about ten times worse and
something
wouldn't suffice. What Gideon really wanted to hit was Hurst. He wanted to hit him hard and fast over and over.

“If looks could kill,” Dirk Hutton said to Gideon, “that man would be dead and you would be in jail.”

Gideon looked away without responding. If looks could kill, Hurst would have been dead long ago and Gideon would have been rotting away in a cell all this time. Focusing on the men in their fire gear as they swarmed around behind Hutton, he asked, “You got anything for me?”

Hutton gestured to the can his men were carefully packing away. “You already saw that. Pretty damn clear this was no accident. Unless of course that old can was on the display and they just forgot to drain the accelerant in it.”

“Accelerant?” Gideon narrowed his eyes.

“Yeah. Not going to speculate on what just yet, but I can tell you that it wasn't gasoline. Place went up to fast, burned too hot and too long. We'll get it figured, though.”

Pulling out his notepad, Gideon made a couple of notes. “Anything else?”

From the corner of his eye he could see Charles murmuring to Moira as he stroked her hair. Gideon wanted to take that hand and break it, break every last finger.

“Need a minute?” Hutton asked, clearly amused.

“No, I don't need a minute.” He glared at the fire chief. “Would you just do your damn job?”

Ignoring the demand, Hutton reached up and rubbed at his jaw. It smeared the soot and muck on his face. “Yeah, I see how fine you are, dumbass. You look like you want to go bag yourself an uptight prick. Why don't you just get it over with, beat on your chest and tell him to keep his hands off your woman?”

Gideon gaped at him.

The man had to be out of …

Then he caught the sly humor glinting in his eyes.

Only an idiot or somebody looking for hurt would say
your woman
in Moira's hearing.

“Somebody needs to take her home,” Hutton said, the amusement leaving his face, replaced by grim lines.

“Yeah, well, in case it's escaped your attention, this is a crime scene.” He gestured around with his hand, then tapped his badge. “I'm a bit of a stickler for being around on these things, especially one of this magnitude.”

“I didn't mean you specifically.” Hutton shrugged, lifting one shoulder. “Although you've got good men in your department. Have one of them take over while you run her home. She needs some rest, man. Hell, for that matter Ian's apartment is right over there. Find Ian and Neve, explain the situation, and have them invite her to stay. She'll probably say yes. She'll want to be around until she has answers, I'm thinking.”

“How about you stop telling me how to do my job?” he suggested.
And maybe you stop thinking about telling me how to take care of my woman?

Just then, Charles emerged from the throng of people. Voice cool, he said, “Chief Marshall.” He didn't even spare the other man a look. “Moira is exhausted and upset. I'm going to take her home. She's had quite enough of this today.”

Gideon had to give the fire marshal some credit. He turned his laugh into a very believable cough as Gideon crossed his arms over his chest and met Charles' gaze dead-on. “No. She's can't leave yet. I'll have quite a few questions when we're done. I need her close.”

Charles's eyes flashed. But his voice was just as calm when he responded. “I believe she would appreciate the comfort of her home around her. Perhaps Ian and Neve could join her there.”

“Sorry, Hurst. That isn't going to work.” He turned away as he pulled out his phone and sent a text to Ian and Brannon, quickly summing up the situation. “She needs to be in town where I can talk to her. Again, I'm going to have questions and I don't want her thirty minutes out.”

“There is this strange contraption called the telephone.” Charles lowered his eyes to stare at Gideon's. “I believe you're familiar with the concept.”

“This old thing?” He held it up, then shrugged. “Sure. But this matter is rather urgent and I'd prefer her to remain close by.”

“And you've a valid reason none of this can wait?” Charles demanded. “The poor woman is exhausted. She's upset. This has traumatized her.”

Guilt rose up in Gideon's gut, but he wasn't about to allow Charles to intervene or come between them again.

“Tell me something, Chuck.” He took a couple of steps until he stood almost nose to nose with the other man. “How would you like to spend the night in jail? Interfering with a police investigation isn't much fun when it comes with consequences.”

“Excuse me?” His expression turned wintry and he took one single step toward Gideon.

“Are we ready to go?” Moira soft voice came to Gideons as if over a distance and he managed to restrain himself, although it took a lot of mental fortitude to keep from grabbing the English schmuck and throwing him on the ground.

Charles smoothed out his features before he looked over at her, and Gideon had to give him credit because none of the temper he had displayed showed in his voice. “No, love. Your … friend says he would rather you stay in town for a bit yet.”

Gideon set his jaw before looking over at Maura. “You need to spend the night here. I'd rather you not be out at Ferry alone.”

“I can't stay here.” Her voice shook with the intensity of her emotions. “I want to go home.”

With a smug look on his face, Charles moved to take her arm.

“I'm not kidding, Moira. You are not going to be out there alone tonight. This has gone too far. You're either staying with Neve and Ian or Brannon and Hannah.”

Moira bared her teeth at him, temper flaring in her pale green eyes. “Fine. You don't want me alone? I'll have them come out and stay with me. I'm sure Ian and Neve won't mind having a slumber party at Ferry.”

“Not good enough.” He loved this beautiful stubborn woman more than he could ever say—and if she thought he'd let her go
anywhere
alone, she was probably as crazy as she was stubborn. “Not good enough by far, Mac. Neve and Ian won't give a damn if you stay the night. Hell, Neve would probably feel better if you did. But you're not making that drive out to Ferry without me. Not tonight.”

She took a step toward him, lifting her chin.

He wasn't surprised by the flare of anger. He was actually almost relieved by it. Better her anger than that broken look on her face.

“Yeah?” She curled her lip at him. “And if I decide to get into my car and drive out there? What are you going to do about it, Chief?”

“Don't push me, Moira.”

She jabbed him in the chest with a nail slicked the color of cherries. “I'm pretty sure that's exactly what I'm doing.”

Ian and Neve arrived at that very moment. Gideon managed not to blow out a sigh of relief. “Ian. Neve. Can Moira spend the night at your place?”

“I was kinda hoping you would.” Neve's smile wobbled a little before it firmed as she went to hug her sister.

A frustrated little scream emerged from Moira's throat as she shoved her hands into her hair. “Stop it!” She spun away, shoulders bowing forward as she stared at the ground. “I don't want to stay in town. I don't want to stay with Ian and Neve. I want to go to my home, stay in my bed and I want a bottle of wine from my cellar and I want my tub and I want to curl up in my chair and cry! Is that so hard to understand?”

Neve looked to Gideon, rolling her lips in.
Ah, you better do something,
she seemed to say.

He was tempted to shake Moira. He wondered if that was what Neve meant.

Before he could even figure out the first thing to say that might calm things down, Moira spun back around, jerking a thumb at her chest. “I'm an adult, got it? I'm older than
both
of you.” She glared at Ian and Neve and, when Ian looked like he was smothering a laugh, she gave him a look that was so withering, it almost shriveled Gideon's balls. Ian's face sobered as he hung his head, rubbing at his neck.

He was tempted to smack Ian across the head. He'd wanted these two to talk her
down,
not make it worse.

“I don't need babysitters.” She raked the crowd with a look, and the sight of everybody suddenly finding something else to look at only made her more disgusted. “And I don't need to give the town anything else to talk about. I've had
enough
today, Gideon. Enough.”

She had. He knew that.

But he wasn't going to let her make that drive.

“Wait for me,” he said, his voice low and intense. “I'll finish as fast as I can and take you home. If you're going to be that damn stubborn—”

“I'm not being stubborn!” she shouted. “I just want to go
home
and I want to go now!”

Fed up, Gideon shoved his face into hers. “No.” Taking care to enunciate each word, he said, “No, Mac, you are not. You are staying in town. Now if I have to, I can force the issue.” He paused, watching as her porcelain complexion slowly turned a blushing shade of pink as her anger began to skyrocket. This was going to get ugly. He should have asked her go inside the pub or something. But fuck it all—he was on duty and he needed to be talking with the fire chief, trying to find witnesses, not fighting over this.

Moira sucked in a breath, but before she could say anything, he continued. “I really don't want to force the issue, though. Please don't make me. But if you insist on trying to drive thirty minutes to a house that is now empty, then I'm going to have one of my officers take you into custody for your own safety. You will spend the night in a cell.”

Her jaw fell open.

“Don't make me do that, Mac.”

For maybe ten seconds, all she could do was gape at him. Then she exploded. Shoving her hands against his chest, she shouted, “Are you kidding me? Threatening to arrest me all because I want to go home? Why kind of bastard are you?” Her voice broke.

“Surely you can't be serious about this,” Hurst said from the side. His voice was low and thick with disgust, but Gideon heard it loud and clear. “Are you that much of an ass?”

Whipping his head around, Gideon glared at the man. He'd put up with plenty from Moira. But from this dick? No. “You want to back off, Hurst. And you want to do it now. Otherwise, I'll throw
you
in a cell for the sheer pleasure of it.”

Hurst must have seen something in Gideon's face because he backed up a step, although he didn't leave. He murmured quietly to Moira, stroking a hand down her back.

Gideon wanted to break his fingers, starting at the knuckles. He'd work his way up from there.

“Why are you doing this?” Moira demanded, her voice shaking. “What is going on with you?”

“With
me
?” She had to be blind. Either that or the shock was affecting her thinking. Closing the distance between them, he caught her arm. When she tried to pull away, he simply moved with her, stepping aside so that nothing obstructed her view of the museum. “What's wrong with
you
? Don't you see it, Mac?”

The smoking remains were a stark, haunting image against the night sky, backlit by the streetlights from the parking lot. A murky haze lingered in the air. The smell of smoke would take days to fade.