Winterfall (14 page)

“Ten.”

He glanced at his watch. “Then we’d better get cracking.”

They shoveled in breakfast—she acted as if she hadn’t eaten in days, and he felt as ravenous. In between bites, they discussed the merits of seeing her father.

“They say coma patients can hear people.” Disdain colored her voice.

“You don’t believe they can?”

“I think they can. Doesn’t mean I would know what to say to him.”

Her cell phone rang and she picked up and answered. “Hey Jeeter.”

Jeeter.
Mark didn’t want jealousy to rear its deformed head again, but the more time he spent with her, the more he felt possessive as hell. He didn’t like the feeling, and he had no right to it. He didn’t have some creepy notion, like some men he’d known, that he
owned
a woman. He wasn’t some throwback, but the need inside him to tell Jeeter to fuck off disturbed Mark on a deep level.
Control, Bub. You’re known for it, so stick to it.
He hadn’t confessed to her last night that even though people always seemed to swarm to him for advice, he didn’t
always
want to be asked. Leadership, though ingrained by the military, didn’t come naturally to him. He’d gone into leading other men kicking and screaming. He’d honed himself into a well-controlled machine capable of smiling at someone, telling them to fuck off, and having them thank him for it. He could pretty up the truth, but he found it exhausting.

His mind snapped back to her conversation with Jeeter—he’d missed more than half of it.

“Yeah, we’re going to the hospital,” she said, still on the phone. “Right now.” She smiled. “Thanks Jeeter.”

She hung up and set her phone on the counter.

“Everything okay?” he asked.

“The whole station knows my father’s in the hospital. Jeeter says Okono blabbed it.”

“How does Okono know?”

“He’s got a cousin in the police department.”

“Great.” He made a sound of derision. “Really professional of his cousin to leak it.”

“Really professional of Okono.”

He shrugged, and reached for her hand, which still rested on the phone. “It’s okay. You know I’ve got your back, right? I’ll be with you at the hospital.”

She smiled, and he wanted to stuff his hands in her crazy hair and kiss her until they both burned up in the flames. He wanted to reassure her nothing bad would happen in her world with him by her side. But that wasn’t a realistic possibility. Bad things could and did happen. Didn’t matter, though. He would do his damnedest to stand between her and danger.

“You’re something else, O’Day.”

He squeezed her hand gently. “Mark.”

“Mark.”

“Let’s go to the hospital.”

“Rip off the bandage?”

“As fast as possible.”

* * * *

Mark kept his hand at the center of Juliet’s back as they walked into the hospital. It had taken a long time to get across town, with traffic jams and obnoxious drivers. Mark wasn’t a fan of hospitals—too many bad vibes, and with Buckleport General taking on more patients than they could handle, the chaos inside ranked right up there with “fucked up” most of the time. He didn’t blame the staff, because from everything he could see, most of them busted their asses. When he’d been in Buckleport General as a patient after that RPG almost took out the SUV he was riding in, he’d discovered how insane an emergency room could become during a major ongoing crisis. Though things had calmed considerably in the last few weeks, the busy, chaotic scene still made him twitch. Juliet appeared uncomfortable, and short of suggesting they return to Sentry Security, he couldn’t change that. After checking in at the front desk, a nurse led them to her father in the ICU. The detective sat in a chair next to her father, which surprised the hell out of Mark.

Juliet looked surprised, too. “Detective. I thought you’d be out in the lobby or something.”

The detective smiled. “Strange, I know. I’ve noticed the hospital has lax standards these days.”

Meaning, Mark imagined, that the detective had snuck into ICU.

Mark ignored the detective as Juliet stood at the foot of the bed looking at her father. Mark expected a different-looking man, though he didn’t know why. Mr. Van Pelt was hooked up to this machine and that, beeps sounding in the right rhythm. His body looked too thin, his cheekbones and chin sharp, eye sockets sunken. His skin had a gray pallor. No way to misinterpret it. The arsonist didn’t look as if he’d last much longer. Juliet stayed rigid, her hands clutching the railing near the bottom of the bed. Detective Morrison stayed in the chair as if he had every right. Mark wanted to take the detective outside and reeducate the man on manners and respect, but Mark didn’t want the grief. The detective would probably try to have Mark arrested.

“Juliet?” Mark touched her shoulder in a show of support. “You don’t have to do this if you don’t want to.”

Her gaze stayed on the man in the bed. “I’m here now. Time to rip off the band aid.”

“What?” the detective asked.

She ignored Morrison and moved closer to the head of the bed. “Dad?” Her question came out as a whisper. “Can you hear me? It’s Juliet and I’m here now.”

The detective stood across from her, peering down at his suspect. Mark didn’t budge.

Juliet touched her father’s left hand, covering it with her own. “Dad? Can you hear me?” She waited but didn’t get a flicker of an eyelash. “This is my friend Mark O’Day. The other man is Detective Morrison. The detective is trying to figure out who’s been setting the fires in Buckleport. Please, Dad. I need you to wake up. I don’t know what happened to you, but it’s important you try. For your health. And because we have some questions. Do you know who sent me the letters? Did you send me the letters?”

Not a twitch of an eyelid.

Mark hoped the fuck her father hadn’t sent the letters. If her father thought that way about her it would be a sick situation all the way around.

“Dad?” Her voice had gone hoarse, but at this angle Mark couldn’t see her expression. She leaned closer to her father. “No one has died yet, but things could get worse. If you know anything—”

Van Pelt’s eyes snapped open, and he gasped. Juliet jerked in reaction and drew her hands back. Van Pelt looked around, confusion in his eyes at first. Before anyone could make a sound, the skinny man grabbed her hands in both of his.

“My fault,” Van Pelt said, his voice hoarse and eyes frantic. “I did it. It’s all my fault! I caused this. Forgive me. Forgive me.”

Stark panic struck her face. “Dad what—”

“What do you mean, Van Pelt?” The detective launched into questions. “Did you start the fires in Buckleport? Did you send the letters to your daughter?”

As the old man’s eyes closed, he dropped Juliet’s hands.

“Damn it.” The Detective leaned closer to the bed. “Van Pelt. Van Pelt?”

A nurse rushed up to the bed. “Time to leave. You’ll be able to visit him later.”

“This man is a suspect in a crime,” the detective said.

The nurse tossed an exasperated expression at the police officer. “Doesn’t matter. He’s seriously ill. He needs to be examined by a doctor.” The nurse took vitals, and she smiled. “He’s stable so far as I can tell.”

Juliet’s expression eased. Maybe she did love her father in the most basic way.

The nurse shooed them. “You need to leave for now.”

Mark moved to Juliet’s side and slipped his arm around her shoulders. “Come on.”

Once outside in the lobby, the detective stepped in front of Juliet and Mark. “We need to talk. That was a confession.”

“It sounded like it.” Juliet’s voice was dull and her eyes equally void of emotion. She shivered. “I can’t believe he’d send me those letters, though. It’s just…I don’t know.”

“You don’t sound relieved,” the detective said.

“How can I feel relieved?”

“With his confession you’re off the hook,” the detective said. “Plus I have other news.”

“Other news?” Juliet asked.

The detective pursed his lips a second. “Your father’s fingerprints are all over the envelopes of the letters you received.”

Juliet’s mouth opened, but nothing came out.

“Look,” Morrison said. “I understand the letters are…”

Mark filled in. “Creepy as shit.”

The detective didn’t flinch at Mark’s blunt assessment. “Unfortunately, yes. Anyway, now that he’s confessed and we have his fingerprints on the envelopes, it’s a slam dunk.”

She shivered, her whole body moving as she rubbed her hands together. Today she wore a light blue long-sleeved shirt and jeans, the weather warm enough to go without a coat. He wanted to take her somewhere secluded and keep her warm and safe.
Damn. You’ve got it bad, sport.
He’d never wanted to coddle a woman before, never felt this overwhelming desire to protect before. With everything pointing towards her father’s guilt, God only knew what was going on in her mind, what kind of turmoil she faced.

She slipped out from under Mark’s arm. “I need some air.”

“There’s a place out back some of the employees use,” the detective said. “A garden.”

Before Mark could speak, she waved one hand in dismissal. “I’ll go there.” She looked up at Mark. “Give me a few minutes.”

He didn’t know what she had in mind, but he respected her need for time alone. “Of course. I’ll see you there shortly.”

She left, her gaze on the floor but her stride determined.

Detective Morrison made some notes in his ever-present notebook. “She doesn’t seem too happy for a woman who’s off the hook. Unless she’s been planning arsons with her father.”

Mark planted his hands at his waist. “That’s bullshit. She’s not an arsonist.”

Detective Morrison’s eyes held continued skepticism. “How long have you known her?”

“Not long.”

“Then how can you be sure?”

Mark put his hand to his chest for a moment. “I feel it right here. I trust my gut. It’s pretty damned accurate.”

“Okay, if you’re so accurate, what about her father?” Sarcasm dripped off Morrison’s voice. “Did you get any vibes off him?”

“No.”

The detective snorted, as if that proved Mark didn’t know what the hell he was talking about. Mark didn’t care.

“By the way, the fire marshal finished investigating her neighborhood. She can go home whenever she wants,” Morrison said.

Mark felt something ease inside him. At least she’d find comfort in her own home. “Good. I’ve got a few questions, though.”

Morrison looked wary. “Like what?”

“So her father’s been homeless since he got out of prison?”

“Apparently. We don’t think he was in Buckleport the whole time. Something triggered him to start the fires in Buckleport, but who knows what sort of twisted shit the bastard believed in. He’s just damned lucky he didn’t kill anyone. This will put him away for life if I have anything to say about it.”

Mark hoped Van Pelt would go away for life, if only to keep Juliet safe. “You’ve taken Juliet off your radar, I hope.”

Morrison’s eyes stayed like silver dollars, lifeless and cold. “I can’t discuss more details of the case.”

Shit.

Detective Morrison’s eyes were flinty and unforgiving. “Well, that’s enough for today. Give Miss Van Pelt my regards.”

“Right.” Mark just wanted the man out of his sight.

Morrison left, and Mark took an elevator downstairs and toward the back of the hospital in search of Juliet. He couldn’t get to her fast enough.

Juliet sat on a small concrete bench in the little back garden outside the hospital. A small fountain sent soothing sounds into the air, a sweet trickle and tinkle that relaxed her. She filled her senses with fragrant flowers and greenery nearby. Her mind spun with the implications of what her father had confessed. When the door opened behind her, she turned and spied Mark walking toward her. His face was hard and drawn in grim lines, as if he’d been given bad news. God, she hoped there wasn’t more. There
couldn’t
be more. Everything that had happened in her father’s room weighed heavy on her heart.

She stood and tried a smile. “That wasn’t a few minutes.”

“Sorry.” He didn’t look as if he regretted it. His warm hands cupped her shoulders. “I didn’t want to leave you alone too long. You okay?”

Her throat tightened. “I don’t know. I can’t decide how to feel.”

“Maybe now is a good time to just feel rather than to decide.”

His statement hit her in the stomach, and she lost all her air. “That’s profound.”

She saw a flash of exasperation in his gaze and lowered her eyes.

He tilted her chin up and urged her closer. His voice went soft and low. “Don’t hide from me. It’s okay to be who you are and show how you feel. It’s safe.”

She smoothed her hands over his broad chest, thankful for the heat and hardness anchoring her place. Thankful for the deep-down knowledge she could tell him the truth. He’d understand. He’d give her room.

“No one’s ever said something like that to me before,” she said, her voice cracking a little.

“We’ve never been here and in this situation before.”

She gathered his shirt in her fingers, bunching up the fabric, afraid on a primal level all her strength would escape her when she desperately needed it. She
wanted
it. Craved it.

“I’ve got good news,” he said.

“Oh?”

“You can go home. Morrison said the fire marshal has cleared the area.”

“Wow, that’s faster than I expected.” She kept her grip on his shirt. “But it’s good. I won’t impose on your hospitality any longer.”

“Nah. You aren’t imposing. If you’re not comfortable going home yet, you’re welcome to stay at Sentry.”

“No, I don’t want to depend on the security.”

He tilted his head slightly to the side. “You’re a damned independent woman. It’s sexy.”

A ball of heat burned low in her stomach. “Thank you. You’ve been taking care of me a lot lately. I haven’t been that independent.”

“Everyone needs a little help sometimes.”

She smiled, but it was soft and half-hearted. “Why are you so well adjusted, O’Day?”

He laughed. “Dumb luck.”

Weariness made her eyes close. “I just can’t believe everything that’s happened in such a short time. I can’t believe my father confessed. It’s surreal.”