Wrapped in Flame (18 page)

He dragged her close, kissed her quick, and headed for the door.

Mike caught Posner’s glance from the corner of his eye as they both cleared the door. “Just because we weren’t together before doesn’t mean we aren’t now. I don’t want to hear any snide comments or speculations from you. Got it?”

“Loud and clear,” he replied. “Just like it’s gonna be to Keith Randall when he finally shows up. I have to admit, I’m concerned about her safety. One wife dead is tragic. Two is suspicious. Nothing to keep him from adding a third. I can see if my lieutenant will assign a team to her.”

“No, thanks. I’ve got my own team.” And they’d take Keith down in a New York minute before they’d let him so much as breathe in her direction.

Chapter Thirteen

So this is what a panic attack feels like.

Erica paced the floor, a fist pressed against her heart to quell the racing. She wanted to scream. Sheer will kept her from doing so. That and the fact she was fairly certain once she started screaming, she wouldn’t stop.

Pushing Mike out the door had been the hardest thing she’d ever had to do. She wanted to cling to him and never let go. He would have stayed too, something Erica couldn’t allow. He needed her to be strong so he could do his job. Nothing must ever interfere with that. He had to face the potential for danger on a daily basis, had to stay focused on his work. Erica wouldn’t have him distracted over worry for her. She needed him safe. He needed to know she’d manage in his absence.

You can do this. Take control. Slow down. Deep, slow breath in and out. Focus on something else.

Repeating the mantra eased her mind by slow degrees until order lingered where panic had prevailed. But she could feel it gnawing on the edges of her mind, ready to take over at the least provocation. The first thought that leaped into her head didn’t help.
Why am I still alive?

Panic gained a toehold again. Before it took over, she tried to attack with logic.
Why are his first two wives dead?
That thought brought out her anger. Keith had been married two other times and withheld that information. Why? If he were innocent in the deaths of those wives, a man like Keith would have milked being a sad, lonely widower for all it was worth. That screamed guilty in her mind. Damn it all, she felt stupid. She was still married to the son of a bitch.

“Not for long.” Hell, she’d go to the courthouse right this second and file her own divorce paperwork. Fuck, she’d have to find him first to serve them. Although he had filed. If she agreed, then wouldn’t it go through without any problem? Her anger built to full rage. Keith had tied her hands by filing for divorce, making himself petitioner and therefore in charge of all the paperwork. The marriage wouldn’t end until he filed the final papers.

Fine. Attorney it is.
It’d cost money. That was fine. She had money. God, did she have money. Using it… Well, Mike was about to find out how very much she trusted him.

At least Keith had filed for divorce rather than kill her. Then tied her hands in the process. Probably trying to milk her for every last dime. Or maybe hoping to frame her for murder by killing someone else and making the world think it was him.

Erica resumed pacing, trying to puzzle everything out. Keith wasn’t stupid. He’d know forensics would prove that wasn’t his body. Besides, what good would it do for him to frame Erica? Revenge? For what? Unless he suspected her relationship with Mike was more than it had been. If he’d been lurking about, he’d have that proven by now. Still, it was a dumb move. If he suspected such a thing, he would have raked them both over the coals, not planned a murder to get back at her.

She stopped pacing a moment. Unless it wasn’t planned. An accident, perhaps? The body found did sustain a blow to the head. Then why not report it as such? No, definitely murder. She continued walking. The whys and wherefores hardly mattered. A man was dead and the house set on fire to try to hide it. Keith had killed before. Two dead wives proved that. Or was it a horrible coincidence? Maybe someone getting back at him for something? Why kill them when divorce was cleaner?

An old argument filtered through her head. The one about life-insurance beneficiaries. Panic laughed at the new opportunity to latch on. Keith had made her the beneficiary of his life-insurance policy within days of their marriage. As his “show of love and devotion.” Erica never reciprocated and had refused to do so, despite his temper tantrums as a result.

“I needed money. You had it.”

Erica snorted. That was the reason she was alive today. That was the reason he filed for divorce. She’d bet he’d been setting himself up to request spousal support too. He still could. He could drag this out for years if he wanted…and have the fight of his life too. Erica refused to let him win.

“Time to make a list.”

She pulled her ever-present notepad from her purse, plopped onto the sofa, and began.

Move in with Mike.
She’d eat the cost of the money she’d already put out for the rental house if she had to, though it wouldn’t hurt to talk to the real-estate office.

Call Realtor.

As for the move… Word would have spread through the fire-station personnel like wildfire. Erica suspected their friends would be arriving shortly—outraged and protective. They’d get her moved without delay. Besides, she didn’t need much—her personal items and the things Mike had sent over from his place.
And the rest?
There went the guilt again. She’d figure out something.

Lawyer.
Erica would ask around, find out who was the best.

Bank.
Not yet. She needed to talk to Mike first. The transition had to be seamless.

The doorbell pealed, startling her from her thoughts. She scrambled to the window for a peek and found Trish outside with Bub, Berto, and CJ coming up the walk. CJ cut from the herd first, charging for the house with his laptop tucked under his arm. By the time Erica had the door open, he was beside Trish and the other two were right behind them.

Trish breezed inside. “You’ve got me until preschool lets out. Catch us up.”

“The three of you”—Erica waved her finger between the three men—“should be getting some sleep. It was a long night.”

“No way,” Berto said. “After news like this, we’re primed for action now. So what can we do?”

“Besides hunt this bastard down,” CJ added.

“Honestly?” Erica watched them settle around the living room. “You can help me move into Mike’s house.”

“On it.” Bub and Berto sprang from their seats and were out the door before she could put on shoes, much less give them a key to the rental. But then, they’d already proven they didn’t need one.

CJ set his laptop on the coffee table. “Not me. I’m going to see what I can dig up about Keith’s past.” If anyone could do so, he was the one. The man was a genius when it came to ferreting out information on the Internet. He also had the common sense not to go prying into others’ lives unnecessarily. Probably something he was kicking himself for now, considering everything they didn’t know about Keith.

“Make yourself comfortable.” As if he needed to be told. This was Mike’s house.

“Hurry up,” Trish said. “Clock’s ticking. Preschool lets out in two hours.”

“There’s no need—”

“I’m not leaving you alone for a second, even if it is to just drive over to the other house.” Then she did something Erica had never seen before, never expected from her stalwart friend. She crumpled into tears.

CJ looked like he regretted not leaving with the others.

“Oh, sweetie.” Erica wrapped her arms around her.

Trish clung to her. “He could have killed you, Erica.”

“But he didn’t. And he won’t.” He had nothing to gain by doing so. At least that was what she kept telling herself. It was the only thing keeping the panic away.

CJ shut the laptop and vaulted to his feet. “I just realized Berto and Bub left without a key. I’ll be glad to take it to them.”

Erica retrieved the key ring from her purse, pulled off the house key, and handed it to CJ. “All I want from the place besides my personal items are the red recliner and the bedroom stuff. The rest of it can go back to whoever donated it. If they don’t want it, I’ll figure out something else.”

“Got it.” He was out the door before she resumed her seat.

Trish brushed the tears from her face. “What are you going to do, Erica? The divorce…” She gasped and grabbed Erica’s forearm. “What about his bills? If you can’t find him…”

Erica dropped her hand over Trish’s. “It’ll all work out. I promise.” It was the hope she clung to, the belief she had to live by. Thinking anything else would drive her insane. “Come on. You can help me pack my stuff. We’ll be done well before preschool is out.” She squeezed her hand. “I don’t want you coming back with the kids. I don’t want them exposed to any of this.”

Trish looked like she wanted to argue. She could see the wheels turning in her head. But as much as Trish loved her, her priorities were clear. Tim and those kids came before anything else.

“I’ll be so glad when this is over and done with,” she said.

“Me too,” Erica replied.

Trish pulled in a deep breath and released it. “Big step, moving in with Mike. Don’t let anyone take that happiness away from you.”

“Never.” She hugged her. “Come on. Time’s wasting. All I need is shoes, and we can go.” She stood and headed for the bedroom. “We’ll take your van.”

They were out the door in less than two minutes, at Erica’s rental in less than five. There wasn’t a single news truck in sight. The men had already loaded the red recliner in Bub’s truck. At this rate, they’d be done within the hour, leaving plenty of time for Erica to take care of the other items on her to-do list.

“You get the food and stuff from the kitchen,” she told Trish. “I’ll get my personal things packed.” Neither would take long, since she hadn’t really done much unpacking or grocery shopping.

As they passed the men going back inside, her gaze fell to that wonderfully comfortable sofa. Fitting it into Mike’s living room would be a challenge, but she couldn’t leave it behind.

“Hey, guys,” she called, hurrying back outside.

The sight of a gray Honda Accord pulling to a stop at the curb set her heart racing. The men had stopped to stare as well. That was Keith’s car. Erica would recognize it anywhere, but not the woman who stepped from it. Oversize sunglasses covered her eyes, a clip secured her blonde hair in a haphazard twist, and her jeans were strategically torn as was the current trend. The wrinkled T-shirt, with a logo so faded it was unreadable, was a size too large and wrinkled, as if she’d slept in it. Her attention zeroed in on Erica as she exited. Berto blocked her path before she rounded the front of the vehicle.

“Can I help you?” His voice rang out.

She craned her neck to look up at him. “My name is Karen.” She looked Erica’s way. “I’m here to see you. I heard on the news that my brother…” A shudder rippled through her.

Berto didn’t budge. “You’re driving his car. Why?”

Karen snapped her finger toward the vehicle. “That’s my boyfriend’s car.”

He glanced at the license plate, then took a step away and turned. “Plate doesn’t match Keith’s. Sorry. My bad.”

Rapid strides brought Karen forward. The advance unnerved Erica. It was too reminiscent of Keith’s moments when he was pissed about something. Still, she accepted Karen’s outstretched hand.

“Karen Trenton, Keith’s sister. You’re clearly Erica. I recognize you from the picture my brother sent when you were married,” she said as they briefly shook.

“Trenton, not Randall?” Erica asked.

“Married, divorced. But we were trying to reconcile. I heard on the news that he’d been killed. Saw where you lived from a broadcast last night and hurried down here.”

“I would have called you but didn’t have a contact number, much less a name.”

A tear trickled down Karen’s cheek to the tip of her pointed chin. “We’d become estranged. He hated Wayne with a passion. When he learned we were reconciling, it didn’t go over well. He was doing everything he could to come between us. Wayne was furious and came down here to have it out with him. When I heard the news…” She pulled in a shaky breath. “I’m afraid Wayne did something stupid. I’ve been driving all night to get here.”

Someone did something stupid all right, and it wasn’t Wayne. “Keith isn’t dead.” There was no way to cushion the next blow. “The body they found wasn’t his. The man inside had pins in his hip and thigh from a recent injury.”

Oversize sunglasses couldn’t hide the wash of emotions on Karen’s face. From shock to rage to grief in seconds. She crumpled in upon herself. Not fainting but curling into a sobbing ball at Erica’s feet.

“He killed him,” she cried. “He swore he would, and he did.”

Erica squatted next to her. The men edged closer. Karen’s wailing brought Trish running. She jerked to a stop behind Erica.

“You need to talk to the detective handling the case.” Erica fumbled in her purse for her phone and handed it to Trish. “Last number that called me.”

Karen clutched at Erica’s arm, tugging her close. She braced herself to keep from falling into the woman.

“He’s done it before. Hurt men I’ve cared for. I warned Wayne from the start how dangerous Keith could be. What was I thinking? They are both so quick-tempered. I should have realized. I should have never let Wayne leave. Now he’s dead. Just like…” Harder sobs stole her words.

“Detective Posner’s on his way,” Trish said.

He couldn’t get there soon enough. Erica felt guilty for even thinking that way. Karen was clearly upset. Who wouldn’t be, thinking the man she loved was dead? Erica wanted to sympathize with her. Instinct told her not to be hasty, to keep her distance. That might have something to do with the woman’s striking resemblance to Keith. Erica had learned not to trust a word that came out of his mouth. It was more than that, though. Karen’s delivery felt overdramatic. Something screamed duplicity to Erica. She looked behind Karen. Like the car.

The ten minutes it took Posner to get there felt like an eternity. An awkward eternity at that. Karen’s hysterics vaulted to the stratosphere. The others formed a loose semicircle around them. Erica was trapped in her grip. It would be cruel to yank free. Doing so might also alert Karen that Erica wasn’t entirely buying her act. Because it was an act. She was sure of it.