Sleeping Beauty Suspect
Dani Sinclair
HE RUSHED UP THE STEPS TO FIND A HONEY-BLOND HEIRESS WAITING TO BE ROUSED FROM HER DEEP, TERRIBLE SLEEP…Flynn O'Shay never thought twice about rushing into a deadly blaze if it meant saving someone's life. But untangling the mystery of the enchanting Whitney Charles? That took a different kind of guts. Sure, he'd been brave enough to steal a kiss from the sleeping beauty while she was still unconscious. But now that she was awake and tight-lipped about her involvement in the suspicious fire, Flynn needed to proceed with caution. Could he charm her into confessing the truth in time? Or would a killer's next move incinerate his dreams for a happily ever after?
Something about her drew him to her side.
Flynn found himself brushing back a strand of smoke-coated hair and discovered pierced ears, devoid of ornamentation. The total absence of jewelry seemed wrong. Flynn shrugged. Those were questions for the police, not a battered fireman who was starting to feel every inch of his abused condition. He should go. But he couldn’t stop wondering about her. She looked so helpless.
“Good luck, Beauty. I’m glad to know you’re going to be all right.” Flynn bent over stiffly and lightly kissed her forehead.
The woman’s eyes flew open.
Sleeping Beauty Suspect
Dani Sinclair
www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)
This story is dedicated to the incredible men and women who make fighting fires a career.
Thank you.
With special thanks to career firefighter Sam Martinez of the Takoma Park station in Montgomery County, Maryland, who took personal time to answer a lot of questions from a total stranger.
I hope I got it close to right.
Also, thanks to Judy Fitzwater for help and support in equal measure; Roger for patience, suggestions and things too numerous to mention; and, of course, Chip, Dan and Barb, who are always there for me.
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
An avid reader, Dani Sinclair didn’t discover romance novels until her mother lent her one when she’d come for a visit. Dani’s been hooked on the genre ever since. But she didn’t take up writing seriously until her two sons were grown. Mystery Baby premiered in the Harlequin Intrigue line in 1996, and Dani’s kept her computer busy ever since. Her third novel, Better Watch Out, was a RITA
Award finalist in 1998. Dani lives outside Washington, D.C., a place she’s found to be a great source of both intrigue and humor!
You can write to Dani c/o the Harlequin Reader Service.
CAST OF CHARACTERS
Flynn O’Shay—The fireman is just doing his job when he rescues a sleeping beauty from a burning house. Now he’s protecting her from a determined killer.
Whitney Charles—The keep-to-herself heiress runs her own business. How can she possibly know an arsonist, and why does he want her dead?
Braxton Charles—Whitney’s father makes his fortune in real estate and has been estranged from his daughter ever since his wife died and he remarried a much younger woman.
Ruby Charles—The former nurse took care of Whitney’s sick mother. Now she’s married to Whitney’s rich father, who suddenly appears old and frail.
Vincent Duvall—He and his wife went to school with Whitney and helped her start her company. Now both of them are acting secretively and strangely.
Barry Lindell—He and Whitney dated a few times, and the Charles family lawyer isn’t ready to call things quits just yet.
Lucan O’Shay—This cop loves his younger brother, but he’s got a duty to uphold and that means doing whatever he has to do, even if Flynn doesn’t approve.
Christopher Slingman—Ruby’s brother is close to Whitney—until he develops other ideas about what their relationship should be.
Dick Scellioli—No one’s surprised that the photojournalist always shows up at the arson fires, but why has he developed a fixation on Whitney?
Contents
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter One
“911. Police or fire?”
“Fire! The abandoned house on the corner of Taylor and Third has smoke coming out and there’s someone trapped inside!”
Station 15 came to life in a rush of activity as the alarm sounded. Flynn O’Shay rolled from his cot with his fellow firefighters and donned his gear with practiced speed. There was no discussion, no grumbling about the hour. An abandoned house fire at three in the morning had them all thinking the same thing. Their arsonist had struck again.
If someone was trapped inside, however, it was a whole new situation. Their guy might have finally made a mistake.
Two in and two out was the county standard for search-and-rescue. Tonight Flynn and his partner, Carey Rineman, would be the two going into the burning building while Frenchy and Lew had their backs. That is, if the place wasn’t already fully involved by the time they got there.
Houses around Taylor and Third were sprawling Victorians over a century old. Packed tightly together side by side, they posed a serious hazard, particularly with the wind up as it was tonight. An abandoned house would be dry as tinder. Flynn shared a sour look with Carey as the siren screamed its warning to the few cars in the big engine’s path.
This section of town was undergoing a revival. Many of the old houses had been or were in the process of being restored to their former glory.
The house on the corner wasn’t one of them.
A badly twisted metal fence encased an overgrown yard that had become a dumping ground for all sorts of debris. The once stately mansion was now a dilapidated eyesore with peeling, grayed paint, sagging porches and boarded-over doors and windows.
Swearing under his breath, Flynn reached for his tank. Ben and Hal were on the ground starting the line to a nearby hydrant. A plume of thick smoke trickled up from behind a plywood-covered window. This was the lieutenant’s shift and he hurried forward to open the front gate only to discover it was rusted shut. By the time Flynn and Carey reached him, the gate was no longer an issue.
But the yard was.
They had to battle their way through the dense underbrush. Flynn eyed the plywood-covered doors and windows. Historic or not, someone should have torn this disaster down a long time ago. Large, shapeless bushes and a forest of unpruned trees were surrounded by weeds, broken bottles, rusting cans and other trash. Rose bushes gone wild lurked beneath a tangle of vines, tugging at the firemen’s heavy pants as they fought their way to the sagging front porch.
Flynn listened as the lieutenant barked orders in his ear over the radio. Only the right-hand side of the building appeared to be involved at the moment. Lew moved past them with a crowbar to rip the plywood from the front door. Inside, flames flared in glee at the influx of fresh air. Their color was enough to confirm suspicions that this was another arson.
Straight ahead lay the staircase but they turned toward the fire first. Remnants of discarded furniture had been left scattered behind some time ago. A battered sofa provided plenty of starter fuel. Flames and smoke sprang from it to creep up the flowered wallpaper at its back. No sign of anyone. Flames gobbled a scattering of old newspapers on the floor.
They covered the downstairs quickly. All the rooms were empty.
Smoke rushed upward and so did they. Flynn prayed the wooden stairs weren’t rotted and would hold their weight.
“It’s really moving,” Carey muttered under his breath.
“Yeah.”
They reached the landing and turned to the room directly over the flames. There was little time left to scan for victims. The fire was spreading with wicked speed.
Flames broke through the floor in the room over the fire, sending them back to the hall. The heat became oppressive as they crossed to the room opposite, Carey going right, Flynn left.
“Clear,” Carey’s voice repeated in his ear.
“Clear,” Flynn agreed.
Flames began licking up that wall as well. They were nearly out of time. Dense smoke swirled to fill the space, growing blacker by the second. The snapping crackle of the blaze was audible even over the sound of their breathing apparatus.
On the floor in what had obviously been another bedroom, an old mattress piled with rags jutted out from the wall. Perfect. More fuel for the hungry flames. About to turn back, Flynn stumbled over something and went to his knees.
“Flynn!”
“I’m okay.”
He started to rise and stopped. A small, bare human foot protruded from the pile of rags. He stared in shock and a jolt of adrenaline sent him stumbling forward. He touched the appendage to be sure it was real.
“I’ve got a victim!”
The rags proved to be a long dress of some floaty material worn by a slender slip of a woman with long hair. Flynn called out the location as he bent to lift her. She didn’t stir, not even when he picked her up. He wondered if she was already dead.
Carey tapped his arm. “We gotta go!”
Flynn nodded. Smoke curled around them insidiously, blacking out the room. Carey led the way toward the door and was quickly enveloped. Flynn could no longer see his partner, but he kept moving in the same direction. Even before he bumped into Carey’s broad back, he realized they were too late.
The radio crackled in his ear. “Flynn, Carey, pull out! Pull out! We have flames going up the stairs,” Lew yelled.
There was nothing to see but dense smoke.
“We’re on the second floor, back of the building left side,” Carey responded. “We have an unconscious victim. We’re going to need an escape route through a window.”
“We’re on it.”
But, of course, he and Carey wouldn’t be able to see the window even if it hadn’t been boarded over.
Pushing aside his fight-or-flight reaction, Flynn tried to relax and breathe evenly, wishing he could wipe at the sweat running down his face. Frenchy and Lew would get them out. This being a corner room, there were likely windows at their back and left side.
Carey bumped his arm. “I’ve got the outside wall. We’ll use it as a guide to the windows. Stay on me.”
Brushing the back of Carey’s suit with his free hand, Flynn followed his partner step by cautious step as the flames gobbled the structure around them with incredible speed. How much accelerant had the bastard used?
Without warning, Carey stumbled hard and went down. Flynn barely managed to avoid sprawling on top of him. He staggered to the side nearly dropping the woman as he tried to keep his footing.
“Carey!”
“Floorboard gave. My foot’s stuck.”
“Mayday,” Flynn called. “Carey’s trapped. Corner bedroom near the back.”
He reached down with his free hand. “Can you pull yourself out hanging on to me?”
“Yes.” And he groaned when he tried to pull free. “No! I’m wedged tight. Go! Get the victim out!” His friend sucked in a sharp breath. “I think I broke something.”
Flynn swore. A sliver of flame broke through the wall across from them.
“Lew? We’re in trouble here!”
“Stand by. We’re on our way in.”
Carey tugged at his wedged foot. A wider tongue of flame licked up the wall at their back. They swore as one.
“Go!”
He hated that Carey was right. Flynn had to get the woman out. If she weren’t already dead, she soon would be. He headed toward the reassuring sound of axes on wood. The room lightened for a brief second as a plywood cover was ripped free outside.
Glass shattered. Smoke billowed toward it in a rush to be free. Flynn lumbered toward the opening, half afraid the floor under him would give at any minute. Frenchy filled the window. Flynn handed the woman to him and turned back.
“Carey!”
“We’ll get him,” Lew’s voice said in his ear. “You go!”
But Flynn was already trying to retrace his steps. He couldn’t see a thing and nearly stepped on Carey.
“I’m free,” Carey told him, panting hard. He accepted Flynn’s help to his feet and swore in obvious pain. A tongue of fire whipped up through the hole where his boot had been.
“The floor’s going to go,” Lew shouted.
Flynn felt the give of hot wood under his feet. With a firm grip under Carey’s arm, he started back. Frenchy appeared on Carey’s other side to help support the stumbling man. They made it to the window where Lew guided Carey out onto the sagging back-porch roof.
Inside, the center of the floor sprouted flames. Part of the floor collapsed under the intense heat. Water spewed into the room from a hose at a side window. Flynn scrambled out through the window over the porch, Frenchy on his heels. The porch roof also felt dangerously soft underfoot.
“Go!” Frenchy yelled.
Flynn bolted forward and plunged through a weakened section. His leg and shoulder took the brunt of his landing as he and that section of roofing came to rest on the back porch. Lew appeared at his side, tugging on his arm.
Dazed, Flynn made it to his feet and staggered off the porch. He managed Frenchy’s name.
“We got him,” Lew assured. “Paul’s taking him down the side.”
Flynn yanked off his mask and sucked in fresh air thankfully as Lew led him to the rescue vehicle. The victim lay on her back in the grass. Paramedics, Arlene and Murray, were working over her. Flynn paused to gaze down at her delicate features covered in thick black soot.
“Pretty little thing,” Lew remarked.
Pretty was an understatement. Beneath the soot she appeared fragile, almost porcelain-doll lovely. She reminded him of a fairy-tale princess on the cover of some book.
A very dirty princess.
“Now what was someone like her doing in there, I’d like to know,” Lew grumbled.
An excellent question.
Flynn watched them work on her, willing her to live while wishing there was something more he could do to help.
“I should have got her out sooner.”
“Man, you guys barely got out at all. Count your blessings.”
“I do. Thanks, Lew.”
He let Lew guide him away. Standing suddenly lost its appeal. His legs complied as Lew pressed him down on the ground.
“I’m okay.”
“Let them be the judge of that.”
The new voice jerked his head up. Flynn tried to focus on the lined features of the battalion chief, who stood over him. It took his groggy head a long moment to process the identification, yet there was no mistaking that craggy face. He let his gaze sweep the scene. They’d called a box alarm and the area was flooded with responders and their vehicles.
The wind gusted steadily, sending sparks drifting in multiple directions. Brush near the side of the house had ignited as the big Victorian swelled with smoke and flames. The house was fully engulfed now. He could feel the intense heat clear over here by the engine.
“Anyone else inside?” the chief demanded.
“We cleared most of the house, sir, but I don’t know for sure.”
The man nodded and turned to speak with the lieutenant.
“You all right?” Lew demanded.
“Yeah. Carey?”
“They think his ankle’s broken.”
Flynn grimaced. “What about the victim?” He indicated the woman being loaded onto a stretcher. Long, soot-coated blondish hair spilled over the side.
“Unconscious, but alive. She took in a lot of smoke.”
The battalion chief turned back to him. “She a victim or the arsonist?”
Flynn shrugged and wished he hadn’t as his shoulder twinged. “I’d say victim. She was unconscious on a mattress when I found her.”
He scowled. “You’ll need to talk to the fire investigator.”
“Figured as much,” Flynn agreed.
The chief moved away and Murray and Arlene shouldered Lew aside. “Let’s have a look at you.”
“I’m fine.”
“We’re taking you to go to Community Hospital to get checked out,” Murray told him.
“No need. I’m fine.”
“Lieutenant’s orders,” they chorused.
“Okay, but I’m not lying on any gurney.”
Murray grinned evilly.
“Who’s your sleeping beauty?” Arlene questioned. “She sure isn’t from this part of town. That was an expensive designer evening gown she was wearing.”
Flynn focused on Arlene’s long face. “Evening gown?”
“Yeah, you know, formal dances, that sort of thing?”
“I didn’t know women still wore evening gowns outside of television.”
“You move in the wrong circles, O’Shay. Now if you were rich or famous—”
“He’ll probably be famous.” Murray grinned. “I saw Dick Scellioli snapping pictures when he passed the woman outside. And I think he got a good one of you falling through the roof.”
Flynn groaned. They all knew Scellioli. The freelance photojournalist was making quite a name for himself following police and fire calls, where he’d snap pictures to sell to the highest bidder. He’d shown up at more than one fire scene recently.
“Can you stand?” Arlene asked.
“Of course I can stand.” But it took a little help as it turned out. He swayed unsteadily.
“Come on, hero, let’s ride.”
FLYNN HATED the smell of hospitals, the cold, impersonalness, the noise and the waiting. He wasn’t all that fond of doctors, either, particularly when he was the one being poked, probed and ignored. They spent most of the morning ignoring him while they confirmed that nothing was broken. He had a slight concussion, a number of contusions and minor lacerations, along with several strained muscles.
He wasn’t at all surprised when his sister-in-law, Sally, stuck her head in the cubical as he was struggling to get back into his smoke-stained clothing. As an intern on rotation, Sally was assigned to pediatrics at the moment, but she knew just about everyone in the hospital and someone must have told her he’d been brought in.
“They tell me you’ll live, but you reek of smoke.”
“Gee, I wonder why.”
She grinned unrepentantly and fiddled with the stethoscope around her neck. “Your mother wants you to call.”
“Of course she does.”
“Hey, give me some credit. I kept her from rushing over here, didn’t I?”
“And I appreciate that. Really. How’s Carey? I can’t get anyone to tell me a thing around here.”
“Broken ankle, cuts and bruises, though not as spectacular as yours are going to be and he has a couple of minor burns. He’ll be fine. They’re sending him home as soon as his wife gets here.”
“What about the victim?”
“Sleeping Beauty? Word is she’s still unconscious, and they don’t know why. They’re running blood serums to check for drugs.”
Flynn made a face. And hadn’t he known that name was going to stick? Someone must have overheard Arlene. The crew loved monikers. Poor red-haired Frenchy had never had a chance with a name like Abel French. Flynn just hoped the press hadn’t picked up the Sleeping Beauty reference. He didn’t fancy being dubbed Prince Charming. The teams could be pretty merciless.
“Arlene said she was wearing an expensive evening gown.”
Sally nodded. “That’s what they tell me. A designer original.”
“Think you can get me in to see her?”
Her eyebrows rose. “Why?”
Flynn shrugged. “It just seems like something I should do.”
A knowing expression crossed her face. “I hear she’s a looker.”
“Do not start,” he ordered. Sally gave him a mischievous smile.
“You should know your picture’s all over the news. It’s a great shot. You’re all soot-stained and battered, being held up while you stare down at her. It’s a compelling expression, Flynn. Great framing. He even got the house fire blazing in the background.”
Flynn groaned. “Scellioli.”
Sally’s smile widened. “There’s even video footage of you passing her out the window and going through the roof. Your mother is concerned.”
“Thanks a lot.”
“Hey, I didn’t take the pictures. I just caught them on the monitor as I was heading down here to see you. You need a ride home?”
“Arlene and Murray said they’d swing by if they were free.”
“Okay, but if not let me know. I can call your brother Neil if he isn’t in court today. Or your mom will come pick you up.”
“No!” She’d fuss, as Sally well knew.
“Well, my hubby flew a red-eye out to L.A. last night and Ronan won’t fly back to D.C. until tomorrow. But I imagine Lucan will probably show up sooner or later.”
Given that his brother Lucan was a police detective, Flynn had little doubt of that. He shook his head and wished he hadn’t. His neck and shoulder were stiffening up. The last thing he wanted right now was one of his brothers giving him a hard time.
“I’m injured, Sally. Give me a break.”
She chuckled. “Fine. I’ve got to get back to work anyhow.”
“Okay to go see Carey?”
“Don’t see why not. Just follow the swearing. They were casting his ankle a few minutes ago.”
“Where’d they take the victim?”
“Sleeping Beauty’s been admitted on four. Room 410.”
Flynn nodded. He finished collecting his things and followed her down the hall to the room where Carey was giving an attractive young nurse a hard time. Carey’s wife arrived a few minutes later to calm things down, so Flynn gave her a wink of sympathy and headed for the elevator. He’d check on their victim, then give Murray a call.
The fourth floor bustled with activity. He found the victim in a four-bed ward without bothering anyone. Three of the four beds were filled, but none of the occupants were awake. Beauty was in the last bed, near the window.
She looked more like a porcelain doll than a princess now as she lay against the white hospital sheets. She was so still he would have thought her dead if not for the steady rasp of oxygen and the hum of all the monitors surrounding her.
Her features were as delicate and lovely as he’d remembered. Someone had wiped most of the soot from her face, but it still darkened her hair and clung to the hairline. The hair would be a light golden brown, he judged, but he wondered what color her eyes would be. They were closed, with thick, dark lashes lying against her pale skin. She could be anywhere from sixteen to her late twenties.
The steady pulse of the machines was almost soothing, but he could do without the antiseptic smell that always permeated hospital rooms.
Flynn sank down in the chair at the foot of the bed with a grateful sigh. “Well, we made it, Beauty. I wasn’t so sure for a while there.”
Her eyes moved behind closed lids. For a minute he thought she would open those eyes and look up at him, but she didn’t.
“I’m Flynn O’Shay, by the way. The guy who rescued you. I don’t suppose you want to wake up and tell me who you are?”
Other than more movement behind her eyes, nothing happened.
“Sorry about almost dropping you. Things got a little hairy in there. What were you doing in that empty house, anyhow?”
“Has she regained consciousness, then?”
Flynn looked up to see a hefty older nurse watching him from the edge of the curtain that separated Beauty’s bed from the one with the elderly woman next to it.
“Sorry. No. I thought maybe she’d wake if I talked to her. Her eyes keep flickering, but she hasn’t opened them. I’m Flynn O’Shay.”
“I know. We saw you on the afternoon news telecast. That was quite a fall you took. Glad to see you’re okay. Your sister-in-law said you’d be coming up to check on her. Talking to her is good.”
She checked the monitors and the patient, frowning as she looked down on the bed.
“We’re really anxious for her to wake up and answer a few questions,” she continued.
“Is she in a coma?”
The nurse hesitated, regarding him. “More like a drugged sleep. She should be coming out of it soon. You’ll have to talk to the doctor if you want more information.”
Out in the corridor a code blue was called. The nurse excused herself and hurried for the door. Flynn knew that call meant a life-or-death emergency. Time for him to head home. There was nothing more he could do here and no reason, really, for him to be here at all. He’d just wanted another glimpse of her.
There was something about her that drew him to her side. He found himself brushing back a strand of smoke-coated hair and discovered pierced ears, devoid of ornamentation. No ring and no indentation to show she wore one on a regular basis. That begged the question. Was she married or had they taken off her jewelry downstairs? Possibly she’d been attacked and robbed for it, or someone had wanted to make it harder for her to be identified. Sally and Arlene had both agreed she’d worn an expensive dress. The total absence of jewelry seemed wrong.
Flynn shrugged. Those were questions for the police, not a battered fireman who was starting to feel every inch of his abused condition. His shoulder ached and so did his leg. He should go. But he couldn’t stop wondering about her. She looked so helpless.
“I’d better go before they toss me out. If I get a chance, maybe I’ll stop by again later on. If not, good luck, Beauty. I’m glad to know you’re going to be all right.”
He bent over stiffly and lightly kissed her forehead.
Her eyes flew open. Flynn took a step back, startled by the intensity and unusual color of the silvery blue eyes. They stared at him without comprehension.
“Hi there. Welcome back. I’m Flynn O’Shay. You’re okay. You’re safe. You’re in the hospital.”
With a flash of fear that bordered on terror, the eyes snapped closed again.
“I’ll get the nurse for you.”
There was no response, but he felt sure she’d heard him. She wasn’t sleeping now. Flynn moved past the other beds and went to the door to peer down the hall. There wasn’t a nurse or a doctor in sight. A great deal of commotion was coming from a room at the far end of the hall.
That would be the code blue. He went to the nurse’s station to wait. It was several minutes before a nurse appeared, blinking back tears.
“Hey, you okay?”
“Yes.” She wiped at her face quickly. “May I help you?”
“Your patient didn’t make it, huh?”
For a minute, he thought her professional persona would keep her from responding, but she finally shook her head. “No. She’s been here for weeks now and she’s such a sweet old lady. How can I help you?”
“I thought you ought to know your Jane Doe woke up. The one from the fire? She looked pretty spooked so I told her I’d get a nurse.”
She took in his stained clothing and nodded. “Thank you. I’ll see to her.”
She hurried away before he could say anything more. Flynn felt surprisingly reluctant to leave, but his muscles were protesting and he desperately needed a shower and something to eat before he fell asleep on his feet.
Going to the elevator, he pressed Down before he remembered he needed to call Murray to come pick him up. Technically, he wasn’t supposed to use his cell phone inside the hospital, but Flynn placed a quick call to him. Murray didn’t answer. Hesitating, he decided he’d better call his mother and get that over with before he tried Murray again.
His mother’s relief at hearing his voice told him he’d made the right choice. She offered to come get him, of course, but he assured her he was fine and had arranged a ride. After promising twice to come by and see her later, he was finally able to hang up and step on the elevator that had already come and gone twice while he stood there.
“Mr. O’Shay! Wait!”
Surprised, he looked up to see the nurse running toward him. His gut gave a twist at her expression. He found himself limping quickly to meet her halfway.
“What’s wrong?”
“Where is she?”
“Who?”
“Sleeping Beauty.”
The twist tightened. “Isn’t she in her bed?”
“No! She’s gone!”
Chapter Two
The doorbell rang. It wasn’t the first time, either. Flynn had heard it several times without waking completely, but this time someone followed the ring with a rapping hard enough to bring him to full consciousness. One eye slit open. The pounding continued. His sleep-drugged mind forced both lids apart. Where was he?
His living room, bathed in shadows, came blearily into focus. Flynn swore and tried to sit up. Pain shot through his shoulder and down his leg. He’d fallen asleep on the couch when he’d meant only to sit down for a couple of minutes.
Groaning, he made it to his feet and limped to the door. He remembered turning off his phones after Murray and Arlene dropped him at the house, but things got a little vague after that. He must have grabbed a banana from the kitchen counter, intending to sit for a minute and eat it and then take a shower. The peel and half the banana were now on the floor next to his shoes. He didn’t remember kicking them off, either.
Flynn muttered under his breath and reached for the door handle. A Channel Three newsvan was parked out front. A reporter and cameraman were walking away.
He shut the door quickly, hoping they hadn’t seen him. The media was the main reason he’d turned off his phones in the first place. Well, them and his well-meaning family. He’d been too tired to talk with anyone when he finally got home.
He reeked of smoke and stale sweat and his stomach rumbled in warning. Other than half a banana, he hadn’t eaten since yesterday, and not all that much then because they’d gotten one call after another.
“Shower first.”
Maybe water would wake him the rest of the way. He wasn’t usually a sound sleeper. Being a fireman meant moving alertly the minute the alarm sounded. But with one thing and another it had been a hard shift yesterday and this morning.
He peeled out of his dirty clothes as he started down the hall. Man, he was stiff and sore. It took several minutes of standing under the hot water before he started to feel almost human again.
His stomach rumbled.
“Right. I got the message.”
The bruise on his shoulder was badly discolored. He had a series of other bruises he hadn’t even known were there. The scrape on his leg where he’d gone through the porch roof looked particularly nasty and the bruise on his hip was trying to outdo the one on his shoulder. He hadn’t come off that fall nearly as well as he’d originally thought.
Then again, he was alive and he hadn’t landed on his back on the tank. That could have done some real damage.
Running a hand over his prickly jaw he knew he needed a shave, but his stomach protested that could wait. A quick swish of mouthwash took care of the day-old-sock taste in his mouth and he padded naked into the bedroom in search of fresh clothing.
The doorbell rang again. Flynn swore. While tempted to ignore it, there was always the possibility it was one of his family or someone from the department. If it proved to be another reporter, he’d send them on their way.
Stepping into a pair of jeans, he tugged up the zipper as he headed for the front door, trying not to favor his bad leg.
“Chill already. I’m coming.” He flung the door wide.
“Go away,” was already on his lips when he found himself drowning in an unexpected pair of silvery blue eyes.
“You!”
Sleeping Beauty was awake and standing on his doorstep.
WHITNEY CHARLES stumbled back a hasty step and the wracking cough started up again. Her hand reached for the iron railing leading to the front door as the spasms doubled her over. She wasn’t sure what she’d expected when she decided to come here, but she hadn’t been prepared for a half-naked man.
“Easy. Take it easy.”
She struggled for breath as he reached toward her.
“I’m not going to hurt you.”
She wasn’t afraid. She just couldn’t stop coughing long enough to tell him so. She waved him back, trying hard to calm lungs that felt as though every breath was being pressed from them. The sun rode low on the horizon, but as she inadvertently looked up, she discovered it was still bright enough to make her squint. She turned away, trying to catch her breath.
“Mistake,” she managed to gasp out.
“What’s a mistake?”
“I’ll…come…back.” When she could talk and not look like a fool.
“You won’t make it down to the sidewalk coughing like that. You should be in the hospital, but since you’re here, come in and sit until you catch your breath.”
She considered ignoring him, but he was probably right. She couldn’t stop coughing. He held the door wide so she could step inside past him. The scent of an herbal soap and shampoo were unmistakable as she brushed up against him. So were the telltale droplets of water on those nicely sculpted shoulders, one discolored by an ugly bruise.
Inside the small house, shadows were gathering in the corners of the surprisingly open room. Someone in the not so distant past had given this old rambler a major renovation. Most of the interior walls had been knocked down to open what had no doubt been several cramped rooms into one large great room including a contemporary kitchen set apart by a counter with stools. The ceiling had been raised to give the house an airy, open feeling despite its size and age.
While far from upscale, the house suited the man quite well. The furnishings were mostly well-worn family rejects. Exactly the sort of thing a bachelor might be content to have around. Was he?
She got her coughing under control and nearly tripped over his shoes. He hurried to pick up the shoes and a neglected banana sitting nearby, partly peeled.
Before she could stop herself, her gaze skimmed over his nicely formed chest and came to a halt on the snug jeans riding low on his hips. He hadn’t snapped them. Only a fragile zipper held them in place.
A spark of heat sent her eyes back to his face. “Sorry. I’ll come back another time.” Her voice had taken on a husky edge from all the coughing.
“Hey, no problem. You’re here now.”
He blocked her path when she would have turned back to the door. “It’s the banana peel, isn’t it?”
“What?”
“Yeah. I don’t blame you for what you’re thinking, but I’m not really a slob. I sat down to eat it and fell asleep. I don’t even remember kicking my shoes off.”
What she was thinking was that he was gorgeous, and endearing. She liked that he was embarrassed by the banana. She definitely liked the way he looked and the way he smelled, and she was fascinated by the way the damp strands of his thick, dark hair curled about strong, open features. What she didn’t like was the avid curiosity in those open gray eyes. She should leave.
“I should go. You aren’t dressed.”
“I was working on it when you rang the bell. Apparently, I slept the afternoon away. I woke up a few minutes ago and took a quick shower.”
“Feel free to finish the job.”
He smiled. The man had a killer smile.
“I figured you’d be another pesky reporter.”
Her stomach lurched. He’d talked to reporters? What had he told them?
“I didn’t really care about the impression I’d make on one of them. Look, have a seat. I’ll be right back.”
He turned and limped down the hall without waiting to see what she’d do. Undecided, she stared after him. The man was built like a Hollywood hero. Handsome without being too handsome. In fact, pretty much perfect if you didn’t count the limp and the bruises. She didn’t. Still, this had been a bad idea. What had she expected to accomplish by coming here?
HALF AFRAID she would go, Flynn hurried. He desperately wanted some answers from a wide-awake Sleeping Beauty. Who was she? What had she been doing in that abandoned house? Why had she run from the hospital? And what was she doing here of all places?
Dressed in a fitted pair of white linen slacks and a crisp, pink blouse, her hair gleaming with restored color even though it hung untidily about her face and down her back, she was a far cry from the dirty waif he’d spoken to in the hospital. Obviously she’d showered as well. She was slender and petite with nicely rounded curves in all the right places. In a word, beautiful. What was she doing here?
Listening for the front door, he snatched a navy T-shirt from the dresser drawer and skimmed it over his head. The door didn’t open and he relaxed when he heard her coughing again. There wasn’t much point bothering with underwear now. She’d never know and the shirt covered his chest and most of the ugly bruise. He grinned as he decided to skip socks as well. The shirt was enough for decency.
Obviously, she knew he was the one who’d pulled her from the fire, but how had she known who he was or where he lived? She must have come here to thank him.
Flynn snapped his jeans and left the room. He found her still standing, and much closer to the front door. She was staring at the line of picture frames on top of the bookcase that displayed his family.
Her head jerked up at his approach.
“Why don’t we start over?” he suggested. “I’m Flynn O’Shay. And you are…?”
“I’d rather not say.”
That stopped him for a full second. “Why? Is it a secret?”
She began to cough again. He flipped on the recessed lights overhead and turned back toward the kitchen to pull a glass from the cupboard next to the sink. “Is that why you skipped out of the hospital this morning? So you wouldn’t have to leave your name?”
Filling the glass with cold water from the jug in the refrigerator, he carried it over to her. She leaned weakly against the wall as the painful coughing wracked her.
“You do realize you shouldn’t be running around after all that smoke you swallowed. You need to give your lungs a chance to heal.”
She accepted the glass and managed a few sips before trying to speak again. “Thank you.”
“You’re welcome. Why don’t you sit down? You didn’t come all this way just to cough at me.”
She handed him the glass and their fingers touched. Soft skin, beautifully manicured nails without polish and still no ring. He was strangely pleased by the latter. She drew her hand back quickly. There was a tint of color in her cheeks.
While her outfit was casual, he had a feeling it had cost more than most of the contents in his house. There was something classy about her that said, I’m not from your part of town. Too bad she was out of his league because she intrigued him.
“What happened to me?”
Her abrupt question rocked him back. He ran a hand over his jaw in a bid for time to think, and rediscovered the bristles. No wonder she looked wary enough to bolt. He was not making a great first impression here. Flynn tried for a light approach.
“Okay, you got me. What happened to you?”
Her glare should have been registered as a weapon. He held out pacifying hands. “I gather that wasn’t a trick question? Okay, look, before you get a crick in your neck staring up at me, have a seat. The furniture may not look like much, but it’s comfy.”
To prove it, he went over, set her water on the coffee table and plopped down on the recliner, praying she wouldn’t scoot out the door. After a moment’s indecision, she came and perched on the edge of the chair across from him.
Now that he had enough light to study her features, he saw that circles darkened those striking eyes. A furrow was etching itself between her eyebrows. He put her age in her early twenties and revised it up a notch after considering her for a moment.
“Were you doing drugs?”
“What?!”
Outrage started her coughing again. He got up and handed her the glass.
“Sorry. That was the speculation I heard at the hospital. I take it you weren’t doing drugs?”
“I don’t…use drugs,” she got out between coughs. Her outrage was too genuine to be faked.
“Got it. Didn’t seem real likely. I mean, why get all dressed up to go to an abandoned house and mess with something like that?”
Flynn averted his stare from the rise and fall of her chest as she struggled for breath. He waited while she got the coughing under control.
“How did you come to be inside that house?”
In answer, she shook her head. The hint of fear he’d glimpsed at the hospital again lurked in the silvery blue of her eyes. She was definitely scared and trying not to let it show.
“Okay, let’s come at this from a different direction. What’s the last thing you remember?”
“Getting ready to go to bed.”
“In an evening gown?”
She managed a scowl before concentration pleated her forehead. “I came home after the party. I was having a glass of wine. The doorbell rang.” She stopped. “I don’t remember anything after that.”
“Nothing?”
“Why would I make that up?”
“Okay, relax. If you get all worked up you’ll start coughing again. So you came home after some party.”
“My father’s sixtieth birthday party.”
He nodded. “Alone?”
She offered him a troubled look. “A…friend dropped me off.”
Flynn wanted to ask about her “friend,” but decided not to press his luck. For some reason she aroused his protective instincts and he suspected she wasn’t the type to appreciate that. He got the distinct impression that she was used to taking care of herself.
“So you were having a glass of wine and someone rang the doorbell. You went to answer it and that’s the last thing you remember?”
She nodded. It didn’t take a genius to see she was straining to remember more.
“Are you prone to seizures?”
The glare was hot enough to sizzle. Flynn spread his hands. “Hey, I had to ask. What about dizzy spells?”
“No!”
“How much wine did you drink?”
“I wasn’t drunk.”
“That wasn’t my question.”
Her eyes darkened along with her scowl. “I didn’t come here to answer questions.”
“Why did you come here?”
“I wanted to know what you saw.”
“Smoke, mostly.”
She stood. “You can’t help me.”
“I did save your life today,” he challenged mildly without rising.
She hesitated and inclined her head. “Yes, you did. I wanted to thank you.”
“No problem. That’s why the county pays us the big bucks.”
“They do?”
He grinned. “Nope, but we live in hope.”
She didn’t seem to know how to handle his teasing.
“Your bruises, are they from when you fell through the roof?”
“How did you know about that?”
“The entire rescue was on the news.” She sounded disgusted. “That’s where I got your name.”
Scellioli!
Sally had told Flynn there was video footage. “Well don’t you think a rescue justifies telling me your first name? Last I heard they were calling you Sleeping Beauty. While it’s catchier than Jane Doe, it’s not a moniker I’d want.”
Her skin darkened with color. She started to cough again. “Come on, Beauty, we can work on the name thing in the kitchen. I don’t know about you, but I haven’t eaten all day.”
“Don’t call me that!” she managed to gasp out between coughs.
“I didn’t coin it,” he protested, “and believe me, it’s better than what the guys at the station house are going to settle on me. They’re merciless. Do I look like a Prince Charming to you? That’s a rhetorical question, by the way.”
She didn’t smile. In fact she looked horrified.
“Hey, that’s my ego you’re trampling.”
“Prince Phillip.”
Flynn stared at her. “What?”
“In Sleeping Beauty his name was Prince Phillip, not Prince Charming.”
He grinned wryly. “I’ll be sure and point that out to them. Do you like eggs?”
“What?” She shook her head as if to clear it. “Eggs?”
“Yeah, you know, those white oval things with the thin shells and yellow centers? Hens lay them, people eat them. You aren’t allergic, are you?”
“Of course not. What are you talking about?”
She followed him to the kitchen.
“There’s no ‘of course’ about it. Lots of people are allergic to eggs. I’m talking about feeding us. I’m starving. I know there’s a nice big steak in the fridge with my name on it, but I’m not sure what else is in there. I’m thinking steak and eggs and toast. Or maybe baked potatoes. I might still have a couple of them left. I was going to go shopping after I came off shift. I know there’s an apple. There might even be enough lettuce left for a salad. If you don’t want to eat you can watch me.”
He began pulling ingredients from his refrigerator. Eggs, cheese, green pepper, there were even grapes and a couple of apples and ice cream for dessert. Plenty of stuff to cobble something decent together.
“You cook?”
“Don’t sound so horrified. We take turns cooking at the station all the time. I’m no gourmet, but I’m not so bad. Burning things is frowned on at a fire station.”
He turned the gas on under the cooktop’s grill. “Of course that doesn’t stop Smokey, so nicknamed because he was foolish enough to start a grease fire one night. He’ll never live that one down.”
“You don’t have to cook for me,” she managed to say.
“No, but it seems rude to cook for myself and then eat it in front of you.”
“I can’t stay here.”
He began pulling more ingredients from the refrigerator. “I don’t remember inviting you to stay. I’m just offering to cook us some dinner while we talk. Or did you eat when you changed clothing?”
“No, but…” She started coughing again and took several more sips from the water glass.
“Pull up a stool at the counter and stop trying to talk. I’ll impress you with my mastery. My stomach is making demands. And I believe that’s yours rumbling in agreement?”
She blushed again. After a moment’s hesitation she took a seat at the breakfast bar, still striving to control the urge to cough.
“Don’t fight it too much. You need to purge those lungs. Let’s see what else we have in here.”
There was only one potato so he went with the eggs, conscious of her eyes watching him with a bemused expression. “Don’t you cook?”
“Not very often,” she admitted.
“I like to cook. Mom wanted me to become a chef instead of a fireman but this way I get the best of both worlds.”
Her expression was understandably confused. He was deliberately trying to keep her off balance so she wouldn’t leave. That pleat between her eyes wasn’t new. She was a worrier and she wasn’t sure what to make of him. It only made sense. He was a big, muscular guy and she was alone in a strange house with him. She was understandably nervous. Any sane young woman would be, so he did his best to appear nonthreatening as he chopped onions and the green pepper that had passed its prime but was still usable.
“You can call me Kathleen,” she announced abruptly.
He looked up. She wouldn’t meet his eyes.
“Why not give me your real name? Or is it something unique like Cher or Sting or—”
“That is my name.”
“Your first name?”
Her gaze dropped. “Middle,” she admitted. “My first name is Whitney.”
“See? That wasn’t so hard. Whitney Kathleen…what?” He turned to the cooktop and flipped the steak.
“Charles,” she added after a long hesitation.
“Well, Whitney Kathleen Charles is unusual, but not all that unique. Certainly better than Beulah. That was my mother’s cousin’s first name. She hated it. Everyone called her Bee and she wasn’t too fond of that, either, but she claimed her middle name was even worse. I never did learn what that was, come to think of it. I’ll have to remember to ask Mom one of these days.”
“Are you always like this?”
“Like what?”
Slender shoulders rose and fell quickly. “You don’t even know me.”
“Hey, cut me some slack. I’m working on it. I’m trying to put you at ease.” He smiled at her. “Is it working?”
She didn’t smile back, but he thought some of the tension eased from her shoulders.
“How come you disappeared from the hospital this morning?”
The tension returned. A barely perceptible shudder ran through her. “I don’t like hospitals.”
“Something else we have in common. Noisy, smelly places.”
“People die there.”
He filed that away for later sensing this wasn’t a good place to probe at the moment.
“Well, you came pretty close to asphyxiating in the fire. Oxygen would have helped. And it would have been better to have told someone you were leaving.”
He had a strong urge to rub that pleat between her eyes away so he kept his fingers busy rinsing lettuce for the salad.
“The press is going to find out who you are sooner or later, you know,” he warned. “A beautiful woman in an expensive evening dress inside an abandoned house that someone set on fire? That’s a story they’re bound to keep in the headlines for a while.”
Her fingers trembled. “You’re saying the fire wasn’t an accident?”
Flynn looked to see if she was kidding. She wasn’t. The fear was right there on the surface now.
“No. It definitely wasn’t an accident. Someone poured enough accelerant over the downstairs to send that place and everything inside it to ashes in under five minutes.”
She closed her eyes. “Someone tried to kill me.”
The words were a flat, bald statement. At least she wasn’t having hysterics.
“I’d say that’s a good bet. See that blinking light on my phone? I’ll give you odds most of those calls are from reporters. The rest are probably from my family, but that’s another story. Everyone wants details. People came to the door several times while I was trying to sleep this afternoon. I was too tired to answer.”
She nodded grimly. “Channel Nine was leaving when I arrived.”
He got out silverware, napkins and placemats and set them on the counter beside her. “Who’s trying to kill you, Whitney?”
“I don’t know.”
The words were a bare whisper. She carried the items over to the table. He watched her position them with almost painful precision. Frowning, he set two small salads on the counter and walked over to the stove to finish scrambling the eggs.
“I’m not hungry,” she announced.
“Yes, you are, you just don’t realize it yet. Your mind’s so busy worrying about what happened to you that it forgot to listen to your stomach. Give the food a try. I promise you’ll feel better.”
Dividing the steak and eggs, he placed the two plates in front of her and rinsed out the pan while he waited for the toaster to pop.
“Why are you being so nice? You don’t even know me.”
“Do you have to know someone to be nice to them?” He pulled a second glass from the cupboard and got the pitcher of cold water from the refrigerator. “I was raised to be nice to everyone. My mother would nail my hide to the wall if I wasn’t. She’s a little thing like you, but she’s got a core of granite.”
“I’m not little.”
He measured her with his eyes as he came around the corner. “Five-three?”
“Four and a half.”
Flynn grinned. “I’m six-one and a quarter. Everything under five-ten is little to me. Water okay with you? Given the circumstances I don’t figure you want a beer and I don’t have any wine or sodas.”
She shuddered. “Water’s fine.”
“Figured as much. Let’s eat while it’s hot.”
He added more water to her glass and waited for her to take a seat. She neatened her already straight silverware beside her plate, unfolded her paper napkin and settled it on her lap just so. His mother had raised her sons to have manners, but there were manners and then there were manners.
“You’re an only child, aren’t you?”
She paused in the act of adjusting her salad bowl. “Yes, why?”
“No reason.”
Her head tilted in puzzlement. “What made you ask that?”
Flynn forked up a bite of steak, chewed and swallowed before he answered. “You’re so self-contained.”
He watched her think about that as she speared a piece of lettuce with dainty precision. “Do you consider that a bad thing?”
“Nope. I wish someone would contain my brothers at times. Meals at Mom’s house are noisy affairs. There’re four of us boys and we learned to speak up and eat fast or lose out on seconds.”
Whitney brushed hair back from her face. Flynn found himself noticing a light, womanly fragrance that wasn’t perfume and wasn’t shampoo. Whatever it was, he liked it, but he told himself to get a grip. Of course he was attracted to her. What man wouldn’t be? But this woman had some serious issues going on.
Like the fact that someone wanted her dead bad enough to burn a house to the ground around her.
“Those pictures in the other room are of your family?”
Flynn nodded at her question and cut off more steak. “Yep. Ever since Neil and his wife had their first child, I’ve been inundated with pictures of my nephew, Devin. Phyllis is convinced no child was ever that perfect. I can’t wait to see what happens when the next one is born. She’s pregnant again,” he added.
Whitney took a tentative bite of her eggs and began eating with more enthusiasm. “There was a second woman in one of the pictures.”
“Ronan’s wife, Sally. She’s interning at Community Hospital. My brother’s a pilot for Sky Air. Their schedules hardly ever mesh, but it seems to work for them.”
“No wife for you?”
Flynn grinned impishly. “I know how to run faster than my brothers.”
“Smart.”
That surprised him. “Not a fan of marriage?”
“Too restrictive. Why would anyone want to give up control to another person?”
He wondered at the shadows in her eyes. There was a story here, he was certain, but this wasn’t the time to ask. He kept things light. “I don’t think marriage is supposed to be about control, but on the other hand, I can hardly believe the perfect woman is sitting here having dinner with me.”
Her tendency to blush fascinated him. He couldn’t remember any other woman ever blushing around him.
“What do your other brothers do?” she asked quickly.
“Neil’s a lawyer and Lucan’s a cop.”
She stilled. Very carefully, she set down her fork. “I should go.”
He covered her hand with his.
“Why are you afraid of the police?”
“I’m not.” She pulled her hand free.
“Yeah, you are.” Flynn leaned back to give her space. “The minute I said my brother was a cop you turned to stone.”
“I need to—”
“Finish your meal.”
He thought she’d bolt anyhow. It was touch-and-go. After a second she picked up her fork again, but he knew it wouldn’t take much to send her running for the front door.
“Look, Whitney, you came here for answers. I wish I had some for you, but I don’t. We got a call to respond to a house fire with a victim trapped inside. When we got there I found you crumpled on an old mattress, unconscious. I barely saw you through all the smoke. The fire was spreading so fast my partner and I barely made it out. That’s the sum total of what I know about the situation.”
The fork in her hand quivered slightly as she raised her eyes to meet his.
“How did anyone know there was a victim trapped inside?”
Chapter Three
Comprehension moved across those handsome features. “Good question.”
Flynn O’Shay was exceptionally handsome with a muscular physique that came from physical work. She hadn’t anticipated this strong tug of attraction when she’d come here looking for answers.
Men were usually drawn to her looks and she wasn’t above using that when it served a purpose because most would-be suitors were quickly put off when they discovered she had a brain and knew how to say no and make it stick.
Flynn was…different. He had a quirky sense of humor that threw her off balance while his innate kindness drew her to him. Her eyes flicked over his T-shirt. No doubt women came on to him the way men did with her. She needed to stay focused. She’d come here for answers, but Flynn claimed he didn’t have any. She should leave.
“The only thing I can figure is that someone saw you carried inside the building and called in the alarm,” Flynn told her.
She tried not to shudder. “Then someone saw the person who set the fire.”
“It’s a good bet,” he agreed. “The fire marshal will be checking with dispatch to see who called the fire in.”
“What if it was from a cell phone?”
“They have technology in place that lets them know who the cell phone is registered to now. They’ll know,” he promised, “and I guarantee you they’ll be talking to that person. You’re going to need to talk with the investigator as well.”
“No.” But she knew he was right.
Flynn chewed and swallowed. He never took his gaze from her. “What are you afraid of, Whitney?”
She couldn’t meet that intense stare. Those eyes saw too much.
“You know who put you in that house, don’t you?”
“No!” If only she did.
“You must have some idea. Murder doesn’t just happen.”
Murder. She tried to wrap her mind around the concept. Someone had tried to murder her. Someone she knew.
She set down her fork carefully. All desire for food had fled.
“Who do you know that likes to set fires?”
“What?”
“I’m thinking either the fire was a copycat and someone hates you enough to murder you in cold blood or you’re a threat to the arsonist’s identity.”
Her mind tried to remember what she’d read and heard about the half-dozen arson fires that had been in the news lately. “I don’t know anyone who’d deliberately burn down a building.”
“Then who wants you dead?”
The image of her stepmother, her perfect features contorted in rage, made her close her eyes. How could she tell Flynn that the leading candidate was her evil stepmother? Talk about trite. Besides, that was mixing fairy tales. In Sleeping Beauty it had been the evil godmother, not the stepmother.
She shook her head. Exhaustion was turning her thoughts absurd. She opened her eyes to find Flynn watching her closely.
“I gather you have a candidate?”
“Of course not,” she protested instantly. Ruby might not care if Whitney dropped dead, but her stepmother wouldn’t go out of her way to make it happen. Trapping an older man and taking him for all she could get, that was Ruby. Murder? No way. Ruby was too clever to show a dark side publicly. No matter what Whitney said or did to provoke her, the former nurse was unfailingly polite and ingratiating. Especially when Whitney’s father was around.
How could he not see through her? The years-old question made her cringe. Braxton Charles was a respected real estate developer. He was no one’s fool.
Until it came to Ruby.
“No amorous ex?” Flynn continued. “Boyfriend, husband, would-be suitor?”
“No.”
“I find that hard to believe. The men around here aren’t all blind or gay.”
She couldn’t even smile at his compliment because her mind had flashed back to last night and Christopher’s unexpected and unwanted advances. While she disliked Ruby intensely, she’d never let it become an issue with Ruby’s much younger brother. She actually liked Christopher. He was handsome, funny, friendly and outgoing. Privately, she’d always considered him something of a puppy.
Until last night.
If she’d been paying more attention to the scene at the door would never have taken place. How had she missed the cues that his teasing had become something more? Had it always been more and she’d been too preoccupied to notice? She would have handled last night better if she’d been prepared and hadn’t been so upset about her father.
Whitney hadn’t realized she was holding a fork until her fingers cramped around it with painful intensity.
“Hey. It was supposed to be a compliment. You okay?”
Carefully, Whitney set the fork down on the plate. “I’m fine.”
His lips thinned. “That is not a look I’d want to cross your face when you were thinking of me.”
She could feel the heat pinking her cheeks once more and cursed the fair skin bequeathed by her mother. “It’s complicated.” Coming here had been a mistake.
“Don’t ever play poker,” he advised.
“It’s not on my to-do list.”
“What is?”
She brought him into focus, reining in her emotions. “Finding the person responsible for what happened last night heads my current list.”
All teasing left his expression. “Then you need to talk to the fire investigator.”
She tensed.
“What’s the problem here, Whitney?”
She thought of her father’s pinched, haggard features and the anger that had been in his eyes as they’d squared off last night. The problem was fear—gut-wrenching, sick fear for herself and the man who had sired her. She could hardly tell Flynn that.
“Publicity for one.”
“I’ve got news for you, sweetheart, being carried out of a burning building and disappearing from a hospital room guarantees you publicity.”
“No one can tell that picture is of me.”
“Are you sure?”
No, and it worried her. If her father recognized her dress… She didn’t want to contemplate that possibility.
The doorbell shattered that worry. Almost immediately, someone banged against the wood without waiting.
Whitney jumped. Flynn came to his feet. The person pounded a second time.
“Wait here.”
“Flynn? Open the door or I’ll kick it in.”
Heart pounding, she tried to tell herself there was no reason to panic as she rose from her chair.
“What are you doing here?” Flynn greeted as he cracked open the door.
“If you’d answer your damn phone once in a while, I wouldn’t have to be here. You going to let me in?”
“No. This isn’t a good time.”
But the man facing him had already looked past his shoulder and spotted her. Features stamped with Flynn’s same dark good looks stared in obvious surprise. Whitney didn’t need an introduction to know this was one of Flynn’s brothers and she had a sinking feeling she knew which one.
“You have a date?”
“Frequently. Now get lost.”
But his brother continued to stare. A coughing fit seized her once more.
“I don’t believe it. I don’t damn well believe it.”
He pushed past Flynn and strode into the room.
“The entire police department is out looking for her and my own brother has Sleeping Beauty stashed at his place? No wonder you aren’t answering your phone.”
Flynn stepped in front of his brother and pressed a hand firmly against a chest as broad as his own.
“Get out.” Hard and flat, Flynn’s determined voice challenged him.
A flash of answering anger crossed his brother’s features. “You going to make me?”
The deadly soft tone filled with threat sent chills down her arms as she got the coughing under control again. Flynn didn’t back down an inch.
“If I have to.”
“Stop it!” she commanded, then ruined the order with more coughing.
Flynn was there to guide her back down on her chair. He held out the glass of water her fingers blindly sought. The tightness in her chest made it hard to draw a breath.
His hand soothed as it lightly rubbed her back. “Take it easy. My brother’s leaving.”
“No, I’m not.” But his voice had gentled. “I can’t, Flynn.”
“Yes, you can. Walk out the door and forget you were ever here.”
“She’s a material witness.”
“She’s a victim! An injured victim who doesn’t need a third degree right now.”
Unable to speak, Whitney held out an upraised hand demanding peace. She managed to sip at the water Flynn still held for her. Having an unexpected champion was so strange. She was used to fighting her own battles. Flynn’s instant defense was comforting and confusing. Only a minute ago he had been urging her to talk to the fire investigator. Now he was sending his brother the cop away.
“Please.” Her lungs struggled for air. “It’s…okay.”
“Don’t try to talk,” Flynn advised.
“She should be in the hospital.”
Even the voice sounded like his brother’s. Flynn’s deep, soothing bass rumbled in her ears.
“She doesn’t like hospitals.”
“She inhaled a houseful of smoke.”
“You’re a doctor now?” Flynn sneered. “Or maybe a fireman?”
“I didn’t come here to argue.”
“Then don’t. Leave.”
“I can’t walk out the door and pretend I don’t know she’s here,” Flynn’s brother protested. “Why is she here?”
“She came to me for help.”
“So you’re a cop now?” his brother mocked.
“Stop!” At her injunction, they both turned to stare as if they’d forgotten her. Whitney thought she finally had the coughing under control, but it wouldn’t take much to set it off again.
She sipped more water to ease her scratchy raw throat. This time she was able to hold the glass. Flynn picked up their dinner plates and carried them to the kitchen. His brother pulled out a chair, turned it around and sat on it backward facing her.
“You shouldn’t have left the hospital,” he told her. “Why did you run away like that?”
“I didn’t run, I left. There’s a difference. Don’t worry, I’ll pay my bill.”
He ignored that. “You were at the scene of an arson.”
“So was your brother.”
“Hey!” Flynn waved an arm between them. “Let’s calm down here.”
“This is official business, Flynn. Stay out of it.”
“Not likely. Whitney is my guest. Either put on your manners or hit the door.”
“I’m not kidding, Flynn.”
“Neither am I.”
The brothers glared at each other. They were evenly matched in size and weight and she suspected temperament as well. She allowed another cough to take hold. It was enough to divert the tension.
“You should be in the hospital,” Flynn’s brother told her again.
“And you shouldn’t barge into your brother’s home,” she admonished, “but here we both are.”
His startled expression mirrored Flynn’s.
“She took the words right out of my mouth,” Flynn told his brother with a slow smile. “And Mom would give you hell for acting this way.”
The cop sent a scowl at his brother. “Mom sent me here to check on you.”
“I already talked to her.”
“You thought that would be enough?”
“No. I knew she’d send you over eventually. You want some sherbet?” he asked, limping to the kitchen and pulling a carton from the freezer.
Flynn’s brother continued to glare at him over the island. “What flavor?”
“Rainbow.” Flynn reached for bowls.
“Okay.”
Their mercurial mood shift left her gaping. Whitney forced her mouth closed. It was as if they hadn’t been at each other’s throats only a second ago. Flynn winked at her and turned back to dish out the sherbet.
“Nice limp,” Flynn’s brother noted. “Think it’ll buy you any sympathy?”
“Not from a coldhearted bastard like you.”
He grinned unrepentantly. “Sally says you pulled a muscle.”
“Feels like more than one,” Flynn agreed.
“That’s what you get when you play hero.”
“You should know.”
Flynn’s brother turned back to Whitney. “Since my baby brother has no manners to speak of let’s start over. I’m Lucan O’Shay. And you are—?”
“Not interested,” Flynn told him as he set a bowl in front of her. “Eat it. It’ll help your throat.”
“Flynn, this is police business,” Lucan protested.
Flynn’s expression hardened. “Is there a warrant out for her?”
“No, of course no—”
“Then we’re two brothers sharing a dish of sherbet with a friend.”
“My name is Whitney Charles,” she told Lucan to forestall the new explosion building between them. “And I’m not stashed anywhere. Your brother and I were having dinner together before you barged in.”
Flynn grinned. “What she said.”
Obviously enjoying Lucan’s discomfort, Flynn set a large dish in front of his brother and one at his own place. After a second Lucan stood, turned his chair around, picked up his spoon and sat at the table correctly.
“Anyone want coffee before I sit?”
Whitney shook her head.
“Got any beer?” Lucan asked.
“With sherbet?” She cringed at the thought.
Flynn grinned. “That puts him off-duty,” he explained as he returned to the refrigerator for a cold bottle.
“I don’t understand you people.”
“Don’t worry about it,” Flynn assured her. “We’re harmless.”
“He’s a cop,” she pointed out dryly.
“Okay, mostly harmless.”
“Right. Harmless.”
Flynn winked at her as he set the bottle of beer on the table without a glass. Lucan thanked him, removed the cap and took a swig.
“Okay. I’m off duty. So why don’t you explain why I’m sitting here with the most sought-after woman in the county having a beer when I should be taking a formal statement from her.”
“Because you’re my brother and you love me.”
“Go soak your head.”
Flynn winked at her again and sat down, plunging his spoon into the sherbet. After a moment’s hesitation, Whitney followed his example. The cool, tart taste slid with welcome ease down her raw throat.
“Against my better judgment, we’re off the record for now, Ms. Charles. You have my word on it. Can you at least tell me what you were doing in that house?”
“No.”
He scowled.
“She isn’t kidding, Lucan. She doesn’t know how she got in there.”
“I need to hear that from her, Flynn.”
“I don’t know how I got there,” she parroted.
Flynn grinned in approval.
“Really,” she told his brother. “I was at home having a glass of wine and then I was in the hospital suffering from smoke inhalation. The rest is a void.”
Lucan’s scowl deepened and he attacked his helpless sherbet. “You must have some idea.”
She shook her head at his low mutter. “I don’t.”
“Someone tried to kill you.”
She couldn’t quite control the trembling of her fingers. “So it appears.”
“Current behavior aside, my brother isn’t usually a complete jerk, Whitney,” Flynn assured her. “Stop trying to bully her, Lucan. She’s in trouble, not the arsonist.”
Lucan opened and closed his mouth. He took a bite of sherbet and washed it down with a mouthful of beer. Whitney tried not to cringe.
“Sorry,” he apologized. “The media’s on the chief. He’s jumping down the captain’s throat. The captain…well let’s just say he’s a bit testy at the moment. It filters down. We’re all edgy. Still, I didn’t mean to come off sounding like…”
“A cop?” Whitney asked.
After a second he nodded and almost smiled. “Think we can start over?”
She savored a bite of sherbet, found Flynn’s eyes watching and swallowed hastily. “I think I should call my lawyer.”
Until that moment she hadn’t thought about Barry Lindell. The handsome young lawyer was the obvious person to go to for help. She should have considered him immediately.
Whitney had known Barry forever. His father had been her father’s best friend. Franklin Lindell had helped her mother set up and manage Whitney’s trust fund after she was born. He’d even helped Whitney start her business. Franklin had worked with her father to oversee her family’s finances and legal issues until he’d fallen ill a few years ago. Then Barry had stepped in and smoothly taken over his father’s law practice.
Barry would know the legal ramifications to answering police questions. He’d also know what she could do about her father’s failing health. If Ruby was keeping her dad from getting medical attention, Barry could help her circumvent the woman.
“That’s your choice, of course,” Lucan agreed. “But is there some reason you don’t want to talk to the police?”
She hesitated, looked at Flynn, and quickly looked away from his distracting features. “The sort of publicity this is going to entail… My father’s a well-known developer,” she admitted reluctantly. “He’ll be furious.”
“He’d rather you were dead?”
“You don’t understand.”
“Why don’t you explain it to me?”
“It’s complicated.”
“Family always is,” Flynn agreed easily.
“This really is off the record?” she asked Lucan.
He shot Flynn an irritated expression. Flynn raised his eyebrows.
“Unless you tell me something that as a police officer I have to take immediate action on, our conversation is off the record. But you’re going to have to talk to someone officially, soon.”
Whitney considered that. There was no reason to drag Barry over here at this hour on a Sunday night. She had done nothing wrong. Time enough to call Barry when things became official.
“My father’s wife held a birthday party for Dad’s sixtieth birthday last night.”
“His wife being your stepmother?”
Whitney tried to keep her features impassive. “Yes. Ruby is his second wife. My mother died when I was fourteen.”
With a calm she didn’t feel, Whitney explained that she had left the party around one o’clock and returned to her condo.
“Alone?”
Whitney debated. “Yes and no.” She met his gaze flatly. “I drove myself to and from the party, but my stepmother’s brother followed me home to be sure I made it okay.”
“Some reason to think you wouldn’t?”
“Christopher was being a gentleman.” She flushed, remembering the way he’d abruptly pulled her against his chest, his wet mouth covering hers.
“He saw me to my door.”
“Gentlemen don’t usually cause that particular expression on a woman’s face.”
Whitney bit her lip.
“He tried something?” Flynn demanded.
The way he instantly bristled in her defense was touching, but in this case unnecessary. “Christopher had nothing to do with what happened.”
“Why don’t you let me be the judge of that?” Lucan’s voice contained a silky edge of similar menace.
“He made a pass?” Flynn pressed.
Whitney strove to keep her expression blank. Men had always found her attractive so she’d had to learn early how best to deal with their egos and protective instincts. Most of the time she had no trouble keeping relationships where she wanted them. It was rare when she missed the warning signs that would have allowed her to head off a scene like the one at her door last night.
“He’d had a few drinks at the party,” she temporized. “He surprised me by trying to kiss me. It didn’t mean anything. He even apologized.”
Lucan leaned back and sipped his beer. Flynn’s gaze was more disturbing. His jaw knotted. “How old is this guy?”
“Two years younger than me.”
That brought matching frowns.
“How old’s your stepmother?” Lucan asked.
“Ten years older than me. Ruby was my mother’s private duty nurse. Right after my mother died, Ruby’s mother was in a fatal car crash.” She tried to keep the anger from her voice. “Ruby was living with us at the time. At twenty-four she found herself saddled with a much younger half brother.”
“What happened to the father?”
“I don’t know. I got the impression her mother hadn’t married Christopher’s father.”
“So your father and your stepmother had something of an instant bond.”
Her jaw hurt from clenching her teeth. She tried to relax and nod.
Lucan was apparently satisfied, but Flynn wasn’t. “Did this guy hurt you?”
“Of course not. It was no big deal. Christopher’s like…” She almost said a puppy. “A younger brother to me.”
“Younger brothers don’t put the moves on their sisters unless they’re warped,” Flynn stated.
Whitney felt her cheeks pinken again. “Like I said, he’d been drinking. He felt sorry for me. His sister and I had had words earlier.”
Lucan straightened up. “You and your stepmother had a fight?”
“More of a loud disagreement. My father isn’t well and I wanted to know what was wrong. She told me to ask him.”
They waited. A simple answer wasn’t going to work here and she knew it.
“I dislike Ruby. We don’t have much to do with one another. I haven’t lived at the estate since I went away to college at seventeen. I have a substantial trust fund so I’m not reliant on my father or his wife for anything. I bought my own place when I graduated.”
“About this disagreement,” Lucas pestered.
“My fault entirely. I was tired, I’d had some champagne.” One glass, but that had been enough to loosen her usual control. “I said a few things I regret and then I left.” Stormed out in a fury, actually. “Christopher followed me home and walked me to the door. He kissed me. I sent him away, went inside, poured a glass of wine and started getting ready for bed.”
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