Fatal Burn by Lisa Jackson
Careful there, Nate, you might not like what you see.
As disturbing as his insight could be, it was a gift when it came to training animals. Part horse whisperer, part Native-American shaman and part restless cowboy, Nate Santana was the primary reason her business thrived. Nate’s silent intensity, his quiet concentration and calm ways were unmatched. Shannon had once seen him stand for three hours staring into the furious eyes of a reputedly “no-good piece of rotten horseflesh,” a “devil in a nag’s pricey hide,” an animal that had been beaten and battered and knew nothing more than to fight. Neither horse nor man had moved and all the while Nate had kept up a low, calming monologue.
In the end, the stallion had lowered his head and shuffled up to the man who was unafraid and quietly healing. That horse, Rocco, a sleek bay with bloodlines that could be traced back to some famous charger from the Civil War, was now Nate’s.
That revealed the positive side to her partner.
Once a particularly nasty wasp had been hovering near his head and she’d witnessed him sweep it into his bare fist, then crush the life out of it without flinching as the struggling insect stung his fingers repeatedly.
When it was over, he’d dropped the tiny black carcass onto the ground.
Shannon had never forgotten either incident.
Now she found him staring at her. “Looking at something?” she asked.
“Just tryin’ to figure you out.”
“It’ll never happen, Santana.”
He smiled. “Just give me enough time.”
They both knew it would never happen and as he handed her the dog and left the kitchen she felt a little tug on her heart.
There was something about Nate’s quiet authority, his seeming calm that belied a storm within him. Maybe that was the reason she hadn’t tumbled into bed with him. Or maybe it was because she knew he loved her. He’d never said the words, but she sensed them there, lying just beneath the surface.
“Or maybe you’re just a head case,” she muttered as she watched him through the window and wondered why this man had never reached her the way that Travis Settler had.
Her relationship with Settler, if that was what you could call it, had already intrigued her and she found him exhilarating. If she looked at it logically, he wasn’t any better looking than Nate Santana, and she knew very little about him.
But his determination to find his child, his passion to protect her, his all-balls-out approach to life appealed to her at a very sensual level. There was just something visceral and male that got to her.
Probably because of all the heightened drama surrounding him. Surely because he was her daughter’s father and probably because she forever fell for the wrong kind of guy.
“Like I said,” she whispered to the pup, “a head case.”
He’d been foolish.
Too anxious.
Letting his emotions rule his actions.
Everything had been meticulously planned. He’d waited so long for just the right moment to strike, and now this!
He couldn’t risk another mistake, he thought, as he slunk through the lengthening shadows in the thin stands of black oak and madrona. Wearing camouflage he slid noiselessly toward the spur of a lane leading to an abandoned gravel pit where he’d parked his truck. He was sweating, his heart pumping, but the thrill of adrenaline raced through his blood.
So close.
He was so damned close!
He jogged easily through the gathering dusk, effortlessly hurdling a fallen tree that blocked his path. He was in excellent physical condition and would prove up to the task at hand. Hadn’t he already proved as much with pathetic Mary Beth?
Anticipation gunned through his bloodstream as he thought of the stroke of luck that Shannon had purchased this particular parcel of land. He couldn’t have found a more perfect stage to set his plan into motion if he’d picked the spot himself. At a juncture in the path, he veered to the left and ran another quarter mile to the abandoned gravel pit.
His truck was waiting.
And the prize—no, the bait—was hidden safely away, a wimp of a kid who always acted so scared she could barely face him…except for the rare occasions when she showed some spirit, some spunk. He wondered about that. Was she really as frightened as she seemed? Sometimes nearly catatonic? Or was she smarter than he thought?
He’d have to be careful.
No more mistakes, he told himself, slowing his stride and taking in deep lungfuls of air, not another misstep. He was too close.
He’d waited too long as it was.
He thought of his next two victims. Imagined the fires—growing, spiraling upward, hiding the stars with smoke and hot, hungry flames, filling the air with the smells of burning wood and charred flesh.
He closed his eyes, envisioning the sparks shooting toward the heavens.
Oh, yes! Anticipation buzzed through his blood, heating it, filling the void in the deepest part of him.
This time he wouldn’t wait so long.
One fire would spark the other…like the Olympians carrying the torch from one town to the next.
One on the heels of the other.
Yes!
It was time to notch things up.
Chapter 22
“Trust me,” he whispered against the shell of her ear as they lay naked in the darkness. The night sang with the sounds of frogs and crickets. The forest loomed above them. A breeze rattled the dry branches overhead. An October moon slid silently across a cloudless, starry sky.
Her heart was pumping, her breathing shallow as they lay upon a bed of dry leaves that rustled with their movements. Sweat soaked their naked bodies and the wind that swept through the surrounding trees was dry as a dragon’s breath and twice as hot. Far off, a dog was barking.
Or was it a wolf?
Sensing she was doing something vastly dangerous, Shannon couldn’t stop herself. Her skin rippled with want. Her blood ran hot in her veins. She returned the fervor of his kisses with her own.
She tingled all over. Desire pounded through her brain.
She wanted this man, needed him.
His lips were warm and sensual, his body naked and taut, lean muscles rubbing over her own bare skin. He touched her intimately. Lovingly. His mouth found hers and she responded eagerly. Hungrily. Wanting him. All of him.
Don’t do this, Shannon, this man is trouble, her mind screamed. He brings with him death and darkness.
But she ignored the warnings, gave in to the pure animal sensuality of the moment.
His hands were big and calloused. Experienced. They splayed against the curve of her spine, fingers pressing anxiously into the dimples over her buttocks.
Oh, God, she ached for him. Yearned for him. Trembled with need. Perspired as his lips created a warm, wet path, sensuously sliding along her cheek, under her chin, down her neck, and his tongue pressed into the shallow circle of bones at the base of her throat.
“You want me,” he said and the forest seemed to quiet. His voice was deep, resonant. She could feel it vibrate inside her body. One hand found her breast, toyed with a nipple. “You want me.”
She swallowed hard, looked up at him.
“Say it.”
She tried to speak, but her voice failed her.
“Say it.”
Those magical fingers rubbed her areola more intimately, almost roughly.
The frogs had stopped croaking.
He leaned down and kissed her breast. She bucked upward and he pulled her tighter to him, bowing her back. She clung to him, knew there was no going back. She wanted him. Desperately. Despite the little nag inside her head that said this was wrong.
Dangerous.
Deadly.
And above, a tiny crackle on the forest floor, the thin smell of smoke.
“Say it,” he ordered.
“I…I want you,” she forced out, her breath hot and still in her lungs.
The crickets no longer chirped.
Stop now, while
Deep within she ached, imagined what it would feel like to have him inside her.
It had been so long…so damned long.
The leaves rustled ominously as he lifted his head. She stared up at him in the moonlight. His eyes were a dark midnight blue, his hair glinted with silver, his face was tight with expectation. God, he was beautiful.
She slid her own hands down his chest and lower, over his ribs, along his abdomen, her fingers dipping lower until above her, he sucked in his breath and said, “Yes, oh, yes.”
The dog had gone mute.
A thick, dark cloud blocked the moon and suddenly she saw an orange glow on the horizon. A dull roar reached her ears and suddenly smoke filled her lungs, burned her eyes. Trees—their trunks black silhouettes against an ever-moving, relentless, angry wall of flames—surrounded her.
Fire!
She looked up at her lover but he was gone, had disappeared like a puff of smoke.
The fire raged. Hot. Angry. Closer.
And she was alone.
Shannon’s eyes flew open. The scream forming on her lips died. Heart still beating wildly, adrenaline thrumming through her veins, she recognized her bedroom, saw the sun streaming through the windows, glanced at the bedside clock and groaned. It was after eight. For the first time since the attack she’d slept soundly.
Until the dream had brought her to consciousness. This time there was no fire, no lingering scent of smoke. The conflagration had all been in her subconscious. Thank God.
Pushing herself up in the bed, swinging her bare legs over the side, she considered the dream where she’d nearly made love to a man, a strange man. As the dream was unfolding she’d thought the man had been Travis Settler; she’d responded to him as if they were already intimate, as if they truly were lovers.
“Jesus,” she whispered and Khan, nestled in the covers, lifted his head and yawned. Downstairs the puppy whined. “Better get up.” Stretching, she thought of the dream again. Had Travis been the man lying naked with her? It seemed so real and yet…The facial features of the man who had been touching her, had inspired such lust in her, were blurred.
Faceless.
Nameless.
“You’re a head case,” she told herself and glanced at the picture of Dani Settler propped up against her bedside lamp. She picked up the page and sighed, the weight of the world once again settling on her shoulders. “We’ll find you,” she said to the photograph of the smiling girl, and hoped she wasn’t lying.
She threw on jeans and a sweatshirt, turned on the coffeemaker, then took care of the dogs including the new little puppy, who couldn’t seem to get enough of the puppy kibblets she had on hand. “What is it?” she asked the little one when Skatooli had finished the last morsel and looked upward in anticipation of more food. “Didn’t Alexi ever feed you?” She held the puppy for a while, then walked her outside before returning her to her pen and tackling chores that included taking care of the other dogs. They too were fed and given fresh water, then Shannon worked with each animal and finally, hosed out their runs.
By the time she was finished it was after eleven and her own stomach was grumbling. Upon returning to the kitchen, she discovered four phone messages, two from her mother asking her to come to a “family meeting” around five.
“Sounds like a blast,” Shannon muttered under her breath. The third call was from a woman looking for a place to board her dog and the fourth was from Anthony Paterno, the lead detective in Mary Beth’s homicide. He asked her to call him back and set up a time for an interview. “More fun,” she muttered, but punched in his number and when he didn’t answer, left a message.
She’d just hung up the phone when she spied Nate crossing the parking lot and heading toward the house. A few seconds later he rapped on the back door, pushed it open and toed off his boots.
“Just thought I’d check on you,” he said, flashing a smile. “How ya feeling?”
“Better. At least physically.” Her ribs still hurt, and the stitches in her head were starting to itch, but the blinding headaches had abated. Her shoulder ached but the pain wasn’t unbearable. “It’s still hard to think about Mary Beth.”
He nodded and she decided to change the subject as she reached into the cupboard for a couple of mugs. “How about coffee?”
“Sounds good.” He walked into the kitchen in his stocking feet and stared down at the puppy, who, meeting his gaze, wagged her tail. “She needs a new name, you know.”
Shannon waited as Nate picked up the puppy in his big hands and was rewarded with a face washing.
“And why is that?”
Nate smothered a smile. “I don’t think she likes to be called Little Shit.”
“What?”
“That’s a loose translation of Skatooli.”
“You’re kidding.”
“Nope. I checked it out on the Internet.” He replaced the pup in her pen, ignored her whines and even managed to give Khan some badly needed attention. “Maybe some people think it’s cute, but personally, I think you can do better.”
“You’re lovin’ this aren’t you?” she asked, sending him a mock-scathing look as she poured the coffee and handed him a cup.
“I told you I don’t trust Demitri.”
“Yeah, I remember.” Sighing, she sipped a little coffee and shook her head. “How about Bonzi?”
“Geez, that’s just about as bad. What does that mean?”
“Don’t know. I just like the sound of it.”
“Give the dog a break. Name her something…real.”
“Like Fido or Rover or Goldie Locks?”
“Goldie Locks isn’t bad.”
“It sucks, Nate,” she said, taking a long swallow of coffee before kneeling at the pup’s cage and looking into her brown eyes. “How about Marilyn?”
“What?”
“She’s blonde and beautiful and Marilyn Monroe is an icon…That’s it.”
“Monroe would be better.”
“Nah. Too male.”
“Like Bonzi.”
She ignored the jab. “I like it!”
“Marilyn?” he tested the name and raised a dubious eyebrow. “I guess it beats the hell out of Skatooli.”
She laughed and they discussed what they planned to do with the horses and dogs for the rest of the week. She didn’t say too much about her new place as she knew he disapproved. Fifteen minutes later he set down his cup and went back to work.
“Keep the doors locked, even during the day,” Nate suggested from the porch as he pulled on his boots. “I just don’t like what’s going on around here.”
“Neither do I, but I think the house is safe during daylight.”
He shook his head. “Too much weird stuff going on.” He straightened. “Let’s just err on the side of caution, okay?”
“Okay. But if I lock myself out, you’d better have a key handy.”
“Just hide one in the garage, on the wall behind the extension ladder. There’s a nail there and no one will ever know the spare key is there.”
“Good idea.”
“And you’ll call someone about a security firm, preferably not Demitri?”
“ASAP,” she promised.
He gave her a look that said he didn’t believe her as he walked across the parking lot and up the exterior steps to his apartment. At the top of the stairs he paused. “I mean it, Shannon, I’ve got to be gone a lot in the next week or so…Find someone.”
“I said I would, didn’t I?” They stared at each other across the gravel lot.
As he turned to the door of his apartment, Shannon called suddenly, “Nate?” He stopped, gazed back at her. “Why aren’t you going to be around? Can you tell me?”
Shannon’s pulse beat strong and fast. Please tell me what you’ve been doing. For a moment she thought he might actually answer her.
His lips tightened. He seemed to consider her question hard. But all he said was, “Things aren’
It was no answer. It didn’t even speak to the question. Shannon gazed after him, perplexed and a bit uneasy. Though she defended him to all and sundry, Nate was a man full of secrets.
Where had he been the night of the fire?
He tested the lock as he always did, making certain that the hook and eye held the kid inside. He’d been concerned about her throwing her weight against the door long and hard enough to break the latch, but his worries had proved groundless. She was too much of a wimp to do anything as adventuresome as trying to escape.
Or so it seemed.
He eyed the lock and scowled. It was odd, this kid who had melted into a puddle of fear. From what he’d learned about her while communicating on the Internet, he’d expected a tomboy, a girl who had some gumption and guts. She’d bragged about being able to shoot a gun and boasted of a black belt in some kind of martial arts. She’d claimed to be able to ride a horse bareback at a gallop and pitch her own tent, hunt and fish, compliments of an outdoor education from her father.
So far, none of that had proved true.
Unless she was playacting, pretending to be scared shitless.
He thought hard. Studied the lock with a hard eye.
A lot of people lied on the Internet. All the time. Single people looking for a date lied about their age, or their weight or how much money they made. People inflated their personal stats to satisfy their egos and kids were probably the worst, screwing around in cyberspace pretending to be something they weren’t.
He rubbed his chin, glanced at his watch, knew he didn’t have much time even though it was still late afternoon. He pounded a fist on her door. “I’ll be back soon,” he yelled loudly through the thick panels and the girl actually yelped, as if the sound of his voice terrified and startled her.