Love Under Fire Page 8

  “No, no one. I thought I might run into him because he said you two were going there this morning.”

  “Our plans got changed.”

  Ratchett! She gave herself a mental slap. Her nose twitched as it always did when she was annoyed with herself. Should she believe Rocky or not? If this was another of his cons… “I’ve got to go,” she said more to Harry than Rocky. “You see Rocky out and I’ll see him later.”

  She hurried through the lockup, silent today, and out to her car. Dust from her trek to the farm covered it so she’d hidden it out back. Her heels left short, sharp, snapping echoes on the concrete as her mind assessed the pros and cons. The bloody newspapers and eviscerated calf cried out to be connected.

  If she was wrong about Rocky, bang went her chance to show the man up for what he was. What she knew he was, firsthand. Who else but a scumbag would tell lies about his dead partner? A partner and friend who could no longer defend himself. That’s why the job had fallen to her, his partner’s daughter. If she was wrong, Rowan could be stepping into a trap set for Rocky.

  And if she was correct about said scumbag? Rowan could be stepping into a trap set for both of them…or maybe just for her. Rocky hadn’t been whistling “Thank Heaven For Little Girls,” when she’d taken over the case.

  Jo put her foot down, accelerating out of the car park with more haste than style. Whichever side of the line the truth fell on, she needed to get the hell out there and warn Rowan.

  If only she could remember where she’d stashed his business card. At least then she could have called him.

  Rowan checked the clock on the dashboard as he pulled up in Lonely Track Road. He was late, but Jo was later. He’d give her five minutes, then go take a look for himself. He was a big boy, and whatever bug she had in her brain about accompanying him, he didn’t need her holding his hand.

  She’d been very insistent. “I want to show you the exact route Rocky took to get out of the house,” she’d said when she called at some godawful early hour of the morning. Not that it mattered, he hadn’t been asleep. Too busy planning his retreat to catch more than a few z’s at a time.

  No mention had been made of the unspoken disagreement that had driven them apart the moment they’d hit the sidewalk in front of the Hard Luck Inn.

  Molly Skelton, God bless her, had a good excuse for her sour outlook on life and the rings she’d been running round the staff at head office. Rowan shook his head as he remembered his meeting with the CEO of Allied Insurance. He didn’t know where the management got off employing such a bunch of wimps in a job where abusive letters were run of the mill. Yet Molly Skelton had inundated them with faxes and phone calls till they were almost ready to pay her the money just to get her off their back.

  For the first time in seventeen years, Rowan had come home to Nicks Landing as a peace broker. All that changed the moment he met Jo. He just wanted to pay up and get the hell out of Dodge.

  Sure, he could turn tail and run before concluding his business. But it would look too suspicious. Jo was too smart, and didn’t need ideas put in her head.

  She already had enough of them for two people.

  Rowan looked up at the burned-out shell as he stepped from the car. Red chip crunched under the soles of his boots as he trudged up the fairly steep drive, intending to walk around to work out the easiest way to get inside, if Jo didn’t arrive.

  A car changed gears behind him. A quick glance was followed by a sharp twist of disappointment in his gut when he saw it wasn’t her. For years he’d been telling himself he didn’t need her.

  What was so different now?

  She’d taken him by surprise, and he’d still to decide if it was pleasant, or what?

  The house stared down at him with dark vacant eyes. A sad Cape Cod with a hole in the roof that had seen better days.

  Hadn’t they all.

  The sign nailed to the porch read, Danger. Keep out.

  He knew all about danger. He’d lived with it for years, working in the same building, never knowing when he would bump into Jo in the corridor. Except he never had. Bumped into her, that is. He’d always made sure never to encroach on her personal space. Ironically the only time he’d ever gotten up close and personal with Jo was the night he’d been shot, and that memory he associated with pain.

  A car door slammed as his foot hit the bottom step. He turned and it was Jo, running toward him shouting, “Wait up!”

  She moved gracefully for a tall woman. A tall woman in a hurry as she didn’t slow down, knowing he’d seen her. Her breasts swayed, captured by the bonds of a lime-green shirt Jo had tucked inside dark khaki pants. She’d topped the outfit off with a cream marled waistcoat barely reaching her waist. Hanging open, it didn’t impede his view of her full breasts and lush hips.

  Would he ever get the chance to touch them?

  Would he ever take a chance and touch them?

  Jo was so beautiful. Hell, he got turned on simply watching her.

  The closer she got, the more his annoyance dissolved. He’d almost had Molly eating out of his hand last night—well, if not that, at least being agreeable—until Jo’s blunder.

  “Thank heavens I caught you.” Her voice had a husky, breathless rasp. He wished it was on account of his presence instead of the grassy slope.

  “What’s the rush, I got here late myself.”

  “I know, Rocky told me, at least he told me you hadn’t arrived earlier.”

  Her scent caught him with a right cross to the esophagus. She smelled of limes and passion flowers warming on a vine in the summer sun. He breathed deeply. An indulgence. One he could ill afford if he meant to stick to his original plan of staying out of danger and where danger dwelled. “So, he’s been up here? What did he want?” Frankly, he didn’t give a damn what Skelton wanted.

  The sun was shining on Jo’s hair and it reminded him of a lake he’d once camped by, the way the moonlight had crested the top of the ripples when the wind disturbed its surface. How easy it was to let his mind slide from there, to him and Jo, getting cozy together in a small tent. A very small tent. Oh yeah, it was tempting danger, but he was getting to like it.

  “You can’t get in that way. It’s boarded up because the floor is dangerous,” Jo was saying. “I have a key to the back door of the garage. It’s easier to get in, less damage.”

  She grabbed his hand, oblivious to the effect of her touch on him. Seemed she wasn’t holding any grudges over his dismissal of her the night before.

  “C’mon, I’ll tell you what Rocky said he wanted as we go. Then I’ll give you a blow-by-blow description of my visit to Rimu Downs farm this morning and see what you make of it.”

  Jo pulled him away from the steps and down the path and he let her. Her grip was firm for a hand much smaller than his, but he lapped it up, wondering if the proverbial lamb felt this good as it was led to the slaughter. Maybe there was more of the masochist in his makeup than he realized.

  “So there we are, me and the farm manager, we’re standing inside this circle of white lime.” Jo stopped and opened a door. “Through here,” she said to Rowan.

  Her panic had subsided on the drive to Lonely Track Road. In fact she’d begun to feel a little foolish about the situation and didn’t want Rowan to know. That’s what came of taking anything Rocky said at face value. Now if she could only stop talking. Heck, she could sympathize with Ginny. Seemed they both ran off at the mouth when they were nervous.

  Nervous?

  Was that the true cause of her girlish reaction? So? She wasn’t as blasé as she liked to pretend.

  “This calf is in the middle.” They were walking down the hall now and the walls on either side of them were covered in soot. “Watch you don’t brush up against anything. You’ll never get it off. I think it’s residue from the polyurethane foam inside the lounge suites. The only way to remove it is with soap and a wire brush. You scrub the stain till all that’s left is a hole.”

  Rowan’s features looked c
arved out of rock. She guessed he still hadn’t forgiven her little faux pas—well all right, big faux pas—in front of Molly last night. There had been a moment when she’d run up to him outside, that she’d thought he looked pleased to see her, but it was probably only a trick of the light. She just wished he would add his two cents worth to the conversation. So, shut your mouth and give him a chance.

  “Anyway, the calf’s throat’s cut and it’s been slit open from top to bottom, lying there with its poor little legs sticking up and everything hanging…well, I don’t have to describe it. Use your imagination.”

  They’d reached the family room. She took a good look round, couldn’t see any newspapers, and carried on to where bifold doors hung lopsidedly on their hinges separating the room from the entrance hall. “I didn’t know whether to be sick or swear.” Or give way to hysterical laughter. “The farm manager, he was practically crying, and his voice squeaked every time he took a gander at the region where the calf’s male parts once resided.”

  She stopped in the entrance hall.

  Rowan came to a halt beside her, folded his arms and looked around. “Something special I should know about?”

  He looked calm enough. Patient. Waiting. Tension strung the muscles of his lower arms where sun-bleached hairs caught the sunlight coming through the hole in the roof above the two-story-high foyer. They were the same color as the gold streaking the moustache that made his expression hard to read. For all he’d shaved last night, it still resided on his upper lip.

  “This is the way Rocky got out. The floors in the entrance and living room used to be polished rimu.” She pointed into the living area. “See that plank there? That’s where he said they left him tied up.”

  “With duct tape?”

  “Yeah, the firemen removed it before the cops got here. We’ve got the tape, but no photos of how he was tied up.”

  “Don’t sweat it. This is another time when I’d rather use my imagination.” His teeth flashed white, acknowledging her earlier throw-away line.

  He’d actually smiled. Was this the same gruff Rowan she’d known in Auckland? If he’d hit her with a smile like that then, maybe she would have given him a second look. Or even a third. She mightn’t have gone as far as shouting babe alert, or whistling, but she’d definitely have looked. A sigh crept up from the soles of her feet. Time to get back on course.

  “Well, imagine this. He’s doused in gasoline.”

  “Initials carved in his back.”

  “Yeah, so he said. The jury’s still out on that one, remember? But I guess it would have stung.”

  “Not to mention the small matter of a fire chasing his tail.”

  “Let’s not. There’s gasoline all over the floor, but conveniently not beneath the curtains that they set fire to.”

  She turned and looked up, her shoulders at ninety degrees to the center of Rowan’s chest. But before she could set him straight on the rest of the story, he said, “Could be that was to give them a chance to escape, or to make Skelton sweat watching the fire coming nearer.”

  Logically, Rowan was one hundred percent right. The trouble with this case was that all the evidence was circumstantial. What she needed was something positive, then she’d have Rocky. Or not.

  “Good point,” she conceded.

  Rowan nodded. “Okay. He’s out in the foyer. Where does he go from here?”

  “C’mon. I’ll show you. Someone’s closed this door, but Rocky says it was open.” Jo flung the door wide. “I can’t imagine Molly leaving this open as it can be seen from the entrance. But then, she wasn’t at home. This is the utility room. The washer and dryer don’t look too bad, but I suppose she’s claiming for them, as well. The door that’s boarded up is the one he dived through. The flames caught up with him and gave him a bad case of sunburn. He put them out by rolling around on the back lawn.”

  “Don’t you think if Skelton had set this up himself he’d have conveniently left that door unlocked?” Rowan stepped round Jo and measured himself against the door. Would he have made it through?

  “No, because he didn’t have any way to open the door. Look at it this way. He’s wriggled in here on his belly, pushing with his toes. His ankles are bound and his hands are tied behind his back. The space between the tub and this wall is about three feet, so he pushes himself up the wall, digging his toes into the baseboard at the bottom of the tub, and gets upright. How does he turn the handle—with his teeth?”

  Rowan took a good look at the hexagonal-shaped handle. His jaw worked slightly as if testing the theory. “You’re right. No way could he open that without hands, but if he’d set it up himself, why didn’t he leave the door open?”

  “Puleeeze. That would have been too obvious. Either way he had to take a dive through the glass. I’d say the only thing stopping him from being cut in half was the three smaller panes. They don’t have to be as thick as the large expanses.”

  The three feet of space which had made it simple for Rocky to push himself up, was about three feet too small with two of them trying to get out. They did a slow dance, elbows bumping, turning, fronts brushing. His breath tickling her face. Oh, Lord! Perspiration ran down her spine. Could Rocky have felt any hotter with flames at his heels?

  With a jerky movement she brought her chin up, wanting, needing to see his reaction. Her gaze met his enigmatic, green stare head-on. His nostrils flared, his chest lifting on a sharp breath. Embarrassed, she felt her nipples crest as if chasing the elusive hardness that had made them tingle. She felt herself shake. Was that a hint of mockery round his lips? She looked away, dreading to have her suspicions confirmed.

  “We’d better get on,” she said, her voice huskier than she would have wished. She put a hand out to push past, discovering his heartbeat under her palm, slow, heavy thuds that reverberated in the nerve endings of her arm. The sensation giving her ideas.

  “I’ll go first.” Second. Anytime. Just give me a sign.

  “You’re the boss.”

  Jo swallowed as she thought of all the ways she could take that. Take him. Lord, she was going loco.

  Dragging her mind out of the bedroom and back to work, she said, “In that case, let’s go find those bloody newspapers that had Rocky so worried.”

  Inwardly, Jo knew she’d been postponing the moment that might confirm or deny her suspicions about who was behind the fire, Rocky or someone else. Looking over her shoulder, she surprised Rowan’s gaze somewhere around the level of her butt. A rueful glint tinged the admiration as his eyes lifted and met hers. All one-sided? She didn’t think so.

  “If you see a plank, walk on it. Chances are the floor won’t take your weight.” How heavy was Rowan? She turned away swiftly and quickened her pace into the living room as she felt heat color her cheeks. That’s what she got for wondering how it would feel to wake up with Rowan’s weight covering her.

  Her womb clenched and she almost doubled over from the intensity. It took almost six deep breaths to return to normal. By then she was surrounded by bloodstained newspapers.

  “What is that bad smell?” Rowan asked, his tawny head lifting, scenting the air like a huge lion as his hair tossed like a mane, completing the analogy.

  Jo recognized the odor. Dead meat.

  Shades of her time on the farm that morning. Lord, she hated the country. It was too basic, too down-to-earth for her. Everything stunk to high heaven. The buzzing was familiar as well. Darn flies, they had better radar than a bloodhound. At last she sighted her quarry. “It’s the brown paper, grocery sack in front of the window.”

  Digging into her pocket she sighed with relief to find a spare pair of latex gloves. “At least I won’t have to touch it. How kind of them to leave it where I can reach from the plank.”

  Rowan’s big hand settled on her shoulder. “Give me the gloves. I’ll do it.”

  “No, this is my job. I won’t have anyone say I shrank away from whatever needed doing. Just don’t ask me to like it.” The latex snapped as she p
ulled the gloves tight over her wrists. Then for good measure she took the precaution of rolling her cuffs up to the elbow.

  Keeping it light she said, “I wouldn’t say no to a can of fly spray if you have one.” Then began walking the narrow length of the wood. A deep breath solidified the lack of substance in her knees. It wasn’t as if the solid strip of twelve-by-two pine was higher than the floor. Now if she’d been on a pirate ship, with sharks circling below, she’d have an excuse for the wobbles. A chance of crashing into the basement didn’t have the same impact.

  Just past the halfway mark, Rocky’s photo stared up at her from the center of a pentagram. She could read the date above the headline, “Ex-cop attacked by satanists.” The day after the fire. Two and a half months and already its folds were yellowed as if it had been part of a pile sitting somewhere sunny. Or had someone simply treasured it for their notoriety? Bringing it out at the appropriate moment.

  “I see what Rocky meant about a target.” Balancing on one foot, the other hovering six inches above Rocky’s face, she eyed the newspaper the way a darts player sizes up the bull’s-eye.

  Rowan’s weight made the plank sigh as he stepped on it, calling out, “No, don’t,” as if reading her mind. “I know it’s tempting, but maybe that’s the idea. Better to turn around and come back.”

  “Easier said than done, wise guy. Let me get to the end and pick up the goods, then I’ll come back. It’s only another yard or so.” She took one long stride, clearing the paper, and a smaller one to land in front of the sack.

  Consciously, she’d put the flies out of her mind, but this close they were noisier than a lawn mower on a Sunday. She stooped over, gripped the rolled brown paper edges between finger and thumb. A wave of black dots flew off to explore the disturbee.

  “Oh, gross.” She waved the dive-bombers away from her face, flapping her hand. “Urk, let me out of here,” she moaned, straightening as the bottom fell out of the bag. A heart fell at her feet. She screeched as it rolled, jumping back a step.

  The wood underfoot vibrated from Rowan’s heavier tread. “What on earth have you got there?”