Slow Burn (20 page)

It was a good thing she always carried a
drawing pad and pencils in her bag. Within minutes, she pulled out
the pad and was busy sketching. From the inner recess of her mind,
an image emerged. Her hand flew all over the paper, translating it.
An outline of man’s face became apparent. She added details. She
didn’t have to close her eyes to recall the cold, glassy eyes, the
thick eyebrows, the jagged scar that ran from the left eyebrow to
the left earlobe. Ashley stopped and leaned back to study her
handiwork. A shiver raked her body.

“Who are you?” she whispered. How could she
recall every detail of the face and yet not remember where she’d
seen it?

Scowling, she flipped over the page, secured
it with her fingers then started another sketch. In less than a
minute, she had a rough drawing of Vaughn’s driver. She compared
the two pictures and gasped. Either her brain had a loose
connection or Vaughn’s driver was from her forgotten past. She
reached for the cell phone and dialed Dr. Vogel’s number. The
psychologist would want to see this.

“Ma’am?”

Ashley gave a loud screech and jerked up. Her
gaze connected with those of the man looming over her.

***

Ron didn’t arrive at Ashley’s until
seven-thirty in the evening. He was parking his car when he noticed
the squad cars at the entrance to her building. Nothing to be
concerned about, was his first thought. But then he saw two
officers talking to the security guard and ice crept down his
spine.

“What’s going on, Jeffrey?” he asked when he
was a few feet away from them.

The guard looked up and said, “Ah, Mr.
Noble,” with obvious relief. “These officers just left Ms.
Fitzgerald’s apartment.”

His heart stopped, then picked up an uneven
tempo. “Why?” His gaze bounced between the two officers and
Jeffrey. “What happened? Is she okay?”

Jeffrey nodded. “Yes, but she called 911
because a man wanted by the police had followed her home.”

Ron felt the ground shift under him. “What
man? Where is she?”

“Upstairs, but these officers—”

Ron didn’t wait for Jeffrey to finish
explaining. He ran toward the stairs, his thoughts racing from one
scenario to another. Was it the biker? Had he tried to hurt her?
How could he have been so stupid and careless? The need to know the
identity of the person the biker met at Sunset Marquis Hotel had
been foremost in his mind, but he still shouldn’t have left Ashley
at the hospital alone.

By the time Ron reached the sixth floor, he
was sweating and hyperventilating, and it wasn’t from climbing the
stairs. Fear turned his stomach into ice, locked his chest tight
until it was hard to breath. He gave himself a moment to calm
himself, control his breathing and wipe his brow before pressing
Ashley’s doorbell.

When the door opened, it was by a tall man
with the hard look of a cop. Ron ignored him, his gaze hungrily
seeking Ashley, who was hovering in the background until she saw
him. She had traded her sweatpants and T-shirt for a simple fuchsia
dress, which brought out the richness of her hair, he noted as she
hurried to the door. But her eyes looked tired, her smile strained.
Still, the sight of her, her sweet smile, sent relief surging
through him.

“Hey,” he managed in a calm voice that belied
the wild beating of his heart. The cop shifted and blocked his line
of vision, causing Ron to turn his gaze to him. They were about the
same height and size.

“Who’re you?” the man asked in a hard
voice.

“Ron…a friend,” Ashley answered before he
could, then her eyes rounded when she saw Ron’s jaw. “What happened
to you? Let him through, Eddie.”

Eddie didn’t move. “Does Ron come with a last
name?” The question was directed at no one, though his cold gaze
stayed locked on Ron.

“Noble,” Ron answered this time. On a
different day, he would have been insulted by the officer’s
vigilance, now he appreciated it. “And you are?”

“Eddie Fitzgerald, L.A.P.D.”

“My cousin,” Ashley clarified. She nudged her
cousin until he stepped forward. “He’s a friend, Eddie, so stop
trying to intimidate him. I’ll call if anything else comes up, just
like I promised.”

“You do that.” Eddie’s gaze finally shifted
to Ashley. “Be careful, Ash.”

“Scout’s honor.”

Eddie smiled, then nodded briefly at Ron and
disappeared down the hallway. Ashley closed the door and leaned
against it with a deep sigh.

Ron pressed the heel of his hand somewhere
above her head and studied her face. “What happened?”

She flashed a self-conscious grin. “I thought
the biker who hurt Uncle Jerry had followed me home. Weird,
huh?”

Only the slight tightened of his hand
indicated he didn’t like what he heard. “No, it isn’t. What did he
do?”

“Just followed me to and from Dr. Reuben’s
office, parked across the street when I left the cab, then
disappeared by the time I reached security desk. I called the
police anyway.” She reached up and gently touched his jaw. “What
happened to you?” she asked gently.

“I ran into a steel-plated door.” The feel of
her cool fingers against his heated skin was heavenly, caused him
to briefly forget why he’d raced up six flights of stairs like a
man possessed. He took her hand in his, kissed her palm and closed
the kiss in. He didn’t let her hand go though. Silly as it might
sound, he felt much better now that they were alone. “You went to
see the shrink? Why?”

“I needed to discuss something with her.” She
tugged at his hand. “Come with me. You must put something on that
bruise.” She led him into the room.

“My face will be fine.” But he still allowed
her to lead him to a chair by the table, where she had put her
cameras earlier. He rather liked the way she was fussing over his
minor bruises, even the feel of her smaller hand curled around his,
to be honest. “What did the police say?”

She gave him a wry smile. “They didn’t take
me seriously until I called my cousin. Although I must admit, I
might have sounded a little deranged yelling at them the way I did.
I was pretty spooked.” Ashley looked down at their joined hands and
tried to wiggle hers free. “Easy on the fingers, please. They’ve
had their share of abuse today.”

“What?” Ron realized that he was holding onto
her too tightly. “Oh, sorry.”

“Sit,” she ordered. Then she studied his
face. “Must have been a very big door you crashed into.”

“Yeah, weighed nearly three-hundred pounds,”
he added, knowing he hadn’t fooled her.

“Bet he had two legs and arms too,” she said
teasingly, then went to get an ice pack from the freezer.

“And a mean left hook.” His gaze stayed on
her as she wrapped the ice pack with a dishcloth, then walked back
to him to press it against his jaw. He moved his arms from the
table top and palmed her waist.

How had they moved from talking about her to
him? Not that he minded. In fact, there were many things about
Ashley Fitzgerald that pleased him immensely. Her breasts were
directly in front of his face. Her scent, feminine and bewitching,
assaulted his senses. He wanted to bury his face in her chest and
feast on her, pull her onto his lap and make her forget the last
couple of hours.

As though aware of his amorous thoughts,
Ashley cut him a glance from the cover of her lashes, a slow smile
settling on her lips. She transferred his hand from her waist to
the ice pack “Hold it in place. I’ll get the first-aid kit.”

Ron watched her as she glided to the
downstairs bathroom. He took a deep breath, then smiled. The little
witch knew exactly what she was doing to him.

“What did the cops say?” he asked loud enough
to reach her.

“They wanted to know if I had enemies, maybe
an ex-boyfriend who’d want to hurt me,” she answered from the
bathroom, then left the room with a red and white first-aid box. “I
don’t. Even after I told them I didn’t know the biker, they kept
hinting at a possible connection between the biker, Uncle Jerry and
me. I told them about Uncle Jerry’s cell phone. Officer Rudolf told
me when we spoke at the hospital that they couldn’t find it.
Chances are the biker took it when he saw that Uncle Jerry was
using it at the time of the attack. I told them that might explain
why he came after me.” She pressed ointment on her finger, then
spread it on his cut before adding a bandage. “He probably thought
I heard something that could finger him. The officers didn’t buy
it.”

Ashley leaned against the table and nodded
approvingly at her handiwork. “Much better. Anyway, they thoroughly
ticked me off, so I told them to get out of my home. Then I called
Eddie. Eddie tends to make things happen. I didn’t imagine that
man, Ron,” she added. “He had a beard and wore aviator goggles,
just as Uncle Jerry had described.”

Ron nodded. “I believe you.”

“Thank you.”

“Any time. Now, I want you to listen to me.”
He held her hands, and locked her gaze with his. “The same biker
trailed me, too.”

Her eyes widened. “When?”

“Two days ago. At first, I thought he was one
of my uncle’s men.” She blinked in confusion. “I got in a few tight
spots during my rebellious years and needed my uncle to bail me
out. He had me under surveillance after that. When I saw a biker on
my tail, I naturally assumed Uncle Gregory was up to his old
tricks.”

Silence stretched after his words. Her eyes,
big and apprehensive, studied him. “You’re sure he’s not one of
your uncle’s men?”

“Yeah. I spoke with my uncle and he confirmed
it. I also contacted Kenny when I first saw the biker. His man
followed the biker to Valley Towers.”

“Uncle Jerry’s building?”

“I’m sorry, sweetheart.” He kissed her
knuckles. “I just found out that bit of info from Kenny. He had no
idea your uncle’s office was there or reason to suspect the biker
was casing the place.” But that didn’t make his guilt any less. If
he’d talked to Kenny or his people before today, he would have made
the connection and warned her uncle. He pushed the feeling aside,
focused on their discussion. “Later, the biker went to Sunset
Marquis Hotel. I wanted to know the identity of the person he met
there, so I went with Kenny to see a man about it. When you called,
we were trying to, uh, convince him to talk to us.”

He scowled. What a waste of effort that
turned out to be. “When we finally spoke with him, the info he gave
us was very sketchy. I don’t understand Spanish and Kenny’s pretty
basic, so maybe something was lost in the translation, but the gist
of it is the biker’s contact at the hotel was an old man with a
limp and evil eyes—whatever that means. He paid for the room in
cash and stayed only for three days despite paying for five.” He’d
been so relieved his uncle wasn’t behind the attack on Kirkland.
“We’re dealing with a meticulous man, one smart enough not to leave
a paper trail.”

Ashley pursed her lips in thought. “But why
come after us and Uncle Jerry?” Then her eyes narrowed. “Could this
have anything to do with your investigation?”

Smart woman. “I think so. Kenny found out
that Hogan is missing.” Her eyes widened as he explained.

“You were right, Ron. Something happened that
night and someone wants it buried.”

“While another—the sender of those
letters—wants it out.” Knowing the identity of one of them might
give him an edge, and that was where Ashley and what she saw that
night came in.

Ashley reached out to stroke the bandage on
his jaw, but she had a faraway look in her eyes. “Do you think Ryan
Doyle could be doing this, Ron? You know, bringing up the
unpleasant past so your mother can sell him Carlyle House instead
of me?”

Doyle was ruthless, but was he the type to
play games? “I can’t see him clipping words from a newspaper to
make a list of names, but putting fear of God in people is
definitely up his alley. I’ll run your theory by Kenny and see what
he thinks.”

Talking about Ryan reminded Ron of his father
and the rumors about the fire at Carlyle House, something he didn’t
want to think about now. Or share with Ashley, the nagging voice in
the back of his head added. He had an agenda, and it didn’t include
Ashley kicking him out because she didn’t like the reason behind
his investigation. He planned to explain everything to her in due
course, when the time was right, preferably after she knew him
better. She should be able to understand his reasoning. It was time
to change the subject.

“So? Where was Matt Kirkland while you were
visiting the shrink and being tailed by the biker?”

“Taking care of his mother…poor Sonya.” She
quickly explained Jeremy Kirkland’s condition. “I took a taxi
home.”

“So you lied when you told me Matt would give
you a ride.”

She rolled her eyes. “Don’t start with me,
Mr. I-bumped-into-a-door.”

He grinned. One thing he loved about her was
the way she wasn’t afraid to put him in his place. Love? Whoa,
where did that come from? What they had was a bond forged by a
ten-year-old terrible accident and strong physical attraction.

His gaze dropped to her lips. “Have you
eaten, babe?”

“No, I just got home. Didn’t have much to eat
but vending machine snacks and….” She stopped and grinned, as
though she’d read his thoughts. “Are you starved?”

“For weeks now,’ he answered.

“What did you have in mind? Chinese?
Italian?”

Ron chuckled, lifted her up to set her on the
table, then slipped between her legs. He cupped her cheeks, leaned
forward to nibble her lips. “Irish,” he whispered. Then he moved to
her ear and took a tiny, sensual bite. “A side order of an artist.”
His hands cupped her bottom and pulled her until she was flush
against him. She felt good, warm, soft yet firm. “A main course of
a delicious mural painter with double scoop of decadent,” his gaze
dropped to her cleavage, “strawberry dessert.”