Attracted to Fire (38 page)

“Hi, Uncle Scottard.”

“Is my girl doing well?”

The sound of his voice sickened her. “I'm not your girl.”

He chuckled, and she shivered. “Agent Connors had a nasty accident. So sorry to hear she nearly died. But you shouldn't be surprised.”

She moistened her lips. “What do you want?”

“Is Ash near you?”

“No. I'm in my room. He's in the hall.”

“I want to know why you haven't been into the liquor cabinet or my other gift. Dave's reports about your progress upset me.”

“I'm not drinking or using. I'm clean and sober, and I intend to stay that way.”

“Upsetting me is not a wise choice. Think about Agent Connors.”

Her knees weakened. She hated him, the old desperation sinking into her soul. “Please do not call me anymore. I've been your puppet long enough.”

“And you will continue to do whatever I say. Now get that liquor cabinet open, and I want you to find Chip and get the coke from my tack box.”

The coke that would kill her? She disconnected the call. Tossing the cell phone on the bed, she fought the rising hysteria.

“Ash. Ash, help me.” The door flew open, and she walked into his arms. “Make him stop. Please, make him stop.”

“Soon it will be over.” His whisper failed to comfort her.

The phone rang, but neither she nor Ash made an effort to answer it.

Chapter 65

Lately Ash dreaded answering the phone. Especially when Burnette had made demands on Lindsay, like earlier today. The VP had cursed for thirty seconds when Lindsay refused his second and third calls.

Near dusk on Monday evening, Warrington called Ash.

“Yes, sir.”

“Do you have time to answer a few questions?”

“Sure.” Had he and Meghan's investigation been discovered?

“The VP has a complaint about you. Claims you and Agent Connors refuse him access to Lindsay when he calls.”

What a stretch of the truth. “I have no idea what he's talking about. I've never refused his calls. Lindsay might choose not to talk to him. But that's her decision.”

“The VP claimed you'd use Lindsay as an excuse. He wants you to put her through to him regardless of her willingness to speak to him.”

What was this all about? “Sir, forcing my protectee to take a call is not my job.”

“Ash, I agree. If the request hadn't come from the VP, I wouldn't have wasted my time or yours.”

“Has the president been notified of the VP's ridiculous accusation?”

“He will be. I'll get back to you after I brief him. He's been tied up all day.”

“Anything else, sir?”

“Bear with me, Ash. I see light.”

Was Warrington merely indicating disapproval of Burnette's request? Or could he be on the same track as Ash and Meghan? Being the Lone Ranger and Tonto had its downfalls.

After breakfast on Tuesday morning, Meghan had forty-five minutes before her shift. She refused to shirk her responsibilities, though Victor had volunteered to work for her until she was at 100 percent. A walk along the creek sounded like a good way to be as close to tranquility as possible. However, Ash would be furious when he learned about it, as though she'd keel over with a headache. The whole chaotic situation of attempting to prove Burnette's guilt had kept her awake at night and her stomach swirling during the day. The headaches since her accident hadn't helped either.

Faith was an issue, and she recognized her own failings in that department. Everything in her professional and personal life had bottomed out—deaths, disappointments, betrayals. No point in drudging through the mud with any of it. She desperately needed answers, and she knew God had them. Why couldn't He send an e-mail outlining what she should do next? Right now, a burning bush would suit her. Everything she and Ash had done to stop Burnette had ended in disaster.

Her dad once said God only used failures. She'd put that quote to the test.

What concerned her most was that an evil man appeared to be winning the battle. Lindsay's fragile emotions could cave at any time. People were dead.

“Meghan.”

She whirled around to see Ash walking toward her. The lines in his forehead indicated something else had gone wrong.

“We have a problem.”

“I figured so by the look on your face. What is it this time?”

“The reporter who harassed us at the gate?”

How could she forget with the media feasting on her photo, smearing blood over his shirt. “What's he done now?”

“He was found about ten minutes ago with his throat cut.”

Her heart plummeted. “I suppose his death looks like one of us did it.”

“Of course. We threatened him.”

“How did Burnette manage this?”

“He's hired professionals, Meghan. We've known his capabilities for a long time. Warrington told me yesterday that Burnette's complaining that we don't put his calls through to Lindsay.”

She stretched her neck to ease the hammering against her skull. “So what are we to do now? Is Burnette rewriting the Secret Service's code?”

“It was more of an FYI thing. Makes me wonder if Warrington might be getting wise to him.”

“In the meantime there's only two of us. How can we continue to fight him and keep Lindsay and her father alive?”

“We've got to find a way to get an audience with the president.”

“Would Lindsay agree?”

“She has to.”

Chapter 66

Lindsay couldn't bear to see the disappointment in Meghan's eyes. “I can't talk to Dad about Burnette. He believes every word the man says.” Hopelessness laced her fears. “My history destroys anything coming from my mouth.”

Meghan stopped in the driveway leading to the gate. Her face was a mass of bruises, and yet she insisted upon doing her job. “You don't know that for sure. Your father loves you.”

“Don't manipulate me. I've had enough of those tactics.”

“I'm only trying to convince you that you're the only person who can get through to your father about his vice president.”

“And I'm telling you I can't. Burnette would punish me by convincing Dad to make sure I stay here for the next year. How would you feel about spending months under Burnette's thumb?”

“Look what's happened up to this point. How many people are going to die before you realize you have the ability to stop him?”

She shook her head. “Leave me alone. I can't do it.” Lindsay took a deep breath. She trembled at the memory. “I tried once, and Dad went straight to Burnette. Told him everything I said. Dad called my psychiatrist, and between the doctor and Uncle Scottard, I spent six months in a psych hospital. The diagnosis was a personality disorder. Dear Uncle Scottard told my parents and the psychiatrist that I confessed to hearing voices that urged me to kill them and myself. And oh, Uncle Scottard recommended the psychiatrist. He was an old friend.”

Meghan's face softened. “Oh, Lindsay. I'm so sorry. I knew about the hospitalization and the diagnosis, but I should have figured out the rest.”

“Now you have the scoop. I won't put myself through six months of sedation and therapy for a condition I don't have. At least here I have hope he might fall over from a heart attack or someone will put a bullet through his head.” She wanted to help, but the memories of those six months were like an open wound. “You have to stop him, but I can't help you. Nothing I say can be used in a court of law.”

Meghan stiffened. “One more time you've swallowed Burnette's lies.”

“You're the trained professionals. I'm nothing but a drug addict.”

“A recovering drug addict.”

“No. Please, don't ask me again.”

“What if Ash and I were with you when you talked to your father?”

“Haven't you heard a single word I've said? It isn't happening. I'm not crazy. I don't have a personality disorder. I'd rather be dead than subject myself to Burnette's fury.” She shuddered. “The truth is the psychiatrist never diagnosed me with personality disorder. But Burnette convinced my dad that the likelihood was there.”

“How much does Dave know?”

“He has my files. We've talked about it, but of course not about Burnette.” Lindsay leaned forward. “Burnette has a hold on my dad stronger than blood ties. And I'm afraid it will be the death of him.”

Chapter 67

Wednesday afternoon, Ash scanned his e-mail, always looking for something that would pull together the case against Burnette. He'd gotten away with far too much, and his successes were bound to make him cocky. Ash didn't think Chip suspected Burnette, which was a good thing for now. Didn't need another man dead. But as close as Chip and Lindsay were getting, she might weaken and tell all. Ash tapped his pen on the table. Lindsay understood Burnette's mean streak, and she'd not knowingly endanger Chip's life.

An e-mail from Warrington flagged his attention. The autopsy report was attached. Ash clicked on the file.

The autopsy found “no gross evidence of myocardial infarction.” Ethan had not died of a heart attack. What Ash surmised now had validity but no proof. The pathologist indicated the final diagnosis would await review of the histologic sections—portions of various organs processed under microscopic exam. It helped to have a cousin who was a doctor to interpret medical terms. The testing could take up to six weeks, the toxicology aspect even longer, but Warrington indicated he'd put a rush on all the testing, not just on the results. Ash typed back to Warrington that in the event Ethan was poisoned, he wanted to know the substance. A few moments later, he forwarded the report to Meghan.

Needing a break to allow the autopsy's findings to sink in, Ash walked out onto the back porch and gazed at the pool. Lindsay had swum earlier, but she'd appeared distracted—like the rest of them. Disappointment swept through him at the thought of Lindsay refusing to contact the president about Burnette. He couldn't blame her, but the only way they would get an audience with the president was through Lindsay. Fear wrapped around her as tightly as the drugs had imprisoned her. All thanks to Burnette's ability to control her with a single phone call.

Now a reporter lay dead. Granted Ash had little use for the foul-mouthed man who had nothing better to do than throw rocks at a woman, but he hadn't wanted the man dead. Warrington had already called and asked for statements from him and Meghan. One TV network had Ash and Meghan under arrest. Another called them “persons of interest.” Burnette was behind it. But again, how could his treachery be proved?

“Ash.”

He swung around at the sound of his name. Chip dripped in sweat. Like Ash felt.

“Do you have a few minutes? I have some information about the murdered reporter.”

Chip might be an answer to prayer. “Let's hear it.” Ash pointed to the bench on the other side of the pool. He still wondered where other listening devices might be hidden.

“You know I run at 0200. This morning on the way back through the gate, I saw someone enter that reporter's RV.”

“Did you happen to see enough to identify him?”

“At the time, I thought it was a woman, because of the size.” Chip anchored his hands on his hips. “Didn't think much about it until the man turned up dead.”

Ash recalled the estimated time of death. He also pondered Chip's description of a small person . . . or Erin Burnette? “The coroner said he died around 0300.”

“Which means I probably saw the killer enter his RV.”

“Did you note anything else about the person?”

Chip drummed his fingers on his thigh. “The reporter glanced around a few times before closing the door behind him.”

“Did he see you?”

“I don't think so. Pretty dark along the road.”

“How was the person dressed?”

“Jeans. Black T-shirt.”

“Would you be willing to tell the sheriff your story?”

“You know I would.”

Ash shot a glance at the road. The sheriff had been there most of the day. He flipped open his cell phone and dialed his number.

Chapter 68

“I can't believe you've never baked chocolate chip cookies.” Meghan pulled brown sugar from the pantry and set it beside the flour, salt, and vanilla. Pepper had given them permission to use the kitchen while she picked vegetables in the garden.

“My mother was either working with desperate people in Africa or playing the role of a politician's wife, and I spent most of my life in boarding schools. We didn't bake cookies.”

Compassion flowed through Meghan. Time spent with her mother lived like a treasure in her heart. “What about Christmas?”

“Either someone gave us a fancy basket of cookies or Mom bought them.”

“That changes today. Someday you'll have kids of your own, and you will be Queen Mom with a single batch of homemade chocolate chip cookies.”