Wildfire (22 page)

Chapter
22

Crazy people could do anything. She parked the mustang near
the door, found the key she needed and exited. Her heels tattooed the pounding
of her heart as she crossed the cement loading dock.

Light and shadows danced over the dull steel door making it
difficult to see the keyhole. Nerves made her fingers clumsy as she stabbed at
the lock with her key.
Open, open, open.

The feeling of being watched spider-crawled down her spine
and tears threatened. On the third attempt, the key slid in. Lynn twisted and
pulled the heavy metal door open, then slipped into a well-lit entryway. The
door snicked shut behind her and she heaved out a breath.
Safe
.

To her left a narrow flight of stairs led down to the
basement press area. On the right lay a darkened corridor, the red glow from
the overhead exit sign painted a faint pathway to the door at the far end. The
Editorial department lay behind that door.

Squaring her shoulders, Lynn forced herself forward one step
at a time. The shimmering red reflection of the light spilled on the linoleum
in front of her like a pool of blood. Another darkened corridor branched to the
left. This one led to the circulation area, now shrouded in thick shadows. Goosebumps
raced along her skin.

Henry could be waiting in the dark, waiting to get her in
his clutches again. Sweat beaded her upper lip as she stood rooted in anxiety,
unable to move. She shivered. Did the air suddenly turn cooler?

Stop it
. No one could enter a locked building without
a key. She grimaced. Yeah, just like dragons didn’t really exist. Shit. Pulling
on sheer will power, Lynn rushed through the darkness in a mad sprint for the
door. Panting, she jammed the key into the lock and twisted. How secure was it
to have the same key for two doors?
Stop thinking.
She pushed through and
groped blindly at the wall for the light switches. A gasp escaped her as her
fingers encountered the tell-tale bumps, a quick flick upwards flooded the
newsroom with cold white fluorescent light.

Lynn stood and surveyed the room. Empty. She stumbled to her
usual desk, fell into the chair with a sigh and grabbed the emergency Butterfingers
she’d stashed in the left hand drawer. Her entire evening had been a series of
emergencies. Ripping open the package, she bit into the chocolate. Sweetness
flooded her mouth, soothed her senses. After a few chews, she breathed evenly
again.

Still munching on the bar, she pulled out Henry Chase’s card
from her Paradise Valley Development folder and set it on the desk. Then she
rolled over to the computer and logged on, clicking her way through cyber
space. Time to run Henry’s name through the online research services the paper
subscribed to and see what came up. Should have done this before the interview,
she mentally slapped herself.

She first tried the Bexar County system and couldn’t get
anything beyond a current address in San Antonio and his birthday.

Then armed with the birth date and name, Lynn tried the
Harris County system. Bingo! The man had a record.

She scrolled through the report. A couple of minor assaults,
what appeared to be bar brawls, and then an arrest for arson. Lynn stopped
breathing for a minute. The report didn’t have much beyond the legal details,
such as date of arrest, date of arraignment, sentencing etc. She wanted
details. A click on the print button and the printer shuddered and wheezed to
life.

Next Lynn tried LexisNexis, a subscribed program which
allowed the paper to search news articles printed on specific topics. She typed
in Henry Chase, arson, and Houston. She received five hits— articles printed in
the Houston Chronicle about seven years ago.

She read through them all. An electronics shop in Houston
had gone up in flames at about midnight. By coincidence an off duty police
officer had been driving around the area and saw the blaze and Henry Chase, the
suspect, lurking in the area. The cop called the fire in and the police. Then
he tackled Henry. Within minutes fire trucks and police cars were on the scene.
The cop reported that Henry had seen him and tried to run.

But the off-duty cop, who had been driving around aimlessly
after a fight with his girlfriend, had apparently used all his pent up
aggression on chasing Henry down and subduing him. Thank God for girlfriends.

She continued reading. In the sentencing phase, Henry Chase
had implicated the owner of the shop, one Ben Barton. Barton also happened to
be Chase’s brother-in-law. Because of his testimony, Chase received a reduced
sentence of one year. Barton received three years.

Lynn searched some more to see if she could find anything
else. When she didn’t, she printed out the most complete story in the
selection. Then she leaned back in her chair and closed her eyes. She recalled
the Paradise Valley picnic where she’d mistaken Henry for Jack from behind. And
she’d been way off course about Henry being just a nice guy.

Hernandez’s voice echoed in her head: Do your homework.
Yeah, now she needed to figure out who else might be involved. Next step would
be to ferret out information from the county clerk’s office using the Freedom
of Information Act. Lynn typed up an official FOIA letter requesting phone
records and meeting minutes for the last six months. Then sent it to Hernandez
for his approval. That done, she stuffed the print outs into her bag and hefted
herself out of the chair.

Lynn turned off the lights and pushed out the door, then
dashed down the corridor and exited the building. The cool night air kissed her
perspiring face. The dock now had a few heavily-muscled press guys loading
stacks of papers as each vehicle moved up in line. She pulled in deep breaths
of the chill air, wished them good night and climbed into her car.

Jen had left the porch light on for her. Thank God. Even
though the meager light shone like a lost boat in the night. A darkness filled
with God knows what. Stop being a ninny. Her encounter with Henry had her
jumping at shadows. Some dragon she was.

Lynn squared her shoulders and stepped out of the car. She
slammed the door behind her, as if the noise would send the fear skittering
away. Nope, instead whispers and rustles filled the night. It was the wind,
just the wind. Gripping her bag tighter, she ran for the door illuminated by
the light. Shadows seemed to grow and move alongside her, keeping pace.

Panting and puffing, she raised her hand to bang. Jack
needed to be woken up regularly anyway. But the door swung open.

“I heard the car door,” Jen said.

Her hand dropped. “In the middle of the boonies, I’m sure
you can hear every little noise.” Lynn pushed past her friend.

The musk scent of a male dragon assaulted her nose— dark and
dangerous, filled with the warm promise of sex. Dizzy, she braced herself
against a cool adobe wall. The recent volatile change appeared to have left her
hypersensitive. Her eyes scanned the darkened hallway, lit on the aged wood
beam framing, a fire blazing in the hearth off to the left. She hadn’t seen
this part of the house before. Nice for a dragon’s lair. She sucked in a
breath. Yup, she stood in a freaking dragon’s lair. Jack had to be at least
part dragon.

Cannon, followed by Jen, trotted over and goosed her with
his cold nose. Then he jumped up and licked her face.

“Well, I feel safer knowing Cannon is here to lick all
intruders to death,” Lynn said pushing the dog down.

Jen laughed and led the way into the kitchen.

Moss green walls and dark cherry cabinets greeted Lynn. She
stumbled to the breakfast bar and perched on a stool. No fussy knick-knacks, or
cute cookie jar in sight. Instead, sleek, shiny copper canisters, each neatly
labeled, lined up like soldiers near the stove. A masculine kitchen, warm and
inviting in a no-nonsense way. She could imagine Jack at the stove cooking up a
spicy pot of chili. Wearing only a pair of faded jeans and apron with the
legend Kiss The Cook.
Erm, where’d that come from?

Lynn dove into her backpack and searched for the article.
She pulled the pages out and sorted them into a neat pile on the counter, ready
for discussion. Then she folded her arms on the cool granite and rested her
head on them. The mouth-watering aroma of coffee relaxed her. Her gaze drifted
to the copper pots and pans hanging from an ornate pot holder overhead. The
metal winked at her merrily in the kitchen light. Yup, the man liked shiny
things as much as her. Great, she had a dragon and a mind-control freak to deal
with.

“Did you find anything useful?” Jen poured coffee into a mug
and placed it in front of her.

Lynn took a swig of coffee and shoved the papers to Jen.
“Take a look for yourself.” Cupping her hands around the warm mug, she watched
her friend speed read through the material.

Finally, Jen looked up. Her eyes sparkled. “This is great,”
she said. “You’ve enough to give to Anderson so he’ll take a close look at
Henry.”

How tempting. She’d love to dump Henry into Anderson’s lap
and let him be someone else’s problem. Yeah, a couple of million dollars would
be nice too. After another sip of coffee, Lynn hung her head. “I can’t share
this with Anderson.”

“Why?”

For a moment, the memory of Henry whispering in her mind,
making her do things, feel things, burned like an unhealed wound. The niggling
idea that she’d heard his voice before, long before, resurfaced. She had to be
sure that Henry had nothing to do with
Obaa-chan’s
death. If he did, she
was going to take care of him herself. She shivered and wrapped her arms around
herself. “He’s too dangerous,” she said. “Despite being a dragon, I had a hard
time resisting him. I can’t let innocents get hurt.”

“Shoot.” Jen gnawed on her thumb. “Wait, if he can do the
mind control thing, why aren’t all the people just selling him the land as soon
as he asks?”

Lynn swallowed her coffee, and stared. “Good question,
unfortunately I don’t know the answer.”

“Didn’t
Obaa-chan
communicate with you
telepathically? Maybe it’s a dragon thing.”

The notion prowled around her head. “Yes, dragons can talk
to each other telepathically. We call it mindspeak, but this was different.”
She shook her head. “
Obaa-chan
never tried to control me.”

Jen downed her coffee in one gulp. “Yeah well,
Obaa-chan
also baked cookies and had a conscience.”

Lynn grimaced in acknowledgement. Uneasiness stalked her.
She was missing something, but what? “I don’t think he’s a dragon. I mean why
didn’t he turn dragon on me?”

“Your mom can’t turn dragon.” Jen shrugged. “Maybe he can’t
either.”

“Maybe.” Lynn tugged on her lower lip. “Too many damn maybes
and questions. I can’t go to Anderson or Roberts without knowing more.” She
sighed. “What’s bugging me is how I totally missed the ball with Henry. In
fact, Jack came across as more of a dragon than he did.”

Jen gawked at her. “You thought Jack was the rogue dragon?”

“I considered the possibility.” Her answer earned her a
glare.

“Are you nuts? He’s been nothing but nice to you since you
got here. Was I a suspect too?”

“Don’t be silly,” Lynn said, folding her arms across her
front. “And I had my reasons.” She listed a few: always first on scene,
childhood history, arsonists.

Jen shook her head. “You can’t reduce people to statistics
and patterns. You have to see them for who they are. You have to see with your
heart.”

Anger flared inside Lynn. “You asked me to find and stop an
arsonist. Investigations don’t involve the heart.”

Sorrow colored Jen’s face. “You’re afraid.”

Lynn slammed her empty cup onto the counter. “Of course I’m afraid.
I’m dealing with a dragon and a mind-control freak.”

“You’re afraid of falling in love, being vulnerable,” Jen
said. “You’re afraid of your human side.”

“This isn’t helping. Can we save the psychoanalysis for
after we’ve nailed whoever or whatever is burning up Paradise Valley?”

“Fine.” Jen drew in a deep breath. “Now that you’ve been
investigating, do you still think Jack is the rogue dragon?”

“No.” Not the rogue, but still a dragon. Was he working with
Henry? Somehow she didn’t think so.

Gathering both empty cups, Jen asked, “So what’s next? What
do we do?”

“Thanks for the coffee.” Lynn climbed off the stool and
grabbed the mugs from Jen, who protested indignantly, then headed for the sink.
“As for what we are going to do next is, you’re going to get some sleep and I’m
going take over the Jack watch for the next few hours.”

“That’s your plan?”

Lynn rinsed out the mugs and placed them on the drainer.
Wiping her hands on the dish towel near the sink, she turned. Jen stood there
with hands fisted at her hips. “You got something better?”

“No.” Jen sagged against the counter. “But what about Henry?
What if he disappears?”

“He’s already disappeared for tonight,” Lynn said. “I don’t
think he’ll be returning to his apartment. Even if he does, I’m not ready to
confront him.”

Lynn watched Jack sleep. His regular breathing, neither too
deep nor too slow, reassured her enough to let her study him. His face looked
young and peaceful on the milk chocolate pillow. Her gut insisted he didn’t
know about his dragon heritage. But how could that be?

Her eyes traveled along the line of his throat, the tanned
muscles of his arm and over the exposed part of his chest. Jen must have helped
him undress. A stab of jealousy flared through her. She pulled her gaze back to
his face.