Wild Fire. Debra Cowan
be checking on you,” Rick said.
After the two men left, Clay grinned at her. “How long has Shepherd been chasing you?”
“A couple of months. He only likes me because I say no.”
His gaze softened as it skimmed over her face. “Maybe he thinks you’re pretty.”
She shrugged. “Maybe.”
“He’s definitely interested, but you’re not, huh?”
“You know I don’t date guys from my station house. After a few dates, I’m finished. If they aren’t, things get messy.”
“Like with Vince?”
“Yeah.”
Clay folded his arms. “He came by last night. I told him about your injuries, but I wouldn’t let him see you.”
“Thanks. Was he a jerk about it?”
“Not too much.” Clay eased down on the edge of the window sill, crossing his long legs at the ankle. “Tell me whatever you remember about last night.”
She rubbed two fingers in a circle against her throbbing temple. “Well, like I said, I heard a scream. When I got to M.B.’s front porch, I knocked. I heard another scream, but it was cut off. So I opened the door and called out. When she didn’t answer, I went inside.”
She paused, forcing her mind to play through what she had just told Clay, but when she tried to remember beyond stepping inside the house, she came up with snatches of darkness and light, garbled unidentifiable sounds. In other words, nothing.
The dull ache at the base of her skull sharpened into a stunning pain that radiated up the back of her head, stabbing behind her eyes. She clasped her head in her hands, massaging her temple. “That’s all I remember.”
Clay straightened, moving toward her. “You okay?”
“Yes, it’s just this headache. It comes and goes.”
“Do you need something for the pain?”
“I took a couple of ibuprofen about an hour ago. Maybe I’ll take some more.”
His eyes dark with concern, he rang for the nurse.
“Oh!” she said. “M.B. told me she was seeing someone.”
“Yeah?” Clay’s gaze held hers expectantly.
“She never told me who. I think he was married.”
“Did you ever see a man at her house?”
“About a week ago, I saw a red Corvette at her house, an older model, but I didn’t see who was driving it. I saw a man about a month ago in a different car, but only once.”
“Remember what either of them looked like?”
“I never saw who was driving the ’Vette. The other man was Hispanic, but I couldn’t describe him. That’s not much help, is it?”
“It’s a lead and we have too darn few so far.” He smiled.
The nurse delivered more pain medication and left. Shelby searched her mind, trying to recall anything else. All she had were shadows, elusive bits and pieces of…something. She couldn’t even determine if they were thoughts or pictures. “I want to know what happened.”
She sensed Clay tense subtly, the strain not visible in his face. Only in the barely perceptible shift along his lean muscles. Shelby knew he was keeping something from her. “What are you not telling me?”
Mouth grim, his steady gaze met hers. “Ken Mason, the medical examiner, had to go in for an emergency heart bypass a couple of days ago so it’s going to be a while before we find out M.B.’s exact cause of death.”
“Doesn’t he have an assistant?”
“Yes, but she isn’t certified to sign off on CODs. We’ve been able to piece some things together from what Collier learned at the scene.”
“Enough to rule out an accident?”
Clay nodded. “He checked for cigarettes and frayed wiring. Everything he’s found so far indicates the fire was arson. Most likely to hide another crime.”
Shelby’s fingertips tingled from that mix of adrenaline and apprehension she always got heading into a blaze. She didn’t want to ask the question that had dread fisting in her gut. “You mean—”
“Murder,” Clay said quietly, his large hands wrapping around the bed rail.
The shock of the words had her going still; then her entire body quivered. “Do you think I saw something? Someone?”
“I don’t know.”
“Do you think Dr. Boren’s right? That I can’t remember because I did see something horrible? But if I saw who murdered M.B., wouldn’t they have made sure I was dead, too?”
“They tried,” he said tightly. “Your station is right across the street from her. A fire had started, so I don’t imagine the killer felt he had time to make sure you were dead before your crew arrived.”
Sickened at the thought, she laid back on the pillow.
Clay squeezed her shoulder, his eyes hard. “I’m not taking any chances. Until we know you’re not in danger, I’m sticking to you like white on rice.”
Clay was as good as his word. He stayed again Monday night with her and her mom at the hospital, and the next morning helped Paula load Shelby into the car to take her home. She finally got settled to her mother’s satisfaction and convinced Paula she’d be fine. Shelby wanted to be in the comfort of her own home, not that huge empty house her mom had bought with the ample insurance settlement from Dad’s death.
Stepping inside her kitchen eased some of the tension in her shoulders. The white of the cabinets, countertops and island top was broken by splashes of red on the wallpaper, in the curtain across the single, floor-to-ceiling window. Deep black-cherry candles and a floral arrangement spread color across the dining table. The familiarity soothed her.
Paula fixed lunch for all three of them, some bean sprout-tofu thing that wouldn’t satisfy a bird. Shelby was hungry, but more than that, she was jumpy. Her entire body ached. She was frustrated at the missing minutes in her memory and edgy over what had happened during those minutes.
Paula rose to get more tea. “Vince has called me several times to see how you’re doing. He wants you to call him back.”
Shelby shook her head.
“Are you sure?” Her mom refilled her glass. “He seems genuinely concerned.”
“It’s one thing to check on me. It’s another to keep coming around. Clay said he was at the hospital last night, too.”
Shelby glanced over, noting how his jaw had tightened. He had on his blank cop face. The phone rang and Paula answered. Shelby tensed, hoping it wasn’t Vince.
Her mom brought the phone over. “It’s your captain.”
Relieved, Shelby spoke to her boss, assuring him that she didn’t need anything and promising to let him know her progress as she recovered.
Clay cleaned up the dishes while Paula made a list of things to buy at the grocery store. Shelby wandered into the living room, sank down on her oversize saddle-brown couch.
Her mom left for the store and Clay put in a call to his lieutenant. Shelby couldn’t sit still. Pain jabbed at her temple. Her nerves were raw, urging her off the couch and to the large plate glass window that looked into her backyard.
M.B. had been murdered. Clay’s words kept circling in Shelby’s head. Did she know anything about it? Were the answers buried somewhere in the writhing shadows of her mind? Had she lost her way in the smoke and fallen? Or had she been thrown over