Illusive Flame Page 7

  “I believe her.”

  He turned to Grant appalled. “Why?”

  “I just do.”

  “That’s not an answer.”

  “She could be right about some things. Psychics have solved cases before. We could use some help with this.”

  “We have the ATF.”

  Grant frowned. “Real help, not overblown egos.” Robert studied him. “This dislike of the government wouldn’t be anything personal, would it?”

  He shoved a hand in his trouser pocket. “No. So what do you think?”

  “She was wrong about the fire injury.”

  “Yes, but she was right about this.”

  “A good guess. Or she’s involved. You noticed the owner’s sister is Caribbean? She could be—”

  Grant swept a hand through the air, cutting him off. “She’s not involved and you know it. Look, remember when you first came on board? Your way of doing things initially angered a lot of the good old boys. But I stuck by you even though you challenged some of my beliefs on fire investigation.”

  “I just know—”

  “Just as I was flexible to learning something new, I’m asking you to do the same.”

  Robert shook his head surprised by the request. “I have staked my reputation on trying to establish arson investigation as a legitimate science. People think it’s bunk, because of its oral traditions and guesswork. Now you want me to throw that all away and base my investigation on some woman who sees fires in her dreams?”

  “Yes.”

  “For all we know she could be mentally unstable.”

  “You know there’s not one loose screw there.”

  Robert sighed fiercely then leaned against his car, resigned. “All right. You may have a point. Check up on her. I’ll give you some more information tonight.”

  “Good.”

  “Stop smiling. I’m not convinced yet. Did you learn anything from the walkie-talkie?”

  He nodded. “Yea.”

  Robert straightened. “What?”

  “That Radio Shack sold a million of the damn things. It seems Victoria Spenser may be our best hope.”

  * * *

  Prescott Delaney loved his chili spicy with lots of cheese. Bubba’s Diner provided some of the best. He glanced over the table at his colleague Rona, the administrative assistant at the construction company where he worked. A sweet girl most people looked past. He never had that problem. People usually took notice of him.

  He knew he was a good-looking guy. Sure, age had taken some of his hair, but he was still in good shape.

  He made sure of that with his daily workouts. He wished his dad could see all that he’d achieved. He’d make his old man proud. Construction on the Latviska Dance Studio was almost done, and he already had another job lined up.

  The waitress stopped by his table. “Is everything fine?”

  She was pretty, so he smiled at her. “Yes.”

  She smiled back. “Let me know if you need anything.”

  “Sure.” He watched her leave. She had a nice body, not much of a backside, but he wasn’t much of a butt man. He liked hips.

  When he was a skinny, shy kid girls used to make fun of him all the time. Then he learned how to build things. Thanks to his dad. His dad had shown him how things worked. Taking him around town and pointing out the different structures of buildings and carting him around on construction jobs. The hard work helped him bulk up and gave him the confidence he needed. He wasn’t the smartest kid in school, but if you needed anything built he was the guy.

  That’s when the girls came running. It seemed they liked a guy who knew how to use his hands, and they let him use his hands all over them. Instead of them laughing at him, he laughed at them. Sweet revenge and they didn’t even know it. Women were so predictable. He looked across the table at the mousy woman sitting in front of him. Rona was different She was always sweet. Unfortunately, she seemed to like going from one bad relationship to another. Her present boyfriend was an idiot. You could never figure out his mood.

  That’s why he did without relationships. He liked to keep things under control, and you couldn’t control people. Give him an old building and a bunch of tools any day.

  Prescott finished his chili then requested the bill. After he paid, he helped Rona with her coat and walked her to the door. On the way there, she tripped. He grabbed her arm before she fell. “Are you okay?” he asked.

  “I’m fine. Just clumsy.”

  He glanced down and saw that a tile had shifted. He called the manager. “The tile is loose. You should get it fixed.”

  The man used the tip of his shoe to push the tile back in place. “There it’s fixed. No big deal.”

  Prescott stared at the other man. His right temple began to pound. He was laughing at them. Being disrespectful. He’d had to deal with that most of his life. Though he never went around thinking he was better than others, others thought they were better than him. They’d disrespected his father too just ‘cause he didn’t finish high school. He felt Rona’s cool fingers on his arm. “Come on Prescott, time to get back to work.”

  He held the door open for her as he studied the building structure. “They should have apologized,” he muttered as they walked to his car.

  “It’s okay I wasn’t hurt.”

  She was always so forgiving. That’s why people treated her like crap and she didn’t even notice. He wouldn’t come back here. They wouldn’t get another cent of his money. He got into his car and pulled onto the main street. He glanced at the building through his rearview mirror. Bubba’s Diner had been around for a while and they weren’t keeping it up. The neon sign needed fixing, they needed a new roof, and there were cracks in the structure.

  The building was dangerous. It deserved to burn.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  He hadn’t come home yet. Victoria twisted the buttons on her cardigan. Had he found anything? Would he accuse her of lying again? She looked at her aunt reading and wished she had the patience to do the same. She lacked the gift of patience. She felt energy whirling inside her. She had to get out. Dusk painted the land, while a calming darkness scuttled away the memories of the day.

  She closed her eyes to calm herself and saw a flame—a tiny flicker of light. Her skin grew prickly with mounting unease. Oh no. Not again. Not tonight. But somehow she wasn’t surprised. She’d been prepared. She knew he would start again.

  Janet glanced up from her book. “You’re restless. What’s wrong?”

  She must act normal. Nothing was wrong. Nothing. “Headache.”

  Janet raised her brows.

  “I’ve been trying to memorize the layout of the house. So I won’t get lost.” She laughed—the sound felt false, but her aunt didn’t take notice.

  Janet jumped to her feet and grabbed Victoria’s arms. She shook her. “Another one?”

  “It’s tiny. Nothing to worry about. ”

  Her grip tightened. “You must not let this control you. Be strong.”

  “I am strong.”

  “Whether it is a gift or a curse you must not let it overwhelm you. Do you hear me?”

  Sweat began to gather on her skin. “Yes.” She could feel the flame growing. She jumped to her feet. “I’m going for a walk.”

  Victoria escaped outside, drinking in the sweet, cool scent of the evening. Her shoes swished through the giving grass as she rushed in the direction of the greenhouse. Flowers always calmed her, their scent pushing away the smell of burning. I will fight you. I am strong. She pushed through the attack of emotions, as her legs grew heavy. She must get there. Nothing must stop her.

  She needed a destination to focus on. The greenhouse was a lighted beacon in the coming evening and she was a ship being led towards it. But the vision grew. She saw cracked black and white tile flooring, peach cushioned booths, metal stools, and family photos crumbling to black ash. A restaurant owned by a family for generations. Someone’s life work slowly eaten. She held her head and briefly shut her eye
s, a wave of all the sensations washing over her.

  She grabbed the latch to the greenhouse. It opened easily and she stumbled inside vaguely aware of the intense warmth that clung to her. She took a deep breath. Flowers meant safety. They were so innocent, so lovely, so pure. She felt like a child stepping into an enchanted forest where lilies danced and Cheshire cats smiled without faces.

  Tall trees climbed all around, foliage crouched in the shade, moss crawled across stone and various flowers began to stretch from pots, whereas others had yet to push their heads above the soil. The dreamlike space, however, could not erase her nightmare of destruction. The flames continued to devour and he was laughing. Triumphant. She grabbed a table to steady herself Her elbow hit a little pot. It fell to the ground and shattered.

  “What are you doing in here?” a voice demanded.

  It took all her strength to respond. “I just wanted to see the flowers.”

  “Why?”

  “I don’t know.”

  Robert came from behind a tall palm ready to give a sharp retort then he saw her face. His voice filled with concern. “What’s wrong with you?”

  “It’s so hot.” She crumpled to the ground.

  He rushed to her side and knelt beside her. He half-sat her against his thigh, rubbing her hand then touched her cheek, surprise by how clammy her skin felt. She needed medical attention. He began to pick her up.

  Victoria seized his sleeve and shook her head. “No.”

  “You need a doctor,” he said.

  “No,” she gasped. “Please. I need a moment... to ... breathe.”

  “But--”

  “Please.”

  Robert muttered something, but did as she asked, watching her labored breathing until color came back into her face. She licked her dry lips. “It’s too late now It’s over.” She struggled to stand.

  He stopped her. “Be still. You need to rest.” He paused. “It’s too late for what? What’s over?”

  She briefly closed her eyes. “It’s just too late.”

  He continued to rub her hand. “You probably worked yourself too hard today. You should take better care of yourself.”

  A bitter smile touched her lips. “You think I’m crazy.”

  He sighed resigned. “To be honest, I don’t know what I think of you.” But he knew what he wanted. He wanted to touch the curve of her neck, her cheek, her hair, every inch of her body. His body grew harder with every rise and fall of her chest. For the first time in his life he didn’t want to think at all. He watched her draw in her knees and rest her chin on them.

  She smelled good too. Like a fresh breeze. “Do you want to talk about it?”

  Victoria shook her head.

  “Sometimes it just helps to talk, even if...”

  “Someone doesn’t believe you?” she said dryly. “No. You’re wrong. I’ve spent my entire life with people thinking things about me that aren’t true. Talking doesn’t help.”

  “But you don’t know if—”

  “What’s the point of speaking when nothing you say is useful?”

  Robert fell silent, hearing the hurt in her voice. He ran a hand over his face then said, “I did find something in the north center.”

  She turned and looked at him with hope in her eyes. “So you believe me?”

  His gaze slid away, he did not want to encourage that hope. “There are still so many factors that need to be considered.”

  “Such as the possibility that I’m involved in some way?”

  “I’m not accusing you of anything.”

  “Doesn’t matter.” She frowned, looking at him closely. “What happened to your face?”

  “I fell.”

  She touched his forehead. “Does it hurt?”

  He jerked away. “Ow! Yes. You’re supposed to ask that before you touch it.”

  She yanked her hand back, trying not to smile. “Sorry.”

  “It’s okay.”

  “You should—”

  “I took care of it.” He cleared his throat. “Thanks anyway.”

  “Okay.” Victoria turned away wanting to create distance between them. She scooped up the plant and placed it in an empty pot. She stood then set it on the table.

  “Robert watched her. That seemed to be all he did lately. He liked how she moved with such purpose. He also liked how her rear looked from this angle—like buns straight from the oven. He suddenly became very hungry for something he couldn’t eat. He rubbed his hands together desperate to think of something else. “You couldn’t resist coming in here, could you?”

  She looked down at him. “No, I couldn’t.”

  He stood beside her. “Believe it or not, I know the feeling.” He fingered the petals of an orchid.

  “The feeling of being unable to resist?” Victoria watched his fingers caress the petals. He had nice hands, nice gentle fingers.

  “Yes.” His dark eyes split the distance between them. It wasn’t the color, but the remoteness that held her, that caused a rush of heat to fill her body. His voice, however, remained neutral. “I have help.” A little grimace marred his face. “I always have help. But I like to tend to them myself sometimes.”

  “Nothing compares to the feel of soil slipping through your fingers.”

  His fingers stroked the orchid stem. “No. My grandfather was an avid gardener. He started after my grandmother died. He said he created the garden so that he could have fresh flowers to lay on her grave, which he visited three times a year.”

  She swallowed, watching as he pushed one finger deep into the soil. She could feel her-body tighten the deeper he went; could feel moisture gather between her legs.

  “My grandfather said when I was five I would pick flowers then try to replant them so he encouraged my interest. He always said there were so many horrible things in this world and that everyone should make their little corner beautiful.”

  She could barely concentrate as his finger moved around in the soil. Her breathing grew shallow, a trail of perspiration slid down her back. “Sounds wise.”

  “He was.” Robert removed his finger with such speed that she gasped. “Are you okay?” he asked.

  She laughed weakly. “I’m fine. Interesting story.”

  “Hmm.” He stared at her a moment then turned away. Victoria took a deep breath and relaxed. “I saw a picture of him in the carriage house. He was a handsome man.”

  “It’s a family trait, of course.”

  “As well as humility?”

  He thought for a moment then shook his head. “No, I don’t think that’s a trait of ours. What are Spensers known for?”

  “I think you already know.”

  “Pride.”

  “Perhaps a little too much.” She turned towards the windows where an old sun rested its weary head against the hills allowing darkness to cover the lawn. She felt him close. He could never enter a room without her knowing he was there. She felt as though there was a strange invisible bond between them.

  “Is this why Natalie left?” she asked desperate to break the strange spell and build a wall. “Because of moments like these?”

  “Who?”

  She smiled a little sad. “You don’t even remember their names, do you?” She shook her head, keeping her back toward him. It was her best defense against her pull to him. “I will only clean your house, nothing more, although you may expect more.”

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about. ”

  “I’m talking about you and Natalie.”

  “Natalie left because she was unhappy.”

  She turned to him and studied his face. “You honestly believe that Ah, yes, I can see you do. You didn’t know how much she loved you.”

  His brows drew together. “Natalie was young and impressionable, that’s all. Merely a housekeeper who did her job well.” He folded his arms. “Why would I pay special attention to her?” Once he said the words, he regretted them.

  “Yes, why?” she taunted. “Perhaps for the same reason you
would pay attention to me. Because I’m here. Don’t worry, you wouldn’t be the first to have such thoughts.”

  He let his hands fall. “I didn’t mean that,” he said in gentle tone. “I meant—”

  She held up her hands, fending off any explanations. “Don’t say anything.”

  He looked at her, his expression guarded. “I will not apologize for something you don’t understand.”

  “I bet you’ve never had to apologize for anything.”

  “You’re wrong. People expect me to apologize for a lot of things. I refuse. Is it my responsibility to care for the feelings of every young woman who hopes that I will make her dreams come true? To provide the job for every man without one? To do nothing just because I was born into wealth?”

  “And am I suppose to apologize for being poor? For feeling and seeing things others can’t see? Should I apologize for all the things others don’t understand?”

  “Would ‘others’ be me?”

  She took a step sideways. “I should go.”

  He moved in front of her. “Did you see a fire?”

  “Yes.” She took a step around him.

  He blocked her path again. “Big or small?”

  She looked at him frustrated. “They’re always big. Please move.”

  “Not yet. What was it?”

  “You don’t even—”

  “I know, but I’m curious. What was it?”

  “It was a restaurant shaped like a block.”

  He thought a moment then asked, “Where did it start?”

  “In the kitchen, an electrical spark.”

  “So it was an accident?”

  “That’s how it’s suppose to look,” she said then raced past him.

  * * *

  Robert sat in his bedroom. Another fire. So she says. Unfortunately, Victoria said a lot of things that seemed to echo in his head. Her comments about Natalie bothered him. He didn’t like the picture painted of him as a cold employer who had taken advantage of the affections of a young girl. What disturbed him most was how close to the truth she was. He’d known Natalie’d had some silly crush on him, but he hadn’t paid much notice. He couldn’t even remember what she looked like or recall the words of her tearful goodbye when she had left.