Slow Burn (2 page)

They entered Magnolia Boulevard, passed a
light and turned left on Lauderhill. Ron waited until Kenny pulled
up and parked before he spoke.

“What’s the plan?” he asked, glancing at
Kenny.

“A former colleague at the bureau owes me a
few favors. I’m heading to Wilshire Boulevard and handing him
these.” Kenny indicated the Ziploc bag from the tray between the
seats. In it were the two envelopes someone had left Ron in the
past two weeks.

The first time Ron saw the small envelope
stuck under the windscreen wipers of his car, he’d thought it was a
parking ticket. Needless to say, he’d tugged at it, opened and left
his fingerprints all over the envelope and the letter. That was two
weeks ago.

The second time was yesterday afternoon. He’d
been in his office and his car parked in the underground garage of
the building housing Neumann Security offices, the Los Angeles
branch of his family’s company. His car was still in the same spot,
waiting for Kenny. This time, he’d covered his hands before he took
the envelope and opened the letter.

The letters had a list of three names and the
question, “What really happened that night?” The weirdest thing was
each letter was cut out of the newspaper and glued to the paper,
very archaic. A simple text message would have sufficed. And the
words ‘really’ and ‘happened’ were spelled with one L and P.

It had taken Ron days to identify the three
men on the first list. All of them had worked at the fire station
where his father used to volunteer as a firefighter. But was it a
coincidence that they had quit right after the fire at Carlyle
House? That question was driving him nuts. He had yet to talk to
anyone on the second list. Ashley Fitzgerald’s name topped it.

As for the cryptic message, he’d reached the
conclusion that whoever sent him the letters either wanted him to
reopen the case or had come up with a wacky blackmail scheme. Both
the Fire Marshal’s office and L.A.P.D.’s finest had refused to take
the letters seriously. Not enough evidence to suspect foul play and
reopen the Carlyle fire case. Neither did they consider the letters
threatening. It didn’t matter. Nothing would stop him from going
ahead with the investigation, including Ashley’s busy schedule.

“When do I get back my ride?” Ron asked
Kenny. The P.I. had taken a detour to pick up Ron at his Hollywood
Hills home.

“Sometime today…as soon as my friend dusts it
for prints. You said you spoke with the building security?”

“Briefly. The recordings from their
surveillance cameras didn’t show anyone loitering near my car. But
feel free to have another look at them, I might have missed
something.”

“Or someone. I’ll also have another chat with
your father’s closemouthed fire buddies.”

“Good. Thanks for the ride.” Ron stepped out.
Calling Kenny had been a brilliant move. Hopefully, the P.I would
help him ferret out the person sending these damned letters. “Let’s
get together later.”

Kenny saluted him with a finger. “I’ll let
you know when the car is ready and what my friend finds out. Are
you still going to the convention in San Diego?”

As a volunteer wildfire firefighter, he
rarely attended the firefighters’ conventions. This year was
different. His father’s former chief’s name was on the second
list.

“Yes. I heard Jonathan Blackwell is receiving
a medal. I hope to catch up with him there.”

“Watch your back. Whoever is doing this must
have something to gain. No one stirs up a ten year old case for
shits and giggles.” Kenny squinted at Ashley’s building and added,
“Let me know what the lady says.”

Ron couldn’t agree more with Kenny. No one
did things from the goodness of their hearts, not from his
experience. He stepped away from the car, waited until Kenny pulled
away before he started for the entrance of the building.

The building, like many in the area, used the
products and services of Neumann Security. His family manufactured
and supplied state-of-the-art electronic surveillance equipment and
custom-designed software to businesses, homes and even P.I. firms
like Kenny’s. The branch Ron ran also managed highly trained
security guards. The one on duty recognized him and stood before he
reached the desk.

Ron headed for the elevators after speaking
with the guard. He fought the tension knitting his gut as he
watched the LCD panel flash numbers. What if she recognized him and
refused him entrance? Ten years was a long time for someone to
remember details of an accident, especially one that changed her
life. He’d be screwed if she chose not to help him.

When he stood outside Ashley’s door, Ron took
a deep breath before he pressed her doorbell. He waited a few
seconds then angled his head to listen for movement from inside.
There was not a whisper from inside, yet he knew she was home.

He leaned his thumb on the doorbell, held it
longer than necessary. When there was still no response, he sucked
in a breath and pivoted on his heels. Two steps away, the door
opened and a low, throaty voice hit him from behind, sending a jolt
through his system.

“Quit with the ruckus. You’re, uuh….” Her
voice tailed off.

He turned and took in her creamy, flawless
skin, the pert nose and lush lips. Her almond-shaped eyes the color
of honey drops flashed and the glossy, abundant auburn hair with
coppery highlights struggled to burst free from whatever pinned it
back.

Could this gorgeous woman be the frightened
girl of ten years ago? The image of her from that night had stayed
with him over the years. He couldn’t even explain why.

“Ashley Fitzgerald?”

“You’re late,” she said in a cool, impatient
voice.

He raised an eyebrow. “I am?”

She thrust a delicate wrist under his nose.
Her gold watch caught the overhead light and sparkled. “It’s after
nine-thirty. You were due at an hour ago.”

Her feminine scent drifted to his nose.
Something flowery. Roses? He frowned, annoyed with himself for
letting his mind wander.

He cleared his throat, readying himself to
explain his present. “I believe you’ve mis—”

“Never mind,” she said, took a step back, and
with her other hand clutching a cell phone, gestured him into the
loft. “You’re here now. Come in.”

She was obviously mistaking him for someone
else. But after the obstacles he’d encountered in the past two
weeks, he’d be a fool not to take the advantage of the situation.
Being invited inside her home was one step closer to achieving his
goal.

“Thank you.” He flashed a grin as he strode
into the loft.

“What’s your name?” she asked, closing the
door.

“Ron.”

“Make yourself comfortable, Ron.” She waved
in the direction of a leather lounge. “I’m on the phone. I’ll be
with you in a sec.”

He watched her sashay towards the kitchen,
the phone at her ear, and found himself enjoying the way the silk
one-piece outfit shifted and flowed around her curves.

Ron tore his gaze away, shook his head to
rattle his brain back in place and grimaced. He needed to get a
grip, quick. He couldn’t afford to be distracted. Ashley knew a
lot, but from the stubborn gleam he’d glimpsed in those eyes, she
wasn’t going to roll over and spill her gut just because he
asked.

The smell of freshly brewed coffee pulled him
farther into the room. He took a deep breath and looked around with
interest. The sheer numbers of cloth-draped canvases along the
walls combined with the effect of the light pouring inside the loft
from large windows were startling. He wished he could see some of
the pieces. The ones he’d seen around town, including the two his
grandmother owned, were truly magnificent.

A piece on the easel drew his attention. It
was facing backward, but something about it pulled him closer. He
tilted it for a better look and sucked in his breath.

Carlyle House was unmistakable. Its massive
front door was missing, flames leapt from every window and a
face…no, a pair of large eyes watched from the smoke billowing over
the turrets.

“Excuse me. What do you think you’re
doing?”

He let the canvas go, backed away from the
painting and shifted his gaze to meet hers. Her hand was on her
hip, drawing his attention to its enticing curve, and her hazel
eyes smoldered. He’d be damned if he didn’t admit she looked
glorious.

“I apologize. I shouldn’t have looked at your
work without asking you first.” He waited, his gut tightening with
each second that passed.
Way to go, Noble. Now she’ll kick you
out, and you’ll have no one to blame but yourself.
He gave her
an apologetic smile.

She looked ready to read him the riot act.
Then the anger seemed to drain out of her. She leaned against the
counter and let out a long breath.

“There’re two things I will not tolerate from
a model—tardiness and peeking at my work.” Her voice was firm, but
neither rude nor angry. “Dee told me you’ve done this before, so
undress there.” She pointed at a partitioned area in the corner.
“Since you were late, I’ll just do a few shots. We’ll start with
upper torso, so the shirt goes and the pants stay for the moment.
If you want to listen to music, I have classical, jazz,
rock…whatever you wish. We’ll work there.” With a nod, she
indicated the black leather chaise lounge near a window and the
easel. “If we have time, I’d like shots of you in briefs.
What?”

“Briefs?”

Ashley ignored his incredulous expression.
Why had her request for a mature male model been filled with this
six-foot mass of male arrogance? Beautiful to look at but trouble
to work with. Dee already apologized for the man’s tardiness during
their brief telephone conversation, but swore he was a joy to work
with. Yeah, right.

“Yes, briefs.” She pushed off the counter and
approached him, taking in his sun-kissed skin, which screamed
outdoorsman. But the combination of Monet’s cobalt blue eyes and
short-cropped hair the color of midnight was more suited for a
corporate office with a view. He was a contradiction, and her
fingers longed to pick up a paint brush and immortalize him on
canvas.

Slowly, she circled him, eyeing his tall,
well-built body from every angle, wondering if he was tanned all
over. The black T-shirt and blue jeans didn’t do much to hide the
lean muscles beneath. She wasn’t into men with facial hair, but the
shadowing on his jaw contrasted with his golden skin and gave him a
sexy, rakish look. A tattoo of something was partially visible on
his upper left arm. Did he have more on his torso? Not that it
mattered. She easily imagined him with nothing on but a red, silk
sheet draped across his hips. With her paintbrush, she could turn
him into every woman’s fantasy. She smiled at her thoughts. But
that was for later, now she wanted him in briefs. No boxers or
cutoffs. Just briefs. The smaller and tighter the better.

“I hope that’s not going to be a problem
because later, I’ll need nude shots.” Her smile deepened. “Lots of
them.”

“I have no problem with being nude.” He
turned until they were facing each other. A quirky grin played on
his sensuous lips. “I just don’t strip for money.”

“But—”

“I’ll do it for free, if I know the lady.”
Blue eyes twinkled above arched eyebrows. “I don’t know
you…yet.”

She smothered a groan. “Look. Dee told me you
were a pro and pros know the rules. No personal remarks or cheap
come-ons. And FYI, buddy, I’m not interested in you knowing me, I
just want your body.” The corner of his lips lifted and her cheeks
warmed. “Uh, I mean I want to use it.”

When he crossed his arms and continued to
grin, Ashley sighed. “You know what I mean. Be nice. Take off your
shirt.” She needed coffee, now. Maybe she would offer him some
later, if he behaved. Right now, she was too bothered even to look
at him. Dee was so dead for doing this to her. A professional
indeed. He was a menace.

Ashley turned and marched toward the
kitchen.

“Who’s Dee?” Ron asked from behind her.

“What?” Ashley stopped and spun around.
“Deirdre Packard, the owner of Dee’s Artistic Expressions. Aren’t
you the model she sent?”

He smiled. “No. I’m not a male model, but
thanks for the compliment.” He moved to stand in front of her, the
smile disappearing from his lips and his eyes growing serious. “I’m
here to see you about an entirely different matter. We spoke
earlier…Ronald Douglass.”

Ah, the sweet man with a dying grandmother.
Although ‘sweet’ wasn’t exactly what she’d dub him this up close
and personal. Arrogant came to mind, thinking he could waltz in
here and lie to her. Too handsome for his own good was another. It
irritated her to admit she’d been looking forward to capturing his
square, raw-boned face and those electrifying blue eyes.

Ashley sighed. “I told you I was too busy to
meet with you this morning. And why didn’t you tell me who you were
the minute you realized I’d mistaken you for my model?”

“I apologize. It’s not often a woman asks me
to strip immediately after meeting her.” A disarming smile flitted
across his sensuous lips.

Now he was a comedian. Ashley pinned him with
narrowed eyes. “Do you even have a dying grandmother or need her
portrait done?”

A guilty look crossed his face. “She’s as
healthy as a horse, and that’s the truth. But I’d like to present
her with her portrait on her next birthday. Listen, I hoped you’d
spare me a few minutes.” A lost puppy look settled on his face.

Definitely too sure of his charms and used to
getting his way, she concluded. Either case, he was a total
stranger. Although there was nothing threatening about him, Ron was
a big man. How fast could he move? The panic button on her cutting
edge security system was by the door, and he stood smack between
her and it. She took in the Rolex and the designer jeans, groomed
hair and those eyes. Something sizzled between them, but Ashley
disregarded it. Good looks and expensive tastes didn’t mean jack.
She had two choices here, tell him to get out or hear him out.