Authors: Barbara Freethy
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"Tony," Emma said, as she stepped into the house Tony had lived in as a child. "This place looks a little different. You've redecorated."
"One of my father's ex-girlfriends did it about three years ago. She didn't want to spend time in a man's house," he added with a smile. "At first I thought the fake plants were a little much, but they've grown on me." He paused. "I was going to take a shower before you got here. Excuse the clothes."
"Are you still painting at St. Andrew's?" she asked.
"Just finished up today. The classroom should be ready for the kids by next week."
"That's good."
"Do you want something to drink? I was just going to grab a beer. Do you want one?"
"I'm on the job, but I'll take a water."
"How's the investigation going?" he asked, as they moved down the hall.
"It's a little frustrating at the moment," she admitted.
He handed her a bottle of water and took out a beer for himself. "I heard you talked to Jarod yesterday. He said you asked him a lot of questions about the dumpster fire from years ago. Why are you stuck on that?"
"Because it goes to a pattern of behavior."
He raised an eyebrow. "How so?"
"Arsonists can get their start young. You told me that Christian set that fire, but I know now that Jarod was suspended for it. You had to know that, so why the lie?"
He shook his head. "I didn't lie. Christian did set the fire, but Jarod took the blame."
"That's not what you said the other day."
"I forgot that Jarod had been punished for the fire."
"A five day suspension is a pretty big penalty to take for someone else," she said, wondering if Tony was really telling her the truth.
He took a swig of his beer, then said, "Jarod owed Christian. Christian had stopped Peter Holt from beating up Jarod. So Jarod paid him back. But it was definitely Christian who set the fire. He loved fire. He was obsessed with becoming a firefighter. You must remember that. How many times did you see Christian hanging on to your dad's every word? I remember when Jack let him get behind the wheel of a fire engine. Christian was over the moon."
She did remember that. Christian had always admired her dad. He'd looked to Jack as his mentor. Would he want to let his mentor down by becoming an arsonist? "How frequently do you see Christian these days?" she asked.
Tony shrugged. "Not that often. I've seen him a few times since he split with his wife and moved back to his dad's house. To be honest, he's kind of a downer these days. He's always complaining about his life, and I just get bored with it. I told him a few weeks ago that he should take a vacation, change his scenery and maybe his perspective. I said he could probably use my dad's Tahoe place if he wanted."
Tahoe?
The word made her stomach clench. "Your dad has a place in Tahoe?"
"Yeah, he bought it a few years ago. He doesn't spend much time there now that he has a new woman in his life. If you ever want to use it, just let me know."
"Thanks," she said, her mind whirling with the implications. Max had checked the Tahoe computer base for any homes owned by the Morettis or the Bradys. But Tony's father's name wasn't Moretti. It was Palermo. Damn! She'd forgotten that very important fact.
"Something wrong?" Tony asked, his gaze narrowing. "You look like you got a million thoughts running through your head."
"Do you know if Christian took you up on your suggestion to go to Tahoe?"
"I don't know. I told him my dad wouldn't be using it for a few weeks, and Jarod has an extra set of keys." A gleam came into his eyes. "You really think Christian did it, don't you?"
"It's beginning to look that way," she admitted.
"What does Tahoe have to do with it?"
"I can't say. But thanks for the info." She set down her water. "I have to go."
"Hey, don't forget you owe me dinner."
"When I tie up this case, you're on," she said.
As soon as she got into her car, her phone rang. It was Scott McAvoy.
"I've got the list of applicants, Emma. I'm emailing them to you now. I recognize a lot of the names, no one I would peg as a potential arsonist. They're all good men."
"No women?"
"You were the only one who applied."
"What about Christian Brady? Is he on the list?"
"Yes," Scott said. "He's on the list."
"Thanks, I'll be in touch." Her heart began to pound. She called Max. It went to voicemail. Frustrated, she left him a message. "I've got a new lead. It's five o'clock, so I'm heading to your apartment. I'll meet you there."
On the drive across town, she considered her next move. They needed to find out exactly what Christian had been doing the last two weeks. She didn't want to believe that a fellow firefighter was setting fires all over the city and taunting her, but then again Christian had never tried to hide his disdain for her. Had his hate grown even stronger when she'd gotten the fire investigator job, and he hadn't?
She wished she'd made that connection earlier, but until the fire at her apartment she really hadn't believed that she was the target.
It was disturbing to think that so much destruction had been caused by someone out to get revenge against her. And what about poor Sister Margaret? Had she stumbled upon Christian while he was setting the fire at St. Andrew's? Had he taken her hostage so she couldn't report him?
Despite the animosity Christian had directed toward Emma, she had trouble seeing him as a kidnapper and an arsonist. She'd worked fires with him. He'd saved lives. How did he go from hero to criminal?
She was no closer to an answer when she pulled up in front of Max's apartment building. She walked up the stairs and took out the spare key he'd given her that morning.
As she turned the knob and stepped into the living room, she was stunned to smell smoke, and it was coming from the bedroom. She wondered why the smoke detector wasn't going off. She glanced at the ceiling and saw it had been ripped out of the ceiling.
A part of her wanted to investigate, but another part of her said, don't be stupid. She should get out and call for help.
As she turned toward the door, she felt movement behind her. And then a strong arm came around her neck, and she yanked up against a hard male body and clothes that smelled like gasoline. Panic raced through her.
"You're early," he said. "But that's okay. This time you'll get to see the fire start."
She tried to break his hold. She needed to see who was talking. It kind of sounded like Christian, but not completely.
"This is going to be the last fire you ever see. I couldn't have planned it better—Emma Lou."
Her gut tightened. She knew that voice now. She knew that phrase. Only one person still called her Emma Lou, and it wasn't Christian.
Chapter Twenty-Two
"Robert?" Emma questioned as she struggled to get free. She couldn't believe it was Christian's younger brother who had an iron arm around her neck. "What are you doing?"
"Teaching you a lesson. Showing you that you're not as good as you think you are."
She coughed, her eyes watering from the smoke. "Let me go." She tried to kick at him, but he was stronger than she remembered.
"You're not going anywhere. This is the end, Emma."
"The end of what? Are you crazy? Why are you setting fires?"
"You've always ruined everything—from the time we were little kids. You were always in the way, always taking my spot or Christian's spot."
"What are you talking about? We were friends."
"You never had any idea of the damage you left in your wake. The Emma hurricane would blow through, leaving pain and destruction."
"We have to get out of here, Robert."
"No, it's over," he said, finality in his voice. "I knew it was over as soon as that bitch nun died."
"Why did you kidnap Sister Margaret?"
"She caught me getting ready to set the fire at St. Andrew's. I had no choice but to take her out of there. I had to go back the next day and finish what I'd started."
"Where did you take her?"
"To Jarod's dad's place in Tahoe. I had to listen to her talk for five days. She thought she could make me change my mind. She wanted me to pray about it. She wanted me to ask for forgiveness. She drove me mad. She just wouldn't quit talking. And then she wanted her rosary. She wanted to do penance before she died."
"Why didn't she have her rosary?"
"She lost it when we were hiking through the woods."
"But she didn't have her rosary when she was found; she had Christian's. Was he involved, too?"
"Are you kidding? Christian didn't know anything about it. The bitch wouldn't shut up. She drove me crazy with her begging, so I drove to the house and I got Christian's rosary to take back to her. She prayed on it until she died." His voice changed from harsh to pleading. "I didn't know she was going to die, Emma. I was going to let her go. I was going to disappear, and that would be it. No one would ever find me. But she just passed out and died with her eyes open. It gave me the creeps."
"I know you didn't want to kill her," Emma said. "And you don't want to hurt me, either. We have to get out of here, or we're going to die, too."
"I'm ready to die. There's no way out for me, and it's only fitting I should take you with me. It's actually a better plan than the one I had."
The madness was back in his voice.
"What about your father—your brother? They don't want you to die."
"They probably will when they find out I burned down the bar. I didn’t have a choice. I needed to find a place quick to stash her body. Not that the old man didn't deserve it. He cut me out of the bar last year. He said I wasn't reliable. I didn't want to run that bar anyway. I wanted to be a firefighter."
"Then why didn't you become one?" she asked, trying to distract him so she could find a way to escape.
"Because of you, Emma. I went through the academy. I applied for the job, but guess who got the opening—Emma Callaway, female firefighter." His voice dripped with bitterness.
"I didn't know that. I don't remember you going out for firefighting."
"You always overlooked me. I came in second to you in everything when we were in school. Every math contest, every spelling bee, every race at recess, it was you first, me second."
Her lungs were starting to burn. "I'm sorry. I didn't know I was hurting you. Let's go outside."
"We're not going outside, Emma. We're going to die right here."
Fear ran through her at the passion in his voice. He wanted to die, and he wanted her to die, too. "If we're going to die, then tell me why you waited until now to get back at me for beating you out for the firefighter job."
"Because last year you hurt Christian. You destroyed him. He needed the investigator job, but he didn't get it, because you did. The Callaway name strikes again. He started drinking after that. He lost his wife. He had to move home. I couldn't let you get away with it. Christian always took care of me. It was my turn to take care of him."
"You think he's going to be proud of you for this?" she argued. "He's going to be sad and angry, and your father will be devastated. How can you do this to them just to get back at me?"
"Because you're the reason for everything bad in my life."
"I beat you and your brother out at a couple of jobs, and you want to kill me? You're crazy."
"My mom was crazy. Mad for a man who only turned to her because his wife wasn't paying attention to him."
"I don't know what you're talking about. Your mom left years ago."
"Yeah, but I didn't find out the real reason why until recently. She told me the story of her affair, her love for a man who wanted out of his marriage. And do you know why he wanted out? Because his wife had a new baby girl, blonde, blue eyed, pretty, and his wife was giving all her attention to her daughter. He couldn't take it anymore. Do you know who I'm talking about Emma?"
"No," she said, refusing to believe what he was saying.
"I'm talking about your mother and father—your real father. He had an affair with my mother. He ruined her. She was in love with him, but he wasn't in love with her. He just wanted to get away from you."
"You're lying."
"I'm not. They slept together for years. When my dad found out, he kicked her to the curb. I grew up without a mother because you were born."
"That wasn't my fault, Robert."
She twisted her head, seeing flames snake up the curtains in the bedroom. Her eyes blurred with painful tears. The fire was building fast. Another minute or two, and it would be too late to get out.
She did not want to die. She had too much to live for. She had Max. She had love—real love, for the first time in her life. And she was not going to lose it before she'd had a chance to really experience it.
With all the energy she had, she elbowed Robert hard in the gut. His arm loosened slightly around her neck and she took advantage, twisting around, shoving her fist into his nose at the same time she brought her knee to his groin. He howled in pain and let go of her. She ran for the door, but he lunged after her, tackling her to the ground. She punched and kicked, knowing that this fight was for her life and she was not going to lose.
She scrambled to her feet and looked for anything that might be a weapon. She grabbed the heavy glass surfing trophy and smashed it on Robert's head.
He crumpled to the ground.
She tried to flee, but her chest was so tight, she couldn't get in any air. She stumbled to her knees. She wasn't going to make it.
And then the door flew open.
Max ran into the room and pulled her to her feet. Then he swung her into his arms and carried her into the hall and down the stairs.
He set her down on the steps, his expression grim as he gazed at her battered face. "He hurt you."
"I'm okay," she whispered, her throat still burning.
"The fire department is on the way."
"It was Robert."
"I know. I saw him." Max's mouth drew into a tight line. "I'm going back in to get him out, Emma."
"The fire is too hot. Wait for the engines."