Up in Flames [The Heroes of Silver Springs 10] (Siren Publishing Everlasting Classic) (31 page)

Max sighed in obvious disappointment, but he dipped his head and brushed a kiss to her lips. “One hour. If you’re not at my place in one hour, I’m coming back. I’ll throw you over my shoulder and carry you out of this place if I have to.”

Regina smiled and stole another kiss. “Deal.”

She settled back in her chair, watching Max as he walked out of her office until he closed the door behind him. She continued to stare at that door for another long moment, amazed at how empty her office suddenly felt now that he was gone. It hadn’t fazed her to be alone before he’d showed up. It hadn’t fazed her to be alone before she’d lowered her defenses and let him into her life. Now that she had, she didn’t want to imagine what it was going to be like returning to endless days without him.

Push him out of your head. You’ve got more important things to worry about.

She did. She wasn’t sure how she thought one more hour was going to make a difference when she’d spent so many others since yesterday morning reading and rereading the same information, but she had to try. There had to be something she was missing, something that would tell her the Flame Jumper’s next move.

Taking a sip of the ice-cold coffee in the cup on the edge of her blotter, she shuffled through the papers on her desk and files on her computer and retraced everything, starting from yesterday’s fire until she reached the very beginning in 1985. The soft tick of the second hand on the wall clock sounded in her head like a countdown to the final hour as the minutes stretched on.

“It’s here. It’s got to be here. What the fuck am I missing?”

Frustrated to the point of sheer anger, she pulled up the report on the house fire that had taken the life of Beatrice Randolph and read it again for the umpteenth time.
Single family residence. Point of origin, the kitchen. Case of the fire, citronella lamp. Time of fire, 0752.

She sat back and stared at the clock. Seven fifty-two in the morning? Ironically, it was just after seven thirty in the morning now. Why would seven-year-old Joyce Randolph have been playing with a lit citronella lamp before eight o’clock in the morning?

She was fascinated by the flame.

It was the only answer Regina could think of as she dropped her gaze back to the report and continued reading.
Location,
1243 Walnut Street.

“1243 Walnut Street.” Regina felt every drop of blood drain from her body as the address hit home. “Oh, my God.” She shot out of her chair so fast it hit the wall behind her, snatching up her car keys and thumbing through the contacts on her iPhone as she ran. She had less than fifteen minutes but, if she hurried, she just might make it on time.

* * * *

The Flame Jumper had learned to move carefully no matter how quickly she performed her work. She’d spent much of her life perfecting the art, bettering herself for the day when she would put her plans into action and reveal herself to the world. She’d thought the time had come four years ago. She had expected to feel peace after the final business had gone up in flames. Instead, she’d felt empty, needy, and restless. She’d known then that she’d been wrong.

She wasn’t wrong this time. She’d spent the last four years figuring out what had been amiss. She knew with utter certainty now. The timing hadn’t been the only thing that had been wrong. She’d missed the final, vital step to completing the chain.

She moved through the two-bedroom apartment, painstakingly making a map for the flames to follow, feeling more at ease than she had her entire life as a sense of contentment came on the heels of her newfound knowledge. Today, on the anniversary of her mother’s death, her nightmares and life of suffering would end in a blaze of glory just as they had done for her mother.

* * * *

Max pulled open the door to his apartment building and immediately caught the tinge in the air. Gasoline with a trace of something sweeter like citronella gel. His attention dropped to his feet, searched the tile floor for any signs of wetness, and then climbed up the walls. There were no flames, no smoke, only the odor that grew more pungent as he stealthily walked up the staircase to the second floor.

He glanced back down to the first floor, remembering he hadn’t seen the cars belonging to his downstairs neighbors in the parking lot. The single elderly man on one side of the hall worked the late-night shift at one of the casinos across the water. He wouldn’t be returning home before nine. He couldn’t recollect what the younger couple who lived on the opposite side did for a living, but he knew neither of them was ever home on a weekday after seven.

His gaze sliced to his sister’s apartment as he topped the stairs. Rayne had volunteered to stay with Veronica for the day, Ford was on shift at the police station, and Max had left Cory at the hospital. This building was empty save for him, but he didn’t have a clue about the occupants of the connecting buildings on either side.

He tore his attention from the door to his sister’s apartment, dragged it across the floor and walls of the hallway as he’d done downstairs, and found everything to be dry here, too. His heart skipped a beat even as a heavy dose of adrenaline gushed through his system when his focus fell on the partially open door of his apartment.

He hadn’t been home since leaving for his last rotation at the firehouse, but he knew damn well he’d locked the door. Sure enough, a quick inspection of the knob and deadbolt showed evidence of tampering. The bitch had broken into his fucking apartment.

He peered through the crack in the door, deemed the living room to be empty, and eased the door open further as he stepped softly inside. The smell hovering in the air was strong enough to make him gag. He struggled to tamp down the reflex and take shallow, even breaths as he moved slowly through his living room.

A sound from the kitchen made him stop. He reached into his front pocket, pulled out his phone, and noted five missed calls and accompanying voicemails from Regina on the screen. Fuck. He’d forgotten he’d set his phone to silent mode at the hospital. It would work for him now though. Not wanting to make a sound, he pulled up Regina’s cell phone number and punched in a text.
Fj n my apt. Alert pd fd.
He hit send and shoved the phone back in his pocket, every instinct and sense trained on his kitchen.

He walked silently closer, his heart beating a ferocious rhythm in his chest as fury crashed through his system. Why had the bitch singled out his apartment? Regina was the only answer that sprang to mind. To hurt Regina. Joyce Randolph had obviously been watching Regina’s every move. She’d probably seen her with Max, knew they had a thing going on, and figured she would get to Regina the easiest by torching what belonged to Max.

His booted foot slipped on a wet spot in the carpet just as he stepped out of the living room. A wall no wider than two-feet separated the living room doorway from the kitchen. He flattened his hand on the wall, felt more wetness beneath his palm, and brought the hand to his nose. Gasoline and citronella gel, Joyce Randolph’s very own homemade accelerant, had been spread on the wall. He dropped his attention to his feet and saw the wetness made a snaking path down the hallway to the bedrooms and circled back to disappear into the kitchen.

Max got as close to that two-foot wall as he dared and leaned until he could see with one eye into the kitchen. A woman, about five foot eight inches with short, dirty-blonde hair and slim shoulders, stood with her back to him.

He stepped into full view, his gaze scanning his kitchen, noting the accelerant spread over the countertops, floor, and walls. Joyce Randolph had surrounded herself. There was no way she’d escape that kitchen if she started the fire there.

“Did you finally manage to fuck up and back yourself into a corner?”

She whirled around at the sound of his voice, and he caught sight of the citronella lamp on the countertop next to her. Wide eyes filled with craziness and triumph slammed onto him. She appeared startled for only a moment before her expression changed, her lips unfolding in a smile that told him she’d gone completely out of her mind.

“I don’t fuck up.” Her voice sounded far calmer than she looked, and it sent a chill of death down Max’s spine. “Everything I do has a purpose.”

“I don’t suppose you’d care to share with me your reason for attempting to burn down my apartment?” He let his gaze fall down her front and part of him wished he hadn’t. Her clothes, like the floors, walls, and countertops, were drenched in what he could only figure was the same accelerant. Geezus, she wasn’t just planning on torching his apartment. She intended to go up in flames with it.

An expression of nearly heartbreaking disappointment washed over her face. “You mean that red-headed bitch of yours didn’t figure it out? I left her a clue. The news has been reporting the Flame Jumper is in Silver Springs. I know she finally pieced together the chain.” Her expression hardened, the look in her eyes turning wilder as she shook her head violently. “Stupid. Stupid. Bitch.” She made each word its own sentence. “She’s no damn smarter than her father. Don’t you see? This is the place it has to end. 1243 Walnut Street. Your address is the same as the one on the house I lived in where my mother was killed.”

Son of a bitch. No, he hadn’t seen, but he knew now why Regina had attempted to call him five times since he’d left her office. She had figured it out.

“You mean the fire you started that burned your mother alive?”
Keep her talking.
Regina couldn’t be more than a couple of minutes away at most. Surely, she’d thought to call the police and fire departments the minute he hadn’t answered her.

“It was my most amazing work so far.” Joyce Randolph’s voice turned dreamy. Then her face contorted as if she were suddenly in agony. “Except for the screams. Mother ruined the beauty with her screams. How could she make such racket when she was surrounded by something so gorgeous?”

Okay, yeah. This woman definitely has way more than one screw loose.

“She was in pain, Joyce.” Max tried to sound reasonable. “Fire
is
gorgeous.”

Joyce’s eyes widened and the smile returned to her face. “You love it, too, don’t you?”

Max nodded. “I do, but I also know the destruction it causes, the pain it delivers, and the lives it can take. It’s an evil beauty that consumes anything in its way without thought or remorse. Once it’s set, it takes on a life of its own and doesn’t care who or what it hurts.”

“Just like me.” She pointed a finger at her chest, and that’s when Max saw it. She had something balled in her fist, something he couldn’t quite make out. “I was set like that. I took on my own life, and I don’t care who or what I hurt.”

“Yes, you do. Otherwise, you would have spent your life torching everything around you. You wouldn’t have concerned yourself with planning to be sure the buildings you set fire to were unoccupied.”

Her face lit again. “You were there yesterday. I saw you. That black bitch was in that building. That black bitch and her baby. Did the little girl get to watch her mother burn like I did? Tell me she did. Please, tell me she did.”

“No. We got both the little girl and her mother out of the building before either of them were harmed.” Both had suffered from heavy smoke inhalation, and the mother had received minor burns on her hands and legs in her attempts to get to her child, but both were stable in the hospital and expected to make full, speedy recoveries.

Another wave of disappointment washed over Joyce Randolph’s face. “Damn. That’s too bad.” Her displeasure vanished as quickly as it had appeared, and she shrugged. “Oh, well.” Her gaze slid from Max’s, and he realized she was looking at the clock on the microwave. “It’s time.” She returned her attention to Max. “Will you stick around? I’d really like it if you would watch the show.”

“Don’t do this, Joyce. There are places you can go, doctors who can help you.” He held out the hand he hadn’t managed to get covered in the accelerant. “Give me whatever it is you have in your hand and come out of the kitchen with me.”

She made a “humph” sound. “Doctors who can help me? You mean like that quack who didn’t do shit for my mother?” She shook her head and spoke over Max when he tried to speak. “This is the way it’s supposed to be. I’m the same age now that my mother was when she died. Did you know that? She died twenty-eight years ago today. I miss her.” Her eyes filled with tears. “I’ve missed her all my life.” Her gaze jumped to the clock once more, and she adjusted her fist. Max saw the small lighter she’d been hiding in her palm just as she slid her thumb over the igniting wheel. “It’s time for me to find her again.”

Before Max could move, Joyce Randolph held the lighter to the wick of the citronella lamp. Doused with a bit of the accelerant, the wick caught the flame quickly and flared high. The Flame Jumper tossed him a smile he would forever remember in his mind as she thrust her arm out and knocked the lamp over in her direction.

Max saw the liquid splatter, watched the flames follow, and ran from the apartment with the sounds of Joyce Randolph’s screams fading behind him.

* * * *

Regina adjusted the temperature in the shower with a hand she couldn’t get to stop shaking. Her knees shook, too, so much that she finally gave up and lowered her ass to the side of the tub.

“Hey, are you okay?”

She looked up, her gaze traveling up the spectacular sight of Max’s bare chest before she met his eyes. “I will be. Are you sure you weren’t hurt?” The horror of it gave her the strength to stand. She flattened her quivering hands on his shoulders, dragged them down his biceps and forearms, slid them to his chest, and moved them down to his abdomen, all the while searching for any sign of injury.