Fighting the Flames (Southern Heat Book 2) Read online

  “I don’t know what I’m going to do,” she sighed, fingers once again clasped in her lap as she leaned against his shoulder.

  It felt good. “What do you mean?”

  “I usually serve a hot meal for anyone who needs one,” she said, her breath warm against his neck. “In nice weather like this, the three picnic tables out back are perfect. I cook the food, they come in, we serve them, and then they go outside to eat. But if I have no oven or stove . . .”

  “I spend most of my days at the firehouse,” he said. “They do a lot of Crockpot stuff. There’s about a half a dozen of them over there.”

  She looked at him. “That’s an idea. I could go to the Salvation Army or Goodwill store, buy a few.” She appeared more animated, and by the expression on her face, thinking hard. “I’m not too experienced with Crockpots, but I guess I could cook up a batch of chili or something, at least for tonight.”

  “The guys at the firehouse make great chili.” His mind was already turning. The guys he knew were generous, compassionate, and always willing to step up to offer a helping hand. “I have an idea, Meg.”

  She looked at him, eyebrow raised in question as she stood and moved around her room. “Where’s my wallet? My keys?”

  She was talking to herself, already getting ready to leave. “Meg, let’s go to the firehouse. We can tell the guys what you need. I’ll tell you, there’s some champion chili cookers over there. I’m sure they could show you some recipes to fix for a large group of people in a Crockpot without going to a lot of expense. At least until you get your appliances replaced.”

  She turned, eyebrows lifted. “You think they’d help me? Why?”

  He shrugged, smiling. “Why wouldn’t they? They saved your life; what’s dinner?”

  She nodded and then scowled. “But now I’m not just a fire victim. I’m a suspected arsonist, maybe even a murderer.”

  He laughed softly. “I don’t believe it and neither will they.” He stood. “Meg, I know that Hodges comes on hard, but that’s just the way he investigates. Believe me when I tell you that he is looking at other possibilities.”

  “Other possibilities,” she muttered.

  What was that about? He shrugged it off. “Come on, I’ll drive you over there. My buddies will help. I know they will.”

  She shook her head. “I need to take care of a few errands. I’ll meet you over at the station in maybe an hour?”

  He shrugged. “Sure, that’s fine. It’s Engine Eighty-One, over on Jackson Street. You know where it is?” She was still looking around the room searching for something. “What are you looking for?”

  Her eyes fastened on the doorway just beyond him. “My car keys. I kept losing them, so I finally pounded that nail into the wall beside the door jamb.” She shrugged. “I’m constantly losing things so I try to put things back in the same place.” She gestured. “My cell phone on the left side of the bedside table.” She gestured toward the small bookcase filled with knickknacks on top of which rested a round, metal tray. It looked like a pie tin. “That’s where I keep my wallet. I purchased that tin from the gift shop at Gettysburg National Park a few years ago. She stared at her wallet, the soggy leather, now ruined. She opened it, looking relieved as she glanced over her shoulder at him. “My ID and cards are wet, but they’re still good, I think?”

  He nodded. She looked like she was running on fumes. “You sure I can’t drive you somewhere, Meg? You look exhausted. And to tell you the truth, I’m not sure you’re in the proper state of mind to be—”

  She stiffened and turned toward him. “I appreciate your concern, Liam. Really, I do. But I’ve had just about all I can take for one day. One day.” She shook her head. “I can’t believe all this has happened in less than twenty-four hours.” She sighed. “Look, I just got into an argument with my ex-husband over the phone, I’ve got Detective Hodges accusing me of arson and insurance fraud—”

  “Insurance fraud?” He frowned and took a step toward her, then paused. Don’t crowd her. “What are you talking about?”

  She rubbed her forehead and leaned against the door jamb, clutching her phone and wallet in one hand, the other now shoved into the pocket of her jeans. “Apparently, the GBI found two insurance policies on the property, on Promise House. The problem is, I only took out one.”

  “You sure you just don’t remember—”

  She uttered a cry of frustration. “I do remember, Liam! I know that I didn’t take out two insurance policies on Promise House. And if you don’t believe me, you can just go hobnob with Hodges and Petit, who are more than happy to continue accusing me of things I haven’t done!”

  He lifted his hands and stepped back. “Whoa, Meg. No offense implied. Just trying to clarify. But if you know what insurance company took out the other policy, you’d probably be able to find out who took it out and when, cancel it.”

  “Exactly what I plan on doing,” she said. “But that’s not all of it.”

  Oh, God, more? No wonder she was frazzled, pushed near the breaking point. No wonder he had found her crying up here in her room. “What else?”

  “Someone deposited fifty-thousand dollars into my checking account and it sure as hell wasn’t me.”

  What the hell was going on? An extra insurance policy on her business. A hefty and mysterious deposit into her checking account? As if the fire wasn’t bad enough. Had it been the end goal, or merely just the start? He bit back a growl as his protective instincts rose. He did not like the idea of anyone targeting Meg. He’d be keeping a closer eye on her from now on.

  She continued. “And to top it all off, I found out that my ex-husband took out a three-hundred-thousand dollar life insurance policy on me. Double indemnity. Isn’t that just wonderful? And you suggest that I might not be in the right frame of mind to be gallivanting all over town.”

  He took another step closer and opened his arms. Her choice. Her eyebrows rose as she stared at him. “Nothing wrong with a hug, Meg. It won’t go any further than that, I promise.” For a second he thought she was going to refuse, maybe even throw something at him, maybe that tin. Then, to his surprise, she heaved a tremulous sigh and stepped into his arms. He wrapped his arms around her shoulders and gave her a gentle squeeze. Sometimes, all a person needed was to know that they weren’t alone, weren’t without support.

  He didn’t know what was going on, but that was going to change. After he filed his report, he’d do a little digging of his own. He frowned. Someone obviously had it out for Meg Devers. But who? “Anything I can do to help?”

  “You already have.” Her voice was muffled but he felt her warm breath through his T-shirt, just over his left nipple. It hardened imperceptibly. So did his dick. He took the warning and released his grip on her shoulders, took a step away, his hands still lightly grasping her shoulders.

  “Meg, I know that we don’t know each other very well. I suddenly appear in your life, and at the worst time. I crossed a line with you earlier. While I regret the ethics of that, I don’t regret actually . . . well, you know what I mean. But as soon as my report is filed, I’ll do what I can to help. And I know that while Hodges can be a pain in the ass, he’s a good detective. If anybody can figure this out, he can.”

  She looked up at him. He could tell that she wanted to believe him. She looked exhausted. She should be trying to rest, showering, trying to eat something. Not trying to feed the neighborhood. Meg fidgeted in his arms. Why didn’t matter. If she wanted to, then he was going to help. That was all there was to it.

  13

  Meg

  Meg left the house, leaving Liam behind, despite his vehement protests that she not be alone right now. He’d tried to follow her out, even offered to drive her again, but she’d put her foot down. She appreciated his strength and support, his apparent belief in her innocence. At least one person believed her, thank God. But right now, just for a little while, she needed to be alone. To collect her thoughts. To try to figure out what she needed to do next. Her mind
was filled with nothing but jumbled confusion. There were too many questions and not nearly enough answers. Besides, she’d be away from the house, safely in her not-recently-caught-on-fire car.

  She headed for her car now, parked in a small detached garage at the end of her driveway, behind the house. Thank God that building hadn’t been touched. Or her car. The loss of her vehicle would have been devastating. Not that the car was new, not even close. She clicked the remote to unlock the seven-year-old car, purchased used with less than forty-thousand miles on it from a local used car dealer. She’d only had it for a couple of years but it was just right for her mostly in-town driving needs. A blue Honda Civic with new tires, no dings, and well-cared-for interior and upholstery.

  She climbed in and backed out of the garage. Halfway down her driveway, she saw Liam’s SUV pulling away from the house and heading toward town. She had so much to do she didn’t know where to start, but by the time she reached the end of her driveway, she decided to drive for a little while, along the rural roads that lined the county, away from town, away from . . . everything.

  Normally a strong person who could roll with the punches, the day had taken its toll on her. Maybe she would drive down to the river. There were so many turnouts along there for local fishers, picnickers, people who wanted a quiet, secluded place to make out. Somewhere she could have some quiet time, just for awhile until her mind stopped racing. Turning and driving away, Meg’s thoughts drifted back toward Liam. She forced herself to put him, and his extremely hard . . . everything out of her mind. She bit her lip, frowning. If there was one thing her life didn’t need right now, it was more complications.

  It was amazing how she could have such a crappy day, and yet the rest of the world continued on regardless. The trees lining the winding road were fresh, the sky crisp and blue, cloudless over the rolling hills in the distance. The muddy water of the winding river was visible occasionally as she drove. It was so peaceful out there. Just a few minutes away from the disaster of her current life. Meg wished she could just go to bed and wake up again to a regular day.

  She glanced into the rearview mirror and made a face. “Quit feeling so sorry for yourself.” Things could’ve been a lot worse. Her house didn’t need to be demolished. Everyone hadn’t been killed in the fire—just Tim. But then, he hadn’t been killed by fire, but by a murderer. How could she have forgotten that, even for an instant? It was too much. Just too much.

  Meg punched the accelerator, determined to escape. She rolled her window halfway down, relishing the breeze whipping through her hair, the passing aroma of pine, jasmine, and the cluster of honeysuckle growing like wildfire on someone’s chicken wire fence . . . no, not like wildfire. That smelled of smoke, gasoline, and charred wood. She slowed and made a turn off onto a side road, thinking she would head closer to the river. Maybe she could park in one of the picnic spaces, meander down to the shore, just think, just for a few minutes.

  It had been nice of Liam to suggest that he and the others at the firehouse would be able to help her feed the people who would be coming later this evening expecting a hot meal. She had been preparing one hot meal a day for the past few months. As soon as the weather turned, though, she’d have to think about putting up a tent in the backyard. She had already been told that it would be acceptable as long as the tent wasn’t too large. Occupancy limitation, twenty at a time. She didn’t expect that many people tonight, next week, or next month. Monroe was a relatively small, rural community. Transients, while not unheard of, didn’t tend to stick around long.

  Like she had told Liam and tried to explain to Hodges, the people she helped were from the community. Down on their luck. Out of ideas, favors, or hope. She bounced over the graveled road until the gravel quit and the path meandering its way through the trees converted to deeply rutted dirt. She probably shouldn’t be taking her car over such a rough road, but she was going slowly. The woods encroached close to the dirt road on either side, giving her the impression that she was millions of miles away from town even though it was probably only a couple.

  She found a small space where she could park her car. Maybe thirty yards further she saw the banks of the river. She parked, got out of her car, and strolled down to the water. The hum of cicadas kept her company. A mosquito buzzed ominously close to her face and she swatted at the air. The river was muddy and relatively narrow at this point, bumping up against some stones and bigger rocks as it meandered its way toward Savannah. She stood at the riverbank, stubbed the toe of her tennis shoe into the dirt, and then on a whim, bent down and picked up a few small quarter-sized rocks. She tossed them into the water, listening to their soft plop, the sun warm on her face and hair, and then watched as the ripples spread wider and wider.

  Too bad every day couldn’t be like this moment; carefree, simple, and basic. It was so peaceful out here. One of these days maybe she would dig out her fishing pole and just hang out for the afternoon. It’d been years since she’d gone fishing. Maybe Liam liked to fish.

  A chunk of dirt maybe a yard away from her right foot suddenly splashed upward. She frowned. What the hell had made the dirt do that? A sharp crack sounded, then another. Holy crap, was that—another one went off, that one causing a small geyser to appear near the riverbank. She heard the retort a split second later. Someone was shooting! Was someone out here hunting when they shouldn’t be and had mistaken her for a deer or something?

  “Stop shooting!” she shouted out, darting toward the tree line. “Don’t shoot!”

  No way someone would mistake her for an animal now. It wasn’t hunting season, not for deer, anyway. Her heart pounding, her ears ringing with the sound of the two gunshots, she made for the tree line. Just before she entered the woods a burst of tree bark flew from the tree she had headed for, not more than a hands breath away. A piece of bark struck her cheek. Meg bit back a yelp. Another crack. Someone was shooting at her. Deliberately!

  She didn’t bother screaming again. No one had mistaken her for a deer. Oh, God! She dashed deeper into the woods, away from her car, leaping over small brush, weaving her way in between the loblolly pine, brushing away branches of birch that got in her way. Another shot. Another impact on a tree about two feet to her left. Faster. Run faster! She had to find a hiding place. Who was shooting at her? And more importantly, why?

  Her breath erupted in gasps. She nearly crashed headlong into a cluster of blackberry bushes, only managing to avoid disaster by careening sideways. She nearly lost her balance, but caught herself just before she went down. In that brief second, regaining her balance, she listened. She didn’t hear the sound of any pursuit. Still, she kept running, following the general path of the river but not close to its banks. Finally, the stitch in her side nearly doubling her over, she hid herself behind a thick tree trunk, collapsed onto her haunches, arms wrapped around her legs as she tried to control her ragged breathing. Her ears strained for the sound of footsteps, breaking branches, leaves rustling.

  Nothing.

  Meg clasped her hand over her mouth, trying to quiet her breathing, struggling to get in enough oxygen by breathing just through her nose. Her head swam. Her ears rang. Her heart pounded so loudly she couldn’t imagine someone not hearing it. The cut on her arm throbbed while the stitch in her side slowly ebbed. Trembling, she remained still, not daring to move, hardly daring to breathe.

  Had it been a hunter? Was it possible someone had mistaken her for a deer? Was it even possible that whoever had taken the shot hadn’t heard her scream her warning? It seemed impossible, but was she letting her imagination run wild? The Fire. Tim’s murder. The insurance policies on Promise House. The fifty-thousand that showed up in her bank account. And now, she was running for her life through the Georgia woods? Meg didn’t know what to think. All she knew was that she wanted everything to get back to normal. She wanted to go back to yesterday.

  She didn’t know how long she sat hunched on the ground surrounded by brush. Only belatedly did she think to glance around, ma
ke sure she wasn’t hunching down in the middle of a patch of poison oak. It would be just her luck.

  Finally, after her heartbeat had returned to somewhat normal, her breathing was under control, she slowly stood, pressing her back against the rough bark of the pine tree she hid behind. Its branches started high above her head and her fingers clutched at the rough bark, surely making indentations on her palms.

  She inhaled and then exhaled softly, carefully and ever so slowly. She peeked around the tree trunk, gazing through the woods surrounding her. Nothing moved, except for the slight breeze that rustled some of the branches. Soon she heard birds twittering. Two trees away, a squirrel stared at her, bushy tail flicking as it froze halfway down a tree trunk, just watching her.

  She glanced down at the ground, then carefully placed her foot, emerging from behind the tree, every muscle in her body tense. If she had been mistaken for an animal once, it could happen again. She needed to get back to the car. Into town.

  Her sense of momentary peace and calm had disappeared, leaving her once again frightened, uncertain, and more than a little confused. At that moment, there was one place she wanted to be.

  In Liam’s arms.

  14

  Meg

  Meg scrambled back to her car without any further incident, but her heart still pounded and her body moved with jerky movements as she finally reached it. She glanced in all directions, narrowing her eyes as she peered into the woods around her, seeking any sign of something out of place. She inwardly scoffed. Like she’d know if something wasn’t right. She was no woodsman. If someone wasn’t standing out in the open holding a gun, she doubt she’d notice anything—she cursed and looked up into the trees around her car.

  Fuckin’ idiot! Look up!

  Hunters used tree stands all the time! Camouflaged tree stands! For crying out loud, her attacker might have shimmied up a tree and straddled a limb, just waiting for her to return to her car to pick her off!