Sleeping Beauty Suspect

Flynn found himself brushing back a strand of smoke-coated hair and discovered pierced ears, devoid of ornamentation. The total absence of jewelry seemed wrong. Flynn shrugged. Those were questions for the police, not a battered fireman who was starting to feel every inch of his abused condition. He should go. But he couldn’t stop wondering about her. She looked so helpless.

“Good luck, Beauty. I’m glad to know you’re going to be all right.” Flynn bent over stiffly and lightly kissed her forehead.

The woman’s eyes flew open.

Sleeping Beauty Suspect

Dani Sinclair

This story is dedicated to the incredible men and women who make fighting fires a career.

Thank you.

With special thanks to career firefighter Sam Martinez of the Takoma Park station in Montgomery County, Maryland, who took personal time to answer a lot of questions from a total stranger.

I hope I got it close to right.

Also, thanks to Judy Fitzwater for help and support in equal measure; Roger for patience, suggestions and things too numerous to mention; and, of course, Chip, Dan and Barb, who are always there for me.

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

An avid reader, Dani Sinclair didn’t discover romance novels until her mother lent her one when she’d come for a visit. Dani’s been hooked on the genre ever since. But she didn’t take up writing seriously until her two sons were grown. Mystery Baby premiered in the Harlequin Intrigue line in 1996, and Dani’s kept her computer busy ever since. Her third novel, Better Watch Out, was a RITA® Award finalist in 1998. Dani lives outside Washington, D.C., a place she’s found to be a great source of both intrigue and humor!

You can write to Dani c/o the Harlequin Reader Service.

CAST OF CHARACTERS

Flynn O’Shay—The fireman is just doing his job when he rescues a sleeping beauty from a burning house. Now he’s protecting her from a determined killer.

Whitney Charles—The keep-to-herself heiress runs her own business. How can she possibly know an arsonist, and why does he want her dead?

Braxton Charles—Whitney’s father makes his fortune in real estate and has been estranged from his daughter ever since his wife died and he remarried a much younger woman.

Ruby Charles—The former nurse took care of Whitney’s sick mother. Now she’s married to Whitney’s rich father, who suddenly appears old and frail.

Vincent Duvall—He and his wife went to school with Whitney and helped her start her company. Now both of them are acting secretively and strangely.

Barry Lindell—He and Whitney dated a few times, and the Charles family lawyer isn’t ready to call things quits just yet.

Lucan O’Shay—This cop loves his younger brother, but he’s got a duty to uphold and that means doing whatever he has to do, even if Flynn doesn’t approve.

Christopher Slingman—Ruby’s brother is close to Whitney—until he develops other ideas about what their relationship should be.

Dick Scellioli—No one’s surprised that the photojournalist always shows up at the arson fires, but why has he developed a fixation on Whitney?

Contents

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter One

“911. Police or fire?”

“Fire! The abandoned house on the corner of Taylor and Third has smoke coming out and there’s someone trapped inside!”

Station 15 came to life in a rush of activity as the alarm sounded. Flynn O’Shay rolled from his cot with his fellow firefighters and donned his gear with practiced speed. There was no discussion, no grumbling about the hour. An abandoned house fire at three in the morning had them all thinking the same thing. Their arsonist had struck again.

If someone was trapped inside, however, it was a whole new situation. Their guy might have finally made a mistake.

Two in and two out was the county standard for search-and-rescue. Tonight Flynn and his partner, Carey Rineman, would be the two going into the burning building while Frenchy and Lew had their backs. That is, if the place wasn’t already fully involved by the time they got there.

Houses around Taylor and Third were sprawling Victorians over a century old. Packed tightly together side by side, they posed a serious hazard, particularly with the wind up as it was tonight. An abandoned house would be dry as tinder. Flynn shared a sour look with Carey as the siren screamed its warning to the few cars in the big engine’s path.

This section of town was undergoing a revival. Many of the old houses had been or were in the process of being restored to their former glory.

The house on the corner wasn’t one of them.

A badly twisted metal fence encased an overgrown yard that had become a dumping ground for all sorts of debris. The once stately mansion was now a dilapidated eyesore with peeling, grayed paint, sagging porches and boarded-over doors and windows.

Swearing under his breath, Flynn reached for his tank. Ben and Hal were on the ground starting the line to a nearby hydrant. A plume of thick smoke trickled up from behind a plywood-covered window. This was the lieutenant’s shift and he hurried forward to open the front gate only to discover it was rusted shut. By the time Flynn and Carey reached him, the gate was no longer an issue.

But the yard was.

They had to battle their way through the dense underbrush. Flynn eyed the plywood-covered doors and windows. Historic or not, someone should have torn this disaster down a long time ago. Large, shapeless bushes and a forest of unpruned trees were surrounded by weeds, broken bottles, rusting cans and other trash. Rose bushes gone wild lurked beneath a tangle of vines, tugging at the firemen’s heavy pants as they fought their way to the sagging front porch.

Flynn listened as the lieutenant barked orders in his ear over the radio. Only the right-hand side of the building appeared to be involved at the moment. Lew moved past them with a crowbar to rip the plywood from the front door. Inside, flames flared in glee at the influx of fresh air. Their color was enough to confirm suspicions that this was another arson.

Straight ahead lay the staircase but they turned toward the fire first. Remnants of discarded furniture had been left scattered behind some time ago. A battered sofa provided plenty of starter fuel. Flames and smoke sprang from it to creep up the flowered wallpaper at its back. No sign of anyone. Flames gobbled a scattering of old newspapers on the floor.

They covered the downstairs quickly. All the rooms were empty.

Smoke rushed upward and so did they. Flynn prayed the wooden stairs weren’t rotted and would hold their weight.

“It’s really moving,” Carey muttered under his breath.

“Yeah.”

They reached the landing and turned to the room directly over the flames. There was little time left to scan for victims. The fire was spreading with wicked speed.

Flames broke through the floor in the room over the fire, sending them back to the hall. The heat became oppressive as they crossed to the room opposite, Carey going right, Flynn left.

“Clear,” Carey’s voice repeated in his ear.

“Clear,” Flynn agreed.

Flames began licking up that wall as well. They were nearly out of time. Dense smoke swirled to fill the space, growing blacker by the second. The snapping crackle of the blaze was audible even over the sound of their breathing apparatus.

On the floor in what had obviously been another bedroom, an old mattress piled with rags jutted out from the wall. Perfect. More fuel for the hungry flames. About to turn back, Flynn stumbled over something and went to his knees.

“Flynn!”

“I’m okay.”

He started to rise and stopped. A small, bare human foot protruded from the pile of rags. He stared in shock and a jolt of adrenaline sent him stumbling forward. He touched the appendage to be sure it was real.

“I’ve got a victim!”

The rags proved to be a long dress of some floaty material worn by a slender slip of a woman with long hair. Flynn called out the location as he bent to lift her. She didn’t stir, not even when he picked her up. He wondered if she was already dead.

Carey tapped his arm. “We gotta go!”

Flynn nodded. Smoke curled around them insidiously, blacking out the room. Carey led the way toward the door and was quickly enveloped. Flynn could no longer see his partner, but he kept moving in the same direction. Even before he bumped into Carey’s broad back, he realized they were too late.

The radio crackled in his ear. “Flynn, Carey, pull out! Pull out! We have flames going up the stairs,” Lew yelled.

There was nothing to see but dense smoke.

“We’re on the second floor, back of the building left side,” Carey responded. “We have an unconscious victim. We’re going to need an escape route through a window.”

“We’re on it.”

But, of course, he and Carey wouldn’t be able to see the window even if it hadn’t been boarded over.

Pushing aside his fight-or-flight reaction, Flynn tried to relax and breathe evenly, wishing he could wipe at the sweat running down his face. Frenchy and Lew would get them out. This being a corner room, there were likely windows at their back and left side.

Carey bumped his arm. “I’ve got the outside wall. We’ll use it as a guide to the windows. Stay on me.”

Brushing the back of Carey’s suit with his free hand, Flynn followed his partner step by cautious step as the flames gobbled the structure around them with incredible speed. How much accelerant had the bastard used?

Without warning, Carey stumbled hard and went down. Flynn barely managed to avoid sprawling on top of him. He staggered to the side nearly dropping the woman as he tried to keep his footing.

“Carey!”

“Floorboard gave. My foot’s stuck.”

“Mayday,” Flynn called. “Carey’s trapped. Corner bedroom near the back.”

He reached down with his free hand. “Can you pull yourself out hanging on to me?”

“Yes.” And he groaned when he tried to pull free. “No! I’m wedged tight. Go! Get the victim out!” His friend sucked in a sharp breath. “I think I broke something.”

Flynn swore. A sliver of flame broke through the wall across from them.

“Lew? We’re in trouble here!”

“Stand by. We’re on our way in.”

Carey tugged at his wedged foot. A wider tongue of flame licked up the wall at their back. They swore as one.

“Go!”

He hated that Carey was right. Flynn had to get the woman out. If she weren’t already dead, she soon would be. He headed toward the reassuring sound of axes on wood. The room lightened for a brief second as a plywood cover was ripped free outside.

Glass shattered. Smoke billowed toward it in a rush to be free. Flynn lumbered toward the opening, half afraid the floor under him would give at any minute. Frenchy filled the window. Flynn handed the woman to him and turned back.

“Carey!”

“We’ll get him,” Lew’s voice said in his ear. “You go!”

But Flynn was already trying to retrace his steps. He couldn’t see a thing and nearly stepped on Carey.

“I’m free,” Carey told him, panting hard. He accepted Flynn’s help to his feet and swore in obvious pain. A tongue of fire whipped up through the hole where his boot had been.

“The floor’s going to go,” Lew shouted.

Flynn felt the give of hot wood under his feet. With a firm grip under Carey’s arm, he started back. Frenchy appeared on Carey’s other side to help support the stumbling man. They made it to the window where Lew guided Carey out onto the sagging back-porch roof.

Inside, the center of the floor sprouted flames. Part of the floor collapsed under the intense heat. Water spewed into the room from a hose at a side window. Flynn scrambled out through the window over the porch, Frenchy on his heels. The porch roof also felt dangerously soft underfoot.

“Go!” Frenchy yelled.

Flynn bolted forward and plunged through a weakened section. His leg and shoulder took the brunt of his landing as he and that section of roofing came to rest on the back porch. Lew appeared at his side, tugging on his arm.

Dazed, Flynn made it to his feet and staggered off the porch. He managed Frenchy’s name.

“We got him,” Lew assured. “Paul’s taking him down the side.”

Flynn yanked off his mask and sucked in fresh air thankfully as Lew led him to the rescue vehicle. The victim lay on her back in the grass. Paramedics, Arlene and Murray, were working over her. Flynn paused to gaze down at her delicate features covered in thick black soot.

“Pretty little thing,” Lew remarked.

Pretty was an understatement. Beneath the soot she appeared fragile, almost porcelain-doll lovely. She reminded him of a fairy-tale princess on the cover of some book.

A very dirty princess.

“Now what was someone like her doing in there, I’d like to know,” Lew grumbled.

An excellent question.

Flynn watched them work on her, willing her to live while wishing there was something more he could do to help.

“I should have got her out sooner.”

“Man, you guys barely got out at all. Count your blessings.”

“I do. Thanks, Lew.”

He let Lew guide him away. Standing suddenly lost its appeal. His legs complied as Lew pressed him down on the ground.

“I’m okay.”

“Let them be the judge of that.”

The new voice jerked his head up. Flynn tried to focus on the lined features of the battalion chief, who stood over him. It took his groggy head a long moment to process the identification, yet there was no mistaking that craggy face. He let his gaze sweep the scene. They’d called a box alarm and the area was flooded with responders and their vehicles.

The wind gusted steadily, sending sparks drifting in multiple directions. Brush near the side of the house had ignited as the big Victorian swelled with smoke and flames. The house was fully engulfed now. He could feel the intense heat clear over here by the engine.

“Anyone else inside?” the chief demanded.

“We cleared most of the house, sir, but I don’t know for sure.”

The man nodded and turned to speak with the lieutenant.

“You all right?” Lew demanded.

“Yeah. Carey?”

“They think his ankle’s broken.”

Flynn grimaced. “What about the victim?” He indicated the woman being loaded onto a stretcher. Long, soot-coated blondish hair spilled over the side.

“Unconscious, but alive. She took in a lot of smoke.”

The battalion chief turned back to him. “She a victim or the arsonist?”

Flynn shrugged and wished he hadn’t as his shoulder twinged. “I’d say victim. She was unconscious on a mattress when I found her.”

He scowled. “You’ll need to talk to the fire investigator.”

“Figured as much,” Flynn agreed.

The chief moved away and Murray and Arlene shouldered Lew aside. “Let’s have a look at you.”

“I’m fine.”

“We’re taking you to go to Community Hospital to get checked out,” Murray told him.

“No need. I’m fine.”

“Lieutenant’s orders,” they chorused.

“Okay, but I’m not lying on any gurney.”

Murray grinned evilly.

“Who’s your sleeping beauty?” Arlene questioned. “She sure isn’t from this part of town. That was an expensive designer evening gown she was wearing.”

Flynn focused on Arlene’s long face. “Evening gown?”

“Yeah, you know, formal dances, that sort of thing?”

“I didn’t know women still wore evening gowns outside of television.”

“You move in the wrong circles, O’Shay. Now if you were rich or famous—”

“He’ll probably be famous.” Murray grinned. “I saw Dick Scellioli snapping pictures when he passed the woman outside. And I think he got a good one of you falling through the roof.”

Flynn groaned. They all knew Scellioli. The freelance photojournalist was making quite a name for himself following police and fire calls, where he’d snap pictures to sell to the highest bidder. He’d shown up at more than one fire scene recently.

“Can you stand?” Arlene asked.

“Of course I can stand.” But it took a little help as it turned out. He swayed unsteadily.

“Come on, hero, let’s ride.”

FLYNN HATED the smell of hospitals, the cold, impersonalness, the noise and the waiting. He wasn’t all that fond of doctors, either, particularly when he was the one being poked, probed and ignored. They spent most of the morning ignoring him while they confirmed that nothing was broken. He had a slight concussion, a number of contusions and minor lacerations, along with several strained muscles.

He wasn’t at all surprised when his sister-in-law, Sally, stuck her head in the cubical as he was struggling to get back into his smoke-stained clothing. As an intern on rotation, Sally was assigned to pediatrics at the moment, but she knew just about everyone in the hospital and someone must have told her he’d been brought in.

“They tell me you’ll live, but you reek of smoke.”

“Gee, I wonder why.”

She grinned unrepentantly and fiddled with the stethoscope around her neck. “Your mother wants you to call.”

“Of course she does.”

“Hey, give me some credit. I kept her from rushing over here, didn’t I?”

“And I appreciate that. Really. How’s Carey? I can’t get anyone to tell me a thing around here.”

“Broken ankle, cuts and bruises, though not as spectacular as yours are going to be and he has a couple of minor burns. He’ll be fine. They’re sending him home as soon as his wife gets here.”

“What about the victim?”

“Sleeping Beauty? Word is she’s still unconscious, and they don’t know why. They’re running blood serums to check for drugs.”

Flynn made a face. And hadn’t he known that name was going to stick? Someone must have overheard Arlene. The crew loved monikers. Poor red-haired Frenchy had never had a chance with a name like Abel French. Flynn just hoped the press hadn’t picked up the Sleeping Beauty reference. He didn’t fancy being dubbed Prince Charming. The teams could be pretty merciless.

“Arlene said she was wearing an expensive evening gown.”

Sally nodded. “That’s what they tell me. A designer original.”

“Think you can get me in to see her?”

Her eyebrows rose. “Why?”

Flynn shrugged. “It just seems like something I should do.”

A knowing expression crossed her face. “I hear she’s a looker.”

“Do not start,” he ordered. Sally gave him a mischievous smile.

“You should know your picture’s all over the news. It’s a great shot. You’re all soot-stained and battered, being held up while you stare down at her. It’s a compelling expression, Flynn. Great framing. He even got the house fire blazing in the background.”

Flynn groaned. “Scellioli.”

Sally’s smile widened. “There’s even video footage of you passing her out the window and going through the roof. Your mother is concerned.”

“Thanks a lot.”

“Hey, I didn’t take the pictures. I just caught them on the monitor as I was heading down here to see you. You need a ride home?”

“Arlene and Murray said they’d swing by if they were free.”

“Okay, but if not let me know. I can call your brother Neil if he isn’t in court today. Or your mom will come pick you up.”

“No!” She’d fuss, as Sally well knew.

“Well, my hubby flew a red-eye out to L.A. last night and Ronan won’t fly back to D.C. until tomorrow. But I imagine Lucan will probably show up sooner or later.”

Given that his brother Lucan was a police detective, Flynn had little doubt of that. He shook his head and wished he hadn’t. His neck and shoulder were stiffening up. The last thing he wanted right now was one of his brothers giving him a hard time.

“I’m injured, Sally. Give me a break.”

She chuckled. “Fine. I’ve got to get back to work anyhow.”

“Okay to go see Carey?”

“Don’t see why not. Just follow the swearing. They were casting his ankle a few minutes ago.”

“Where’d they take the victim?”

“Sleeping Beauty’s been admitted on four. Room 410.”

Flynn nodded. He finished collecting his things and followed her down the hall to the room where Carey was giving an attractive young nurse a hard time. Carey’s wife arrived a few minutes later to calm things down, so Flynn gave her a wink of sympathy and headed for the elevator. He’d check on their victim, then give Murray a call.

The fourth floor bustled with activity. He found the victim in a four-bed ward without bothering anyone. Three of the four beds were filled, but none of the occupants were awake. Beauty was in the last bed, near the window.

She looked more like a porcelain doll than a princess now as she lay against the white hospital sheets. She was so still he would have thought her dead if not for the steady rasp of oxygen and the hum of all the monitors surrounding her.

Her features were as delicate and lovely as he’d remembered. Someone had wiped most of the soot from her face, but it still darkened her hair and clung to the hairline. The hair would be a light golden brown, he judged, but he wondered what color her eyes would be. They were closed, with thick, dark lashes lying against her pale skin. She could be anywhere from sixteen to her late twenties.

The steady pulse of the machines was almost soothing, but he could do without the antiseptic smell that always permeated hospital rooms.

Flynn sank down in the chair at the foot of the bed with a grateful sigh. “Well, we made it, Beauty. I wasn’t so sure for a while there.”

Her eyes moved behind closed lids. For a minute he thought she would open those eyes and look up at him, but she didn’t.

“I’m Flynn O’Shay, by the way. The guy who rescued you. I don’t suppose you want to wake up and tell me who you are?”

Other than more movement behind her eyes, nothing happened.

“Sorry about almost dropping you. Things got a little hairy in there. What were you doing in that empty house, anyhow?”

“Has she regained consciousness, then?”

Flynn looked up to see a hefty older nurse watching him from the edge of the curtain that separated Beauty’s bed from the one with the elderly woman next to it.

“Sorry. No. I thought maybe she’d wake if I talked to her. Her eyes keep flickering, but she hasn’t opened them. I’m Flynn O’Shay.”

“I know. We saw you on the afternoon news telecast. That was quite a fall you took. Glad to see you’re okay. Your sister-in-law said you’d be coming up to check on her. Talking to her is good.”

She checked the monitors and the patient, frowning as she looked down on the bed.

“We’re really anxious for her to wake up and answer a few questions,” she continued.

“Is she in a coma?”

The nurse hesitated, regarding him. “More like a drugged sleep. She should be coming out of it soon. You’ll have to talk to the doctor if you want more information.”

Out in the corridor a code blue was called. The nurse excused herself and hurried for the door. Flynn knew that call meant a life-or-death emergency. Time for him to head home. There was nothing more he could do here and no reason, really, for him to be here at all. He’d just wanted another glimpse of her.