Baptism In Fire

By the time Rachel arrived with A.J. at the fire site, the south side of the house was a wall of flames. Slowly, she emerged from the car, her gaze locked on the burning wood-frame house. This was her first fire since Maggie’s death, and she’d forgotten the sheer power of flames that defied control, the destruction they wreak, the devastation they cause.

Rachel followed A.J. to a position just inside the yellow tape that confined the crowd of curious onlookers to the sidelines. Her training as an arson investigator kicked in, and her gaze automatically scanned the crowd, looking for any sign of someone consumed by sexual excitement, a more-than-helpful bystander, a loner removed from the other gawkers or the deadpan stare of a face transfixed by the flames.

Seeing no one that aroused her suspicions, she turned back to the burning house. The familiar, acrid stink of burning man-made materials filled the air. The sounds of firefighters battling the blaze, yelling orders and calling out words of caution mixed together into an earsplitting cacophony of noise. Then the roar of water leaving a pressurized hose added its voice to the din.

Suddenly, a man screamed a name. Rachel looked toward the voice and saw two firefighters restraining him. The man continued to scream, continued to fight the hands holding him back from running into the building. She stared at him, unable to look away.

“Rachel, I’m going to find the incident commander and see what he knows.”

A.J.’s muffled voice seemed to come to her through a thick fog. She nodded but never took her gaze off the distraught man. It brought back vivid reminders of Luke fighting off the firefighters’ restraining hands at their fire. Only when the man collapsed to the ground sobbing could she summon the strength to drag her gaze back to the house.

Rachel’s nerves began to tighten. She bit down hard on her lip. This is just a fire, she reminded herself. Any fire. Nothing personal.

Orange and red flames shot out the windows of one side of the house. Black smoke dotted with tiny glowing embers billowed toward the night sky. Heat waves blurred the outline of the house, twisting its form into a grotesque image of the actual structure. In her mind, as she watched, the image morphed, growing and changing, rising in the sky until it transformed into a high-rise apartment building, the building she, Maggie and Luke had lived in over two years ago.

In mesmerized horror, Rachel watched the flames licking out the windows and up toward the sky. She could hear someone’s tormented screams. Her chest tightened. Her vision blurred and time took a sharp nightmarish turn backward. Two-year-old images came rushing at her.

Roaring flames.

Thick, smothering, black smoke.

A hodgepodge of voices.

People running everywhere.

No! Not your fire…different fire…different, she told herself repeatedly, grabbing feverishly at her slipping control.

But the images persisted, growing sharper with each agonizing second. Her palms began to sweat. Her stomach heaved. Her nerves bunched into painful balls of icy fear.

Maggie. Gotta save Maggie.

The hypnotic flames pulled at her, urging her forward. But she couldn’t move. Something was holding her back.

Hands.

She strained against the pressure of fingers encircling her arms, but they only tightened. Never taking her gaze from the inferno, Rachel pried frantically at the vise grip of those damn fingers.

“Let go!” She heard her frenzied voice, felt the sweat beading on her forehead. Reality struggled to push through the sharp memories. The pain of reliving this nightmare became more than she could bear.

Can’t go there. Can’t go back.

God, images won’t go away.

She had to block out the images.

Then she felt herself being roughly shaken.

“Rachel!” Luke’s stern voice catapulted her over the final edge and back to reality. “Let it go!”

Mentally, she clawed her way out of the mire of the past. Slowly, very slowly, she relaxed.

For a long moment she stared at him, trying to rationalize where he’d come from and why he hadn’t been affected as strongly as she had. Then she saw his eyes. Reflected there was regret, pain and something else that she couldn’t put a name to.

“I knew A.J. shouldn’t have brought you back here,” he murmured, pulling her into the shelter of his body and holding her so tight she could barely breathe.

She pressed her face into his chest. She hadn’t realized until this very moment how much she had missed his strength. His arms felt so right, so safe, so secure. His closeness blocked out the memories of the nightmare that took their daughter and ultimately their love. If only he’d given her this comfort back then.

Reaching down into her gut, Rachel found the strength to pull away and face him. She tucked her hair behind her ears, then shoved her shaking hands into the pockets of her jeans. “I’m okay.”

“Like hell you are. You’re shaking like a nervous cat. If I hadn’t stopped you, you’d be in there, searching for—” He looked away.

She couldn’t deny it. She’d felt an equal pull only once before in her life—two years ago, at their own fire. That night, once she’d been able to breathe again, all she could think of was getting back inside to get Maggie. Little did she know that, by then, Maggie had been long gone, abducted by the arsonist. “I had it under control.”

His head snapped around. Disbelief filled his expression. “Bull.” His gaze bored into her. “And even if you did, which I don’t believe for a minute, what about the next time? What if I’m not around, Rachel?”

In her heart, Rachel knew that any future fires would be different. They wouldn’t have the kick in the gut that seeing her first fire in two years, up close and personal, had. Until this day, she’d studiously avoided fires on the TV, in the newspaper, and certainly had not stood in front of a burning building. This was just one more thing in the series of firsts she was facing: first photos, first fire, first death.

This time had been tough. She would get stronger.

With shaky hands, she wiped the tears from her cheeks, tears she hadn’t been aware she’d shed. “I’m fine now.” And deep down, she knew she was or soon would be.

Luke’s intense gaze studied her. She met him eye to eye, steady and sure. Irrationally, she was reminded of some of the many reasons she’d fallen in love with Luke Sutherland—his sharp instincts about people and his ability to read them, both of which made him an outstanding cop.

Unfortunately, when it had mattered the most, those same qualities hadn’t carried over into his personal life. When the chips were down, what should have drawn them closer drove a wedge between them that neither of them could get past. Luke hadn’t seen that she’d needed him desperately to help her withstand the loss of Maggie, to help her hold their life together. He hadn’t cared enough about their marriage to help her bind the open wounds and keep their relationship from bleeding to death. He’d thrown away all they had left after losing Maggie…their love. For that, she could never forgive him.

Averting her gaze, she searched the crowd of firefighters for A.J. He was talking to a man Rachel assumed was the fire company’s incident commander. After a moment, A.J. turned and walked back to them.

“We might as well get out of here. It’s gonna be hours before Rachel can get in there to look around and the fire company can determine if there’s another victim to add to our list. Right now, they’re classifying it as just another structural fire. Until they can get inside and look around, no one knows for sure.” A.J. stared at the blazing structure.

“Rachel’s not going in there tomorrow or any other time,” Luke said, his face set in determination.

“What?” A.J.’s shocked voice combined with Rachel’s.

Luke’s expression never wavered. “She’s going back to Georgia. We’ll find someone else. Someone who—”

“No!” Rachel’s fury nearly choked her.

He doubted her ability to come through on the job, all because of what had just happened. But the worst had passed, and she could attack this case with the composed professionalism she’d always shown on her job. His trying to cut her loose before she could prove it infuriated her.

When she spoke again, her tone clearly showed both men just how pissed off she was. Her gaze narrowed on her ex-husband. “Who in hell do you think you are that you can make that decision? I chose to come here from Atlanta to help you. The first time I flinch, you’re going to send me home?”

Luke glared back at her. “That was hardly a flinch. And as for who I think I am… I’m the one heading up this task force, and I need people who won’t fall apart on me.” He stopped, took a deep breath and spoke slowly, as if addressing a child. “I don’t want you here.”

She did flinch this time.

The flames behind them billowed skyward, their hissing roar a reflection of the anger Rachel felt. She took a step closer to him. “You weren’t the one who called me here. And as for me falling apart, I suppose you came to that brilliant conclusion from what happened a few minutes ago.”

“What happened?” A.J. asked.

They ignored him.

“Damn straight I did.” Luke clenched his fists. “I saw how those crime-scene photos affected you this afternoon, and now the fire. Bringing you here was a huge mistake, but there’s still time to fix it before your emotions get you killed.”

“What will get me killed is not having my mind on my job because I’m worried that you’ll throw me on the next bus home,” she shot back at him. “What about you? Are you gonna tell me that your emotions aren’t kicking in on this case?”

His whole body stiffened. “We’re not talking about me,” he said, evading her question. “We’re talking about you, and I say you go home.”

Rachel faced off with him and gritted her teeth.

“Whether I go or stay is my call, and I say I stay.”

“You’re both wrong,” A.J. said, stepping between them. “It’s my call.” He faced Rachel, his features set in an uncompromising expression. “No one knows if you’re up to this better than you do, Rachel. So, I’m only going to ask this once, and I expect you to level with me. Can…you…handle…this?”

“Yes,” she said without hesitation. She glared at Luke over A.J.’s shoulder, daring him to argue the point. “Yes, I can.” A.J. looked deep into her eyes, then nodded. “That’s good enough for me. I’ve known you for a long time, and in that time, you’ve never put yourself or anyone else at risk by taking on a job to prove a point or to feed your own ego. I’m assuming the same still holds true. If you say you can do it, then we’ll go for it.” He turned to face Luke.

Luke opened his mouth, but before he could say one word, A.J. raised his hand to silence further discussion.

“Meet her here tomorrow to walk this scene. Afterward, you can take her to the others. They’ve been officially released, so you’ll need a warrant to get on the premises. I’ll call Judge Hawthorn when I get back to my office and get the necessary paperwork out of the way.”

“Thanks, A.J.,” Rachel said, breathing a sigh of relief.

“Don’t thank me.” His demeanor had transformed from her friend, to a hard-nosed cop. “Do your job. If I think for one second that you’re giving me less than one hundred percent, I’ll replace you faster than my ex-mother-in-law decided she hated my guts.” He turned to Luke. “One more thing. Whatever personal issues you two have with each other, settle them on your own time and keep them out of this investigation.” He glanced at Rachel. “That means both of you. Am I clear?”

Rachel nodded.

Staring first at A.J., then Rachel, Luke cursed under his breath. “I hope to hell you both know what you’re doing,” he muttered, and walked away.

Luke ordered another neat scotch, then glanced around the crowded bar. A blonde almost wearing a red minidress made eye contact and smiled. For lack of anything else to do, Luke smiled back. She sauntered toward him, then leaned one forearm on the bar and thrust her ample, man-made chest inches from his nose. The top of her strapless dress nearly lost its precarious hold.

For a second, he imagined Rachel’s luscious body filling the flaming red dress, her full breasts overflowing the top. His groin tightened painfully.

“Buy a girl a drink?”

Luke gave her feminine display the once-over. When he was a young stud new to the force and during the two years since he’d last seen Rachel, this woman’s barely veiled invitation would have called out to his male libido, but not since Rachel had come back into his life. Since the moment he’d first seen her at headquarters, his head was filled with his ex-wife and that left no room for contemplation of a quick roll in the hay with someone else. He turned away and motioned for the bartender to give the woman whatever she wanted to drink.

A few minutes later, the man behind the bar set a frothy, pink drink in a Manhattan glass in front of her. Instantly Luke thought about Rachel and her favorite drink, gin and tonic. No frills. No pretense. Just like the woman. Suddenly, the all-but-nonexistent interest he’d had in the woman diminished to minus zero, replaced by a soul-deep need for Rachel. Would he ever be able to think of her without that excruciating pain of loss filling him?

“You alone?”

Luke shook his head. “I’m taken,” he said, and flashed the ring on the third finger of his right hand, the thin, gold band he’d never been able to bring himself to take off completely.

“Wrong hand,” the blonde said, her voice a low purr, her smile seductive and full of unspoken promises.

“I never could tell left from right,” Luke said, then downed the last of the scotch and flipped some bills on the bar. “I’m still taken.” And probably always will be, he added to himself.

The blonde looked around. “So, where is she?”

He tapped a finger over the left side of his chest. “In here.” Then he left the bar.

Outside, he stood on the sidewalk and looked absently up and down the street. The deafening music coming from the bar followed him. He glanced back at the open door and could see the baffled woman at the bar staring at him. He saluted her. She frowned, made a rude hand gesture and turned away.

He probably should have warned her that drinks didn’t always come with promises. Hell, little in life did. She’d read more than she should have into a friendly gesture. He could have lied to her, but he hadn’t. Rachel was in his heart, as much a part of him as his skin, and had been from the first day he’d seen her with soot on her nose and a determination in her expression that defied explanation. Ever since that day, there hadn’t been a night or a day he hadn’t thought about her, longed for her, pained for her.

He thought about her at the fire tonight, how scared she’d been, how tortured, and had a sudden need to affirm that she was okay. As he walked toward his car, he obeyed the longing churning inside him and reached for his cell phone, then punched in the numbers he’d memorized off the paper A.J. had given him and pressed it to his ear.

“Hello.”

At the sound of his ex-wife’s voice, a familiar band of pain tightened around his heart. He forced a lightness into his voice he was far from feeling. “Hey, Rachel. Hope I didn’t wake you.”

“No. I was just going over the files.” Silence. “What did you want?”

“Just to let you know I can meet you at the scene tomorrow around eight. I’ll bring the coffee.” He waited. “Is that okay?”

“Fine.” She sounded preoccupied.

He swallowed. Damn! He didn’t want to tell her this, but she’d find out anyway. “Rach, they found another woman in tonight’s fire.”

Rachel remained silent for a moment or two, then said, “Damn.”

“A.J.’ll give you the details tomorrow after we check out the scene.” He blew out a long breath. “I’ll let you get back to work.” While he climbed into his car, he continued to hold the phone to his ear, reluctant to break even this tenuous connection. “So…see you then.”

“Luke?”

“Yes.”

“Thank you for…for being there tonight.”

“No problem.” He wanted to add I’ll always be there, but he knew she had no reason to believe such a promise, coming from him.

Silence.

“’Night.” The connection went dead.

“Dream of me,” he murmured into the car’s dark interior. It was what they’d said to each other every night before dropping off to sleep. It was what he still whispered into the darkness every night from his lonely bed.

He folded the phone and tossed it into the passenger seat. For a long moment, he stared down at the phone, then gripped the steering wheel and rested his forehead against his hands.

He’d lost his precious Maggie to this sick criminal. In his gut, he knew he could lose Rachel, too, if he didn’t find a way to protect her from herself. But how did you protect someone who didn’t want to be protected? Whose pride was so ironclad, it would take the Jaws of Life to get through it?

The next morning, at precisely eight o’clock, Rachel pulled up her rented Chevy Malibu outside the previous night’s fire scene. She refused to give Luke any reason to think she was letting her emotions rule her head. Digging through the burned rubble would be another first for her, another step back into her past, but she’d spent most of last night preparing for it and was determined to do it without any hitches.

She powered down the car window, then shut off the engine. The pungent yet familiar smell of wet, burned wood drifted to her on the humid morning air. A smell she’d never gotten completely out of her nostrils or her blood.

Leaning back, she sipped the coffee she’d picked up at the 7-Eleven and watched a handful of firefighters securing the scene and stamping out flare-ups, their soiled yellow helmets and slickers standing out against the black debris. Their sluggish movements told her they’d pulled an all-nighter, and they were badly in need of sack time.

She checked her watch. Eight-fifteen. Luke, always the prompt one of the two of them, had obviously decided to play with her head. He probably hoped that, if he took long enough, she’d give up and leave, not having the wherewithal to go into the scene alone.

She smiled. Not a chance.

Rachel finished the coffee, put her empty cup in the cup holder, then slipped from the car, making sure to grab the notepad, the pen and the camera she’d brought with her.

As she approached the ruins, firefighter Samantha Ellis came around the side of the fire truck. Rachel and Sam had been friends ever since they’d been the only females in their class of rookie firefighters. When Rachel had left the company to take the ATF arson investigators training program, she’d wanted Sam to come, too, but Sam had been happy to keep hauling hoses, and the lieutenant’s insignia on Sam’s helmet told Rachel she’d done well.

Over the past two years, Rachel had lost touch with Sam, as she had with most of the people who reminded her of the past.

Sam came toward her, her face set, a stern warning to stay out of the scene hovering on her lips, then recognition washed over her expression.

“Rachel?” Her face broke into a broad grin. “Great to see you.” Then she paused, a frown knitting her forehead. “What are you doing here?”

“Hi, Sam. Chief Branson invited me to your…uh…party.” She surveyed their surroundings with a critical eye.

Sam cast a quick glance toward the ruins. “Yeah, we’ve been having a lot of these parties lately.”

“So I’m told.” Rachel smiled. “Can you loan me some of your turnout gear so I can get started?”

“Sure thing.” Sam went to the standby truck and hauled out a helmet, a small shovel, one of the cumbersome jackets and a pair of boots.

Rachel took them, put the jacket aside, then sat on the running board of the truck to exchange her sneakers for the heavy rubber boots. After she’d slipped into the boots, she smiled up at Sam. “I’d forgotten how these things make you feel like you’re wearing your big sister’s clothes.” She stood and grabbed the jacket. “Did you find any trace of an accelerant in there?”

“We won’t know until the lab confirms it for sure, but my guess is this torch’s choice of fire starter was regulation, backyard charcoal lighter.” Sam gave Rachel’s clothes the once-over. “Better put on the slicker. You’ll trash your clothes in there.”

Rachel glanced down at her jeans and snowy-white T-shirt. Then, grinning at Sam, she plopped the helmet on her chestnut curls and shrugged. Having second thoughts, she glanced at the slicker. “These things always made me feel like I had a two-thousand-pound elephant sitting on my back.”

Sam sighed tiredly, but managed a grin. “Try carrying it around for eighteen hours.”

As she donned the weighty slicker, Rachel noted that Sam’s back was slumped with fatigue. Dark smudges rimmed her red eyes. Black soot encrusted the woman’s fatigue-lined face.

Under all that grime, it was hard to tell that Sam had once been a Miss Florida finalist. Rachel had never understood why Sam always played down her looks, no makeup, no salon hairdo. Even more, Rachel had wondered why she’d picked firefighting as a career. She’d asked once, but Sam had danced around the subject with all the expertise of a prima ballerina. Sam’s blatant avoidance convinced Rachel the subject should be left alone until Sam decided she wanted to discuss it.

“You’ll need these, too.” Sam handed Rachel a pair of latex gloves, then started toward what was left of the house.

Hauling on the gloves, Rachel sloshed through the wet grass behind Sam. The closer they got to the burned-out structure, the stronger the smell of burned wood and man-made fibers became. Her stomach churned.

Rachel stiffened and reminded herself sternly that she had a job to do. As she prepared to enter the house, determination cloaked any misgivings left over from the previous night.

“We’re about done in here,” Sam told her as she guided her through the opening where a front door once hung. “Fire’s out. Most everything that could burn did, except the woman they took to the morgue about eight hours ago. The closet door was closed—”

“Closed? It was always open with the others.”

“We figure the wind currents from the fire either closed it or it swung closed on its own. I doubt our torch did it. This sicko wants these women to see what’s coming for them.”

Rachel had blanked her actual experience of her apartment fire out of her memory. The doctors called it voluntary amnesia. Whatever it was, until this very moment, Rachel’d had no recollection of the actual fire. Now, as if someone turned a movie projector on and off quickly, a quick flash of the fire eating away at her bedding while she watched it from the floor of her closet, helpless and certain her death was imminent, passed through her mind. Though bits of the panic she’d felt that night and a tiny bit of residual memory remained behind, the image was gone before her mind could register all of it.

Sam continued to brief her while Rachel fought off emotions from scattered memories of the worst night of her life. She pushed them aside. Later. She’d think about it later.

“Just like the other fires, the only thing that managed to survive with just water and smoke damage was the kid’s room. A.J. asked that no evidence be gathered until you saw it, so it’s all just as we found it.” She stepped over a fallen ceiling beam. “At first, we thought this one was different, just a house fire, then we found the woman in the bedroom closet, tied up with lamp cord, a Bible tucked under her.” Sam shook her head. “Freaking sicko.”

A half hour later, Rachel was squatting in front of the closet. On the floor, a partially unburned area told her where the woman had been lying. Next to that lay the Bible, wet, but, having been sheltered by the woman’s body, untouched by the fire. She leafed through the first few pages of the book, observing that the copyright date and the publisher matched those listed in the notes she had back at the condo.