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Authors: Taylor Lee

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BOOK: Playing With Fire
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“Here’s to the beginning of a wonderful friendship, Erin.”

When Erin nodded, he continued, “Now, please tell me, answer
the question you must be asked all the time. How did a gorgeous young woman
like you become a firefighter?”

Little by little, Erin allowed herself to relax. The wine
helped, and she didn’t resist when Blake refilled her glass. She answered all
of his questions as best she could, changing the subject when he got too close
to her past. She was surprised to learn that he had seen her on television the
night of the awful fire. She was gratified that the television crew hadn’t
captured her throwing up. She never would have lived that down.

They’d finished eating when the band began warming up.

“How about it, Erin? Do we dare dance or is that pouring
gasoline on the fire?”

Blake flushed when she started.

“Sorry, that was a tasteless try at a bad pun.”

Erin laughed.

“It’s okay. You should hear the jokes around the firehouse.
Talk about ‘gallows humor.’ But, I’m not up for dancing tonight, Blake. I’m
sorry. I worked a ten hour graveyard shift last night and I have to be in at 6
a.m. tomorrow.”

Blake immediately agreed.

“I apologize, Erin. That was thoughtless of me. I should
have inquired about your shifts. I remember you saying in your telephone
message that you were working some unusual hours this week.”

She sighed.

“And, it’s just going to get worse. I have three back
to-back twelve-hour days coming up.”

They were walking across the parking lot toward her car when
a deep rumbling voice came from the shadows.

“I’ll take it from here, counselor.”

Erin whirled around to see Nate lounging against the fender
of the car two doors down from hers. The neon lights from the pub lit his
tousled blond hair and highlighted his gold-tipped beard shadow. He was
studying her from half closed eyes, a wicked grin tugging at the corner of his
mouth.

Erin felt her face flame. How long had he been waiting…
stalking? Had he nothing better to do?

Blake looked at her inquiringly.

She shook her head and raised her hands in defeat.

“I… I’m sorry, Blake. He’s incorrigible.”

Blake gave a small snort.

“Yes, he is that. Will you be okay? Would you like me to
stay?”

“No. No, please. Go. I… I’m fine.”

Blake threw a disgusted look at the shadows, then pulled a
key fob from his pocket and pressed it. The lights on a late model BMW several
rows over blinked in response.

Walking over to the car, Blake called back over his
shoulder, “I’ll call you tomorrow, Erin. Thanks for a great evening.”

A minute later he’d climbed into the beemer and squealed out
of the parking lot.

Erin immediately unlocked her car door and got in, intending
to leave as quickly as she could. She wasn’t fast enough. Before she could lock
the doors, Nate had climbed into the passenger seat. Reaching out, he rubbed
his hand over the dash.

“Nice car. This should work fine for you.”

Erin’s voice was shaking with rage.

“Dammit Nate, I’m angry about so many things, I don’t know
where to start.”

Ignoring her, Nate continued to give the car a once over. He
frowned and muttered under his breath, “Damn small car though. How the hell do
you fuck a woman without getting this gear shift up your ass?”

She gave a derisive snort. “Maybe that’s what you deserve?”

He looked up at her and winked.

“You’re right, sweetheart. Could be interesting.”

At a vibrating sound, he groaned and dragged his phone out
of his pocket.

“Stryker.”

“How many?”

“Armed?”

“Make it 10.”

Muttering as he got out of the car, “Damn lowlifes. Never
did have a sense of timing.”

He walked around to the driver’s side, opened her door and
pulled her out of the car.

“I’ve got five minutes, Erin.”

“How dare you, Nate. How dare you? Act like you own me?”

He quirked a brow and pushed her up against the side of the
car.

She struggled to twist away.

“Dammit, Nate, I don’t know if this macho act is supposed to
scare me or attract me. But, it’s doing neither!”

He slipped his hand up under her dress and stroked her bare
thigh.

“I beg to differ, darlin’. I think it’s doing both.”

She shoved at his hands.

“You told me before you’d stop when I said to. Now dammit!
Let me go.”

“I will, after I’ve done this.”

He twisted her hair in his hand and lifted it, baring her neck.

She choked back a gasp.

“What… what are you doing?”

“What I wanted to do since the moment I saw you tonight.”

He groaned a hard, male sound.

“I want to smell you, baby — and taste you.”

When she shuddered and moaned softly, tipping her head back
to give him more access, his whisper was harsh.

“What are you doing, Erin?”

“What… what do you mean?”

“You know what I mean. What was tonight about, honey? You’d
rather be with the nice little lawyer than the big bad detective? Is he more
your size, Erin?”

When she didn’t answer, he nuzzled against her throat,
nipping at the sensitive place beneath her ear.

“Erin, don’t test me. You’re mine, babe. Until we see where
this thing is going, you’re mine. You hear me?”

He captured her mouth, thrusting his tongue deep inside.
Hard, demanding. At the sound of her shuddering moan, he pulled her up even
closer and groaned, “Oh yeah, baby… but, dammit, I have to go. I’m sorry,
Erin.”

She stepped back and straightened her dress.

“What… what are you doing to me, Nate?”

“What I should have done in front of that prissy prick.”

She lifted her chin and turned away.

“He’s not prissy. He’s… he’s normal.”

Nate gave a surprised grunt and jerked back.

“Normal? You lookin’ for normal, Erin?”

She closed her eyes to avoid seeing his incredulous stare.

“Yes, I am… for once… I want….Oh never mind, you wouldn’t
understand.”

Nate held her close and gave a soft snort.

“Well, honey, I gotta tell you. I ain’t normal. In fact, my
life is about as far from normal as you can get.”

When she tried to break loose, he pulled her up against him
and tipped up her chin. Planting a soft kiss on each one of her eyelids, his
voice in her ear was sympathetic.

“But, I’ll tell you something else, sweetheart. The only
person I know whose life is less normal than mine, is yours.”

~~~

Erin worked her double shifts for three days in a row. She
didn’t see either Blake or Nate — although Blake called at least once a day,
and there were “signs” of Nate.

Unlocking her car in front of the firehouse, Erin was
surprised to see a set of house keys on the passenger seat. She shook her head,
not wanting to think about how they got inside her locked car. She discovered
the reason for the keys when she got home. There were deadbolt locks on her
front and back doors and the doorframes had been reinforced with steel panels.
In addition, a high-end alarm system that connected 24/7 directly to the police
station, was on all the doors and windows.

The next day she came home starving — and found her
refrigerator stocked with an array of fruits, vegetables, and nuts, as well as
crackers, cheese and the like. On a case of bottled water was a note that said:
“For You.” On a six-pack of beer a note said: “For Me.”

The next day one of the bottles of beer was gone, and there
was a folded sheet of paper on her pillow. On the front flap were the words:
“Sex Quiz.” When she opened it she read:

How many times a
week does a “normal” man have sex?

Answer:
If he remembers his Viagra, 0-1 time.

How about Abnormal
guys?

Answer:
Depending on how hot the woman is, too many times to count.

Erin laughed until tears rolled
down her cheeks. She knew that she should be angry that Nate was invading her
privacy. That he was coming in and out of her house without asking her
permission. And part of her was angry — very angry. And yet, she found it
comforting, endearing, exciting. Knowing that he had put the note on her
pillow, she hugged it, inhaling the lingering scent of his subtle aftershave
and his unique masculine smell. Knowing too, that whoever had “sugared” her gas
tank and ransacked her home, they wouldn’t get away with that again, not as
long as Nate was around. Pressing the pillow between her legs, she remembered
the taste of his lips, his wicked hands and whispered threats of all the
naughty things he planned to do to her. She uttered a silent prayer of thanks,
grateful that maybe her life was going in the right direction — for the first
time ever.

~~~

That pipe dream exploded three days later. Thinking that the
plain envelope shoved under her door was a bill, she ripped it open. A sheet of
paper fluttered out of her numb fingers. It was a copy of a newswire headline
identifying the man and woman whose bodies had been found at the site of a
house fire in Charlotte Prairie ten days earlier.

The man was identified as Dylan Michael Masterson; the woman
as Camilla Thomas Elliott. Both of Monterey, Ca..

Erin might have thought it was a cruel coincidence that the
notice was under her door except that scribbled in red ink at the top of the
page it read:

For:
Sarah Marie Masterson.

 

Chapter 12

“I was wondering if you were ever going to get back to me,
Jim. This is the longest damn time it’s taken you to give me an I.D.”

Jim Patterson grunted.

“Hell, Nate, the shape those bodies were in, it could have
been another month, if ever, to get a positive I.D. We caught a break, actually
two of them. The whole state of forensic odontology has improved about a
thousand percent in the last five years. Which makes it possible for those of
us in my profession to at least get ‘possible’ identifications, if not
‘positives’ from their dental records. The real break was that both of your
vics were wealthy and had extensive cosmetic dental work done. Which I guess is
what all the beautiful people are doing these days. Hell, it used to be if you
wanted perfect teeth you had some jackass dentist whip you up a set of falsies.
Then all you to do to keep ‘em white was stick ‘em in a glass of bubbly water
on your nightstand. Now with implants, veneers, and the like, people with
enough disposable income can have their whole damn mouths redone when the mood
strikes.”

Nate laughed, “You’re right, Jim. We were lucky. For damn
sure there wasn’t anything else left to identify in either one of the vics. But
it still amazes me that forensic dentistry can be that foolproof.”

“Like I said, Nate, the fact that they both had so much work
done made the job easier. As you know, for me to give you a positive
identification, there can’t be any discrepancies with existing records. Good
thing your vics were as vain as they were. Both of them had implants. The woman
had veneers on every one of her teeth.”

The bespeckled little man shook his head. A wry smile
crossed his lips but there was no corresponding humor in his eyes.

“Amazing. Ironic, even. Given what they looked like when we
found them, huh, Nate?”

Nate grimaced, glancing at the photographic montage in the
M.E.’s office. It was hard to believe the thirty-something stunning blond woman
and dark-haired, prosperous, preppy-looking man had somehow ended up as charred
corpses in a carefully engineered explosion and house fire. In Chicadia Falls,
MN. In a hellhole called Charlotte Prairie. He shook his head.

“Yeah. Ironic as hell, Jim.”

Nate sat on the edge of the coroner’s desk, re-arranging the
photographs as though working on a puzzle. He blew out a little puff of air.

“We were damn lucky, Jim. Without those dental records we
wouldn’t have had a prayer identifying these two people.”

“Yeah, we were, Nate. We also lucked out with that bullet
fragment that somehow survived the explosion. If it hadn’t been lodged in
Masterson’s skull, we’d never have known that he’d been shot prior to the
explosion. And hell, if you hadn’t had me test for rubbing alcohol, we wouldn’t
have even known what accelerant the perp used. Some asshole sure knew his way
around fires.”

“Any closer on what kind of gun was used, Jim?”

“I don’t think we’re going to be that lucky. It’s likely a
regulation Glock or maybe a Ruger. We don’t have enough of a fragment to make a
positive match unless we had the actual gun to compare it to.”

“Hell, that would make it a little
too
easy.”

Nate ran his hands through his shaggy hair, staring at the
photographs of the two smiling people. He grimaced. They looked too perfect,
too rich to die. Especially the way that they did. A sigh rumbled up from deep
in his chest.

“Now all we gotta do is figure out how two of the beautiful
people, members of the jet set, from Monterey on the Bay in sunny California,
ended up shot in the head and burned to a crisp. In a rotgut neighborhood, in
the supposedly peaceful little backwater town of ChicadiafuckingFalls,
Minnesota.”

The M.E. chuckled as he winced.

“Good thing we got the best detective this town — hell, this
state, has seen. If anyone can, work his way through this conundrum, it’s you,
Nate.”

“Humph. Thanks, Jim. I guess.”

“Hell, Nate, why do you think the Chief looks the other way,
tight-assed prick that he is, when you waltz into the precinct looking the way
you do? When you bother to come in, that is. Do you even own a uniform, son?”

“Somewhere,” Nate grunted. “I thought it was because the
Chief enjoys chewing my ass out on a daily basis, threatening to fire me if I
don’t get my damn hair cut. Christ, you’d think I was a teenage kid and he’s my
father threatening to take away my allowance.”

BOOK: Playing With Fire
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