Night Smoke

  point,” she said, and passed the ball back to him.

  “You’re good.”

  “Oh, I’m better than good.” Flicking her hair back, she moved in to block him. “I was all-state in college, pal. Team captain my junior and senior years. Where do you think Allison gets it?”

  “Okay, Aunt Nat, let’s play ball.”

  He pivoted away. She was on him like glue. Good moves, he noted. Smooth, aggressive. Maybe he held back. After all, he wasn’t about to send a woman to the boards, no matter how much male ego was on the line.

  She didn’t have the same sensitivity, and turned into his block hard enough to take his breath away.

  Frowning, he rubbed the point under his heart where her shoulder had rammed. Her eyes were glittering now, bold as the Emerald City.

  “That’s a foul.”

  She stole the ball, made the point with an impressive over-the-shoulder hook. “I don’t see a ref.”

  She had the advantage, and they both knew it. Not only had he played full-out for an entire game, but she’d had that time to assess his technique, study his moves.

  And she was better, he had to admit, a hell of a lot better, than half the cops who had gone up against him that afternoon.

  And, worse, she knew it.

  He scored off her, but it was no easy thing. She was sneaky, he discovered, using speed and grace and old-fashioned guts to make up for the difference in height.

  They juggled the lead. She’d shoved the sleeves of her sweater up. She leapt with him, blocking his shot by a fingertip. And, having no compunctions about using whatever talent she had, let her body bump, linger, then slide against his.

  His blood heated, as she’d meant it to. Panting, he picked up the ball and stared at her. Her lips were curved smugly, her face was flushed, her hair was tumbled. He realized he could eat her alive.

  He moved in quickly, startling her. She let out a squeal when he snatched her around the waist and hauled her over his shoulder. She was laughing when he sent the ball home with his free hand.

  “Now that’s definitely a foul.”

  “I don’t see any ref.” He shifted her, letting gravity take her down until they were face-to-face, her legs clamped at his waist. He reached out, gathered her hair in one hand and pulled her mouth to his.

  Whatever breath she had left clogged. Opening to him, she dived into the greedy kiss and demanded more.

  The blood drained so quickly, so completely, out of his head, he nearly staggered. With a sudden, voracious appetite, he tore his mouth from hers and devoured the flesh of her throat.

  Smooth, salty, with the lingering undertone of that haunting scent she used. His mouth watered.

  “There’s a storeroom in the back that locks.”

  Her hands were already tugging at his shirt. Her breathing was ragged. “Then why are we out here?”

  “Good question.”

  With her locked around him, her teeth doing incredible things to his ear, he pushed through the swinging doors and turned into a narrow corridor. Desperate for her, he fumbled at the knob of the storeroom door, swore, then shoved it open. When he slammed it and locked it at their backs, they were closed in a tiny room crammed with sports equipment and smelling of sweat.

  Impatient, Natalie tugged at his hair, dragging his mouth back to hers. He nearly tripped over a medicine ball as he looked around frantically for something, anything, that could double as a bed.

  He settled on a weight bench with Natalie on his lap.

  “I feel like a damn teenager,” he muttered, pulling at the snap of her jeans. Beneath the denim, her skin was hot, damp, trembling.

  “Me too.” Her heart was beating against her ribs like a hammer. “Oh, God, I want you. Hurry.”

  Frantic hands tore at clothes, scattered them. There was no time, no need, for finesse. Only for heat. It was building inside her so fast, so hot, she felt she might implode and there would be nothing left of her but a shell.

  His hands were at her throat, her breasts, her hips, thrilling her. Tormenting her. Nothing and no one mattered but him and this wild, incendiary fire they set together.

  She wanted it hotter, higher, faster.

  With a low, feline sound that shuddered through his blood, she straddled him. His heart seemed to stop in the instant she imprisoned him, as her body arched back, her eyes closing. She filled his vision, his mind, left him helpless. Then her eyes opened again and locked on his.

  She began to move, fast and agile. Already it was flash point. He let the power take him, and her.

  * * *

  “I’ve never done anything like this before.” Staggered and spent, Natalie struggled back into her clothes. “I mean never.”

  “It wasn’t exactly the way I’d planned it.” Baffled, Ry dragged a hand through his hair.

  “We’re worse than a couple of kids.” Natalie smoothed down her sweater, sighing lavishly. “It was fabulous.”

  His lips twitched. “Yeah.” Then he sobered. “So are you.”

  She smiled and tried finger-combing her hair into place. “We’d better stop pushing our luck and get out of here. And I’ve got to get home and change.” She discovered that one of her earrings had fallen out, and located it on the floor. “There’s dinner at the Guthries’ tonight.”

  He watched her fasten the earring, foolishly charmed by the simple female act. “I’ll give you a lift home.”

  “I’d appreciate it.” Feeling awkward, she turned to unlock the door. “You’re welcome to come to dinner. I know Boyd wants a chance to talk with you. About the fires.”

  He closed a hand over hers on the knob. “How’s the food?”

  She smiled again, looking back at him. “Fabulous.”

  * * *

  She was right about the food, Ry discovered. Rack of lamb, fresh asparagus, glossy candied yams, all accompanied by some golden French wine.

  He knew, of course, that Gage Guthrie was dripping with money. But nothing had prepared him for the Gothic mansion of a house, with its towers and turrets and terraces. The next thing to a castle, Ry had thought when he viewed it from the outside.

  Inside, it was home, rich and elaborate, certainly, but warm. Deborah had given him a partial tour down winding corridors, up curving steps, before they all settled into the enormous dining room with its ox-roasting stone fireplace and winking crystal chandeliers.

  It might, Ry thought, have had the flavor of a museum, if not for the people in it.

  He’d clicked with Deborah instantly. He’d heard she was a tough and tenacious prosecutor. She had a softer, more vulnerable look than her sister, but she had a reputation for being formidable in court.

  It was obvious her husband adored her. There were little signs—the quick shared looks, the touch of a hand.

  It was very much the same between Boyd and Cilla. Ry calculated that they’d been together for a decade or so, but the spark was still very much in evidence.

  And the kids were great. He’d always had a soft spot for children. He recognized and was touched by Allison’s preadolescent crush, and obliged her by going over the highlights of the game.

  Since Cilla had wisely seen to it that her oldest son was across the table and two chairs down from his sister, Bryant was free to badger Deborah about how many bad guys she’d locked up since last he’d seen her.

  And dinner was a relatively peaceful affair.

  “Do you ride in a fire truck?” Keenan wanted to know.

  “I used to,” Ry told him.

  “How come you stopped?”

  “I told you,” Bryant said, rolling his eyes with the disdain only a sibling knows and understands. “He goes after bad guys now, like Dad. Only just bad guys who burn things down. Don’t you?”

  “That’s right.”

  “I’d rather ride in a fire truck.” In a canny move to avoid the asparagus on his plate, Keenan slipped out of his chair and into Ry’s lap.

  “Keenan,” Cilla said. “Ry’s trying to eat.??
?

  “He’s okay.” Enjoying himself, Ry shifted the boy onto his knee. “Did you ever ride in one?”

  “Nuh-uh.” He smiled winningly, using his big, soft eyes. “Can I?”

  “If your mom and dad say it’s okay, you could come down to the station tomorrow. Take a look around.”

  “Cool.” Bryant had immediately picked up on the invitation. “Can we, Dad?”

  “I don’t see why not.”

  “Aunt Nat knows where it is,” Ry added as Keenan bounced gleefully on his knee. “Make it around ten, and I’ll give you a tour.”

  “Pretty exciting stuff.” Cilla rose. “And if we’re going to pull it off, I’d say you three better get washed up and bedded down.” The knee-jerk protest might have been stronger if not for the long day the children had put in. Cilla merely shook her head, looking at Boyd. “Slick?”

  “Okay.” He rose and tossed Bryant up and over his shoulder, turning whines into giggles. “Let’s move out.”

  “I’ll give you a hand.” Natalie plucked Keenan from Ry’s lap. “Say good night, pal.”

  “Good night, pal,” he echoed, and nuzzled into her neck. “You smell as good as Thea, Aunt Nat.”

  “Thanks, honey.”

  “Am I going to get a story?”

  “Swindler,” she laughed and carried him out.

  “Nice family,” Ry commented.

  “We like them.” Deborah smiled at him. “You’ve certainly given them something to look forward to tomorrow.”

  “No big deal. The guys love to show off for kids. Great meal.”

  “Frank’s one in a million,” she agreed. “A former pickpocket.” She closed her hand over Gage’s. “Who now uses those nimble fingers to create gastronomic miracles. Why don’t we have coffee in the small salon? I’ll go help Frank with it.”

  “This is some house,” Ry said as he and Gage left the dining room and wound their way toward the salon. “Ever get lost?”

  “I’ve got a good sense of direction.”

  There was a fire burning in the salon, and the lights were low and welcoming. Again Ry got the impression of home, settled, content.

  “You used to be a cop, didn’t you?”

  Gage stretched out in a chair. “That’s right. My partner and I were working on a sting that went wrong. All the way wrong.” It still hurt, but the wounds were scarred over now. “He ended up dead, and I was the next thing to it. When I came out of it, I didn’t want to pick up a badge again.”

  “Rough.” Ry knew it was a great deal more than that. If he had the story right in his head, Gage had lingered in a coma for months before facing life again. “So you picked up the family business instead.”

  “So to speak. We have something in common there. You’re running the family business, too.”

  Ry gave Gage a level look. “So to speak.”

  “I checked you out. Natalie’s important to Deborah, and to me. I can tell you in advance, Boyd’s going to ask if she’s important to you.” He glanced up as Boyd walked in. “That was fast.”

  “I saw my chance and went over the wall.” He dropped into a chair, crossed his feet at the ankles. “So, Piasecki, what’s going on between you and my sister?”

  Ry decided he’d been polite long enough, and took out a cigarette. He lit it, flipped the match into a spotless crystal ashtray. “I’d say anybody who makes captain on the force should be able to figure that out for himself.”

  Gage smothered a laugh with a cough as Boyd’s eyes narrowed. “Natalie’s not a tossaway,” Boyd said carefully.

  “I know what she is,” Ry returned. “And I know what she isn’t. If you want to grill someone on what’s going on between us, Captain, you’d better start with her.”

  Boyd considered, nodded. “Fair enough. Give me a rundown on the arson investigation.”

  That he could, and would, do. Ry related the sequence, the facts, his own steps and conclusions, answering Boyd’s terse questions with equal brevity.

  “I’m betting on Clarence,” he finished. “I know his pattern, and how his warped mind works. And I’ll get him,” he said, and blew out a last stream of smoke. “That’s a promise.”

  “In the meantime, Natalie needs to beef up security.” Boyd’s mouth thinned. “I’ll see to that.”

  Ry tapped out his cigarette. “I already have.”

  “I was talking about personal security, not business.”

  “So was I. I’m not going to let anything happen to her,” he continued as Boyd studied him. “That’s another promise.”

  Boyd let out a snort. “Do you really think she’ll listen to you?”

  “Yeah. She’s not going to get a choice.”

  Boyd paused, reevaluated. “Maybe I’m going to like you after all, Inspector.”

  “Okay, break it up,” Deborah ordered as she wheeled in a cart laden with a huge silver coffee urn and Meissen china. “I know you’re talking shop.”

  Gage rose to take the cart from her and kiss her. “You’re just mad because you might have missed something.”

  “Exactly.”

  “Jacoby,” Boyd tossed at her. “Clarence Robert. Ring any bells?”

  Her brow furrowed as she poured coffee. “Jacoby. Also known as Jack Jacoby?” She served Boyd, took another cup to Ry. “Skipped bail a couple of years ago on an arson charge.”

  “I like your wife,” Ry said to Gage. “There’s nothing quite like a sharp mind in a first-class package.”

  “Thanks.” Gage poured a cup for himself. “I often think the same.”

  “Jacoby,” Deborah repeated, focusing on Ry. “You think he’s the one?”

  “That’s right.”

  “We’d have a file on him.” She glanced at her husband. The computers in Gage’s hidden room could access everything about Jacoby, right down to his shoe size. “I’m not sure who had the case, but I can find out on Monday, see that you get whatever we have.”

  “I’d appreciate it.”

  “How’d he manage bail?” Boyd wanted to know.

  “I can’t tell you until I see the file,” Deborah began.

  “I can tell you about him.” Ry drank his coffee, keeping one ear out for Natalie’s return. He wasn’t sure she’d appreciate having her business discussed while she was out of the room. “His pattern’s empty buildings, warehouses, condemned apartments. Sometimes the owners hire him for the insurance, sometimes he does it for kicks. We only tried him twice, convicted him once. There wasn’t any loss of life either time. Clarence doesn’t burn people, just things.”

  “So now he’s loose,” Boyd said in disgust.

  “For the time being,” Ry returned. “We’re ready for him.” He picked up his cup again when he heard Natalie and Cilla laughing in the hallway.

  “You’re a softie, Nat.”

  “It’s my duty, and my privilege, to spoil them.”

  They entered together. Cilla immediately headed for Boyd and dropped into his lap. “They had her jumping through hoops.”

  “They did not.” Natalie poured her coffee, then laughed again. “Not exactly.” She smiled at Ry before settling beside him. “So,” she began, “have you finished discussing my personal and business life?”

  “A sharp mind,” Ry commented. “In a first-class package.”

  * * *

  Later, as they drove away from the Guthrie mansion, Natalie studied Ry’s profile. “Should I apologize for Boyd?”

  “He didn’t pull out the rubber hoses.” Ry shrugged. “He’s okay. I’ve got a couple of sisters, I know how it is.”

  “Oh.” Frowning, she looked out the window. “I didn’t realize you had siblings.”

  “I’m Polish and Irish, and you figured me for an only child?” He grinned at her. “Two older sisters, one in Columbus, the other down in Baltimore. And a brother, a year younger than me, living in Phoenix.”

  “Four of you,” she murmured.

  “Until you count the nieces and nephews. There were eight of them, las
t time I checked, and my brother has another on the way.”

  Which probably explained why he was so easy around children. “You’re the only one who stayed in Urbana.”

  “Yeah, they all wanted out. I didn’t.” He turned down her street, slowed. “Am I staying tonight, Natalie?”

  She looked at him again. How could he be so much of a stranger, she wondered, and so much of a need? “I want you to,” she said. “I want you.”

  Chapter 8

  “Can I slide down the pole, Mr. Pisessy? Please, can I slide down it?”

  Ry grinned at the way Keenan massacred his name and flipped the brim of the boy’s baseball cap to the back of his curly head. “Ry.”

  “’Cause,” Keenan said, big eyes sober and hopeful. “I never, ever did it before.”

  “No, not why, Ry. You call me Ry. And sure you can slide down it. Hold it.” Laughing, he caught Keenan at the waist before the boy could make the leap from floor to pole. “No flies on you, huh?”

  Keenan looked around, grinned. “Nuh-uh.”

  “Let’s do it this way.” With Keenan firmly at his hip, Ry reached out to grip the pole. “Ready?”

  “Let’s go!”

  In a smooth, practiced move, Ry stepped into air. Keenan laughed all the way down.

  “Again!” Keenan squealed. “Let’s do it again!”

  “Your brother wants a turn.” Ry looked up, saw Bryant’s anxious, eager face in the opening. “Come on, Bryant, go for it.”

  “Definitely daddy material,” Cilla murmured, watching her son zip down the pole.

  “Shut up, Cilla.” Natalie slipped her hands into the pockets of her blazer. She was itching to try the ride herself.

  “Just an observation. Attagirl, Allison,” she added, cheering her daughter on when Allison dropped lightly to the floor. “He’s giving the kids the time of their lives here.”

  “I know. It’s very sweet of him.” She smiled as Ry obliged Keenan with another trip down the pole. “I didn’t know he could be sweet.”

  “Ah, hidden qualities.” Cilla glanced over to where Boyd was holding a conversation with two uniformed firefighters. “Often the most attractive kind in a man. Especially when he’s crazy about you.”

  “He’s not.” It amazed Natalie to feel heat rising to her cheeks. “We’re just … enjoying each other.”

  “Yeah, sure.” With a mother’s honed reflexes, Cilla crouched and caught her