Firestorm

“Wait.” Silver caught up with her.

  “Wait for what?” she said fiercely. “It's probably already too late. Do you want me to—”

  “Stop right there.” A tall young man in a navy jogging suit stepped before them. “This is as far as you go. Get back to the road.”

  “Brad Silver. And this is Kerry Murphy.” He glanced at the ID tag on the man's jacket. “Agent Ledbruk. We had George Tarwick contact you.”

  “Identification.”

  Silver handed him his wallet.

  Ledbruk scrutinized the ID carefully before handing it back.

  “For Christ's sake, what happened?” Kerry asked.

  Ledbruk looked beyond her. “Son of a bitch, the media are arriving already. How the hell did they find out so soon?” He called to another agent a few yards away. “Keep them out of the area until we can get that body out of here. I was hoping to have this under wraps before—”

  “What happened?” Kerry said through her teeth. “What body?”

  “You're with the fire department? Come on. Maybe you can tell me.” He turned and started down the path. “Damnedest thing I ever saw. And I never want to see anything like it again. We were running after Fairchild trying to stop her. Stubborn woman. We told her that it would be hard to protect her on these morning runs, but she was arrogant as hell. She said if we did our job she'd be safe. We tried, dammit. We sent agents over her route every day to make sure there were no snipers. But it's seven miles of wooded terrain. Too easy to miss someone. But she wouldn't listen. The park was her favorite run and she was—”

  “Water,” Kerry said numbly.

  “What?”

  Kerry's gaze was on the narrow trickling brook that had suddenly appeared as they turned a bend. “The path runs beside a stream. Water.”

  “So?”

  Brad's hand was beneath her arm. “Just a comment, Agent Ledbruk. She's an arson investigator, and naturally she—”

  “Jesus, that smell.” Kerry's eyes closed as waves of sickness washed over her. “I can't—”

  “You don't have to go any farther,” Silver said. “Stay here and I'll—”

  “No.” Her eyes opened and she drew a deep breath. She started up the path again. “What happened to Joyce Fairchild, Agent Ledbruk?”

  “She . . . ignited. One minute she was running ahead of us, and the next she was . . . blazing.” His lips tightened. “Spontaneous combustion? It's crazy. I don't know what—”

  “Did you try to put the fire out?” Silver asked.

  “Do you think we're stupid? Of course, we—” He swallowed. “See for yourself. She's right ahead.”

  At first, Kerry didn't see her. A policeman was already stringing the familiar yellow tape, and several forensics experts were carefully going over the scene. One white-coated man was bending over a heap of—

  Bones. Blackened bones.

  “Dear God,” Kerry whispered. She moved closer until she was standing over the woman. Or what had once been a woman. No trace of flesh or organs remained. There was only skull and skeleton. “She looks like she's been burning for over twenty-four hours.”

  “Five minutes,” Ledbruk said. “It couldn't have taken us more than a couple minutes to reach her. It was as if she was exploding from the inside, melting, dissolving, and the flame was so hot that we couldn't get near her. One of my men tried to wrap her in his jacket, but it ignited before it touched her. A few minutes more and she was like this.” He looked at Kerry. “So you're the expert. You tell me how this happened. Because my ass is on the line.”

  “Did you search the area for Trask?” Silver asked.

  “No sign of anyone. Footprints near a drainpipe that led out of the park about a mile away.”

  “Kerry?” Silver asked.

  “He's not here anymore,” she said dully. “Why should he be? He got what he wanted. The entire sensory experience. He saw her die and he was probably close enough to smell her burning flesh. He'd like that.”

  “But how did it happen that fast?” Ledbruk asked. “We couldn't do anything.”

  “Maybe your lab will be able to tell you.” She had to get out of here. “I can't.” She turned and started back toward the road.

  Silver caught up with her. “Are you okay?”

  “Of course I'm not okay.” She jammed her hands in her jacket pockets. “Do you mean am I going to keel over or anything? No. I've seen more gory cadavers than that over the years.”

  “This is different.”

  “You bet it is,” she said jerkily. “She's dead because I let him kill her.”

  “Bullshit.”

  “I should have thought it through. I must have shied away from thinking about the threat to me or I would have realized she was his target before it was too late.”

  “You can analyze. You can agonize. You can tear yourself apart. But the fact still remains that Trask is to blame, not you.” He opened the car door for her. “You did your best. We tried to stop him and we didn't succeed.”

  “Tell that to Joyce Fairchild.” She got into the car and looked straight ahead. She had to keep her muscles locked. She had to keep him from seeing that she was starting to shake. She had told the truth. She had seen more-horrible sights, but this one had struck her to the core. “Could we go home, please? I'm very tired.”

  He studied her for a moment and then muttered a curse beneath his breath. “For someone who's not about to keel over, you look like you're pretty close.” He pulled away from the curb. “We'll be home in thirty minutes.”

  You look like you could use a nice cup of tea, Ms. Murphy,” George said as he met them on the steps. “Or maybe a good stiff bourbon.”

  “No, thank you.”

  George glanced at Silver. “I haven't been able to contact anyone at Tyler Park since I warned them. That isn't a good sign.”

  “A lousy sign,” Kerry said as she climbed the steps. “Yellow tapes, agents all over the place, and EMT trucks, and no one who could help.”

  “She's dead?”

  “Burned to a crisp. Now, if you'll excuse me, I think I'll go to my room.” She passed George and went inside the house. The staircase seemed to stretch on forever. Just get up the stairs and into her room. She'd curl up under that lush comforter and the shaking would stop. Then, after a little while, she'd be able to face what had happened to Joyce Fairchild.

  She's not good,” George murmured as he watched Kerry slowly climb the steps. “And I'd judge her to be a tough cookie. It must have been one hell of a night.”

  “Yes, and she's had an emotional overload for the past week,” Silver said. “Today was the icing on the cake.”

  “No trace of Trask at the scene?”

  “Footprints near a drainage pipe.” He hesitated and then made a decision. “I'm going to see how she's doing.”

  “Don't you think you'd better let her have a little time to herself?”

  “No.” George might be right, but Silver didn't want to wait. That silent drive home had bugged the hell out of him. He hated feeling this helpless. “Where's her dog?”

  “In the kitchen. Where else? You think you need protection? You chose the wrong animal.”

  “I need a buffer.” He headed for the kitchen. “And Sam has got to fill the bill.”

  It's Silver. May I come in?”

  She huddled deeper under the comforter. “Why?”

  “I brought Sam.” He opened the door. “I thought you could use a little canine therapy.”

  “It's not the—” She broke off as Sam hurled himself across the room, landed in the middle of the bed, and began licking her face. “Stop it, Sam. I'm not in the mood.” But she automatically started stroking his head. She glanced warily at Silver over the dog's head. “I don't need therapy, Silver.”

  “You need comfort, and it comes close to the same thing.” He sat down in the chair beside the bed. “I figured it couldn't hurt. I knew you wouldn't accept it from me.”

  “You want to comfort me?” She smiled without mirt
h. “Will wonders never cease.”

  “This kind of situation frustrates me. I'd rather go in and fix what's wrong. It's what I do, dammit. It's what I'm good at. But I made you a promise.” He made a face. “So I brought you Sam.”

  “Sam would rather be in the kitchen and follow the food chain.”

  “Too bad. He has a duty to you.” He reached over and tucked the comforter tighter around her. “Everyone has to do their job. Are you cold? You look like an Eskimo.”

  “I'm a little chilly.”

  “Shock.” He got up and headed for the bathroom. “I'll get you some instant coffee. There's a hot-water dispenser in the bathroom.”

  “I don't need—” She was talking to the air. She could hear the water running and a moment later he returned with a steaming cup. “Why are you doing this?”

  “I told you.” He handed her the cup. “My prime job is to fix what's broken, and this is the only way you'll let me do it.”

  She took the cup and cradled it in her hands. The heat felt good on her cold palms. “Fix what's broken . . . Is that really what you try to do?”

  “It's what I prefer to do.” He sat down in the chair again. “I can't deny I've done my share of spoiling. I'm not perfect and sometimes I get off on other tracks, but putting things back together gives me the most satisfaction.”

  “By interfering.”

  He shrugged. “I can't deny it. But when I decided to take charge of my talent, I had a choice to make. I could either use it destructively or constructively, and either way I couldn't pussyfoot around. It's not my way. So what you see is what you get.” He leaned back and gazed at her. “Right now you're pretty messed up, but I think you can work it out for yourself. I just wanted to tell you that I'm here if you need me.”

  She nodded slowly. “Thank you. That's very kind of you.”

  He grinned as he rose to his feet. “And you're shocked as hell. You've been thinking of me as the bogeyman. Well, I'm a selfish son of a bitch and I'm not always pure as the driven snow.” He headed for the door. “But I have my moments.”

  Evidently he did. These last few moments had completely surprised her. “And you came up here to try to make me feel better?”

  “Yes.” He opened the door. “But I also have a hunch you're at a crossroad. I wanted to give you all the information you need to decide which path to take.”

  The door closed after him before she could reply.

  He was wrong. She was upset and shocked, but she wasn't torn by indecision. She just needed a little time to recover her balance after the death of that poor woman. Why had he thought she was? She rejected immediately the answer that occurred to her. He hadn't broken his promise.

  How could she be sure? Of course, she couldn't be sure, but she was beginning to know Silver.

  Putting things back together gives me the most satisfaction.

  Those words had rung true. An important missing piece of the puzzle that was Brad Silver.

  And she believed he was trying to keep his promise.

  So if he seemed to have insight into her thought processes, it was because he probably knew her better than anyone on earth.

  And he thought she was at a crossroad.

  Sam whined and rolled over on his back for a belly rub.

  She absently stroked him as she lay back down on the pillows. Having Sam here was a comfort. Another thing that Silver had guessed. That didn't mean he was right about her inner turmoil. Perhaps he was nudging her toward this mythical crossroad.

  But she was beginning to think he was right about that too, dammit.

  You look more rested,” Silver said as he watched her coming down the staircase with Sam at her heels. “I peeked in your room a couple hours ago and you were sound asleep.”

  “I went to sleep almost immediately after you left.” She grimaced. “So if you expected me to lie there and soul-search, you batted out.”

  He shook his head. “I'm glad you slept.” He took her arm. “Come on. I'll ask George to have the cook make you something to eat.”

  “A sandwich will do. And I don't need a cook.” She glanced at him. “Did you sleep at all?”

  “A little. I don't need much.”

  “Is there anything on the news about Joyce Fairchild?”

  He shook his head. “Ledbruk must have managed to cover it. God only knows how.” He gestured to the kitchen chair. “Sit down. I'll make you something. Ham and cheese okay?”

  She nodded. “I can make it.”

  “I know where everything is.” He went to the refrigerator. “It's more efficient if I do it.”

  “Then by all means.”

  He glanced at her over his shoulder. “You're being very agreeable.”

  “You're offering me a service.” She smiled faintly. “And you're making sense. As you said, it's more efficient.”

  He stopped, then turned and leaned back on the refrigerator. “Are we still talking about the sandwich?”

  “Among other things.” Her smile faded. “Damn you.”

  “And that means?”

  “It means that Michael Travis was right. That you were right.” She moistened her lips. “And that if I'd had more control instead of just being a damn sponge, I might have been able to save Joyce Fairchild.”

  He didn't answer.

  “You're not going to argue with me?”

  “Do you want someone to soothe you and tell you lies? It won't be me, Kerry. There's a strong possibility that you're right. On the other hand, it might still have gone down the same way. Who the hell knows?”

  “I know. I have a gut feeling.”

  “Then it's probably true. I believe in gut feelings. So where is this taking us?”

  “I think you know. You said you fix things. Can you also build things?”

  “Maybe. What do you want me to build?”

  “A wall to keep out all the flak and poison Trask throws at me. It's like being in the middle of a tornado. I can't sort out what's important and what's not. All I can do is try to keep from drowning in the slime.”

  “That's not too difficult to do. It's what Travis wanted to teach you to protect yourself years ago.”

  “And while you're at it”—she met his gaze—“do you think you can show me how to influence Trask, push him to do what I want him to do?”

  He shook his head. “I've never run across anyone who had the same talent I have.”

  “I know I can't change his reality. All I want to do is push him a little, maybe find a way to slow him down or divert him so that we can catch the bastard. Is that possible?”

  He thought about it. “I don't know. It's possible, I suppose. It depends how well you can defend yourself.”

  “Defend?”

  “Even if he's unaware of what you're doing, the psyche's defenses are automatic. You'd be safer not trying anything fancy.”

  “Will you try to teach me how to do it?”

  “If that's what you want.”

  “That's what I want.”

  “Are you sure you know what you're getting into?”

  “Hell, no, I don't have any idea. Tell me.”

  “You want me to teach you. I can't be subtle. I can't sneak in and just change everything. You're going to know I'm inside your mind and you're not going to like it. I'm going to have to show you. There's nothing more intimate or intrusive. Do you understand?”

  “Do you think I didn't consider every disadvantage you could dream up? You're damn right I'm not going to like it. I'm going to feel like kicking and screaming. I'm going to hate it.” She paused a moment to gain control. “But I don't see any other way I can handle this. I won't let anyone else die if I can find any way to prevent it. There are three more people at risk out there.”

  “Five. You forgot about you and me. Not to mention the thousands who might be victimized if Trask sells Firestorm to an unfriendly nation.”

  “So stop warning me and worry about how you're going to teach me to push.”

  He shook
his head. “Defense first.” He paused. “And you're going to have to learn to trust me.”

  “I'll try. You can't expect me to—”

  “I expect everything from you. Just as you'll have to expect everything from me. Total interdependence.”

  “Is that supposed to intimidate me? I can handle it.”

  He smiled. “But you're scared shitless.”

  “That doesn't change anything. Let's go for it.”

  “Right now?”

  “Now. This minute. I don't want to put it off.”

  “Like a dose of castor oil. It doesn't work that way. I set the pace, Kerry.”

  “I don't see why I can't—” She shrugged. “So how do we begin?”

  He opened the refrigerator door. “We begin with a ham-and-cheese sandwich. Do you like mayonnaise?”

  What the hell happened in Tyler Park?” Dickens asked when Trask called him. “The feds were all over the place.”

  “How do you know?”

  “Did you think I wasn't going to keep an eye on what was going on? I'm the one who did the legwork scoping the park out for you. I'm the one who might be remembered and recognized.” He paused. “What did you do?”

  “You don't want to know.”

  Dickens swore softly. “I didn't buy into anything that might get me hung out to dry. I'm not getting paid to take those kinds of risks. Ki Yong said that all I had to do was some basic tailing and bugging.”

  “But I'm sure Ki Yong said you were to obey my orders. I don't think you'd like me to tell him I'm not happy with you. He might decide to finesse you into Guantánamo with those other terrorist suspects.”

  “Jesus, I'm no terrorist.”

  “It's a fine line. I don't consider myself a terrorist either, but Homeland Security might have a different view. And you're my accomplice, aren't you?”

  “Accomplice to what?” He paused. “Did you kill her?”

  “Of course. You knew it was going to happen. That's what makes you an accomplice.” His tone hardened. “Enough, Dickens. It's over. I didn't call you to discuss what happened in Tyler Park. I need to know about Kerry Murphy. What have you found out?”

  Dickens was silent a moment. “You know about her brother and his wife. Her father, Ron Murphy, is still alive, but she doesn't see much of him. He's a journalist and seems to be closer to his son. She has friends, but no one very close. You're looking for a hook?”