Deceptions

  Her brows rose. “How?”

  “By taking you on a little bit of B and E.”

  “Breaking and entering?” Her fingers tightened on him. “That’s not exactly law-abiding.”

  No, it wasn’t. “Since we’ll be breaking into a dead man’s home, I don’t think he’s going to press charges.”

  Her breath whispered out. “You think we’ll find something we can use at Steve’s place?”

  He nodded. “So what do you say? You going to stick to your word and not run away from me?”

  “I just want you safe.”

  “I will be.” And you will be. No matter what he had to do, she would be safe.

  * * *

  IT WASN’T HER first B and E. Not really. Long ago, she’d broken into a cabin with her boyfriend. Their car had broken down on a lonely Colorado road. The snow had rolled in, and they’d needed some shelter for the night.

  She hadn’t known they’d find death out there. She hadn’t realized only one of them would ever walk out of that cabin.

  “You ready?” Mac asked her.

  Elizabeth forced herself to nod. This wasn’t some abandoned cabin. This was a house in Austin. They were in the middle of a neighborhood. Totally safe.

  Right?

  He did something to the lock. She saw the flash of a pick—the guy had come prepared—and there was a faint click. Then Mac was heading inside the house, turning on lights and quickly shutting the door behind them.

  It was eerie being in a dead man’s home. Everything just looked...frozen. There was a coffee mug near the sink. A folded newspaper was on the kitchen table. A shirt was thrown over the back of the couch.

  “You didn’t know he was in town?” Mac asked her.

  She shook her head. “That’s weird, right? That he was here...that I was here...” A coincidence? Or something more?

  “I did some checking on him,” Mac said as he began to open desk drawers. She noticed that he’d put on gloves. “Apparently, he’d written a few books in the past few years.”

  She stood in front of Steve’s bookshelf. Elizabeth scanned the titles. “A Knife in the Dark. Murder in the Suburbs.” Elizabeth glanced back at him. “S.R. Yeldon... I know these titles. They’re all true-crime books.”

  Mac moved to a new drawer. “Right. The guy made his living by taking cold cases and solving them.” He exhaled on a long sigh. “Something I admire. Wish I could have met him.”

  Her heart beat a bit faster. “He must have been working on a story about Nate.” That was the only thing that made sense.

  “The cops confiscated his computer, so we won’t have access to that.” He headed into the bedroom and she quickly followed. “But I’m betting he kept some kind of notes. Some backup...something.”

  He opened the closet door. She crept closer to him. He was really confident on this whole break-in thing. “What happens if the cops find us here?”

  “We’ll get arrested.”

  Her eyes widened. “You’re the one who made me confess all to that detective! And now you—”

  He laughed. “Don’t worry. I’ve got an in at the PD I can always use. I was just messing with you.”

  That wasn’t reassuring. She didn’t think he’d just been messing with her, either.

  “What do we have...here?” He reached up and pulled down a brown bag from the top of the closet.

  Her brows climbed. “You have a suitcase. That’s exactly what you have—”

  He opened it. Notebooks and photos spilled out.

  “Okay, I’m impressed.” She knelt on the floor next to the photos. “How did you know that anything was in there?”

  “Because all of the other bags were covered in a layer of dust. This one wasn’t.” He started thumbing through the photos. After a few moments he gave a low whistle. “This is you.”

  She peered over his shoulder. Yes, that was her. A shot of her that had been taken right after Nate’s murder. A police officer was pushing her into the back of a patrol car.

  For just a moment, a memory of that scene flashed into her mind. So strong and clear.

  “Miss...what happened here last night?” The cop’s eyes had been kind.

  At first, anyway.

  “There was so much blood.” She leaned forward and picked up another photo. Revulsion poured through her. That shot—it was one of the crime scene photos. Nate’s handsome face was so still, and the pool of blood beneath him was clear to see. So much blood.

  “In the picture, you didn’t have any blood on you,” Mac said.

  “No...no, I—I only touched him once. To see if he had a pulse.” But even then, she’d known it was too late.

  Mac’s head tilted. “I need to know everything, Elizabeth. Just what went down in your past?”

  Hell.

  “You know you have to tell me.”

  “I can’t tell you what I don’t know.” She saw another photo. This one was of the cabin’s exterior. The snow had been so white. It had been so cold. She’d been in that closet, shivering, for hours and hours before she’d heard the voices of the police officers.

  “Elizabeth—”

  “What’s in the notebooks?” That mattered. She reached for one, flipped it open, and she saw her name at the top of the page. Her name and age and—

  Possible accomplice? The words were written in a rough script.

  Her phone rang, making her jump and drop the notebook. She pulled out the phone and read the words on her screen. Unknown caller.

  “Put it on speaker,” Mac instructed her.

  She slid her finger over the screen and then hit the icon for the speaker.

  “I know where you are,” the low voice told her.

  “And I’m getting sick of you calling me,” Elizabeth fired back.

  Mac’s gaze shot to her. It seemed like—admiration?—lit his stare.

  “Don’t worry, Elizabeth. This will be your last call.”

  A shiver slid down her spine.

  “I knew you’d search his house. Did you find the surprise I left for you? Tick, tick...”

  Mac swore. He grabbed her arm, dragging her to her feet. The photos and the notebooks fell from her lap.

  “Stop!” Elizabeth said—the order both to Mac and the psycho on the phone. “I don’t know what you—”

  “Goodbye, Elizabeth,” that voice told her. “You can’t hide this time. I see you. And the new lover. You’ll go out together in a blaze of fury.”

  A blaze of... Understanding burst through her. He’d said tick, tick.

  Mac dragged her out of the closet. “There’s a bomb! We need to get out of here!”

  But the evidence was in there! They couldn’t leave the photos and the notebook. She jerked away from him and ran back for the closet.

  “Elizabeth, no!” Mac bellowed. Then he grabbed her and—

  They didn’t make it out.

  An explosion shook the house. Fire erupted in a big, tumbling wave, spiraling out from the den. Mac threw his body toward Elizabeth, and they hit hard in the closet, falling even as the world exploded around them.

  * * *

  WHEN THE FIRE lit the sky, he smiled. Two more problems eliminated.

  That had been easy. He’d made that last call to assure himself that Elizabeth was inside the house. It wouldn’t have done for her to be outside when the bomb exploded. But he’d been able to tell by her fear—you were inside, weren’t you, Elizabeth? Did it hurt when the fire erupted? Did you have time to scream?

  The fire was so big and bright. When would a neighbor call the fire department? How long would it be before the victims were hauled out?

  The explosion would never be traced back to him. Steve’s so-called evidence would be destroyed. The last link—E
lizabeth Snow—would be dead.

  He didn’t have to worry about the past any longer.

  Time to concentrate on his future. Retirement was definitely in order.

  Chapter Four

  Smoke was choking him. The damn fire hadn’t killed them—they’d been sheltered from most of the blast, but if they didn’t get out of there before the smoke and flames grew too much, they would be dead.

  “Elizabeth!” He pushed himself up. When the explosion had rocked the house, he’d leaped toward her. He’d pushed her as far back in the closet as he could, and Mac had covered her with his body. “Elizabeth, are you—”

  She shoved at him. Hard. “Don’t do that! Don’t leap on me like you’re some kind of superhero! Are you crazy? You’re not fireproof!”

  She was alive. Furious, but alive.

  He grabbed a coat and threw it over her head.

  “Mac!”

  Then he put a coat over his head. He locked his fingers with hers. “We have to get out.” He knew that, as soon as they left that closet, they’d be stepping into an inferno. The heat was already nearly singeing him. “Stay low. The coat is to protect you. If it catches on fire—” and it probably would “—then you need to—”

  She shoved back the coat and kissed him. Fast. Hard. Not nearly enough for him. “You stay alive, soldier. You understand?” Her eyes seemed to glint with tears. He wasn’t sure if those tears were from the fire or from something else.

  “Yes, ma’am,” he murmured and jerked the coat over her once more. Then he kicked out, not about to touch that doorknob with his hand. Sure enough, flames were everywhere in the bedroom. Eating up the walls. Rolling across the ceiling. He and Elizabeth stayed as low to the floor as they could, but it was apparent really fast that they weren’t going to be exiting through the den. That place was already consumed by the fire.

  Elizabeth coughed next to him. Flames edged closer.

  “Window,” he barked out. “Go.” It looked as if the glass had exploded outward from the window with the detonation, and smoke billowed out that opening. That would be their escape. They just had to move quickly because he feared the whole house might erupt at any moment. Were there other bombs planted? What about the gas line? That place was a death pit, and they had to get out.

  The flames struck out greedily, trying to catch them as they raced past. Chunks of glass were still left in the window, and he punched them out as fast as he could. Then he pretty much threw Elizabeth out the window. He followed her, tumbling out onto the ground.

  Elizabeth had tossed away her smoldering coat, and she yanked his away, too. A good thing, considering his coat was now burning. Her fingers caught his and she pulled him up. They ran together, their legs pumping and, sure enough, just when they got to the street, another explosion ripped through the house.

  They took shelter behind his car as the house erupted. There was a distinct boom, and every car alarm in the neighborhood started shrieking.

  Elizabeth didn’t look back at the house. She was pressed against Mac, and her hand touched his face. “That was too close,” she whispered.

  Hell, yes, it had been. Too damn close. And he was very, very glad that she’d decided to make that desperate run back into the closet. If she hadn’t, if he hadn’t followed her, then they would have been in the den when the first detonation went off—and they would be dead.

  He curled his fingers under her chin. His heart was beating far too fast, but his fingers were rock steady. That was the way it always was for him in battle. Fast heart, steady touch. The adrenaline pounded through him and he knew that, later, the crash would rip through his body.

  But that was later.

  Right then...he kissed her. Not easy. Not soft. He’d come too close to the edge for softness. He kissed with a raw passion and a carnal possession. He wanted her to know exactly how he felt about her—and what he wanted.

  What I will have.

  She kissed him back the same way, proving that the wildness he’d sensed inside her was really there, just waiting to get out. Waiting for him to set them both free.

  Footsteps pounded toward them. He tensed and pulled away from her, rising in a fast crouch—

  “Buddy, are you all right?” an older man in a brown robe demanded.

  Mac’s gaze swept the scene. The neighbors were coming out, rushing to the rescue. That meant the cops and the firefighters would be there soon. Though there wasn’t much that they could do.

  “We’re all right,” Mac said as he rose fully. “Thanks.”

  Elizabeth stood by his side. They turned and faced the house. Gone. The fire was still raging, but the house was just a shell now. Any evidence in there would be long gone.

  So it’s a good thing I managed to save a few items. He could feel the photos and the notebook pushing inside his shirt. He’d shoved them under the fabric moments before they’d fled that fire.

  Maybe the killer wanted to get rid of Elizabeth and destroy all of Yeldon’s evidence. But the guy had failed, on both counts.

  * * *

  MELINDA CHAFER GLANCED at the still-burning wreckage that had been Steve Yeldon’s house, then she looked over at Elizabeth. “So once again...you just happened to be at a crime scene?”

  This was not going to be easy to explain. “Um, well—”

  “We thought the killer might come by and search Yeldon’s house,” Mac said smoothly. “So we were in the area, keeping watch.”

  “Keeping watch—is that what we’re calling it?” Melinda shook her head.

  “You heard the neighbors,” Mac replied. “When they found us, we were crouched behind my car, just trying to stay safe from all that flying debris.” He whistled. “And just what do you think was inside his house, anyway? Why would someone go to all that trouble to destroy a murder victim’s home?”

  Melinda pulled out her phone and glanced down at the screen, obviously reading a quick text. Then she focused on them once more. “This could be an accident. A completely unrelated accident. A faulty gas line. Things like this just happen. Tragic, but that’s life.” She narrowed her eyes on Mac. “But what I can’t permit is for civilians to get in the middle of an investigation. My investigation. Your girlfriend already tried to lie to me once—”

  “Uh, I’m not his girlfriend—” Elizabeth began.

  Mac frowned at her.

  “You’re both lucky, damn lucky,” Melinda continued, “that you weren’t in that house when the fire started. Because then I’d need more body bags.” She straightened her shoulders. “I get that the McGuires are a force in this town, but this is my case, and I can’t have you interfering like this. Don’t you see that people are dying?”

  Then she turned and hurried away.

  Elizabeth waited until the detective was gone, then she asked, “Why didn’t you tell her?” He’d been the one who’d been so gung-ho before about being all honest with the cops.

  “Tell her?”

  “About the photos and the notebook,” she whispered. “I know you have them. I saw you in the closet.”

  Police lights flashed around them. He gave her a slow smile. One that was a little bit scary. “Nice of you to notice,” he said.

  “Mac?”

  “I’ve got some help on your case,” he told her. “At McGuire Securities, we’ve got a great lady who can work wonders with computers.”

  Where was this going?

  “Funny thing...” Mac murmured. “Our operative discovered that Melinda Chafer deposited ten thousand dollars into her bank account as of nine this morning.”

  Elizabeth tensed. “And I’m guessing you don’t think that was some legitimate deposit?”

  “No.” His gaze was on Melinda’s retreating back. She’d just approached the fire marshal. “I think that payment might have been so she
’d overlook a faulty gas line.”

  He thought the cop was on the take? But—but she liked Melinda. Talk about having bad judgment.

  “Until I find out exactly where that money came from and just why it was deposited, I think we’ll keep our investigation separate from Detective Chafer’s.”

  She nodded. Elizabeth eased closer to Mac.

  If you couldn’t trust the cops, then just who could you trust?

  His arm curled around her shoulder. “I think it’s time we left.”

  * * *

  “I WANT YOUR REPORT. First thing, got it?” Melinda kept her focus on the fire marshal. “Before anyone else sees it, you bring it to me.”

  “Yes, ma’am,” he quickly assured her. “But it’s going to take some time. A fire this big...hell, it will still be smoldering by dawn.”

  “But no other houses are in danger? No other people?” Melinda pressed. The last thing she needed was more victims.

  He studied the scene. “They should be safe.”

  Should be. That wasn’t nearly good enough for her. “No, they will be. Call in extra personnel if you need them. No one else can get hurt here.” Her phone vibrated again, and she pulled it from the clip on her hip. When she saw the screen, she backed away from the fire marshal. She backed away from everyone.

  You’re welcome.

  That text had come through when she’d been talking with Mac and Elizabeth Snow. She’d had no idea what the text meant and now—

  Now some bozo had just sent her a text that read.

  Pay me back?

  Before she could fire off a reply, her phone rang.

  Unknown caller appeared on her screen. Frowning, she answered the call and demanded, “Who the hell is this?”

  “Did you get my token of appreciation?”

  Her jaw locked. She knew exactly what he was talking about—her bank had contacted her earlier. He meant the ten grand that had appeared in her account. “You’re setting me up.”

  “No, I’m appreciating you.”

  “You’ve got the wrong woman,” Melinda gritted out. “You don’t know me, but you can believe I will know—”