Fatal Burn

  “Except your peace of mind.”

  “Amen,” she whispered, shaking her head.

  “So by process of elimination, you decided to call me.”

  “You seemed the logical choice.”

  “Since when were you ever logical?” he said with a bit of a smile.

  “I don’t know, maybe since I finally decided to grow up.” She found a rubber band on the windowsill, bent over and pushed her hair into a ponytail. Straightening, she stared out the window. She’d fed the dogs, made sure they were secure, then seen to the horses before calling her brother. Now dusk was encroaching, casting long shadows across the parking lot and outbuildings, though the temperature refused to drop. “You’re a PI. I figured you could look into it.”

  Aaron took another swallow from his beer and, looking over his shoulder, followed her gaze. Hitching his chin toward the garage and Nate Santana’s darkened apartment, he asked, “Santana’s not around?”

  “No.”

  “Convenient, don’t you think?”

  “Coincidence.” She bristled and wondered, not for the first time since calling Aaron’s cell phone, if calling him had been a mistake. Truth to tell, that’s why she’d put it off. She didn’t want to rely on any of her brothers, didn’t want to appear unable to handle her own problems, didn’t need their meddling. So she’d waited, then decided she needed Aaron’s expertise and now, of course, she was second-guessing herself all over the place.

  “I thought you didn’t believe in ‘coincidence.’”

  “I don’t.”

  “But you don’t find it strange that the first time Santana’s gone for a few days, this kind of thing happens?” He hooked a thumb toward the plastic-encased scrap of paper lying near the ceramic dogs on the table. “I figured the two of you were close.”

  “We’re partners, that’s it.”

  “He moving up to the new place with you?”

  “I don’t know, but not into the house.” She sighed and threw her brother a don’t-start-with-that-again glare. “It’s not like that between Nate and me, not that it’s any of your business.”

  “It is now.”

  “Okay. Right. But Nate and I are just business partners. We’re not lovers, okay? If that’s what you’re hinting at. As for him moving, I don’t know yet. We’re still talking.”

  Aaron grunted, possibly to imply that he didn’t believe her, but didn’t voice it. Good. His eyes were more sober than ever as he asked, “You ever contacted your kid?”

  “What?” she asked, startled.

  “The baby you gave up, the one that just had the birthday, have you ever contacted her?”

  “No! I mean, I don’t even know where she is.”

  At that thought she felt the same painful pang she always did when she remembered giving away her only child, never seeing her baby after that one brief glimpse of the infant in the hospital. Coupled with that dull ache was the sear of guilt for not being strong enough to raise her child alone. No matter how many times she’d told herself she’d done the right thing, that the little girl was far better off with loving parents who desperately wanted a child, the doubts still stole into her thoughts, into her dreams…Sudden, hot, unwanted tears touched the back of her eyelids.

  Her voice, when she spoke again, was a rasp. “I’ve thought about it. God, I’ve wanted to. But, no, I haven’t even tried. Haven’t put my name on one of those Internet lists or filed with the agencies that help adoptees find their birth parents.”

  “But you’ve thought about it?”

  She nodded.

  “Did you tell anyone?”

  “No.” She cleared her throat. “I figured I might do it in a few years, when she’s an adult.”

  Aaron rubbed his chin. “What about Giles?”

  “Brendan?” she repeated, even though she’d anticipated that her ex-boyfriend, the father of her baby, would be brought up.

  “Yeah. You heard from him?”

  “No…Never.”

  Aaron’s forehead furrowed as if he doubted her. The dog, realizing there was no treat in store, stood and stretched as he yawned, his black lips pulled back to show his teeth.

  “Never,” she repeated, the old wounds opening and raw. She saw a speck of water on the counter and rubbed it dry with her finger.

  “He’s the kid’s father.”

  “I know, Aaron, but remember, he took off when he heard I was pregnant. Left the country.”

  “You think.” He hopped off the counter and landed lithely on the old, cracked linoleum floor.

  “I know. The whole town knows.” She held up her hands and blew out a long breath. “Let’s not drag him into this.”

  “I’d just like to talk to him.”

  Not me, Shannon thought. She never wanted to see Brendan Giles again for as long as she lived. “He’s a coward and wasn’t interested in the baby, not in the least. But if you can find him, great. Go for it.” The muscles in her face tightened as she remembered their final confrontation about her pregnancy. She remembered how his handsome face had twisted into something hideous, how his lips had curled, almost in revulsion, how he’d said the words that had burned into her brain and broken her already-fragile heart. “You know,” she admitted now, “Brendan had the nerve, the unmitigated gall to suggest that the baby might not be his.”

  “It’s a normal guy response.”

  “No, not a normal guy. It’s a coward’s way out.”

  “You could have insisted upon a paternity test.”

  “Why? So he could be forced to do something he didn’t want to do? To claim the baby? To admit responsibility to me? No, Aaron, that wasn’t an option.”

  “At least you didn’t end up marrying him.”

  He said the words and they settled like lead in the hot kitchen. Because they both thought of Ryan Carlyle. The man she had married. The one she’d been accused of killing. Probably a worse choice than Brendan Giles. Boy, could she pick ’em. No wonder she’d avoided any serious relationship since Ryan’s death.

  Aaron checked his watch. “Mind if I take this?” he asked, picking up the plastic bag.

  She shook her head and he pocketed the Ziplock with its damning burned slip of paper, then bent down to pat Khan’s head. “So, for now, let’s just keep what’s going on between you and me,” he suggested. “We’ll tell Shea later, if we need to, but until we know more, let me poke around and see what I come up with.” He finished his beer, crushed the can and left it on the counter. The humorless grin he flashed her reminded her again of their father.

  Aaron started for the door, Khan at his heels, then stopped and faced her, his smile fading. “You know, Shannon, I don’t like this.”

  “You and me both.”

  “I’ll see ya later.”

  He gave her a quick hug, patted Khan’s head again, then walked outside into the hot, dry twilight. Darkness was fast encroaching, the security lamps starting to glow. Aaron jogged to his car and slipped inside, starting the ignition as he lit a cigarette. The engine revved, and he tromped on the accelerator.

  Shannon watched as the taillights of his Honda faded through the trees. The darkness seemed to swallow him up. Quickly Shannon closed the door and checked the lock. Her fingers automatically reached for Khan’s collar, holding him close. It was good to have him. It was good not to be completely alone.

  Chapter 3

  “Forgive me, Father, for I have sinned.” Oliver Flannery bowed his head. He was naked, kneeling on the forest floor, and doubting the vows he would soon take. He’d worked so hard for his goal: to become a parish priest, to follow the calling, to devote his life to God.

  And he was so unworthy.

  So damned unworthy.

  He felt the hot whisper of the night caress his back, as if a demon straight from hell was breathing against him.

  How many people had he lied to?

  How many laws of God and man had he broken?

  He’d come here, to the forest, where he’d first hea
rd the voice of God, not a human voice booming into his ear, but something quieter, almost meek, that had started inside him and swelled to a noise as loud as the roar of the surf.

  He’d climbed atop an outcropping of rock high upon on a hill and had considered hurling himself over. As he’d stood, naked as he was now, poised to end his life, his toes stretched over the sharp edge, the voice had come to him. Speaking softly at first, calming him, slowing his rapid heartbeat.

  Give yourself to Me, Oliver. I will heal you, and you, in turn, will heal others. Trust. Have faith. Abandon all earthly possessions. Follow Me, Oliver, and I will forgive you for all your sins.

  “All?” he’d whispered so long ago.

  Trust in Me.

  He’d wavered, eyes closed, feeling the urge to jump, the seductive pull of the dry creek bed a hundred feet below. He lifted his arms, intent on free-falling when God had said, I forgive you.

  Oliver’s eyes had flown open and he looked down to the valley floor, a dizzy sensation sweeping over him as he’d stepped back, his heart knocking, sweat running down his sternum and spine. What had he been thinking? Had God really spoken to him? Or was he going mad, the guilt that had been gnawing at his soul finally taking over his mind?

  Trust, the voice commanded again. Give yourself to Me.

  Oliver had fallen to his knees, tears running down his face, and had vowed to become God’s humble servant from that moment forward.

  But he’d failed.

  Everything he’d done had been a lie.

  And once again he considered the easier path, the quick way out. But killing oneself was cowardly. And a sin.

  Another sin.

  His jaw tightened as he reexamined his sorry life.

  Lowering himself even farther so that he was lying prostrate in the grass and leaves, he desperately begged that God would heed his prayers.

  Forgive him.

  Guide him.

  But in the darkness, with a slit of a moon rising high in the starry night, he heard only the sound of his own traitorous heartbeat and the sigh of the hot wind rustling dry leaves, rattling the brittle branches of the trees overhead.

  Sweat collected everywhere on his bare skin and a cold whisper of fear congealed his blood.

  The voice of God was silent.

  The only sound was the demons whispering in his brain. Taunting him. Tempting him. Telling him that which he already knew: he was unworthy.

  “Help me,” he cried aloud, anguish and pain ripping through him, guilt seeming to squeeze the breath from his lungs. His fingers clawed at the dry earth, leaves and twigs, and dead grass compressing into his powerless fists. Tears fell from his eyes as he thought of Jesus on the cross, how He’d died for Oliver’s own sins.

  Was that fair?

  No.

  And yet he couldn’t control the restless demons warring for his soul, couldn’t stop the hot impulses pounding through his blood.

  In desperation, he looked up at the heavens, to the stars and the thin, nearly imperceptible fingernail of the moon. Was God listening? Did He care?

  Oliver closed his eyes and let his face fall to the earth where dust billowed up his nostrils and clogged his throat.

  “Please, Father,” he implored in agony, “help me.”

  But he heard no sounds of comfort.

  Found no answers.

  The demons laughed.

  Tonight, it seemed, God had truly forsaken him.

  For the first time in her life, Dani Settler ditched school.

  She felt a little guilty about it and she hated missing PE, the last period of her day, her favorite class. Even the teacher, Mr. Jamison, was cool. One of the few cool teachers at Harrington Junior High.

  But she had to do this. Had to. Even though it was only the third week of school.

  Hitching her backpack onto her shoulder, she left by a side door near the gym. She walked rapidly past a row of arborvitae that prevented anyone in the school office from seeing her—especially nosey Miss Craig, the pinched-faced attendance person—then dashed around the bus barns.

  So far, so good, she thought, already sweating. It was late September and there wasn’t the breath of fall in the air. Just dusty, dry leaves and overhead, in an intensely blue sky, the fading vapor trail of a jet heading east. The sun was beastly, sitting above the mountains and sending out shimmering waves of heat. Still she increased her pace to a jog. She had forty minutes to get to the cybercafe and back before the buses were scheduled to leave for the day. She’d be marked absent for PE, her dad would be called, but she’d be home and ready with her excuse before he could get really mad.

  She crossed her fingers at that thought. Hated when she made Dad angry, hated it worse when she disappointed him. But this time she felt that she had no choice.

  Never looking over her shoulder Dani just kept jogging along a side street, then cut through the park, the bottoms of her Nikes slapping the asphalt trail where fir trees stood tall and green, offering shade, and the oaks were already shedding their leaves.

  Her plan was pretty simple. Once inside the cybercafe and seated at a computer, she would log on to a server using her new free Internet account. It was one she’d opened at her friend Jessica’s house, giving the server fake information about herself. Jessica knew nothing about her new name, nor did Andrea, whose computer she also used. They thought she was always DaniSet321, the cybername and e-mail address everyone knew her by, the one she used when she was instant messaging or e-mailing her friends.

  No one imagined that she had another alias because every time she used someone’s computer, she logged on as DaniSet321, then, when no one was paying any attention, she switched to the other name. She figured she was pretty safe and wouldn’t get caught because Andrea and Jessica’s older brothers had installed antispyware. Between that and some other programs, information got buried so deep on the hard drive “it would probably blow up the CIA’s computer if they ever tried to sort through all the layers of information,” Stephen—Jessica’s pimply, technogeek older brother—was proud of saying. She tried to forget that she’d often called him a “moron of unchallenged proportions” and had to trust him this time.

  So Dani had taken a chance that she wouldn’t be found out and nearly a year ago she’d started surfing the net as BorninSF0923. So far it seemed that no one around here was the wiser. Her new name was designed to attract the attention of someone looking for her. She knew she’d been born in San Francisco and her birthday was September 23.

  She felt a little guilty about deceiving her dad, but if he found out, he’d flip and he was stressed out enough as it was. Though outwardly cool about being a single parent, she knew it bothered him, a lot. Recently he’d started dating again and the thought of him getting married to someone other than Mom really blew. She was glad he was getting over the pain of Ella’s death, but Dani wasn’t that thrilled with the prospect of a new “mother,” who probably would have a couple of kids and an ex-husband and other relatives to muddy the water.

  But Dani had her own mission. Ever since her mother had died, her curiosity about her biological roots had grown into what she now realized was an obsession. She was getting so close! Not that the people she hoped to find—those related by blood—would ever replace her parents. No way! Thinking like that was just plain stupid.

  Nonetheless she had the driving need to know where she’d come from. Who were her birth parents? Where, exactly, had she been born? What were the circumstances? Did she have any siblings, even half brothers and sisters? Were her mother and father married? Had they been? Were they even alive? In prison? Had she been the result of a one-night stand, or maybe even a rape? At that thought she withered inside, but she kept on jogging down the back alleys toward the river.

  It had taken nearly a year but finally someone in the chat rooms she visited had indicated there was hope of finding her birth parents, or at least learning who they were. That person was BJC27, a woman who claimed she had been adopted and had struggle
d for years to find her birth parents, both of whom were alive and whom she’d finally, at the age of twenty-seven, met. Though her father still denied that he had sired this daughter, her mother had cried when they’d reconnected and introduced her to her two half brothers. It had been the most profound experience in Bethany Jane’s life and she’d since dedicated her free time to helping others do the same. She and Dani, under the guise of BorninSF0923, had started e-mailing. Bethany Jane was certain she would be able to help her and had been looking into private adoptions in the San Francisco area that took place thirteen years ago.

  Dani had been suspicious at first, wary of a fraud. She’d even gone so far as to check out BJC27 through her server where, in the user profiles, she’d found Bethany Jane was from Phoenix, single, was in her early forties and was a librarian at a small college. Though Bethany had given her nothing but her first and middle names, Dani had checked her out. She’d gone to the college’s Web site and seen that Bethany Jane Crandall did work at the library. Her picture was included. A Google search brought up several Bethany Jane Crandalls, but this one was linked to the library, a reader’s group, and an organization that was called Birth Writes and was dedicated to working for and with adoptive families.

  Good enough.

  The last message Bethany had left BorninSF0923 was to assure Dani that she’d found the names and addresses of her birth parents and was going to send documents of proof over the Internet. Dani couldn’t take a chance on having them sent to the house or even to her friends’ homes, so she’d decided on the cybercafe located on the north end of town.

  And she was almost there! The smell of the river, a deep, dank odor she’d grown to love, reached her and as she crossed the streets of the town, she caught glimpses of the Columbia rushing steadily westward. Sunlight spangled the ever-moving gray water, catching in the frigid current as it slashed a sharp, swift canyon between the states of Washington and Oregon.