Heatwave (13 page)

“Something you should’ve done long before now.” Fear for what could have happened added to the harsh, reprimanding tone of his voice. “Structures can be replaced. People can’t.”

She gave him a heated look, then slammed the door. He smacked his hand against the steering wheel in frustration. His day had gone from bad to worse to rotten in less than two hours time. He hated himself for hurting her, but he wasn’t exactly thrilled with her at the moment, either. She’d practically rammed his explanation right back down his throat with her half-baked psychoanalysis.

Or had she spoken the truth? Either way, the taste was damned bitter.

“Don’t you dare lecture me, Drew,” she snapped at him when he caught up with her. “Just catch the bastard so my grandmother can live without fearing some whack job is going to torch what little she has left.”

She stalked away from him, heading across the parking lot to where her grandmother watched the devastation from a wheelchair beneath the shade of a jacaranda tree. Suzette stood by her side.

His job began the minute he’d flashed his ID to the uniformed cops at the barricade. Until he received the all clear that it was safe for him to inspect the burn, he had witnesses to interview.

He followed Emily. By the time he reached the trio of women, she had her arms wrapped consolingly around her grandmother’s slender shoulders.

“I’m so sorry, Velma,” he said when Emily straightened. Emily moved to the opposite side of the wheelchair, ignoring him. The set of her shoulders and defiant tilt of her chin spoke volumes—he’d gone and ticked her off again.

“Thank you,” Velma said. She took hold of his hand, her grip surprisingly strong for a woman her age. “I just can’t believe it’s all gone. Decades. Gone. Did Emily tell you I started the school when my husband was off fighting in the war?”

He crouched beside her, but pale-blue eyes held a faraway look. She’d slipped into the past, into a long-ago era. “With Herbert away, it was up to me to take care of our children. Money was in such short supply, and women of my generation had little experience working outside the home. I could’ve gotten a job in the old factories, but I had no one to look after my children.

“About all I really did well was cook, so to make ends meet, I offered cooking classes inside our little apartment a couple of nights a week. Most of my students were new brides or young single women hoping to find their way into a man’s heart through his stomach. I didn’t bother to remind them that most of the men were overseas.” A distant smile tipped her lips. “In less than a year I had more students than I could handle by myself.

“When Herb returned from the war,” she continued, “with the money I’d saved and the discharge bonus he’d received, we had enough for a down payment on
this old two-story building. Ten thousand dollars for real estate back then was a great deal of money. You’d have thought we’d just purchased the Hearst Castle.”

Drew blew out a low whistle after mentally estimating the current value of the property. “You’ll get a lot more for it now.”

“What’s left of it,” Velma scoffed. She pointed toward the second level, fully engulfed in flames. “We moved our little family upstairs and Herb turned the downstairs into classrooms. After a couple of years, we outgrew the apartment, but we had enough money to build the house. I’ve lived there for the last fifty years.” She let out a sigh. “And now it’s gone.”

“You still have the house,” Emily reassured her.

He didn’t argue. From his vantage point, he suspected the burn had been contained. He also knew from his own days on the line before moving into arson, the crew would do everything in their power to save the other structures from damage. But a fire was as unpredictable as a woman, and her mood could change just as swiftly, often with disastrous results.

“You can always rebuild,” he told Velma. “The important thing here is that no one’s been injured.”

Emily tipped her head downward to look at him over the rim of her sunglasses and glared.

He opted to ignore her. For the time being. “Do you know what happened?” he asked Velma. “Did you see anyone or anything suspicious?”

“No. Nothing.” She let go of his hand. “I told the officers already that Suzette smelled smoke and called
the fire department. Then we left the house and came here to wait.”

He stood and focused his attention on Velma’s nurse. “Velma said you smelled smoke?”

“Yes,” the middle-aged woman offered. “We were just sitting down to breakfast.”

“And you didn’t hear or see anything?” he questioned, although he already suspected her answer. “No one lurking around the premises?”

“No,” Suzette said. “Nothing. I’m sorry. I wish I could be of more help.”

“You’ve done more than enough,” Emily said to the nurse after tossing another scathing glance in his direction. “I’m grateful you were here.”

“Velma! Velma!”

He looked beyond Suzette’s shoulder to see Margo rushing toward them.

“Oh, Velma. This is terrible.” Her gravelly voice was strangely breathless. “I was driving by and saw all the smoke. Are you all right?”

Drew frowned. The only reason he and Emily had gotten through the barricades had been because he’d flashed his credentials at the cops who’d cordoned off the area. He scanned the area, but didn’t see Margo’s blue sedan parked nearby.

“What are you doing here?” Velma asked Margo.

“I was on my way to my daughter’s to see her new house,” Margo said, her gaze darting rapidly among the group. “And to help her unpack.”

Drew tensed, fully alert. From the employment records he’d reviewed, Margo lived approximately
twenty miles west of the school. He’d overheard her mention her daughter to Rita, but unless she had more than one daughter who’d recently purchased a home, she should be on her way to Oxnard, which was farther up the coast, and
west
of her own residence, not east near the school.

Margo stared at the structure fire, transfixed. “Oh, this is bad,” she murmured. “This is very bad.”

Emily removed her sunglasses, cast a meaningful glance in Drew’s direction, then shifted her full attention to Margo. “I suppose it’s a good thing Grandy didn’t agree to partner with you.” She spoke slowly, as if choosing her words carefully. “There’ll be nothing left of it soon.”

Margo remained mesmerized by the fire, fully contained now, as if she hadn’t heard Emily.

But Drew had heard every word and understood her meaning perfectly…their firebug had motive. The first place to look for a suspect is
always
in the crowd watching the blaze. By the time he’d arrived at the scene of the previous incidents, no one other than Velma had been present.

Anger filled him, but he tamped down the emotion. He gave Emily a brisk nod so she’d know he’d understood, then took advantage of Margo’s distraction with the fire to move far enough away to use his cell phone without being overheard. Within moments, a pair of uniformed patrolmen were walking in their direction.

The minute Margo sensed the officers’ presence, she started wringing her hands, but like any garden-variety pyro, her gaze remained transfixed on her work.

Drew moved in behind Margo. The cops flanked her.

“What’s going on?” Velma asked, looking from Drew to the cops then finally to Margo, who’d been in her employ for so many years.

“Ma’am,” Sean Callahan, a rookie cop Drew had worked with recently on another case, said to Margo. “We’d like to ask you a few questions.”

“Margo? Oh, Margo,” Velma said, a wealth of sadness entering her gaze. “What have you done?”

Margo kept wringing her hands. “I didn’t mean for this to happen. It was an accident. I thought it’d be caught in time, just like all the others.”

From her wheelchair, Velma stared up at Margo’s stricken face. “Why?” she implored. “Tell me why you would do this to me?”

“I wanted you to sell, Velma. And you kept refusing. I thought if the school became too much of a burden for you, you’d want to be rid of it. I didn’t mean for this to happen,” Margo repeated.

Callahan led Margo away as his partner read her her rights. She never stopped her repeated babbling, ignoring her right to remain silent.

Drew crouched in front of Velma again. She looked as stricken as Margo had been, but for much more heartbreaking reasons. “Will you be all right?” he asked her.

She gave him a wry little smile, though tears moistened her eyes. “I’m going to be just fine. I’ve survived a lot during my years, and I’ll get through this, too.”

He admired this woman’s spirit, and could easily see where Emily had gotten her spunk and drive.

“Emily’s going to take you to a hotel for a couple of nights until we clean up the area. I have to go now, but when I’m finished, I promise to let you know what’s going to happen to Margo.”

“Thank you,” she said. “I appreciate that.”

His gaze caught Emily’s as he stood. “Where will you be staying?”

“There’s a hotel not far from here.”

“I’ll call you later.”

She removed her sunglasses, revealing her grim expression. “The only thing we have left to say to each other is goodbye.”

The word lodged in his throat. Hadn’t he been the one who said he didn’t want her love? So why was he hesitating?

Eventually, he turned and walked toward his SUV. Goodbye. One word. Not “real easy” as she’d claimed, but
impossible
.

A
LMOST TWO WEEKS
after the fire, Emily was as close to exhaustion as she’d ever come. With her back braced against the porch railing, she sipped from a tall glass of lemonade and watched as the big yellow bulldozer finished off what the fire had left behind, determined to enjoy a moment to herself with nothing more important to occupy her than her drink and the cool sea breeze ruffling the palms and eucalyptus trees.

Two days after the incident, she and her grandmother had moved back into the house, which had gone a long way toward making life somewhat more simple. Since then, her time had been filled with constant meetings and an unprecedented volume of telephone calls with insurance personnel, various contractors, members of the legal profession, architects and builders, plus her own meetings with the creative director of the ad agency to discuss her first assignment. Somehow in all the flurry of activity, she’d managed to put together a solid advertising plan for a local chain of neighborhood restaurants which had thrilled the agency and the client. Not only had she left with notes for two more ad campaigns tucked inside her new briefcase, she’d also received an offer for a full-time position.

Declining the job offer hadn’t been easy for someone constantly striving for solidity and security in her life. Neither was starting a new business, but since she’d made the decision to open her own advertising firm she couldn’t very well accept the job.

Their first night in the hotel, her grandmother had attempted to convince Emily to run the school if she rebuilt. When Emily had made an off-the-cuff remark about taking over if her grandmother had been running an advertising firm instead of a culinary academy, a very serious, life-altering discussion followed. Emily was still reeling from the combination of making such a monumental decision and a high like none she’d ever known at the prospect of becoming wholly self-sufficient.

The property would be rebuilt, but as standard office space rather than a culinary academy. Instead of offering her a start-up loan, Grandy would be her silent partner in a new business venture—Dugan Advertising. Emily’s agency would occupy the bottom floor, leaving the upper level available to rent.

No wonder she was exhausted, she thought as the gentle afternoon breeze cooled her skin. The week had been a nonstop whirlwind of activity with little sleep to recharge her rapidly dwindling batteries. She couldn’t place blame entirely on the series of meetings and endless phone calls. Each night she fell into bed exhausted, only to toss and turn. When sleep eventually claimed her, dreams haunted her until the alarm rang a few hours later, leaving her achy and empty.

She missed Drew. She missed him so much it hurt to
breathe if she allowed herself to think about him for any length of time. Ignoring the pain inside was next to impossible. Each passing day brought not relief but an amplification of the emptiness.

As he’d promised her grandmother, Drew had indeed come to the hotel following Margo’s questioning at police headquarters. When he’d called from the hotel lobby, she’d answered the phone, given him the room number, then promptly disappeared, escaping like a coward because she couldn’t face him. Knowing she’d never again feel the strength of his arms around her, never feel the weight of his finely tuned body over hers, or hear the deep, soothing sound of his voice or the joy of his laughter, had been too much for her to bear.

She’d returned to the hotel after a long walk along the shore, making certain his SUV was gone before going back to the room. Her grandmother had been suspiciously silent about her behavior, but at least hadn’t battered her with questions or sagacious advice.

She hadn’t heard from Drew since. She’d expected she’d have to deal with him eventually with regard to the arson investigation, but he’d solved the potentially uncomfortable situation by turning the remainder of the case over to Dave Byrd.

Once again, he’d made his position painfully clear.

She forced the lump threatening to lodge in her throat down with a big swallow of lemonade, but the cool liquid botched the job by failing to alleviate the tears clouding her vision.

She let out a weighty sigh and checked her wristwatch.
She needed to shower and change for dinner. Grandy and her nurse would be returning from the physical therapy session for her injured arm and hand soon, and Emily had promised her grandmother a nice evening out at the Santa Monica Pier.

She reached for the railing, but her hand stilled in midair when she spotted a white luxury sedan pulling into the lot and parking amid the vehicles of the debris-removal crew. The door opened and the driver stepped out of the car, shielding his eyes from the bright California sunshine. He spied her and waved, then headed straight for her.

She blinked, once, twice, three times, certain her eyesight was failing her. “What are you doing here, Charlie?” she asked when he reached the brick steps. Although her anger with him had faded days ago, she’d certainly barked the question at him. Not her fault, she reasoned. His presence shocked her clear down to her sandals.

Charles Pruitt, III, shrugged his slender shoulders. “I thought we should talk.”

She set down the empty glass of lemonade, then wrapped her arms around her shins. “Long distance would’ve been cheaper.”

A half smile curved his thin lips. “You’re going to make this difficult for me, aren’t you?”

She let out a sigh and patted the space next to her on the porch. “It seems to be my specialty lately.”

“You look good, Emily,” he said as he sat, then smoothed the sharp-pressed seams of his suit trousers.

No, she didn’t, but she appreciated the lie just the
same. Little sleep and constant running from one meeting to the next, plus nursing a broken heart had left her wrung out and lethargic. The faded navy plaid seersucker capris and loose-fitting white tank top she’d changed into after another exhausting day hardly dispelled the image, but she’d been aiming for comfort.

“So do you,” she told him without fibbing. Unlike her, Charlie didn’t know how to look like something a cat hid beneath the dirt in the flower garden. For as long as she’d known him, he’d always looked his best, neatly pressed, clean-shaven and not a single blond hair out of place. What he lacked in people skills, he made up for in physical presence.

He swiped a nonexistent speck of dust from his wing tips, then smoothed his perfectly straight yellow-and-navy power tie. “I behaved badly the last time we spoke.”

An understatement, in her opinion. “Yeah, you did,” she agreed. The sting of resentment zapped her at the reminder of his less-than-supportive response to the news she was having a baby.
His
baby.

He cleared his throat, but kept his gaze on the workmen. “I am sorry about that. You…uh…took me a little by surprise with your news.”

“So I gathered.” She leaned back on her hands and stretched her legs over the steps. “Why are you here, Charlie?”

“You. The baby.”

Her brows winged up. After their last phone call, she’d been under the distinct impression she and the baby weren’t of much importance to him. “Then I suggest
you take the next flight back to New York,” she said none too charitably. “
My
baby and I are just fine, thank you very much.”

Charlie stayed silent, his expression thoughtful. If he believed for a second he could convince her to return to New York with him, then he was in for yet another surprise. Forget that he’d cheated on her or that she’d never be able to trust him again. The truth was much more simple—she hadn’t loved Charlie. Oh, she’d cared about him, and his infidelity had definitely hurt—her pride, not her heart. As she’d told Drew, no one could damage what hadn’t belonged to them in the first place. That privilege belonged solely to Drew.

Finally, Charlie cast his golden-brown eyes her way, his patrician features contemplative. “You’re really not coming back, are you?” he asked. “To New York, I mean.”

Relief filled her. She lacked the energy to engage in another relationship postmortem. They were losing battles she no longer had a desire to wage. “No, Charlie. I told you two weeks ago, my life is here now.”

He pursed his thin lips. “That will complicate matters.”

She frowned. “Meaning…”

“Meaning, how are we going to handle this?”

“What do you mean
we?
” There was no
we
as far as she and Charlie were concerned.

“I meant about the baby.”

She turned her head to watch the workmen clear away more rubble. “Like I said,
we
aren’t going to do anything.”

“I always thought you’d make a good lawyer. You’re so argumentative, Emily.” He let out a sigh filled with defeat. “It’s frustrating, especially when I came to see you so we could reach an amicable resolution to our little problem.”

“Oh, for freaking Pete’s sake, Charlie.” She rolled her eyes before looking at him again. “Our little
problem?
What century did you drop out of?”

“I really don’t want to fight with you.” His voice didn’t rise, although she did detect a slight hint of annoyance. His cool demeanor never showed an ounce of emotion. In fact, now that she thought about it, the only time she could remember Charlie ever losing his cool had been during their telephone conversation that day she told him the news. He lacked…passion, she decided, a character flaw she held in overwhelming supply.

“Then what do you want?” she asked irritably. “You have a tidy little legal document tucked inside your blazer pocket for me to sign that says I and
my
baby will never darken your doorstep?”

“No,” he said, giving her his full attention. “That won’t be necessary. But you should know, I don’t think I’m ready to be a parent.”

“And you think I am?” A bubble of laughter erupted. “If people actually waited until they were ready to have children, Charlie, the human race would cease to exist.”

“Yes, but the difference is I don’t
want
to be a father.” He let out a hefty sigh. “Emily, children frighten me.”

His honesty surprised her, leaving her momentarily speechless.

“Financially, I’ll uphold my responsibility,” he continued, “but I won’t fight you for joint custody or visitation.”

No one had ever called her a Pollyanna, but in the last two weeks, she’d swear her sunglasses had taken on a rose-colored tint when she hadn’t been looking. “You’re serious?”

He offered her a solemn nod. “I’ve had time to think about it. I do want what’s best for the baby.” He looked down, then swiped at more nonexistent dust. “And for you,” he added as an afterthought.

She digested his words, truly stunned by his statement. “Charlie, do you realize what you’re saying?” she asked after a moment. “Do you understand what it is you’re so willing to give up?”

When he finally looked over at her again, his brows were knitted with obvious confusion. “Honestly? No,” he admitted sheepishly. “Does that upset you?”

“It surprises me,” she told him, not quite certain what he expected of her. To give him an out? Let him off the hook?

“Since we’re being honest,” she said carefully, “I’m not sure if you view this baby as an inconvenience, with distaste or if you’re just apathetic.”

“Confusion,” he admitted. After a moment’s pause, he shrugged. “I don’t know how I’m supposed to feel. Maybe if we were still a couple, I’d feel differently about it.”

Whether or not they were a couple made no difference
to her whatsoever. A baby was involved, and regardless of the circumstances, such a priceless gift was worthy of a celebration of joy. Something she wasn’t sure ol’ Cheatin’ Charlie completely comprehended.

Her options were clear—either plant her sandal on his backside and give him a hard shove out of her and the baby’s life once and for all, or they could attempt to reach an amicable solution. He
was
the father, after all, and that provided him with certain rights, both legal and moral. She’d never deny him his child, but she did have one caveat.

“I’m not going to prevent you from being a part of the baby’s life,” she said. “But I’m not going to force you to be an active parent, either. That’s something you have to decide for yourself. All I ask is that if you do participate, it can’t be only when it’s convenient. This is a full-time job, even with our geography issues.”

He definitely looked spooked. “But how? It’s not going to be easy with you living here and me in New York.”

She pulled her legs up again, folded her arms and rested them on her knees. “We can figure out the geography later. But—” she paused until she had his full attention “—I do want an answer now, Charlie. Will you or will you not be a father to this baby?”

His Adam’s apple bobbed up and down. “I’m willing to try if you are.” The words erupted in a rush, followed by another hefty sigh. “Yes,” he said, more firmly. “I want to do this, Emily.”

She smiled at him. “Was it really that difficult?”

His expression turned sheepish and he nodded. “Do you hate me for it?”

“I don’t hate you,” she said and realized she meant every word. “What you did to me was sleazy, yes, but I think we both know now that we weren’t right for each other. If we had been, you never would’ve found someone else.” And she never would have fallen so hard and fast for Drew, she thought sadly.

He reached for her hand, brought it to his mouth and lightly brushed his lips over her knuckles. “You’re an incredible woman, Emily Dugan. Argumentative, but still pretty incredible. I have a feeling you’re not going to have any trouble finding the guy that’s right for you some day.”

Little did he know, she already had found him. Too bad he didn’t want her, too.

T
HE FIRST ALARM
had sounded less than ten minutes after Drew walked through the bay at Trinity Station on Thursday morning. Within the hour, three more alarms had been struck, bringing a total of seven engine crews, two ladder crews and one rescue to fight the largest blaze in Santa Monica history.

A total of fifty-seven firefighters had been called in to battle the flaming beast. Fourteen homes and acres of hillside had been claimed. Initial property-damage estimates of the prime real estate skyrocketed into the millions. New homes would eventually replace those destroyed. New saplings and plant life would slowly restore the charred acres of hillside.