Wrapped in Flame (15 page)

It could still be yours.

Erica’s heart stopped for a beat. She saw the house in a new light—their home, their future. Children, love, and laughter. She wanted to laugh at her runaway imagination. Best friends having great sex didn’t make a future. Her gut, her instincts, told her differently. Best friends having great sex was the icing on the cake. Mike made it clear he wanted her there. It’d be so easy to go for it. To lose herself in the protection he offered. And
that
was the problem. She’d lost herself before, not to mention almost everything else. There was a lot riding on any future commitment.

“Oh, Mike, we both know this is way beyond great sex.”

“Be with me, sweetheart. It’s as simple as that. Nothing more, nothing less.”

Mike had made no declarations of love. She was glad of that at the time. Hearing it would have scared her more than Erica wanted to admit. Now she didn’t much like it.

You can’t have it both ways.

Her emotions danced on a fine edge. She couldn’t trust her heart not to overreact.

One thing at a time. Talk to Craig. The poor man was waiting for news but wasn’t going to take this well. She wished she didn’t have to tell him at all. Passing off the responsibility wasn’t an option. Craig had trusted her. She wouldn’t let him down.

The front door opened when she stepped out of the car. Craig had changed into worn jeans and a T-shirt. He looked a little better than he had earlier, and his booze-infused stench didn’t rise up to greet her. Haunted eyes, however, followed her approach. He said nothing, merely stepped aside to let her in, then shut the door behind him.

“Let’s sit.” She started for the couch.

“Watch your step. It’s like a death trap in here. Even with shoes, they’ll trip you up.” He pointed to the big box of Legos shoved up against the wall. Mike was right—they were everywhere. Erica rather liked it.

She took one side of the couch while Craig sat on the other. He sagged into the seat, an elbow propped on the armrest, his stare locked on the window behind her. “Give it to me straight.”

Very well. She’d keep it short and sweet too.

“I found passwords for her computer in the dresser and was able to access her bank-account information. Activity for the last six months shows monthly withdrawals of five thousand dollars. On Friday, she withdrew one hundred thousand dollars.”

He scrubbed his hand over his eyes. “It was the money from her mother’s life insurance and estate,” he whispered. Erica wasn’t sure he knew he’d spoken. “She hated that money. Maybe she gave it to charity.”

“I found a lot of prescription drugs in the medicine cabinet too. Oxycodone, Flexeril, lorazepam, fentanyl, zolpidem, Vicodin, codeine, and those are the only ones I can remember.”

“All leftover from her mother’s illness.”

More denial and excuses. “Only the fentanyl. The rest are a mix of names—hers and people I’ve never heard of. She had vodka bottles hidden throughout her room as well.” Not to mention the wine in the fridge. “Craig”—she edged closer and touched his arm—“she had a very serious problem. One she went to great pains to hide.” Which explained why she’d isolated herself these last few months.

“No clue where she went?” His voice trembled as he bowed his head.

Erica shook her head. “Nothing. She’d wiped the search history from her computer and cleaned out her cache.” A deliberate attempt to obscure her intentions, whatever those might be.

“Now what?” He sniffed.

Was that a rhetorical question? “CJ’s good with computers,” she said. “He might be able to find something I couldn’t. You can contact the bank. She might have said something to someone when she pulled out the money. Surely they wouldn’t have given her all that in a paper bag. You need to let the sheriff’s department know she had a substance-abuse problem. Tell your kids so they know if she reaches out to them. And to hell with her privacy. In my opinion, this has become a life-and-death situation.”

“No shit.” He jerked his head up. Tears trickled from his red-rimmed eyes. “Right under my nose the whole time, and I never…” He vaulted to his feet and stepped over Erica’s legs to reach the door. “It’s time I saw this shit for myself. Mike’s key is on the kitchen counter.”

“If you need something, call me,” she said to his back.

Craig froze, one hand wrapped around the strap of a duffel bag near the door. “Okay.”

At least it wasn’t the
You’ve already helped enough
she expected. His departure was too quiet and controlled for her liking, but forcing her company on him now wasn’t going to do any good. Instead, she called Mike.

“It’s done,” she said when he answered. “He went home to see for himself.”

“I’ll check in on him later. Uhm—”

“He left your house key,” she rushed on. “I know you’re a firefighter and can get in and out of anything, but want me to bring it by?”

“Not a good idea,” he said. “Two news trucks are parked outside the station.”

Damn.

“The worse news is that they were outside your house too,” he added. “Sandy called here looking for you to warn you. She didn’t have your number.”

“How in the hell did they find out where I live? The only ones who know that are you guys.” Surely one of the firefighters wouldn’t have given up that information.

“My guess would be Posner,” Mike said.

“He doesn’t have my address.” Though he had found her at McDonald’s. No telling how long he’d been trailing her.

“But he has your cell-phone number. It’d be easy enough to track your location.”

“And give it to the news media?” she shouted, then immediately apologized to Mike.

“No biggie,” he said. “I know exactly how you feel.”

“Wait. You said the news trucks
were
outside my house. Are they gone?”

“Sandy left, and they followed her. So, why was she still at your house?”

“She wasn’t feeling well, so I let her stay there to rest. I don’t understand why they followed her.”

“Because they think she’s you?”

That wouldn’t last long. Erica wondered how much time she had before they realized their mistake.

“You could always stay at my place,” Mike said. “You’ve got a small window of opportunity to grab what you need for the night and get out of there.”

That sounded like a damn fine idea to her. The last thing she wanted was to deal with reporters. “I’d better hurry.” She headed for the door and locked up on her way out. “There’s a way you can turn those trucks around to Craig’s advantage. Get him back to the station with a photo of Betty. Let the media blast out the info that she’s missing. Make him put it out on the social-media networks too. He won’t like it, but…”

“Damn fine idea.” The smile in his voice warmed her inside and out.

Erica swung open her car door and slipped inside. “By the way, did I ever tell you that I had my eye on your house when it was up for sale?” He was silent for so long she worried she’d made a mistake in telling him.

“I’ve seen you in my house from the second I met you.” He snickered. “Boy, the plans I made that night. You, the house, I thought all my dreams had come true. I was so cocksure and stupid. I’ve learned a lot about hubris in the last year.”

“Aw, Mike.” She blinked away tears. She loved the guy, pure and simple. Sounded like he loved her right back. If only that were true of everything else—pure and simple. She’d suffered hubris this last year too. “You’ve got me now.” She held her breath, waiting for him to mention her rules and boundaries.

“I do.” His smile blazed a path through the line and right into her heart. “Good thing you’re not here right now, or I’d prove it. It’s going to be a long night without you.”

“Then we’ll have to make up for it tomorrow.”

“I look forward to that.” His words rumbled deep and sexy.

“So do I, big guy.”

“The things you do to my ego.”

“Matched only by the things you do to mine.”

He sucked in a breath. “Yep, definitely a long night.”

“Then my work here is done.” Smiling, she ended the call and headed for her house.

Chapter Twelve

Mike had slept worth shit the night before. A three-vehicle accident involving one of the news trucks and the resulting brush fire as a result had taken hours to clear and required not only Valley View Fire Department to do so but also the assistance from two other neighboring towns. Craig had stayed behind, leaving Mike to aid his people. It’d been a nasty collision with one fatality and four critically injured. All the vehicles were totaled, and traffic had been blocked both ways while the firefighters and law enforcement worked. So they’d had to deal with angry people on top of it, some of whom kept demanding answers. Why hadn’t the fire department commented on the death of one of their own? How could they be effective when they’d failed to protect one of their female firefighters from assault, when the fire chief couldn’t even keep track of his wife? It’d been ugly and somewhat ironic that they were assisting one of those news outlets from Palm Springs that had stirred up shit in the first place.

He didn’t fault them for doing their jobs, but he did have a problem with the way they went about it—twisting information around to their version of fact that held little validity. Running the same story over and over and over again, yet saying nothing. Jumping to conclusions. Case in point—thinking Sandy was Erica. They’d found out soon enough once they’d gotten to Sandy’s house, but not before they’d broadcast it over the airwaves. Their distraction had given Erica time to run home and grab some things for the night, but barely. Reporters had been scrambling to cover from their mistake ever since. The accident last night had given them the outlet they needed. One of their cameramen had died in that collision, and they’d made the Valley View Fire Department a new target for their hounding. It didn’t matter two other fire departments were assisting in the accident and fire. Valley View had the target on its back, and the media was aiming for it.

At least some good had come out of their presence. Craig got the word out about Betty’s disappearance. A little reluctantly so at first, but he’d been good on camera. Clearheaded and professional even while rattled, his voice shaking. It’d cut Mike to the quick to see yet another vulnerable side to his stalwart chief. Hurt him even more to realize that as much as he thought he knew the man, Mike really knew nothing about him at all. Craig’s plea was enough to finally engage the detectives to look for her but not enough to get any leads yet on her whereabouts.

By the time Mike had finally hit the rack, he was too keyed up from work to sleep—like everyone else. When they finally crashed, they’d all be down hard. He’d heard pacing and low voices in the common room. Generally, he’d join them to wind down from the run. But the only thing he could think about was that Erica was in his bed and he wasn’t with her. He’d tossed and turned, needing her more than he could bear and not for sex. He wanted to curl up against her, feel the comfort of her body next to his while he shut the world away. Somehow he fought the urge to call her and tell her how much he loved her and wanted to spend eternity with her. When he finally poured out his heart to her, it needed to be in person. When his emotions weren’t on the edge. When he wasn’t exhausted beyond words.

All he wanted now was to take care of this shift change and grab some sleep before they headed back out for the school visit in the morning. So hearing that Sandy Freeman was standing outside the station, puking in the trash can, didn’t sit well. Having it witnessed by lingering news media—now wanting information on last night’s accident and speculating on whether or not the firefighters had done all they could to save one of
their
own— pissed him off all the more. He charged toward the side exit, scattering firefighters as he went.

Sandy sat against the wall, her forehead resting on the knees she hugged to her chest. She turned watery eyes up at him when he stood over her.

“Go home. I’ll get someone else to cover your shift.” Even if he had to do it himself. “I don’t want everyone catching whatever it is you’ve got.”

Her chin trembled. “I’m pregnant.”

Mike swore he saw reporters shuffle forward at the news. Was their equipment strong enough to catch a sound bite like this? Boy, what they wouldn’t do with that news—a female firefighter carrying the child of her rapist? At least that was what Mike presumed, since Sandy hadn’t been seeing anyone. Reporters had wasted little time raking the fire department over the coals after last night’s tragedy. This revelation would be adding more fuel to the fodder.

Quick footsteps drew their attention. Tim was coming their way. His duffel bag hung off one shoulder, and his scowl told Mike he’d heard the news. That meant the reporters had as well.

Mike squatted before Sandy.

“Please don’t fire me,” she squeaked out.

“No one’s going to fire you.” He wrapped his hand over her knee. “We’ll find a way.”

“I can’t be a firefighter and be pregnant.” Tears ran in rivulets down her cheeks.

He frowned. “Who says?”

She dropped her hand to her belly. “What if I hurt my baby?”

“Hey.” He scooped her hand into his. “We’ll find a way. We’re family.”

“Trish swears by ginger ale and saltines.” Tim crouched beside them. “Let’s get you inside. See if we can’t get your stomach settled enough to head home.”

Sandy nodded and let them help her stand. She got three steps before she passed out. Mike caught her before she hit pavement. Tim had the door open before Mike reached it. He’d barely crossed the threshold when Chief Stanton bore down on them.

He pointed toward Sandy. “I don’t want her in this station if she’s sick.”

“Chill out,” Mike snapped. “She’s not sick. She’s pregnant.”

The word cut through the station with the precision of titanium steel. In seconds they were surrounded by firefighters falling all over themselves to help. By the time Mike placed her on his narrow bed in the captains’ room, Sandy was coming around. Her eyes widened at the sight of people crowding around her.

“Come on, guys.” Tim waved them out. “Give her some breathing room.”