The Redemption Game Page 18

  I could feel his smile. He’d won. The Redemption Game, he explained. You bust your ass, deny yourself all the pleasures you could have, in the hopes that maybe that will make you good enough. That will erase all those past sins.

  “We bust our asses because we believe in what we’re doing,” I said. Phantom lay her head back down with a sigh, now that she was clear I wasn’t talking to her. “We have plenty of pleasure in our lives. Neither of us need all the crap you had when you were alive—the swimming pool and the helicopter and the tennis court. We both have what we need.”

  Liar, Brock said. You’re too afraid to take what you want. Every time you get close to it, you run like a beaten dog. You think if you keep working, keep doing all the good in the world, maybe someday you’ll feel like you’ve earned something for yourself.

  “You don’t know what you’re talking about,” I said, to the voice of a man I’d watched die nearly a decade ago. He laughed.

  I ignored him, trying to push past the pain in my head and the ghost who wouldn’t leave me be. Two minutes passed, maybe three, before the pain began to fade. Brock had gone back where he came from, at least for now.

  I took a detour down the long lane to the Davis house, if only to pull myself together and buy myself a little more time before I had to face Bear at the wharf again. I still wasn’t sure what I would say to him.

  As I was driving in, I was nearly run off the road by a car driving like a bat out of hell, its high beams full on. I swerved off to the shoulder and into a ditch, cursing all the while. I turned to get a better look at the vehicle, but could make out nothing beyond a broken taillight on the driver’s side. No idea of color, license plate, make or model. I couldn’t even tell whether it was a car or a truck.

  Grumbling, I got Bear’s truck back on the road. If there was a scratch on the damn thing, Bear really would commit murder.

  I was about to turn around and head back to the main road when an orange glow up ahead caught my attention. Phantom was on her feet in the passenger seat now, straining against the harness.

  “Easy, girl,” I said. I put the truck in drive and continued on to the Davis house, my cell phone already in hand. I ordered the phone to call 911, and then slammed on the brakes at the overgrown drive leading up to the house. My stomach bottomed out.

  I recognized Jack’s car instantly, and was momentarily paralyzed by the sight of his Honda Civic against the growing flames inside Nancy Davis’s house.

  “I’m calling to report a fire,” I shouted into the phone when the dispatcher answered. I made sure Phantom was secure inside the truck and safely away from the flames, ignoring her frenzied yelps when she realized what I was doing.

  I gave the dispatcher the address. “Hurry,” I said unnecessarily—like they would just sit on their hands without that added urgency. “I think someone might be inside.”

  I ended the call, stuffed the phone in my back pocket, and shouted Jack’s name.

  He didn’t answer.

  #

  The whole front of Nancy’s house was engulfed in flames by the time I got there. I ran around to the back, searching for any sign of Jack among the wreck and ruin that had been Nancy’s home.

  “Jack!” I called again.

  I strained my ears, desperate for some sign that he was all right; that he’d made it out of this hell.

  There was no such sign.

  I looked back over my shoulder, waiting for sirens and flashing lights. Nothing there, either.

  He was inside.

  I could feel it, could see him in there in a way that was so real, so tangible, that it was like I was watching the movie. I went closer, ignoring the heat and the smoke. The back door was already in ruin, half off its hinges and not yet touched by the flames.

  I took a breath, whispered a prayer, and put my shirt over my face as I ran inside the burning building.

  Once inside, it took a second to get oriented through the smoke. The house had already been in chaos, and it turns out that if there’s anything worse than the smell of old dog crap and dead things, it’s the smell of old dog crap and dead things on fire. I managed to keep down my dinner—just barely—and shouted through the fabric of my shirt, still using it as a mask over my nose and mouth.

  “Jack! Are you in here? Please, answer me.”

  Still nothing.

  I ventured farther in. The flames roared, the noise deafening. The heat was getting worse, the flames closer. I’d entered through a store room, and now made my way through to the hallway. Farther along, I saw a staircase already engulfed in flames. And at the bottom…

  “Jack!” I screamed it this time, the word tearing at my smoke-filled throat.

  He didn’t move. I ran to him despite the flames, aware of nothing but him, bleeding and crumpled in a heap at the bottom step.

  “Jack? Wake up. Please.” I checked his pulse, and could have wept when I found it strong and steady. I shook him, hard. Nothing. Panic was definitely getting the best of me. Finally, I pulled my hand back and slapped his cheek, so hard that my palm stung. It may have seemed a little histrionic later, but it was the only thing I could think of at the time.

  “Jamie? Ow. Damn it,” he murmured, just barely out of his stupor.

  “You have to get up. The house is on fire. Please.”

  I tugged at him, and an instant later he came to his senses. His eyes widened at the hellscape around us.

  “What are you doing?” he demanded.

  “I told you I’d save you someday,” I said.

  “You didn’t tell me you’d get us both killed doing it,” he said, coughing at the last bit. I pulled his shirt up over his nose and mouth the way I’d done with my own clothes, and tugged on him until he managed to get to his feet. He swayed there a moment, found his center, and surveyed our options.

  I’d just started to panic when I saw a break in the flames, back the way I had come. I grabbed Jack’s hand and held tight, pulling him along behind me.

  It felt the like the devil was licking at my heels with every step. Beams crashed in our wake; sparks flew.

  We kept running.

  We didn’t stop until we were back at Bear’s truck, both of us gasping, and the fire trucks were just rolling up.

  Chapter 20

  SHERIFF FINNEGAN AND A STATE DETECTIVE met Jack and me at the Penobscot Bay ER that night, and proceeded to grill me while doctors tended to Jack, then switched off to interview Jack as soon as they got the okay from the attending physician. I couldn’t tell them much, beyond giving the description of the car with the missing taillight that had run me off the road as I was approaching Nancy’s house.

  Jack’s interview took longer, and I could tell from the set of Sheriff Finnegan’s jaw that he was none too pleased with the P.I.

  “I should take you in just on principle,” he told Jack as they were preparing to leave. The doctor had come to get me, and didn’t look thrilled with the situation himself.

  “I just wanted to get a look around,” Jack said, somewhat painfully. He was bloodied and burned and bandaged, which probably went a long way toward convincing Finnegan to have some mercy. “I didn’t disturb anything, took nothing from the scene.”

  “Yeah, well,” the state detective said, “we’ll never know that for sure, will we? The house is ashes now.” He looked at Finnegan, his own mouth tensed to a thin line. “I still say we press charges.”

  “And I say it’s my call,” Finnegan said. “He didn’t set the fire, and it sounds like he got some information your guys missed. He didn’t have to tell us anything about that, but he did.” I looked at Jack curiously, unclear on just what that information might be. Sheriff Finnegan continued, oblivious. “He shared the photos he took. My guess is, him going in there may end up being break for us. So, you can get in a pissing contest with me over this, or you can let it go and take what he brought us.”

  The detective contented himself with a few more stern words about Jack staying away from crime scenes, t
ook down my number, and left us. Sheriff Finnegan remained just a few minutes more, but he looked dead on his feet.

  “I wouldn’t be feeling so charitable if Jamie hadn’t helped bring Albie home tonight,” he informed Jack wearily. “So, you can thank your girlfriend that I’m not dragging you to county lock-up or letting the Staties have their way with you tonight.”

  Jack nodded. “I appreciate that,” he said. He didn’t bother mentioning that we weren’t together, which I could understand. This really didn’t seem like the time to get into semantics.

  Once the police were gone, the doctor returned his attention to Jack and me.

  “You’re lucky she came along when she did,” he told Jack.

  Dr. Phil Landry had been stitching up my crew and me since we’d moved to the area two years before. He was in his fifties, by far the oldest doctor in the emergency room, with an efficient air about him that had always endeared him to me.

  “Your lungs might be a little raw for a couple of days,” he continued. “And you’ll have a headache for a while—the concussion is my major concern, though you’ll likely experience some discomfort with the shoulder, as well.”

  “Sorry about that,” I said to Jack. I hadn’t realized until we were outside Nancy’s house that I’d been dragging him by a dislocated shoulder.

  He shrugged, then winced and rubbed his arm. “I’m alive. I can deal with a little shoulder pain.”

  “Take it easy tonight,” Landry continued. He looked at me. “Are you staying with him?”

  “I—uh—”

  At the look on my face, Jack rushed in. “Don’t worry about it. I’ll be fine.”

  “You really shouldn’t be alone,” Landry insisted. “I could keep you here overnight, though I’m not sure how much your insurance will cover.” He smiled suddenly. “I’m pretty sure I saw at least three nurses out there who would volunteer to keep you company—”

  “That’s fine,” I interrupted, feeling a little dark myself by this time. “I’m staying. No need to recruit any nurses.”

  A grin flickered on Jack’s lips, though he wisely squelched the expression. “Are you sure?”

  “Positive. I just need to make a call.”

  “Good,” Landry said. “Chances are you’ll be fine, but I don’t like to gamble where concussions are concerned.”

  “I appreciate that,” Jack assured him. “Thank you.”

  #

  Bear’s truck had a crew cab, which was helpful in accommodating Jack, Phantom, and me. Jack got in and put on his seatbelt wordlessly; I was already in, the truck idling in the ER parking lot. Phantom had been asleep in the backseat, though she woke briefly to greet Jack before she settled back in. It had been a long day for all of us.

  “You found Albie?” Jack said, once we were on the road.

  “We did. He’s okay—shaken up, but not hurt. He’ll be all right. What was the sheriff talking about? He said you found something in the house...?”

  He considered that for a few seconds before he said anything. “Yeah. I think I found Mr. Davis. Or...well. I think I found his head.”

  I glanced at him, just barely illuminated in the passenger’s seat beside me. “Seriously?”

  “Seriously.”

  I couldn’t really think of a response to that, and we were silent for the remaining drive back to Jack’s apartment. When we reached his building, he unbuckled his seatbelt and started to get out before I’d even come to a full stop.

  “I’m fine,” he assured me. “You don’t need to stay—get back to things out on the island. I’ll give you a call in the morning.”

  I turned off the truck. “You’ve got a concussion and smoke inhalation and a recently dislocated shoulder, Jack. Landry was pretty clear. I’m not leaving you alone for the night.”

  “You don’t have to—”

  “I know I don’t have to,” I said impatiently. “But I’m your friend. If it were me, would you just leave me in the parking lot and head off into the night right now?”

  He didn’t answer, but his silence was answer enough. Of course he wouldn’t.

  “I’ll have to bring Phantom up,” I told him. “If that’s okay.”

  He didn’t look sold on that. “The cats—”

  “She’ll be fine with them. She loves babies, doesn’t matter if they’re puppies or kittens or humans. And she knows enough to steer clear of Cash.”

  We made a sad-looking trio headed up the stairs, all three of us limping; Jack with bandaged head, the two of us smelling of smoke and whatever we’d waded through in Nancy’s house. I waited by the door with Phantom as Jack unlocked the apartment and went in first. He checked to make sure the cats were secure, then stood aside as Phantom and I went in.

  Cash went to Phantom immediately, hissing, his back up. The kittens had no such compunction, however. They took one look at the giant shepherd, and all five came racing over to greet her. Phantom looked overwhelmed for a moment, then lay down just inside the apartment and allowed the babies to explore. Cash looked on, his back still up, his tail puffed and his notched ear flat against his skull.

  “He’ll get over it,” I reassured Jack. “They’ll be fine.”

  I set aside all my own woes for a moment, and took stock of the man before me. His head was bandaged, his arm was in a sling, he smelled worse than the dead, and beyond that he looked plain beaten.

  “Go get yourself cleaned up, all right?” I said, my voice gentler now. “No shower since you can’t get that bandage wet, but you can at least get washed up. I’ll take care of these guys. Then we’ll get you settled.”

  “There’s tea in the cupboard, if you want.” He started to go to the kitchen, but I headed him off.

  “Jack. I’m a grown woman, I can make my own tea. Now, go on. I’ll be here when you get out.”

  He nodded wearily, and shambled toward the bathroom.

  I waited until I heard the water running before I dialed Monty. I’d let them all know what was happening as soon as we were out of Nancy’s house, but hadn’t checked in since. Monty answered on the first ring.

  “The Davis house is flattened—did you hear?” he said.

  “I was in it,” I said. “I had a pretty good idea it wasn’t going to end well. I’m at Jack’s. The doctor said he needs someone to stay with him. How’s Bear?”

  “Surly and not a whole hell of a lot of fun. So, no change.”

  “If you need me to come back—”

  “You’ve got a good-looking guy with a concussion who’s crazy about you. Stay there and take care of him. I’ll keep an eye on Bear.”

  “I’m not sure when I’ll be back tomorrow, but I’ll try to get there early.”

  “We’ll be here, don’t worry about us. We’ve got it under control.”

  “Any word on Grace and the hurricane?” I asked, before I hung up.

  There was a long silence on the other end of the line, followed by a heavy sigh. “I haven’t reached her yet. Her grandma’s not answering her phone—it goes straight to voicemail now. I may need to head out sooner than I expected.”

  “I told you, family comes first,” I said immediately. “Just let me know. Whatever you need, whenever you need to go… We’ve got you covered.”

  “I know it,” Monty said. There was a smile in the words. “I appreciate that. Now, go on in and take care of the Fed, huh? I’m sure he could use a little TLC at this point. Maybe get some yourself, while you’re at it.”

  “Goodnight, Monty.”

  “’Night, James. See you tomorrow.”

  I took a shower once Jack was done, and slipped into a T-shirt he’d gotten out for me, along with a pair of paisley boxer shorts that I cinched at the waist. I emerged refreshed to find Jack seated on the sofa with his eyes closed, Cash curled up beside him. The kittens were all settled around Phantom, who dozed contentedly on her side. If she minded five alien fuzzballs trying to nurse her, she didn’t show it.

  I went to Jack and stopped, hesitant—suddenl
y shy about the whole situation. He opened one eye, and smiled hazily at me.

  “It’s a good look for you.”

  “I don’t know about that, but it sure is comfortable.”

  I reached for his hand—the one attached to the good shoulder this time—and squeezed his fingers. “Come on. You need rest.”

  “And you don’t?”

  “I’ll sleep when you do.”

  He got to his feet and we stood there for a moment, our bodies close, gazes locked. “The couch isn’t comfortable,” he warned. “For sleeping, I mean.”

  “I can handle it.”

  “You don’t have to,” he said. His voice was dangerously low. “Come to bed with me. I’m concussed—I won’t make a move.”

  “Jack—”

  “It’s not like we haven’t shared a bed before.”

  That was true. In Bethel over the winter, we’d slept together in a little hunting cabin in the middle of the woods. At least, we had until I’d awakened from a dream so intense, so terrifying, that there was no way I could close my eyes again. Nothing had happened in that bed. At least, nothing physical.

  “I’m not trying to pressure you. Or, I don’t want you to feel pressured… You don’t have to—”

  “No,” I said. “I know I don’t.” And I followed him down the hallway, my hand still in his.

  #

  Jack’s bedroom was a soothing, masculine blue gray, the bed a massive thing that looked freshly made. Had he done that while I was in the shower, or did he always make his bed in the morning? The latter, I decided. Jack was former military; he was the kind of man who appreciated order.

  He wore a T-shirt and cotton pajama pants. I watched, transfixed, when he took off the shirt.

  “It gets warm in here at night,” he explained, then looked uncertain. “If it makes you uncomfortable…”

  I shook my head. I couldn’t seem to look away from the smooth planes of his chest, the taut muscles in his stomach. “No,” I said. My own voice was as low as his. “I’m not uncomfortable.”

  We got into bed. It was a king-sized—we could have slept without touching easily enough. Hell, we could have slept three more people, Phantom, Cash, and all the kittens in here.