Sandra Brown - Smoke Screen

“So it was never determined exactly what was used to ignite the matter in the wastebasket?”

Facetiously he replied, “I suppose Jones could have rubbed two sticks together. Besides that, how did he light the fire, and see to it that it spread into the building, without inhaling any smoke? But for the sake of argument, let’s say he did. What did he hope to accomplish?”

“Escape?”

“Okay. That’s reasonable. But he’d been through this process dozens of times. He was only twenty-one, but he was a veteran criminal. He would have known that he would be locked inside that room. Seems really stupid, doesn’t it, to set a fire in a room where he’d be trapped?”

“If he was suffering from a skull fracture and behaving irrationally-”

“Assuming that much is true.”

“He could have been trying to commit suicide.”

“A tough guy like that?” He shook his head. “I don’t think so. And who, even someone with a bone fragment short-circuiting his brain, would condemn himself to such a horrible death?”

“Maybe he only wanted to scare people,” she said. “He didn’t realize that, once the fire was inside the walls, it could spread that quickly. It was a prank, or the desperate act of an irrational man, that went haywire.”

“That still doesn’t explain the absence of smoke in his airways,” he argued. “But the biggest mystery of this whole thing is Jay’s stonewalling. He loved being in the spotlight, Britt. You know that. He was ambitious, and he had high goals. He freely admitted that he wanted to work his way up to chief of police. So why wouldn’t he want to be in the thick of the investigation, especially when the ME determined that one of the casualties was a possible murder?”

He began to pace. “Jay was a homicide detective. He should have been all over that unexpected development. The investigation would have kept him in the news, made his celebrity star shine even brighter. Instead, he distanced himself from it and avoided involvement. Very unlike Jay.”

“Very.”

“I think he stayed at arm’s length of the investigation because he feared the outcome. He was afraid it would be ruinous to either him or one of his buddies.”

“You were his buddy, too, Raley.”

“But I wasn’t in on the crime.” He stopped pacing and looked directly at her. “My gut tells me that our four heroes were covering up something having to do with Cleveland Jones, specifically the way he died. The fire was set so no one would ever know what took place in that room. That’s what Jay was going to confess to you at The Wheelhouse.”

She didn’t rush to either dispute him or agree, but held his stare, her brow furrowed with contemplation. After several long moments, she looked away, releasing a long breath. “You think someone killed him in that room.”

“Yes, I do. Do you believe I’m right?”

Her eyes moved back to him. “More than I believe you’re wrong. Everything points to it. Why would they go to such lengths to cover up anything less? But how do we prove it? How do we prove it and remain alive?”

“I’m not sure we can.”

She was still sitting on the edge of the bed, her face turned up to him. He could tell that the candid statement had taken her aback. He’d outlined the problem; she’d expected him to have ideas on how to solve it.

He had an intense but misplaced urge to reach down and touch her cheek, but he restrained it. After holding her gaze for a long moment, he said, “Britt, listen to me now, and listen good. You saw how I live. I’ve got nothing to lose. No career, no possessions or relationship…no nothing. But you’ve got everything going for you. You’re on the brink of a career breakthrough.”

“What are you saying?”

“Turn yourself in.”

“To Clark and Javier?”

“To the FBI.”

Her reaction wasn’t what he expected. She actually smiled. “I’ll admit, I’ve considered it. But murder is a state offense. The FBI would be reluctant to touch it. They don’t like interfering with local and state agencies unless they’re invited to, and the chances of that happening in this case are slim to none. Within hours, I’d be right back with Clark and Javier, and would look even more desperate than I already do. Not to mention how chapped they’d be that I’d gone over their heads.”

“You could tell them where to find your car.”

“But could I prove I was forced off the road?”

“Did the guys ram your bumper?”

“No.”

“Bump against your fender enough to scrape paint?”

“I don’t think so. Near misses, but-”

“No metal-to-metal contact?”

She shook her head. “Clark and Javier, probably even the FBI, would think I’d staged it to appear innocent.”

“Shit. That only goes to show how good Butch and Sundance are.” He plowed his fingers through his hair and, after a litany of curses, said stubbornly, “You can’t be convicted of murdering Jay. Not without more solid evidence than they’ve got.”

“Maybe not, but the circumstantial evidence is compelling. Besides, what do you think a murder trial would do to my career? Not to mention my checking account. Retaining a good defense attorney would deplete my savings in about a week and a half. After the trial, I’d have an enormous debt. Even if I was acquitted, I would have lost a year of my life defending myself, and who would hire me with that taint on my record?

“Just like you, Raley, the moment I woke up with Jay, the life I had lived to that point was over. They used me, just like they used Suzi Monroe to get to you. I’m lucky they kept me alive, a decision which they obviously regret now. I had a good thing going, and they robbed me of it. So, not only do I want the story, and want to see justice done, but I want my payback from these bastards.”

Secretly he admired the fire he saw in her eyes, but he was still afraid for her. Afraid for them both. “Sleep on it.”

“I don’t need to.”

“Sleep on it.”

To put an end to the discussion, he went around the room switching out lights, then dragged one of the chairs over to the window, sat down in it, and opened the curtains a crack.

He heard papers rustling and knew she was moving aside the open folders so she could lie down. Fifteen minutes of silence elapsed, then she said, “Butch and Sundance?”

“The only pair of crooks that sprang to mind. We could refer to them as Assassin A and Assassin B, I guess.”

“No, I like Butch and Sundance.”

Another five minutes ticked past, then she asked, “Are you going to sit there all night?”

“For a while longer.”

He waited another forty-five minutes before he felt comfortable enough to give up the vigil. If someone had been out there watching, they likely would have made a move once the lights went out, especially since they were unaware that he and Britt knew they were being hunted.

Still dressed, he felt his way to the second bed and stretched out on it. He set the pistol on the nightstand, then thought better of it and placed it on the bed beside him.

Britt was long asleep. The room was silent except for her soft breathing and the hum of the mercury-vapor light outside in the parking lot. Lying on his back, his head barely denting the hard pillow, he stared up through the darkness. He tried not to think about how narrow the space separating them was, tried not to think about last night.

But he thought about it anyway. Remembered every detail with stark clarity. Insisted to himself that it wasn’t those recollections that gave him an uncompromising erection he couldn’t do a damn thing about.

He closed his eyes and tried to sleep, but his mind wouldn’t shut down. It obstinately seesawed between their predicament and last night’s sexual peccadillo, until finally thoughts of the former were obscured by thoughts of the latter. He surrendered and let his mind drift on a current of erotic recollections.