Marilyn Pappano - Killer Smile

“Could be. Or maybe her special grits. They have healing powers. So do her breakfast casseroles. And her sticky buns. With Mom, you never can tell.” Ben sipped his coffee, no cream, no sugar, then fixed his attention on Daniel. It was rather an unsettling experience. “The fire department won last night. It would have been different if you hadn’t run out on us.”

Daniel shrugged. The first responders’ competition was just for bragging rights. No one took it too seriously, but it did keep the three departments in touch with each other.

“So, what’s the story?”

The waitress provided a brief respite by bringing Daniel a glass of pulpy orange juice poured over ice. He didn’t have to ask to know it was freshly squeezed. Archer wouldn’t drink it any other way, and so, beyond a one-time try in middle school, Daniel never had, either.

After a long, sweet drink, he set the glass down and shrugged. “Nothing much. Old girlfriend. Wanted to talk.”

“So, your old girlfriend from Los Angeles just happened to show up in Cedar Creek, Oklahoma, and tracked you down not once, not twice, but three times, and it was nothing much?” Ben gave a sorrowful shake of his head. “You’re a cop, Daniel. People lie to you every single day. Surely you can do better than that.”

He wished he was more comfortable with lying, because he really would rather not talk about Natasha. Or think about her. Or remember. Or wonder...

Nope, he wasn’t going there. He’d spent half the night wondering. How good things had been. How bad they’d become. How they could have turned out differently. How much happier he’d been with her. How she’d shattered his hard-won contentment simply by walking through the police station door.

Whether he was in danger.

Whether she was in danger.

The man in him wanted her to go away, to leave his memories as well as his life this time. The detective in him was curious about the events she’d described, and the cop in him felt an undeniable need to do what he’d always done: protect people. Not her specifically, just people . That was why he wore a badge and carried a gun, why he’d become a cop, why he’d committed so much of himself to the job.

That was what he’d been telling himself the past ten hours.

Ben was waiting, and Daniel knew it wasn’t just the detective in him that was asking. They were friends. Not bare-your-soul-share-all-your-secrets friends—Daniel had only ever had that sort of relationship with his fathers and, he grudgingly admitted, Natasha. But still friends. And if there was any real threat from her stalker...

“Long story short,” he began, scratching that bit of hair on his jaw again, “we were engaged. She changed her mind a week before the wedding. Ended it at a pre-wedding party with all of our friends and families there.” A pause as Ben grimaced. “By proxy. She sent her sister to give me back the ring.”

“Damn.” One word, a lot of sympathy. “I’m guessing that happened about five years ago.”

Daniel nodded.

“Why is she here now? Did she change her mind?”

A snort escaped him. “Oh, she’s good at that. I’m the third of four jilted fiancés.”

This time it was Ben who snorted. “Did you know she’d dumped two other guys before you?”

Daniel grudgingly nodded. “I did, but...it’s complicated.”

“Women always are.”

The waitress appeared, delivering eggs, bacon, biscuits and gravy to Ben and the biggest omelet Daniel had ever seen. She grinned at his wide-eyed look. “Cheese, bacon, sausage, ham, chorizo—oh, and veggies and avocado for our California boy. Miz LB says that’ll give you the energy to get through the day. Eat up.”

“Or die trying,” Ben added.

“That’s a distinct possibility.” Daniel took his first bite. The omelet was hot and steamy and meaty; the seasoning perfectly balanced; the cheese melted and smooth; the tender-crisp vegetables just the way he liked them. “Man, your mom can cook.”

“Good thing, too. This restaurant supports our whole family, except Great-Aunt Weezer.”

Weezer might be the only member of the extended Little Bear family that Daniel hadn’t met. She hadn’t been particularly sociable before she won half a million dollars in the lottery, and she was even less so afterward, afraid people wanted her money.

Daniel didn’t have to worry about that. He would never make the kind of money his fathers did, but he got by. The cost of living in Cedar Creek was nothing compared to LA, and generous people like Ben’s mother gave discounts or free meals to officers. It helped a so-so salary go further.

They were finished eating and Daniel had half of his omelet in a box when the sound of a Federal siren winding up caught his attention. He and Ben both looked toward the fire station across the street, where one engine was pulling out of the station and a second, lights flashing, its own siren engaging, waited to follow.

“As wet as it’s been, you’ve got to be determined to burn something,” Ben remarked as they walked out to his car.

“Determination might be the number one character trait of criminals.”

“Or stupidity. It’s funny how often you hear the phrase ‘criminal mastermind,’ but in all my years on the job, I’ve never met one. I think Mila’s stalker came closest.”

Daniel agreed with him there. Though Sam had passed on information to various police departments, the number of murders that one had committed was still unknown. There had been three in Cedar Creek alone, plus two attempts on Mila and one on Sam.

Mila’s stalker had been deadly. Was Natasha’s?

A black plume of smoke rose to the west above downtown. Ben’s expression went grim as he turned onto First. They would have headed in that direction anyway, but to the police station, not a fire. Daniel hoped it was just a small fire and nothing that required their presence.

The smoke grew thicker, dimming the emergency lights on the engines parked half a block from the courthouse. Ben set the siren to yelp, easing past cars stopped in the street, parking sideways to block the nearest intersection.

“Looks like a car fire,” he said, shutting off the engine. “Damn, and the rain’s starting again.”

Daniel pulled his slicker closer as he got out. A sedan parked across from the courthouse was engulfed in flames, patches of its bright red paint blistering and peeling off, a Dodgers sticker on the rear bumper melting from the intense heat.

He stared at the ruins of the sticker. He knew that sticker—had seen it just last night. Firefighters wielding a powerful line blocked his view of the license tag, but he didn’t need to see it to know it was white with blue numbers and the state’s name in red script across the top.

Natasha’s stalker had set her car on fire.

Now where the hell was she?

When the first raindrop splashed on the tip of Natasha’s nose, she wasn’t surprised. She didn’t even stifle a groan. The dreariness seemed fitting. Her life was figuratively pretty dark. Why shouldn’t it be literally dark, as well?

Grumbling, the people around her started moving away, going on about their day or seeking shelter. Most of the buildings farther down the street had awnings that would keep them dry, but the closest ones were beyond the firefighters’ barrier. Here by the courthouse, there was nothing but sidewalk and grass, and her feet had rooted themselves there. She didn’t like being in the open, but at least no one could approach her stealthily. No one could sneak up and scare her. No one could observe her fear closely.

Not no one. RememberMe. He couldn’t sneak up.

But he’d already scared her.

She wore her slicker, zipped to her chin, and hugged the purse tucked underneath with both arms, her gaze locked on the flames with macabre fascination. Firefighters called to each other and to the police officers who had arrived to assist, and the engines’ sirens droned in a low hum, matched by a toneless numbing hum inside her.