Jeanne Adams - Dark and Deadly

The damage was only slightly less obvious upstairs. The scent of smoke permeated everything. Water stained the walls, and the enormous gaping hole in the floor and ceiling of her guest room showed the path of the flames. Plywood covered the windows here as well, making the room dark and dank. Everything in it was surely a total loss.

“Where do you want to start?” Paul said, his voice neutral, urging her to keep moving.

“The office,” Torie said, moving that way. She’d turned the third bedroom into an office overlooking the narrow garden in the back of the house. The windows here, unboarded, let in the spare sunlight. The trees and pretty bushes still stood, unmoved by the destruction in the house. At least the back was salvageable. “Oh.”

Stopping dead in her tracks, Torie surveyed the wreckage that had been her neat, pretty office. Soot and water stains were less visible here, with the fire concentrated in the front, but they were nevertheless present.

The large window overlooking the backyard was a haze of cracked panes. A storm front was blowing up outside, and the cloudy day made the formerly cheerful room seem sinister and murky.

“I don’t think anything in there will be useable,” Paul murmured, his voice ripe with sympathy.

“I have to see if my files are here. I have a fireproof box,” she managed, then stopped again, realizing that it alone would be undamaged.

Fetching it from the soot-covered drawer, she cradled it in her arms.

“I’ll hold onto that for you if you want to check on the things in your room.”

Not daring to look at him, knowing the least bit of pity would have her either flying into sobs, or the opposite, roaring into anger, Torie handed him the case. It was like a tackle box, only metal and bright red.

“You’re a smart woman,” he complimented, following behind her as she moved past him into the hallway. “Most people never get around to this sort of protection.”

She suppressed a shudder. “I never thought I’d need it.”

When she had to stop in the doorway to her room, he moved up behind her, his free hand pressing her shoulder in a reassuring squeeze. If nothing else had happened between them, if all were still wretched and horrible, that gesture alone would have gone miles toward mending things.

As it was, his presence, his comfort unlocked something frozen within her, something dark and powerful. Something primitive. She wanted to forget everything that had happened between them. Take back the words about trust and pain she’d spewed to him in the car. Make him…

“Torie?”

She couldn’t speak for a moment. Emotion choked her, both about her house, and about him. Clearing her throat, she managed a brief, “Thank you.”

“For?”

“Being here.”

He said nothing, just squeezed her shoulder again.

That gave her the courage to move forward into the disaster area that had once been her tidy, restful master bedroom.

Damn. Close calls were not part of the plan. Stories of an intruder weren’t part of the plan either.

Slipping into the back entrance of the hotel near his condo, he took the elevator to the business center. Logging on with the usual code, he quickly hacked into the Pratt website and database. There was a lot to be done in a short amount of time. In order to finish, eliminate any traces, he’d have to do the last of it from a remote location. He didn’t want any log-ons from any one place in the downtown area. Tonight he could drive out to the ’burbs. There was a cybercafe across the river in Camden that he’d used to good effect before. That would confuse things, to use a New Jersey address.

He had to be more careful now. No one should have been in the building to see him when he went to check Jameson’s office. That had been a narrow escape.

He hated to have to run.

His cell phone rang. He ignored it the first time, but when it chimed twice more in quick succession, he picked it up.

“Hey, baby,” she purred.

“Why are you calling me?” he hissed. He hated the whine. It made a red haze of anger rise within him. Just the sound of it made him grind his teeth. He’d started dating her after she was fired from the office, just to get information. She’d proved a useful tool, but she wasn’t what he wanted. It would be fun to flaunt her, though.

“Don’t call me. I’ll call you.”

Hurt silence replaced the whine.

“Don’t pout. I’m working, and you know it makes me short-tempered,” he said, attempting to soften his tone. He needed her. Besides, she liked to fuck.

“I do understand,” she said. Thankfully, the whine was gone, replaced by ridiculous hauteur. “Lose the temper and the attitude before you stop by.”

That was more like it. She didn’t realize how she betrayed her need for recognition, for attention, by that very attitude. He knew how to work that.

“Got it.”

“How long?”

“Two, maybe three hours.”

“I’ll be waiting. I’ll wear—” Throaty laughter purred through the phone’s small speakers, and he felt himself harden into instant desire.

That laugh always did it to him. Probably why he’d always wanted Torie, until Todd had gotten ahold of her. He would give anything to hear Torie laugh that way with him, need him.

Shaking off the thought, he focused on the words. Smiled. Felt a heightened arousal at the realization that he was the one in charge.

No one knew it. That just made it more delicious.

“You’ll come by—”

“I said,” he emphasized, “I’ll be there. Let me finish this, so I can come…to you.” He let the double entendre hang between them, tantalizing.

As he did it though, his fingers were flying over the keys, entering codes and inserting the specially designed virus to slowly erode the law firm’s source files. Within days, Paul Jameson’s files would disappear one by one.

They’d be able to reconstruct the list, if they had time.

He didn’t plan on giving them time.

Chapter Ten

With Paul’s help, Torie carried three trash bags of clothes out to his waiting car. Piling them in the trunk, she worried about how much they stank. Would she ever get them clean? A fourth bag contained her laptop, which she hoped would either still work, or that the hard drive would be salvageable.

Sorrels and Marsden, who had checked over and listed everything she’d removed, were locking up the house.

They came over to the car, eyeing the sleek, expensive vehicle, one with disdain, the other with admiration.

“Ms. Hagen, I think we’ll be able to release your house as a crime scene within the next few days. We’ve got a report to write, but other than that, it should be pretty routine. After that, you can start getting folks in here to help you clean up.”

“Thank you, Inspector Sorrels.” She glanced at the house, looked away. It was so forlorn. “Can I get the settee out of the trash pile? Start work on that?”

“Settee?” Marsden looked back at the soggy mess. “You think you’ll be able to salvage that?” Everything about his statement bespoke doubt that she could manage it.

“I need to try, Inspector. That’s been in my family a long time.”

He shook his head, but said, “Good luck. You can get it started, but don’t touch anything on the house until you hear from us. Got it?”

“Got it.”

They said their good-byes, and Torie climbed into the car. Before Paul closed her door, she saw him salute toward a distant, unremarkable Toyota SUV. The lights flashed but the car didn’t move.

Paul didn’t mention it when he got behind the wheel. Instead, he talked about Sorrels and Marsden.

“That was tough on you. Do you have any idea what they wanted? I mean, what they really wanted?”