Playing with Fire Page 13

  “Tonight when I was packing to come here, I packed everything, the way I do for a flight. It suddenly struck me I’ve lived my whole life that way. Ted was right.”

  He hesitated, then said, “Back up. Ted was right about what? And how could it be your whole life?”

  “Because it has been. My dad worked for a huge multinational corporation, and he was some kind of troubleshooter. Sometimes he could just get on a plane and take care of things, but the truth is, I don’t think we ever stayed in one place more than a year or two. Always on the move. Changing all the time. Never really fitting in. My mom treated it like an exciting adventure, but for a kid...”

  He felt her shrug against his shoulder, and he was already aching for her. “Anyway. Then I got the job with the insurance company and seemed to be settling well enough when the opportunity to be an arson investigator came along. I jumped at it. I knew it meant traveling, but that didn’t bother me. I enjoyed the arson academy and was especially excited when they agreed to give me a year to be a firefighter. Totally different. Then I left and returned to the company and this job.”

  “Okay.” He was trying to piece it together, and hoped he’d get to what she was trying to say.

  “Ted,” she said, “got it right. He accused me of being unable to put down roots.”

  He didn’t know how to reply to that. He couldn’t even argue against it. He didn’t know her well enough yet. All he knew for sure was that her words slammed him deep inside. But this was no time to analyze his feelings.

  “So I was standing there packing tonight, and I realized I’d spent my whole life packing, and I even up and left the fire department when they offered me a career position. I didn’t have to be a volunteer anymore. They wanted me. But no, I had to go back to a job that would keep me on the move. So Ted was right. I don’t put down roots.”

  He really didn’t have an answer to any of that. His own emotions were turning into chaos as he listened. Take care, he warned himself. He had to keep his own feelings out of this, whatever they were. “You could learn?” he suggested tentatively.

  “Maybe. But I realized something else just now. I’ve never so much as hung a picture on a wall. I was admiring your prints earlier. My apartment is bare of them. Most everything I own other than basic furnishings and some clothing is in those suitcases. I’m always ready to leave at a moment’s notice.”

  Wayne’s heart squeezed. This picture of her was so sad, especially since she was the one looking at herself. Facing something. Maybe dealing with something. He tightened his hold on her and wished he knew what kind of comfort she needed. “I guess you found a job that suits you, then.”

  He felt her pull back a little, then soften against him again. “I wonder if I have. What all those boyfriends were telling me, if not in so many words, is that I can’t commit long-term. But whether I can or not, I’ve figured out in the past few days that I’m not happy in this job. I feel useless right now. I don’t like that. The most useful, best time of my life was with the fire department. I didn’t love every minute of it, but I felt as if I was doing something important.”

  She eased out of his hold and paced his living room again. He watched her gnaw her lip, her gaze distant as she thought about all this. “I need to make some changes,” she announced finally.

  “Is that the reason you’re insisting on staying here? Because you don’t need to be here to make changes. And you’re putting yourself in danger.”

  She faced him. “No, it’s not. I want this guy more than I can tell you. I’m frustrated that I can’t do more, but I’ll do whatever I can, even if it means putting my head in that guillotine of yours. Learning how to put down roots can come later. But right now I’m scared for other people in this county. I’m scared for you and your daughter. I give a damn that some lunatic is running around out there trying to destroy everything people have worked for.” She shook her head. “I care about this more than anything I thought I cared about in the past. I care,” she repeated. “I’m not leaving until we catch this guy.”

  “I get where you’re coming from,” he said carefully. “But you have a job...”

  “To hell with the job. I learned something tonight. It’s time for change. I’m not sure where it’s going to take me, but at least now I know what’s wrong. And that matters, too, because I could have been dead before morning. Funny how that seems to bring clarity.”

  That part he got, for sure. “Yeah, it can. Just be sure the clarity is the right picture.”

  She stopped pacing. “You don’t think it’s a problem that I can’t put down roots?”

  “I’m saying that it’s a problem only if it’s making you unhappy. Some people really don’t want roots. They don’t like being stuck in one place.”

  And maybe his wife had been one of them, in a slightly different way. Maybe her need for a bigger city had just been a different expression. She’d become bored with the town she had grown up in. She needed the excitement of new things. But then he decided not to draw that parallel. It didn’t approach what Charity was saying. Lisa had left, found her new life and settled into a new marriage three years ago. It wasn’t as if she’d kicked the dust of Denver off her heels, too, and moved to New York or something.

  No, Lisa had had a different problem, and there was no escaping the fact that part of the problem had most likely been him. He wished she’d just owned up to it because it had left him feeling as if he’d failed in some major way but didn’t know how. And not knowing how, he had no hope of fixing it.

  He sighed and rose, grabbing both their mugs. “More hot chocolate, or something else?”

  “Chocolate is good for what ails you, right?” She smiled faintly for the first time since he’d arrived at her place to see that disabled detector. He hoped that was a good sign.

  “So I’ve been told.”

  “I’d really rather have coffee, if you don’t mind.”

  Wayne went to the kitchen to make it, wondering what was going on inside that woman. He seemed to do a lot of that. Right now she was looking as if her self-revelation had lifted a burden from her shoulders. Maybe it had, but given tonight’s events he wasn’t about to trust their emotions too far. He was just switching the coffeemaker on when she spoke behind him.

  “Sorry for the confessional,” she said.

  He turned around and leaned back against the counter. She’d shed her jacket at last, and her boots, as well. Thick white socks covered her feet, and she still wore a white button-down shirt with her jeans. “No apology necessary.”

  She leaned against the door frame and folded her arms. “It was as if a whole bunch of puzzle pieces just came together. Now I get it. What I’ll do about it remains to be seen.”

  “You don’t necessarily have to do anything about it,” he said fairly. Although secretly he wished she’d hang around for at least a while. He’d understood all along that she’d be leaving, probably sooner rather than later, but with each passing day she became more interesting to him. He wanted a chance to get to know her. He wanted to go to bed with her. All of it. Even if it went nowhere.

  A dangerous state of mind.

  Behind him the coffeepot hissed and burbled a bit, the only sound in a suddenly too-quiet house. This was a taste of silences to come after Linda left for college. He didn’t like it.

  He figured he and Charity weren’t over the rough ground yet. Once again he wondered where her mind was going. He knew where his was. It was avoiding all thoughts of what had almost happened to her by focusing on her appeal. Even in casual clothes she looked sexy. It would be so easy to put everything else on the back burner and just make love to her.

  In some corner of his mind he once again heard the sexy swish of her stockings as she had waved her leg flirtatiously at him. He wanted that woman to come back from the precipice where tonight had taken her, but he knew tha
t was a foolish, selfish wish. She needed to deal, and he had to leave it to her to decide how.

  The coffee was done. He turned and pulled down fresh mugs, filling them.

  Suddenly she was beside him, taking one of the mugs for herself. A dizzying scent of woman reached him, along with the last, lingering sting of fear.

  She had been afraid. That made her want him to wrap her up, but she was already heading back to the living room. He followed, feeling like a ham-handed fool who didn’t know what to say or do. Give him a fire and he was in his element. Give him a car accident, an injury, a heart attack, and he knew how to handle it.

  A woman? Not so much. He had clear evidence of that.

  Again they sat on the couch while he waited for the next round.

  “So Linda’s definitely staying with Charlene tonight?”

  “She called when I was on the way over to your place. I know it’s a school night, but...”

  Charity smiled. “But she’s seventeen. More freedom is better. Soon you won’t be there to make sure she gets enough sleep.”

  He felt the pang again. “Too true.”

  “You’ve done a good job, Wayne. She’s a great young woman. Did I already tell you that?”

  He tensed, wondering if she was about to lose it again. But she sipped her coffee and remained outwardly composed.

  “Thanks. So did you go to sleepovers, too?”

  “Only once. Like I said, I was usually the outsider. I think it’s great that Linda got to go through some of the most important years of her childhood in one place. She probably has lots of really good friends.”

  He nodded. Only one sleepover. Man, even as a boy he’d done that, although for guys it had often involved a tent in the backyard or somebody’s fort. She had sure missed any sense of belonging. He couldn’t imagine it.

  “I was impressed when I went to talk to the sheriff about the Buells. He didn’t have to pull a file or hunt up anything on his computer. He knew everything about them off the top of his head. Is everyone that well informed about their far-flung neighbors?”

  “Maybe not everyone. But most. And Gage is a latecomer. He arrived here a little more than twenty years ago and married the local librarian.”

  “So he rooted.”

  “Firmly,” Wayne agreed.

  “It’s not too late, then.”

  God, this was beginning to concern him. She seemed stuck in a loop. It might be an important loop, but she couldn’t mount up and change it all tonight. Or maybe she had focused on something even more important to her than her brush with murder. Hard to imagine it, but it was possible.

  Finally he said, “Charity, do you have any idea how much time I spend wondering what’s going on in your head?”

  Again a faint smile. “Maybe you shouldn’t bother. I have a short horizon.”

  “What’s that mean?”

  “I don’t look too far down the road. Never have. The longest range plan I’ve made in my life was investing in a 401k. But how can you make plans when everything will change in a day, a month, a year?” Her smile faded. “Today is it. Tomorrow may never come. And I’m sitting here thinking about how rootless I am and how if a murderer had succeeded it wouldn’t matter a damn. I don’t even leave footprints behind me. My apartment could be rented fully furnished and they’d only have to remove some clothes and toiletries. Maybe a few coworkers would come to my funeral.”

  “Stop this,” he said, feeling his chest tighten with concern for her. “Stop now.”

  She tilted her head. “Why?”

  “Because you’re talking yourself into believing you’re pointless. You’re not. You’re just as important as everyone else walking this planet, rootless or not. And by the way, roots don’t have to be in a place. They can be in a job, a friend, a lover when you find the right one. The only thing any of us is really rooted to is ourselves. That always comes with us.”

  Finally she broke down. Huge silent tears welled in her eyes, then ran down her face.

  He couldn’t stand it another minute. He reached for her, leaned back until she lay half on him, and held on tightly.

  However she looked at it, this woman had nearly died tonight. That was a helluva lot to deal with.

  Chapter 7

  Charity had no idea how long she wept. She never made a sound, but she’d learned early in life to keep silent when she cried. Other kids picked on her and she hid her reactions. Her mother expressed impatience, always wanting to know what could possibly be bad enough for tears.

  It wasn’t that her parents hadn’t loved her. She knew they had. But in retrospect she had often thought their lives must have been more stressful than they let on. Maybe her mother hadn’t found all that moving to be an adventure, but had been weeping silent tears of her own. She’d never know now. They’d both been killed in a flood along the Amazon. An adventurous life. She wondered if her mother looked on her death the same way. Somehow she doubted it.

  So an upbeat mother and a busy father had made the best of it, and didn’t seem aware how it was affecting their daughter. Or maybe they couldn’t do anything about it. Regardless, she’d grown up to be a gypsy, always moving on, unable to stay long. She’d experienced her own adventure as a firefighter, then had chosen a relatively safe job, one that gave her a sense of continuity, at least. Wherever she might be at any moment, she still had the same job.

  Like her dad.

  Wow.

  She realized that her tears were easing. Wayne’s shirt was soaked beneath her cheek, but she could hear his steady heartbeat, his regular breaths, and felt his arms snug around her. He wasn’t complaining.

  Nobody had ever done this for her before. His arms around her seemed to create a cocoon of safety, however illusory, and she didn’t want to lose the feeling. The look she’d taken at herself tonight had been as shattering as the attempted murder, as crazy as that sounded. She was a cipher, moving through life, staying always on the safe surface of it.

  Tonight had changed that drastically. Tonight had dragged her into the trenches, had slapped her with reality, and now she was going to need to deal with it. Unless she ran back to the security of never really connecting.

  She doubted she would ever again like herself if she did that.

  That craziness earlier when she’d wanted to hang out at the firehouse with the guys, feel that camaraderie again... She had missed it. Maybe the only time she had ever felt she really belonged had been during her stint as a volunteer. After a few months, a few fires, she had been fully accepted. Nothing else in her life had ever felt that way.

  So she had sought it again today, even knowing it would be transitory. Apparently she needed more out of life than she was getting. Fleeting thoughts of wishing she could stay here, even though she was probably more an outsider than she had ever been in her life. Not just the new kid on the block or in the school, but someone who was just blowing through, not worth the effort of getting to really know. Not worth any effort at all.

  Yet today she had been welcomed, and she had pulled away from it sooner than she’d really needed to. Why? Was she afraid that if she tried to make those roots they’d only wither?

  God, she was a mess. She sat up abruptly, wondering if she’d ever settle inside herself. Aware that turning to Wayne might bring grief. Not trouble. Grief. She’d let him know right up front she wasn’t a stayer, but that hadn’t kept a few guys from trying anyway. She’d laid it out to herself and to Wayne more clearly than she ever had. He was on notice.

  But notice didn’t necessarily mean anything. A handful of guys had hooked up with her anyway, only to move on when they realized she wouldn’t change.

  Could she change? She didn’t know.

  Wayne sat up, too. “Coffee’s cold now,” he remarked. “I’ll go get some more.”

  “I
’m sorry I soaked your shirt.”

  He surprised her with a half smile. “I’m not. Shirts can be changed.”

  This time she remained where she was. She listened to him entering his bedroom. A few minutes later he was back, wearing a blue sweatshirt. He picked up their mugs, carried them to the kitchen, returning with fresh coffee.

  This time she drank hers. So good, so hot. “I really dumped on you,” she said eventually.

  “I get the feeling you don’t dump often. I don’t mind.” He leaned forward, setting his cup down, resting his elbows on his knees. He turned his head so that he was looking at her profile next to him. “So you’re a gypsy at heart?”

  “Guess so.”

  “But it’s not making you happy.”

  “Not anymore,” she agreed. “It really struck me, obviously. I’ve been running on automatic, kind of afraid to let anything really touch me.”

  “I gather you learned that young.”

  “So it seems.” It was a truth, painful or not, that she was facing. “I don’t really blame anyone for it. My parents probably never imagined that I’d turn out like this. Why would they? The world is probably full of kids who would thrive on the kind of traveling I did.”

  “Where are your folks now?”

  “They died in a flood when they were in the Amazon.”

  “Good reason to stay home.”

  She gaped at him, astonished by the truth in his remark. All of a sudden the unintentional humor of his words struck her, and she laughed, feeling as if some kind of knot inside her let go. “I guess so. I don’t know why I never thought of it that way. I always think of them as having lived such exciting lives.”

  “It sounds as if they did. We’re so tame around here. A lunatic arsonist, a serial killer last winter... I could go on. We seem so peaceful, like if you let your eyes close you might go to sleep like Rip Van Winkle. You’d wake up in twenty years but you wouldn’t have missed a thing.”

  She wiggled around on the couch until she had one leg stretched out and was facing him. “Are you saying that isn’t so?”