Flames from Ashes Read online

  “I do. It’s best I leave in the morning. It’s the only way to make sure he doesn’t hurt you.”

  “And how is it supposed to keep you safe?” Clint combed his fingers through her hair, coming to rest at her nape. “I understand you’re afraid of this man, and you have every right to be, but how can you even be sure he’s responsible for the fire? Do you even know the cause?”

  “No, but—”

  “What reason would he have to attack you? Has he bothered you since that night?”

  “No, but—”

  “And if he is on some vendetta against you or the fire department, where would you go that he couldn’t follow or find you?”

  “I was going to go to my parents’ house.”

  “You aren’t willing to put me in danger, but you’ll put them in danger? And don’t say he doesn’t know where they live. Ten to one, you’ve got them listed as your emergency contact number in your personnel file. He works at the same station as you and could have easily accessed those records if he wanted to do so.”

  Sandy jerked away from him. “Damn it, Clint. Stop being logical. I’m scared. Let me do what I want.”

  “How can I not be logical when what you want to do is run away from me? You’re tearing my heart out here. Did it ever occur to you that I’m as scared as you are? That I want you safe too?”

  “Then let me leave.” God, how she wanted to scream those words. Why couldn’t he understand? Why can’t you?

  “I’m not stopping you. I’m just trying to get you to think this through. I’m just…” He pressed his lips together. “Fine. You want and need to leave to feel safe, to know I’m safe. Go stay with Danny.”

  What? She scrunched her eyebrows together. “How is that any safer than with my parents?”

  “Because if Keith Randall is after you, he won’t connect you to Danny. At least not for a while.”

  Sandy had to admit it made perfect sense. “All right. Set it up.”

  “Thank you. I’ll take care of it.” Clint captured her fingers and drew her forward. “What I’d really like is to clean the smell of smoke off me.” A devilish twinkle backlit his eyes. “But I’m so weak right now, I think I need a strong firefighter to help me in the shower.”

  “I heard that.” They jumped apart when Maude Allen swept into the room bearing Sandy’s go-bag. “No hanky-panky.” She wagged her finger at them.

  Clint smirked and parked one arm behind his head. “Now, Maude, would I—”

  “Would, could, and have. Need I remind you that I’m the one who caught you and…” Frowning, she stared into space. “Who was that with you in the back of your car at the drive-in?”

  “It’s your story, Maude. If you can’t tell it right, then maybe you’re mixing me up with someone else.”

  That earned him the evil eye. “Watch this one, sugar,” she told Sandy. “You’ve got your hands full.”

  “Nothing I can’t handle.”

  “I’d say you proved that tonight.” Maude chuckled and checked Sandy’s IV bag. “Empty. Let’s untether you, so you can wash up. But the ports have to stay in place. I’ll get you some fresh gowns and have the orderly put new sheets on the bed.”

  She made quick work of disconnecting Sandy and then Clint. Once they were free, Sandy tugged on Clint’s hand. “Come on, big guy. Let’s get cleaned up. Need me to carry you?”

  Maude’s giggle carried her from the room.

  Chapter Six

  This wasn’t how Clint envisioned showering with Sandy, but it still felt like heaven, having her rub her sudsy hands all over him. He felt like he’d been hit by a big rig and imagined she didn’t feel much better. Hell, she’d hauled his ass out of a burning building. If her muscles weren’t complaining now, they would be by morning.

  “Do you want me to have Danny pick you up?” he asked.

  “I’d prefer to drive myself.” She gently pushed him under the shower spray. “There. All good. You dry off while I wash.”

  He managed a smirk. “I’d rather watch you instead.”

  She snickered. “What was I thinking?”

  He grabbed the tiny bar of soap before she could. “In fact, I’d like to return the favor.”

  Sandy didn’t argue. He lathered his hands and roamed her body, feeling the power in her muscles, memorizing her curves. She’d come to him tonight. That mattered more than he could say. She’d also confessed her plan to leave, but only when he’d confronted her. Maybe she was going to tell him all along. He’d never know, since he’d pressed the point first.

  Damn, it’d felt like a cut to the heart when Dwight Posner told him about it. Part of him didn’t want to believe it. The other part knew it was true. After all, she’d suffered six weeks in silence. Why would this have been any different? But in the end, she’d been honest with him. More so than he’d been with her.

  Clint didn’t believe for one second that Keith Randall was responsible for this. What motive would he have to want to hurt Sandy? Her being pregnant wouldn’t change the circumstances in her favor. She’d reported the rape. The deputies believed Keith’s version of events. End of story. Because Sandy wouldn’t pursue justice, not when she had a little one to protect. Her priority now would be to keep Keith away from the child, no matter what. Clint’s assertion that the baby was his would save Keith’s sorry ass. So, no motive.

  But there was no way Clint believed this fire was accidental. The grill had been turned off. They hadn’t used the stove. Despite the many tools and projects in Sandy’s garage, she was meticulous about keeping it spotless, so there was no chance of spontaneous combustion. It would have been clear to anyone looking that they were in the house. Both their parked vehicles were easily identifiable as theirs—sky-blue Prius and a dark-blue Dodge Ram with FURNITURE FIXERS on the sides and tailgate. Until investigation proved otherwise, he couldn’t help but feel this was arson, no matter how far-fetched it sounded. He’d pissed off a lot of people in the last month. One who’d come right out and threatened his life—and damn well meant it. Telling Sandy that was out of the question. She had enough to worry about.

  A fit of coughing attacked Clint midway through rinsing her off. Sandy pressed one palm to his back and the other to his chest until it passed.

  “I feel like shit.” He lifted his face into the spray.

  “You look like it too.” Sandy twisted the water off. “Let’s dry off and get you back to bed.”

  He didn’t argue. In less time than it took to think about it, she had him back in one of the fresh hospital gowns and pointed toward his bed.

  Maude stood in the doorway, foot tapping. “Don’t think I didn’t hear that.” She waited until he settled, then listened to his chest once he sagged into the pillow. “You’re doing fine. Rest well.”

  She was asking the impossible. Once Maude left, Clint grabbed his phone to text Danny. He wouldn’t go into details now. He didn’t have to. He and Danny had always been there for each other, no questions asked.

  Long story. Need my girlfriend to stay with you for a bit, starting tomorrow morning. Okay?

  Danny’s response came quickly. Of course. Name?

  Sandy.

  See her tomorrow.

  “Danny’s all set. Give me your phone, and I’ll put in his—” Another fit of coughing stopped him short.

  Sandy took his phone. “I’m guessing the shower loosened things up for you.”

  It was going to be a long night, then. “You might regret rooming with me.”

  She returned his phone to the table. “The only thing I regret is that we have to sleep so far apart.” She dropped a kiss to his forehead, finger-combed his damp hair, and finally kissed his lips before she slipped into her bed.

  The distance killed him too, just like it would when she took off for Danny’s in the morning.

  * * * *

  Clint woke to a new nurse checking his vitals for the umpteenth time. Maude was off-shift, and the bed next to him was vacant. He had a vague memory of Sand
y kissing his forehead and telling him she was leaving. That was shortly after the delivery of breakfast trays that made her nauseated and didn’t do much for him either. It’d been a fitful night with little sleep. Rather than eat, he’d gone back to sleep.

  His head felt cloudy. Orienting himself was a struggle.

  “Did Sandy get discharged?” he muttered.

  “She did. Her parents were downstairs, waiting for her. It looks like you won’t be far behind.”

  Of course. They’d rushed up here after they’d heard about the fire. No way she’d go to Danny now. No way they’d let her. Clint pushed himself upright and fumbled for his phone on the night table.

  “The doctor will be here soon, and we’ll get started on the discharge paperwork.”

  Clint barely acknowledged her. Twenty voice mails and a flurry of texts from friends and family awaited him. Apparently the news had gotten out about the fire. He scrolled through the texts first until he found one from Sandy.

  All’s well. Parents here. Headed home.

  She was a strong woman, determined to do what she felt was right, despite the conflict warring inside her. Hadn’t she told him last night she wanted and needed him to be safe? Now he wondered if she’d merely placated him by agreeing to go to Danny’s. He thought she’d acquiesced too quickly.

  He found another text from Danny. Understand Sandy not coming. Look forward to the full story.

  Yeah, he had a lot of explaining to do, since he hadn’t told Danny about Sandy in the first place. Danny’s feelings might be hurt. Honestly, Clint’s might be too if their situations were reversed. In hindsight, keeping the relationship to himself had turned out to be a godsend. No one knew the baby wasn’t his. Had he told Danny from the outset, Clint would have told him every little detail.

  He ignored the rest of the texts and hit Sandy’s number. It went straight to voice mail. His text to call me went unanswered. He tried to tell himself it didn’t mean anything. That was a lie. It meant everything. She’d left. Yes, he knew where she was…sort of. With her family. But he had no idea where that was other than somewhere in San Diego.

  He braved the litany of voice mails, hoping for one from her. Nothing. Old fears reared their ugly heads. Dread filled his gut. He couldn’t think straight. A headache crawled up the back of his neck and burrowed into his skull. All he knew was that he had to find her. If she wasn’t answering her phone, there was only one way to do so.

  Another thirty minutes crept by before the doctor showed up. Clint—pacing and dressed in clothes that reeked of smoke—was ready to leave whether the man cleared him or not. More precious time elapsed until his discharge was complete. Finally, he was on the road and headed for the fire station, rehearsing the impassioned speech he planned to use to get the information he needed.

  Hope plummeted when he arrived to find the truck-bay doors open and all the fire trucks gone. Surely there had to be someone there to deal with the public. He prayed that person had the info he needed. Pulling in a breath and squaring his shoulders, Clint charged the front door, then had the semblance of mind to rein in his distress before he walked in.

  The dirty-blonde at the front desk looked up with a smile as he entered. It disappeared once she got a look at him. The name plate on her desk identified her as April.

  “Morning. How can I help you?” Her Southern accent dripped honey. Clint had a feeling it would turn to acid if he rubbed her the wrong way. Even now she rolled her chair back as far as it could go.

  “I’m Clint Clifford. I’m trying to find Sandy Freeman. She’s my girlfriend. I know she’s with her family, but I don’t have their address or phone number. I was hoping you could help me out.”

  “No can do.” She shook her head.

  “Please, I’m begging you.” He braced his hands on the edge of the desk. April reached for something behind her but kept her scowl locked on him.

  The front door opened, temporarily drawing his attention to the tall brunette who entered.

  “I’m sorry. I don’t know where Sandy Freeman is.” April’s eyes told him to fuck off. “And even if I did, I don’t know y’all from Adam.”

  “I told you who I am.” His head swam. Sweat beaded his forehead. If he didn’t sit down soon, he’d collapse. “I’m Clint Clifford.”

  The other woman stepped forward and touched his arm.

  “I might be able to help you, Clint.”

  He looked her way, silently pleading with her to understand he was no threat. “I need to find Sandy.”

  “You know him, Erica?” April pulled her right hand back into sight.

  “Sandy told me who he is.”

  “I’m her…” He scrubbed his hand over his morning whiskers. “God, I don’t even know what I am to her.” He squared his shoulders. “But I know what she is to me. Please, I’ve got to find her. She’s got to know none of the other stuff matters.”

  He had to make her understand that.

  Erica glanced at April, who shook her head. Any information wasn’t going to come from her. “Is Chief Stanton in?”

  April nodded and called his office. “Chief, Erica’s here.” Then she hung up. “You can go back.” She buzzed open the door to the inner sanctum.

  “Sit down,” Erica told Clint. “I’ll be right back. Here.” She shoved a thermos into his hands. “You look like you could use some coffee.”

  His world was caving in, he could barely put two coherent thoughts together, and she was offering him coffee? Suddenly, nothing sounded better. He sank into the nearest chair and opened the thermos with shaking hands. The rich aroma wafted up, giving him a moment of clarity. He filled the lid and took a sip, then fought the urge to gulp it down. The headache beating at his brain quieted to a dull roar. Calm invaded his veins. April still glared at him from across her desk, albeit with a little less intensity than before.

  He heard the rumble of engines as the fire trucks returned to the station. The door leading to the interior opened, pulling his gaze toward it and Erica. He screwed the cap back on the thermos and stood, handing it to her at the same time she gave him a slip of paper and a sandwich in a plastic baggie. Her consideration touched him and nearly rendered him mute.

  “Thank you,” he managed to say and left before his emotions got the better of him. That’s when he caught his reflection in the glass door.

  He looked like he was coming off a bar binge—whiskered, rumpled, hair mussed from worrying his fingers through it. And his clothes smelled like an ashtray. No wonder the receptionist viewed him as a threat. He couldn’t head out to San Diego looking like this.

  Clint opened the plastic bag and took a bite of the sandwich as he walked to his truck—turkey on whole grain with the delicious addition of cranberry sauce. He’d died and gone to heaven. He devoured it while sitting in his truck, savoring every bite. More reason and calm filtered into his head. Finally, he could think straight, though another cup of coffee wouldn’t hurt. Neither would a phone call or text from Sandy.

  Clint tried to call her again. Like the other times, it went straight to voice mail. If he hurried, he could be back on the road in less than a half hour. He wondered if he should even bother. If she wanted to leave, who was he to stop her? The man who loves her and didn’t have the balls to let her know that.

  He wasn’t sure at this point if it would make a difference either way. She was scared and on the run, determined to do what she felt was best. He’d promised to support her. Letting go hadn’t been part of the plan. But wasn’t that best for her, especially if last night’s fire was directed toward him and not her? She’d be safe and far away until things settled.

  Damn, he felt like an idiot. A little stalkerish too. Yeah, that’s the way to win your lady. Okay, so no storming off to San Diego. Sandy cared enough to let him know she was leaving. He had to trust she’d contact him soon.

  Finally sane and clearheaded, he aimed for home. He’d get cleaned up and head into the shop. Work would take his mind off Sandy temporaril
y. Thoughts of her always filtered in throughout the day, making him smile and crave being with her. Now all he’d have was angst until he could talk to her.

  On impulse he changed direction and headed to Sandy’s house to survey the damage for himself. It broke his heart to see it burned to the studs. Everything inside was destroyed. She’d worked so hard to make it her little dream house.

  Dwight Posner’s car was on the street, but there was no sign of him. Yellow tape cordoned off the area. Clint wasn’t about to let that stop him. There had to be something in the backyard he could salvage. She’d put as much pride in her garden as she had the house. The least he could do was retrieve her plants.

  He parked his truck behind Dwight’s car. His arrival drew Dwight from around the corner of the house. They walked toward each other at the same time and met at the crime tape.

  “Don’t even think about trying to stop me from looking around,” Clint told him.

  Dwight lifted the tape. “I wouldn’t dream of it, since technically I’m not supposed to be here either. The fire chief hasn’t cleared the scene yet, so the inside is definitely off-limits.”

  “I was headed for the backyard.” Clint ducked under the tape.

  “Headed there myself. She leave?”

  They walked toward the back. The chain-link fence had been cut and pushed back to allow firefighters access. The edges closest to the house were charred. “She did, but she did tell me about it.”

  “Hmm.”

  “What does that mean?”

  Dwight pulled in a breath. “I appreciate that she’s scared, and she has every right to be, but Keith Randall was found in the desert this morning suffering with extreme exposure. He was airlifted to Desert Regional Medical Center down in Palm Springs. He’s been in the desert for days.”

  Meaning he didn’t set the fire.

  “Those firefighters have a hotline to one another like you wouldn’t believe. Your woman would have been notified.”

  Her text held new meaning now. All’s well. Family here. Headed home.

  It didn’t explain why she’d left when she knew Keith hadn’t done this, but Clint was glad she had. If this wasn’t Keith Randall’s doing, the fire had to be aimed at him. No matter how far-fetched it sounded. She’d be safe with her family.