Wild Fire. Debra Cowan

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СКАЧАТЬ “I’m glad you’re here.”

      He squeezed her in response. From the age of twelve, when his mom had left the family, Clay had spent as much time at Shelby and Jason’s house as he had his own. His dad, working two jobs and raising three kids, had needed help. Curtis and Paula Fox had given it.

      She stepped away. “I’m going home to get a few things. Do you mind staying until I get back?”

      “I’m staying anyway.”

      “Good.” The look in Paula’s eyes said she believed he was staying out of a sense of responsibility. The responsibility he’d felt for her and Shelby after Jason’s death, but also because of Jason’s death. Maybe that was the reason. For the last four years, Clay had provided as much support as he could.

      He walked Paula to her car then returned to Shelby’s room. Her face was turned toward the opposite wall, her chest rising and falling evenly. Clay was glad she was finally getting some sleep. But as he moved around the bed and up to her shoulder, he saw she was awake. She smiled wanly at him, her blue eyes drowsy. “You leaving?”

      “No way.” She had sat with him for hours after his dad’s stroke years ago, pulled him out of a bottle and literally saved his life after Jason had died.

      “Even if the doctor makes you?” she asked faintly.

      “She can try.” He lightly squeezed Shelby’s shoulder, her warmth reassuring him that she was all right. He intended to see she stayed that way. “I’m bigger than she is.”

      Her eyes fluttered shut. “Good.”

      There was a nine-year difference in their ages, but she was the one person he could always depend on, and he was the same for her.

      She was every bit as good a friend to him as Jason had been, and Clay would never take their friendship for granted. Or do anything to jeopardize it. He wouldn’t let anyone else, either.

      Chapter 2

      “Except for the headache and the big black hole in my memory, I feel fine,” Shelby told Clay the next evening in her hospital room.

      Tall and lanky, he filled the small space done up in sterile white and soft pastels. Her mother stood at the foot of the bed.

      Shelby had spent the day alternately sleeping and attempting to follow doctor’s orders about not forcing her memory. Her friend’s death was overwhelming enough, but not being able to remember what had happened at M.B.’s house intensified the ache in Shelby’s bruised shoulder and back. Panic needled her and she felt as if she might crumble at any moment.

      Frustration, combined with her efforts to let her mind work in its own time, tweaked the pain in her skull. She had thought she might remember something today, but she hadn’t. Except for the last time she and Clay had been in a hospital together, and she couldn’t handle thinking about her brother right now.

      Clay moved up the right side of her bed, holding a large brown paper bag. His deep green eyes twinkled. “If you’re doing so well, maybe you don’t need this.”

      Shelby peeked inside to find a six-pack of Diet Coke and several bags of microwaveable popcorn. “Oh, you’re a lifesaver!”

      He grinned. “I figured if you didn’t get your daily fix, the doctor would have to restrain you.”

      “Thanks.” She smiled, knowing his presence was responsible for easing the tension in her shoulders. She set the bag beside her. She had been trembling off and on all day, her nerves raw as her mind tortured her with what might have happened to M.B.

      Shelby couldn’t catch any of the elusive shadows hovering on the edge of her mind. All she had were fragments, none of which made sense or seemed connected.

      Clay had left about mid-morning, saying he was going to grab a shower, change clothes and meet with his lieutenant. He had called throughout the day to check on her, not able to get back to the hospital until after six o’clock.

      His sandy brown hair, streaked gold by the sun, was disheveled where he had run his fingers through it. His eyes were bloodshot and he looked tired. He stood over her, his hands in the pockets of his khaki slacks. The short sleeves of his red-and-tan plaid shirt revealed strong forearms dusted with hair the same dark brown as his eyebrows. “What did the doctor say today?”

      “Dr. Boren said my CAT scan showed no blood clots or fractures, which is good, but she now suspects my memory loss might be due to something besides the concussion.”

      “Like what?”

      “Like maybe I saw something horrible at M.B.’s and I just don’t want to remember.”

      He frowned. “How’s your head?”

      “It still hurts, but not as badly as yesterday.” She choked back the frustration screaming through her. “The doctor said I could go home in the morning if nothing changes.”

      “But you have to rest,” her mother reminded her.

      Clay nodded, studying her intently. She knew that look. If she didn’t rest as ordered, he would tie her to the bed. “I got your car home so you don’t need to worry about that,” he said.

      Her mom moved up the other side of the bed, her blue eyes warm as she took out a bag of the popcorn Clay had brought. “Would you like some of this?”

      “Yes.”

      “I’ll find a microwave. And some ice for your Coke.”

      “Thanks.” As Paula left the room, Shelby glanced at Clay. “Sit down. You look beat.”

      He eased down into the hard, vinyl-covered chair next to the bed, scooting over to give himself a little room from the table at her shoulder that held a phone and a brown plastic pitcher.

      “Did Lieutenant Hager agree to assign you to the case?”

      “Yeah.”

      “Was Jack all right with that?”

      He nodded, scrubbing a hand over his face. The fluorescent light running in a track overhead shone harshly on the tiny lines fanning out from his eyes.

      “So what did you find out about M.B. today?”

      “I’ve been talking to Collier. He’s working the case for the Fire Investigator’s Office.”

      Collier McClain was the newest of Presley’s two fire investigators. He had been a former station mate of Shelby’s when she worked out of Station House Two a couple of years ago. Only a fire cop since January, McClain’s first solo case had been a doozy. A prominent female defense attorney had turned out to be a serial sniper who had been killing Presley firefighters.

      “Right now, he’s trying to determine if the fire at M.B.’s was arson or an accident.”

      Shelby knew the two men would work together until one of them proved M.B.’s death was an accident, suicide or murder. It must have been an accident. M.B. was a delightful person. Who could possibly want to kill the school teacher?

      Clay СКАЧАТЬ