Baptism In Fire. Elizabeth Sinclair

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СКАЧАТЬ and the sick minds that started the fires.

      Luke drew in a deep breath to steady his libido. A.J.’s office normally smelled of the occasional cigars he indulged in and various other stale odors, but since she’d walked in, he was aware only of the intoxicating scent of her perfume—a scent she had specially made for her, an odd combination of spices and honeysuckle. Seductive and earthy at once, and all Rachel. Despite his efforts, his groin tightened. His pulse quickened. His throat went dry.

      How had he ever found the strength to walk away from Rachel? You found it because she didn’t need your guilt hanging around her neck like a dead albatross. She had her own problems to contend with, and her strength could only support one set of battered emotions. That she had made a new life for herself proved that. Didn’t it?

      Before he could think about an answer, the door opened and A.J. stepped into the room. His assessing gaze flicked from Luke to Rachel.

      Rachel smiled, understandably happy to see her old friend after so long. Older than them by five years, A.J. had Nordic blue eyes and blond good looks that turned the heads of some women, but Rachel had always said she preferred Luke’s dark hair and eyes. Still, when she offered his boss the smile Luke craved for himself, he felt the faint stirring of the green-eyed monster. What he wouldn’t have given to get that kind of greeting.

      She stood and opened her arms. “Hi, A.J.”

      “Rachel.” He engulfed her in a tight embrace, plastering her slight body against his physically fit, six-foot-plus frame. “It’s so good to see you. How have you been? It’s been way too long.”

      Gasping for air, she pushed at his broad chest. “I was fine until you did surgery on my rib cage with your belt buckle.”

      “Sorry.” He laughed, then released her immediately. “So, what brings you here?”

      Mouth agape, she frowned, then stared first at A.J., then at Luke. “I—”

      Luke read the look of puzzlement on Rachel’s face. Suddenly, the reason for her presence struck him square in the gut. “Son of a—” Luke rolled to his feet. “Can the act, A.J. I may not be the brightest bulb in the chandelier, but I’m not stupid. You asked her to come, didn’t you?”

      A.J. shrugged and looked for all the world like a child who had gotten caught drawing on the living-room wall. “Okay, I called her and asked her to consult on the serial arsonist we’ve been tracking. She said she’d think about it, so I wasn’t sure if she was coming or not. Until she made up her mind, I figured I’d keep my mouth shut for a change. I was afraid if I told you, you’d raise hell.”

      “You got that right.” Luke glared at A.J. While his nerves screwed up into tight knots, something akin to panic began forming a ball inside him. He took a step toward his boss. “What the hell were you thinking?”

      “Now, wait just a minute, Luke. I’m a big girl and I had the option of saying no.” Rachel looked him in the eye, her face grim, her lips set in a tight line. “Luke, I need to do this.”

      Luke looked from her to A.J., well aware of A.J.’s ability to talk the leaves off a tree, if the need arose. “Like I’m supposed to believe he didn’t pressure you into this.” Luke stared at her, his jaw clenched so tight his teeth ached. “You need to get out of here and go back to Atlanta,” he growled, his gaze locked with Rachel’s.

      His attitude puzzled Rachel. He knew she was a damn good profiler. Why this sudden need to send her packing? It certainly couldn’t be because he had any concerns about her personally. The day he’d packed his clothes and walked out of their apartment, he’d given up any right to a say in her life.

      “I’m here, and it’s a done deal.” She snapped her briefcase closed with a decisive click, then turned to A.J. “Can we get started?”

      A.J. sighed, his tense expression melting into one of relief. “How long before you have to get back to Atlanta?”

      Ignoring Luke’s reproachful scrutiny and his presence in the small office as best she could, she said, “I have two weeks of vacation time, so we’d better get to it.” Rachel took a pad from her briefcase and clipped a pencil from A.J.’s desk. “Tell me about the fires.”

      Transforming from concerned friend to hard-nosed cop, A.J. glanced at Luke, then took his place behind the desk. He motioned for Luke to sit in the chair beside Rachel. When he didn’t, she glanced around.

      “I’ll stand, thanks.” Luke leaned against the gray file cabinet, which, when she turned to face A.J., would put him just out of her range of vision. His arms were crossed, his flinty gaze silently castigating A.J.

      Did his hardened expression mean that he was pissed because A.J. had brought in outside help? Or was it because the outside help was Rachel?

      It didn’t matter. Either way, she was here and, like it or not, he’d have to learn to live with it.

      A.J. waved a dismissive hand at Luke. “Suit yourself.” He opened a file folder and began. “In a nutshell, the three victims are women, one separated and two divorced, single moms living alone, ages twenty-eight to thirty, small children. Two blondes, one brunette. The fires were set at night and when each victim was alone. The kids were with relatives or friends. All were rendered unconscious with a rag soaked in chloroform. The first fire was set about six months ago. Cause of death in all three cases was smoke inhalation.”

      He took a glossy photo from the folder and tossed it on the desk. “Marsha Adams, married but legally separated, bound with a lamp cord.” Other photos taken of the women at the fire scenes followed. “Jane Madison, bound with a lamp cord. Colleen Winston, tied up with duct tape. Both divorced.” He wiped a hand over his eyes. “This bastard wanted them to suffer, and they did. One other thing—” He took a deep breath, glanced at Luke, then back to her. “We found all of them in a closet with a Bible beneath them.”

      Rachel stared at the photos. Instantly she saw the similarities to her own fire, which A.J. had alluded to on the phone. The closet. The lamp cord. The chloroform. The Bible.

      The color photos swam before her eyes. Cold sweat broke out on her forehead. She was sure she’d prepared herself for this part. She’d been terribly wrong.

      Rachel closed her eyes to shut out the images, but the same frustrating, disjointed memories that had been torturing her for years, memories that she could never put definition to, flitted in and out in snippets like a badly edited movie. No face to put on an arsonist. No one to tell her what happened to Maggie. Just a blur of indistinguishable events.

      Sleeping peacefully. Something on her face. A sweet smell filling her nostrils. Sleep. Then waking in a closet.

      Her bedroom engulfed in flames. The smoke. Choking.

      Closet too small. Can’t move.

      Hands tied behind her. Bible cutting into her chest.

      Helpless to escape.

      Helpless to save her baby.

      Heat. Intense heat. A voice calling to her.

      “Mommy. Mommy?”

      Maggie?

      Blackness.

      Then fresh СКАЧАТЬ