The fire under the house reduced to smouldering damp timbers, the E.T.A. of the fire engines just minutes away, Carter did a quick tour of the house then reappeared in the kitchen.
“Where’s the furniture?”
Dani blinked. In the adrenaline rush of dealing with the fires, she’d forgotten that she’d virtually emptied the house—and Carter’s likely reaction. “It had to be sold.”
Carter said something short and succinct. “Who to?”
Dani gave him the name of the used-furniture dealer.
“You should have told me. I would have helped.”
Dani’s jaw tensed. “I don’t need charity.”
For a long moment Carter was utterly still, his face expressionless. “It wouldn’t have been charity.”
Too late, Dani realized she had offended Carter on a level that had nothing to do with controlling either her or their relationship. She had instinctively always fought against Carter’s macho, take-charge attitude, but that was like fighting the testosterone that made him male. With the women in his life, Carter would always react in the same way. He was male, therefore he was in charge and would provide.
A hiss of static broke the silence. Carter spoke into his lip mike, his voice terse. When he was finished he turned on his heel. He paused at the kitchen door. “Stay here where I can see you through the window. O’Halloran’s just spotted something over by the barn. I’ll be back in a minute.” Then he strode out of the kitchen and melted into the night.
Dani let out a breath. He wasn’t about to push the issue now. He’d checked every room of the house, but he still had to check the outbuildings.
Knowing Carter, he wouldn’t bother with any further discussion with the furniture; he would ring the dealer direct and coldly demand the furniture was returned. She wouldn’t want to be in Docherty’s shoes if he had sold any of it.
Placing her flashlight on the kitchen counter, Dani reached into a cupboard and found the medical kit. As she lifted the plastic container off the shelf, the back of her hand brushed against cool metal—a fire extinguisher. Blinking, she stared at an object that was so familiar she had forgotten it was there, placed near the stove for kitchen emergencies.
A breeze sifted through the windows over the sink, making the filmy curtains shiver as she set the medical kit down on the kitchen counter. Despite the familiarity of the room, with the added distortion of the beam from the flashlight, the shifting shadows took on an eerie aspect.
A small shudder moved down Dani’s spine—a touch of déjà vu—as she unfastened the plastic lid and began rummaging through the contents until she found sticking plaster and a tube of antiseptic.
“Get real,” she muttered to herself. Whoever the arsonist was, he was a coward—but a clever one—which was why he hadn’t been caught. He set his fires and ran, but she couldn’t shift a feeling of apprehension. Coward or not, he was dangerous.
Paper rustled, preternaturally loud in the dim quiet of the kitchen, as she unwrapped a plaster and laid it ready to use. The plastic cap of the tube of lotion clicked on the bench, the smell of antiseptic lotion filled her nostrils—and something else.
Dani’s head came up, all the small hairs at her nape lifting as she turned and stared in the direction of the living room. She could smell gasoline.
Something moved at the edge of her vision and a chill raced down her spine. With slow, careful movements, she reached upward. Her fingers brushed against the cool cylindrical shape of the fire extinguisher and closed over the plastic handle. “Carter?”
Movement flickered again. A whooshing sound, followed by a flickering glow sent a sickening jolt of adrenaline through her veins. A split second later a shadowy figure, backlit by flames, stepped into the kitchen.
Jaw set, pulse racing, she lifted the extinguisher off its hook. It wasn’t a full-sized extinguisher, but it was heavy.
Eyes glittered in a blacked-out face as he charged, and time seemed to slow and freeze as she aimed the extinguisher and depressed the lever. A heartbeat shuddered past. Nothing happened.
She’d forgotten there was a safety feature—a tiny piece of plastic that had to be removed before the lever could be depressed.
In a convulsive movement, she threw the cylinder and ducked to one side. The extinguisher hit him full in the chest, slowing his momentum, but, as he reeled off balance, his shoulder caught hers, bouncing Dani back against the kitchen counter. Hard fingers sank into her arm and panic exploded. He was close enough that she could feel the heat from his body, smell the sharp scent of sweat. Acting purely on instinct, Dani grabbed the flashlight, which was placed on the counter and brought it smashing down on his head.
With a guttural snarl, he released his hold and clutched at the side of his face.
Fingers numbed, but still locked in a death grip on the flashlight, Dani lunged for the door. Halfway across the room a hand caught at the fabric of her shirt. Jerking free, she threw the flashlight. The glare of the beam flashed over his blacked-out face, already lit by the glow of the fire—a macabre freeze frame as he ducked and kept coming. In desperation, Dani put the width of the kitchen table between them and grasped at the only other object in reach, a broom propped against the wall, but before she could swing it, a dark form rocketed past her. Carter.
The two men caromed against the far wall, then reeled back, a blur of movement as they smashed into the table, sending it sliding into the wall. The thud of flesh on flesh was followed by a grunt and the hiss of laboured breathing. A chair was overturned, another splintered as both men went down. A split second later, Carter rolled to his feet and the two men engaged again.
Pulse pounding, and keeping clear of the brawling men, Dani inched around the kitchen until her fingers closed on the fire extinguisher. She didn’t know if it would work—it had been stored in the same cupboard for years—but she had to try.
Picking up the flashlight on the way, she raced into the lounge. Smoke and heat filled the room. Several fires had been set and flames had already consumed the drapes on all of the windows and were licking at faded and peeling wallpaper. The old horsehair sofa—the only antique Docherty had refused to take, and the only remaining piece of furniture in the room—smouldered against one wall, refusing to burn. If it had been made of modern materials by now the room would have been an inferno.
Eyes stinging, lungs burning, Dani dropped the flashlight, wrenched the plastic safety guard off the extinguisher and depressed the lever. Her fear that the device wouldn’t work dissolved as powdery white chemical blasted the nearest fire, instantly extinguishing the flames and coating the charred wall in a thick residue. Systematically, she worked her way around the room, putting out the fires, aware that the chemical wouldn’t last more than a few seconds, leaving the sofa until last. When the canister was exhausted, she backed, choking and coughing from the room. Emptied of most of its furniture, smoke-blackened and charred, it bore little resemblance to the elegant reception room it once had been.
Blue and red lights flickered through the hallway. Blankly, Dani registered the wail of a siren. The fire engine had finally arrived. And so had Murdoch.
Dropping the extinguisher, she picked up the flashlight and stepped into the kitchen. At first glance the room was filled with uniformed police and firemen. Someone had lit a lamp, and the soft glow revealed the extent of the damage. Chairs were smashed beyond repair—the table had a crack clear down its centre. Shards of crockery and the contents of the first aid kit littered the floor, and the pantry door was hanging off its hinges, displaying the fact that several shelves had collapsed.
A dark form was lying unmoving on the floor. Carter stepped through the chaos, lifted the man’s head and jerked off the balaclava.
His face was battered, one eye already swelling, but his features were easily recognisable.
George Lynch.
She had known Lynch for years, ever since he’d bought a seaside cottage, but she’d never paid him much attention. Now she registered the scar under one eye, the faint bend to his nose where it had been broken. For a split second time wavered, the sense of déjà vu disorienting, the old fear, visceral and fresh.
She remembered the wreckage of his face twenty-two years ago after she had hit him, the flat glitter of his gaze. Then, he had barely registered her existence, but she remembered him. “George Lynch.”
Carter caught her hand and pulled her close. “Real name, Jordan Carlisle.”
Dani leaned into Carter’s strength. Her father. The one piece of information she had always resisted knowing, that Susan had never wanted to discuss because she had been protecting Dani.
Lynch/Carlisle’s eyes flickered, caught on hers and settled into a cold stare, and suddenly she knew what else he’d done.
“You were driving the truck.”
After years of trying, he had finally succeeded; he had killed Susan.