“No.” Vickie slipped out from behind her parents, embarrassed by her reflex to hide from the man pointing toward her. “That’s Greg Sherman, the neighborhood day security guard.” She couldn’t let Tim think Greg was the man who’d attacked her. She paused.
A chill chased down her spine.
He wasn’t, was he?
She’d have recognized him, right?
She had to admit Greg and her assailant were both tall and bulky. But that could describe so many men. Besides, Greg wouldn’t hurt her.
But she’d thought the same of Ken once upon a time. She’d been wrong. Was she wrong now?
Fear tightened a noose around her throat.
She glanced at Greg. He waved. She automatically raised her hand in response before she thought better of encouraging him. Her fingers curled into a fist.
Tim leveled a pointed look at her. “He’s a friend of yours?”
More like an irritant. A harmless one, or so she’d thought until now. Her shoulder muscles tightened. “Our relationship is complicated. I’ve known him forever.”
“If Greg works days, what’s he doing here tonight?” Tim asked. Without waiting for an answer, he turned and, with his dog at his side, strode toward the barricade line.
From over her mother’s head, Vickie watched Tim stop to address Greg and keep him from forcing his way past the cordoned-off zone. She should have guessed he would show up. He always appeared out of the blue when she least expected him. Most likely he was the cause of the unsettled feeling she’d had lately.
She really wished he’d take the hint and go away. She’d turned down every one of his many invitations to dinner, the movies and other outings since she returned from college three years ago. Had he finally realized she wasn’t interested and attacked her for it? Her pulse sped up.
But why now? And why would he want to hurt the shelter?
After a few moments of intense conversation, Tim and his partner walked away, leaving Greg behind the barricade. What had they talked about?
Her?
She blew out a breath of frustration and watched Tim talk to the Billings police chief, no doubt telling him about the attack. Would Chief Fielding take her seriously? She pressed her lips together.
Jamming her hands into her pockets to keep from fidgeting, she struggled to calm herself. Her nerves were strung out from all the attention focused on her. It had taken every ounce of self-possession not to squirm under Tim’s regard while he’d questioned her. And his words of praise had made her heart bump against her breastbone in a funny way.
Just as it did every time he came into the bakery. He always started up a conversation, usually about the weather or about the different pastries. She knew he liked his coffee with almond milk creamer and had a preference for apricot filling. He seemed like a nice guy. Kind and considerate. But then again, what did she know?
She’d thought the same thing of Ken. He’d been an intern with one of the college’s leading researchers, on track to graduate magna cum laude when they’d met in the library. He’d been charming and attentive and she’d been so flattered when he asked her out.
Three dates later, he tried to force himself on her. If not for the grace of God and her roommate’s timely arrival, he’d have finished what he’d started.
Afterward, he’d taunted her, calling her a tease for not giving him what he wanted. What he deserved. He’d turned into someone else and made her question herself. How had she not seen him for who he really was? Had she been blinded by his suave demeanor and gentlemanly ways?
When she’d reported him to campus police, they blew her off, believing his lies that she was trying to ruin his reputation because he’d refused her advances. As if she were the one in the wrong. She’d even shown the dean and the officer the bruises left by Ken’s hands, but the marks hadn’t swayed either man whom she’d thought were there to protect her. Instead, they’d dismissed the bruises, saying the dark spots could have been from anything and didn’t prove Ken had assaulted her. She wasn’t sure what pull Ken had with the school, but whatever it was, it was enough to keep him from trouble.
She’d found out the hard way that she’d made a mistake in trusting those in authority. A mistake she wouldn’t make again.
Even with a handsome FBI agent.
Tim and the police chief were now talking with Lacey Klems, who ran the shelter, and Pastor John, both of whom were clearly upset. Vickie’s heart went out to the dozens of people who had nowhere else to stay on this frosty Christmas Eve.
There had to be a way to find the displaced individuals warm accommodations for the foreseeable future, until the shelter could be repaired.
Another commotion from the opposite direction drew her attention.
“I demand to be let through. Who’s in charge here?” A short, rotund man in a trench coat that touched the toes of his black wing tipped shoes, and a fur hat, gestured widely toward the building. His voice carried as he shouted at the police officer keeping him out of the cordoned-off area.
Vickie pulled a face. “What is Mr. Johnson doing here?”
“I believe he owns this building,” her dad replied.
As well as the one they rented for the bakery. Vickie wasn’t a fan of their landlord.
Pastor John and Lacey Klems hurried to the blockade.
Vickie’s father sighed. “I should go help Pastor and Ms. Klems. Mr. Johnson can be a bear to deal with. He’s been unreasonable since summer. I’m not sure what has him so prickly.”
“We’ll both go.” Vickie’s mom tucked her arm around her husband’s. The two marched over to show support to their pastor and friend.
Feeling vulnerable and conspicuous standing by herself, Vickie hurried to catch up. Pride for her parents filled her chest. They were good, steady people with hearts of gold. And they were still very much in love even after thirty-plus years of marriage. She wanted a relationship such as theirs, but doubted she’d ever find someone to whom she could risk giving her heart.
As she stepped next to her parents, she heard Mr. Johnson say, “I knew this wasn’t a good idea.”
Lacey fiddled with the wool scarf around her neck. “Barry, please, you know as well as I do how much the city needs the shelter.”
“So you keep telling me,” Mr. Johnson huffed. “Serving so many meals in one night. Did the oven explode? Did someone leave the gas stove on?”
“No, sir.” Vickie’s dad stepped up. “We don’t know what exactly happened.”
Mr. Johnson narrowed his gaze on him. “What are you doing here?”
“We provided the biscuits and dessert for the Christmas meal.” Though her father kept his voice polite, she knew that tone. It was the one he used when their supplier tried to short them on the good chocolate.
Mr. Johnson turned to address the Billings patrol officer standing nearby. “Did they cause this?”
Vickie gasped. Anger spread through her chest, overheating her beneath her parka. How dare their landlord accuse them of starting the fire! The man was a miser and a bully. She always dreaded the days he came to the bakery to collect his rent. He’d help himself to a pastry or two, uninvited, as if getting free food was his due.
The patrolman raised his eyebrows. “The fire investigation hasn’t been done yet, sir.”
“Barry, the fire didn’t start in the kitchen,” Pastor John told him. “Please, don’t jump to conclusions. We—”
“You told me you could handle this,” Mr. Johnson said, before he could finish speaking. “We’ll have to seriously reconsider the future of the shelter once the building is repaired.”
“Now, Barr—” The clergyman stopped speaking as Mr. Johnson raised a hand.
“Don’t now Barry me,” Mr. Johnson said. “I was reluctant to allow the shelter into the building to begin with and apparently I was right to be concerned.” He gestured to the smoldering structure.
Knowing the loss of the shelter would be a terrible blow to the pastor, Vickie tapped into the adrenaline coursing through her veins and stepped beyond her fear of drawing attention to herself to say, “There’s no way anyone could have predicted a fire.”
He stared down his wide nose. “Except one happened, now, didn’t it?”
“Barry, there’s no need to snap at Vickie,” Pastor John said.
Tim and Frodo came over. For some reason their presence gave her a measure of comfort as she scooted to the side to make room for them.
“What’s the problem here?” Tim asked.
“Who are you?” Mr. Johnson countered. “Are you in charge?”
“FBI agent Tim Ramsey.” He showed the man his badge. “We’re investigating the fire. What is your purpose here?”
“That’s my building,” Mr. Johnson said. “This is going to raise my insurance rates and has ruined my Christmas celebration with my family.”
Vickie couldn’t believe the landlord’s level of insensitivity. Surely he realized the inconvenience to his evening was not nearly as devastating as it was to those who called the shelter home for the night.
“This fire has ruined everyone’s Christmas,” Tim stated in a firm tone. “Without the shelter, most of these people will be struggling to find somewhere safe to get out of the cold.”
Vickie wanted to applaud Tim for putting Mr. Johnson in his place and validating her thoughts. Admiration for the agent spread through her chest like frosting on cookies. She met his gaze and offered him a smile of appreciation. Something flared in his eyes, sending ribbons of warmth winding through her. The unsettling sensation knocked her back a step.
“I want to know who started this fire,” Mr. Johnson demanded. “I’ll have to file a claim.”
Tim turned his attention back to the landlord. “Sir, you’ll receive a copy of the report once it is finished.”
Mr. Johnson harrumphed. “My nephew, Joseph, is a firefighter. I’m sure he’ll fill me in on what I need to know.”
For a moment Tim’s eyes narrowed. “Until we release the scene, you will stand back behind the barricade and let us do our jobs.”
Vickie fought to hide a smile. She shouldn’t gloat over Tim’s dressing down the arrogant Mr. Johnson, but she was relieved someone had no qualms about standing up to the bully.
Turning away from the man in dismissal, Tim addressed Vickie and her parents. “You’re free to go.”
“Thank you, Agent Ramsey,” her dad said, and shook his hand. “We won’t be leaving quite yet.” He turned to Pastor John. “We can open the bakery and provide sandwiches for everyone.”
Pastor John clapped her dad on the back. “You are a good man, Sasha. Let’s round everyone up and head over there.”
“Vickie,” Tim said, stopping her from following her parents, Pastor John and Lacey Klems. “I’ll come by the bakery tomorrow to arrange for you to sit with a forensic artist.”
“But tomorrow is Christmas Day,” she said. “Surely it can wait until the twenty-sixth.”
“Crime doesn’t observe the holidays,” Tim said softly.
Her stomach churned. “What will happen to all the people who were counting on staying at the shelter?”
Tim’s lips pressed together in a grim line. “I don’t know. Police Chief Fielding will make arrangements. I’m sure he’ll contact the Red Cross.”
Vickie slid her gaze back to Mr. Johnson, who was now on the phone, no doubt with his insurance company. She wondered how many buildings he owned in Billings. And if there was a space for a makeshift shelter. She bit the inside of her lip. The man’s altruism was a shallow well, but she had to try.
“Are you okay?” Tim asked.
She stared into his blue-green eyes. His question sparked a fire of determination in her belly. She needed to be strong, to stand up for those who couldn’t. Bravery wasn’t her strong suit, but tonight she needed to find her courage. “No, I’m not.”
The concern darkening Tim’s expression sent her pulse thundering. It was his job to be concerned, she reminded herself, and focused her attention on Mr. Johnson. As soon as he finished his call, Vickie waved to him. “Mr. Johnson, can I speak to you?”
His brow crinkled with apparent irritation. He walked to the barricade separating them. “What now?”
She could feel Tim’s curious gaze on her. His presence gave her strength. Gathering her courage, she said, “Would you have a space in one of your other buildings that could be made into a temporary shelter?”
He frowned. “What do I look like? A charity?”
“It’s a sound idea,” Tim said. “How many buildings do you own? Are they full?”
Mr. Johnson snorted. “I’d have to check with my leasing agent to see what empty space we have and what the rent would be.”
“Rent?” Vickie couldn’t stomach the man’s greediness. “Really? On Christmas Eve?” She turned away from him in disgust. “Maybe the high school gym could accommodate everyone for tonight? I’ll go ask Chief Fielding.”
Tim put his hand on her arm, keeping her from walking away. “Mr. Johnson, get your leasing agent on the phone now.”
“And ruin his Christmas, too?” The older man shook his head. “I can’t help you.”
Tim stepped closer, towering over the landlord, and lowered his voice. “Sir, the community would appreciate your generosity and goodwill in helping out those less fortunate. I’m sure the media would report such kindness in the face of this tragedy.” He shrugged. “Or they might report your refusal to help.”
Mr. Johnson’s eyes widened. He pushed forward a step. “Are you threatening me?”
Frodo let out a low growl. The man jumped back.
“Not at all,” Tim stated. “Just reminding you this incident tonight will make the news. In fact...” He tipped his head toward where the local news crew were filming the shelter fire and interviewing bystanders. “What kind of man do you want to be viewed as?”
Mr. Johnson’s lip curled as he yanked his cell phone from his pocket. “I’ll see what I can do.” He turned away to talk to his leasing agent.
“Wow,” Vickie said beneath her breath, so only Tim would hear. “You handled him well.”
He cupped her elbow and drew her away from the crowd of people. “Sometimes people need a nudge to do the right thing.”
“Sad but true.”
“You’ll need to prepare yourself as well,” Tim told her. “The news people will want to talk to you, too.”
Anxiety twisted in her gut. “I don’t want to be on camera. What if the man who attacked me decides to come after me again?”
“Don’t worry. I won’t let anything happen to you,” he told her. “I’ve already spoken to Police Chief Fielding and he will have a patrol officer stationed outside your house.”
She’d rather have Tim and his dog for protection. She blinked in surprise at the realization. He was a law officer. The representation of everything she’d come to loathe after the attack at college. She’d turned to the authorities for help but had been brushed off as if she didn’t matter.
Did she really want to rely on this man for her safety?
It was better than the alternative.
At least Tim seemed to take her seriously.
“Agent Ramsey,” Mr. Johnson called out, drawing their attention.
Tim’s warm hand settled on the small of Vickie’s back. Surprise washed over her and she nearly lost her footing on the icy sidewalk. He steadied her and guided her toward the barricade. Her mouth went dry and her heart raced. She hadn’t let anyone get this physically close in a very long time.
“Yes?” Tim said, as they drew to a halt.
Looking as if he had swallowed a lemon, Mr. Johnson said, “One of my buildings a few blocks from here has space. You can relocate the shelter on a purely temporary basis. The leasing agent will meet you there with the keys.”
Delighted by the news, Vickie could have hugged the man, but instead, she smiled. “Thank you, Mr. Johnson.”
His gaze flicked to her and away. “A couple of days at most. I’m a businessman, not a philanthropist.”
Vickie and Tim shared a glance. No news flash there.
“Either way, the gesture is appreciated,” she said.
Mr. Johnson made a noise in his throat and left.
“Merry Christmas,” she called after him.
“I’ll tell Police Chief Fielding and help him organize a crew to transition everyone over,” Tim said.
“I’ll go tell my parents and Pastor John,” Vickie replied.
As she hurried to where they stood talking to the many displaced shelter occupants, the now familiar sensation of being watched shimmied down her spine. She glanced behind her at Tim, but he had his back to her.
Looking around, she met several curious glances from those on the other side of the barricade and from many of the firefighters, who’s faces were obscured by their masks, now wrapping up their hoses and putting away their equipment. She searched each face, half afraid to find herself locking eyes with Ken. But he wasn’t in the crowd. There was no way he’d be in Billings. She hadn’t seen him in three years. It was her imagination. Or her fear that one day she would see him again.
There was nothing concrete to warrant the tingling chill tiptoeing over her flesh.
Yet she couldn’t stop the questions bouncing around her head. Was her attacker among the gawkers? Watching her, waiting for another moment to grab her? Would she ever feel safe again?