Alias: Daddy Page 17

  “That’s great.” Eager to hear, she pulled out a chair and dropped into it. “So, tell me.”

  “His real name is Jerry Danko. He lives in Puyallup, behind the mortuary he owns and operates.”

  Kerrie grimaced. “He’s a mortician?”

  “Yep.”

  “You still think he’s Loverboy?”

  “No. He was panicked that we’d tell his wife about his picking up women through the classifieds. Apparently her family financed his business, but they never liked him and would jump on any excuse to convince their daughter to divorce him.”

  She sighed. “Maybe Roman’s right. Maybe Mike Springer is our boy. Anything new on the security guard’s murder?”

  “Nothing we didn’t expect”

  “It was Loverboy, then?”

  “Natch. I tried reaching you all afternoon to tell you this.” Impatience echoed down the line as if it were a vibration.

  “Had some errands to run.” Her gaze flicked to the wall clock. Too soon to hear from Philip Waring. Too soon for the plane to have reached Virginia. “I wanted to get Mom and the girls out of the house while…until everyone was gone.”

  “Don’t blame you.” There was a heavy pause. “Everyone’s okay, then?”

  “Absolutely.” She hated lying to her partner. Hated lying period. Loverboy had reduced her to this. Somehow she kept her angry frustration out of her voice. “We’re going to settle in for a quiet night. Hit the sack early. It’s been a long day.”

  “I hear you. Maybe we’ll have something new in the morning. Get your R & R.”

  “Will do,” she said, hanging up. But Kerrie would neither rest nor relax until they heard from Philip Waring. The house was too empty, too quiet without her mother. Without her children. She realized this was what it would feel like when Glynna married Dr. Jon Vauter and the girls spent weekends or longer with Roman.

  Roman. The steady beat of the shower echoed through the house and threatened to waylay her with erotic thoughts. She lurched out of the chair. She needed to keep busy, to pass time. Food. She was starving. The only thing she’d eaten all day was a slice of toast.

  She went to the refrigerator, and to her surprise, found it in dire need of restocking. She couldn’t recall when she’d seen it this empty. It was usually too full. She leaned against the open door, the cool air brushing her face like a cold swipe of reality. Her mother did the grocery shopping. Just one more chore Kerrie didn’t have to see to, one more task Glynna performed that allowed her to have her career.

  Major changes awaited her in the very near future.

  “Whatcha doing, Irish?”

  Kerrie tensed. She closed the door and smiled halfheartedly at Roman. “Looking for something we can eat, but I fear the pantry’s bare.”

  He wore a chest-hugging, bronze T-shirt, that deepened the golden highlights in his eyes, black jeans that cleaved his male assets in all the right places. His raven hair was damp, slicked off his forehead. His aftershave lightly teased her senses.

  He shrugged. “Is Salty’s still open?”

  “Yes.” The restaurant was just down the hill and, in her opinion, served the best fish and chips in all of King County. And, it offered a reprieve from this forced and dangerous isolation with Roman. “I’ll get my purse.”

  FORTY-FIVE MINUTES later, with their bellies filled, they left the restaurant. Roman steered up the hill toward California Avenue. Kerrie settled against her seat. “I forgot to tell you—Cage found Jeremy Dane.” She recounted her partner’s information.

  Roman said, “Looks innocent enough, but I’m not ruling anyone out until we have the creep.”

  They were silent the rest of the way. A light rain tapped against the roof of the car, reminding Kerrie of the minutes ticking slowly by, of the long wait still ahead. She dreaded returning to the empty house. Dreaded being alone with Roman. Alone with her need for him.

  As they came level with Sophia Sommerville’s house, a furry orange-and-black object darted into the Mazda’s headlights. She screamed, “Professor Plum!”

  Roman hit the brake. The tires bit the pavement with a squeal. Kerrie’s heart was in her throat. She flew out of the car and dropped to her knees, searching for the cat, praying she wouldn’t find him beneath the tires. “Professor Plum! Where are you?”

  Roman knelt beside her. Rain fell into her eyes as she gazed up at him. The car’s interior light touched his concerned face. “Is he there?”

  “I don’t see him. What do you suppose spooked him like that?”

  “I—” A deafening boom cut off his words. Windows shattered and burst from frames.

  Swearing, Roman threw himself on top of her, flattening her to the wet pavement. The wind whooshed from her. Shouts and screams mingled with falling glass. Roman said, “What the hell?”

  Kerrie heard an unusual roaring. Roman eased his weight off her and pulled her up. “Are you all right?”

  She was shaking like a leaf, but as far as she could tell, she was all in one piece. She nodded, pulling air back into her lungs. “What was that?”

  “Explosion.” Roman helped her to her feet. Her knees felt weak. Roman’s eyes rounded as he spied something over her shoulder. Kerrie spun around to see what he was looking at.

  Black smoke and huge flames poured from what remained of her house.

  Chapter Fourteen

  “My house.” Kerrie’s voice rasped the words. The house she’d purchased through blood, sweat and tears, that held her every material possession, the only home her daughters had ever known, was rapidly being eaten by the hungry flames. She ducked past Roman and started for it at a dead run.

  “No!” Roman caught her by the upper arms and jerked her to a stop. He spun her around to face him. Both of them were oblivious to the steadily falling rain. Like a huge campfire, the high, hot flames gave off a brilliant illumination in the dark night. Roman could see Kerrie’s face clearly, and he didn’t like the shock glazing her eyes. He leaned toward her. “There’s nothing in that house worth your life. Nothing that can’t be replaced.”

  “What?” She didn’t seem to understand.

  “The girls and Glynna are safely gone from here.” He spoke firmly, softly, sanely. “Anything left in the house can be replaced.”

  The fact that her children and her mother were not inside the burning inferno somehow penetrated her shock-riddled mind. She drew a noisy, shuddery breath. “They are safe, aren’t they?”

  “Yes, Irish. They are.” He prayed to God he was telling her the truth. He pulled her against him and held her trembling body close. The stench of smoke in the air stung his nostrils.

  “Oh, my God!” A woman, Sophia Sommerville, he realized, identifying the wild-eyed woman in the purple sweat suit, bustled up to him. “Oh, my God! Are either of you hurt?”

  “No,” Roman said. “Has anyone called 911?”

  The bleating of a fire truck in the distance answered his question. He hoped an ambulance was accompanying it Other neighbors were outside now. Several looked in need of medical attention—if for no other reason than shock. Like Irish.

  “Why don’t you take Kerrie to my house,” Sophia suggested. “I’ll move her car to the curb.”

  Roman nodded. He turned Kerrie slightly and began leading her. She resisted. “No. I want to stay here.”

  “You’re in shock, sweetheart.” He leaned down so she could see his eyes. “You’re getting soaked. Let’s go in and dry off. Let the firefighters do their job.”

  She stood stock-still for a few more seconds, then Roman felt her going limp. He quickly scooped her up into his arms. Kerrie came easily, like a child. He carried her through the growing number of stunned gawkers, and headed to the purple house, where the door stood wideopen.

  Inside, he laid Kerrie on the living-room couch and wrapped her in a lavender comforter, tucking it around her tightly, warmly.

  “Do you have any towels?” he asked Sophia as she came in the door.

  “Sure.” She ha
nded him Kerrie’s car keys and hurried down the hallway, returning a moment later with a handful of bath towels. “My goodness, I’ve never had such an awful fright. Rattled every window in the place. Why if I hadn’t been sitting down already it would have knocked me off my feet.”

  Roman took Kerrie a towel and blotted her face and hair. She gazed at him. “What do you suppose caused it?”

  “I don’t know.” He hadn’t considered the cause. He’d just been reacting. Not thinking.

  “Gas leak, maybe?” Sophia suggested, towel-drying her own face and hair.

  Roman shrugged. Kerrie frowned.

  “Well, whatever it wa—” Sophia stood beside an armchair. “Thank the Lord neither of you were inside.”

  “Yes.” Another minute, Roman thought, and they would have been.

  Professor Plum poked his orange-and-black head out from under the sofa and rubbed against Roman’s leg. Roman bent to pet the cat’s damp fur. “Actually this guy is the hero of the day.”

  Instead of being pale like Kerrie’s, Sophia’s face was overly pink “A hero? How’s that?”

  Roman told her about the cat darting out in front of the car.

  “Why ever did he do that? He usually steers clear of the street.” She drew a sudden, sharp breath. Her hand flew to her chest and her eyes rounded with new horror. “Glynna and the girls!”

  “They were not in the house, Ms. Sommerville.”

  Sophia sputtered, “Are you certain, I thought—”

  “I’m positive.” Roman cut her off.

  Relief loosened her taut expression. “Where are they?”

  “Somewhere safe from this.”

  “I see.” She seemed to realize he wouldn’t say more and dropped the subject She looked ill at ease for one second, then brightened. “I think I’d like some hot chocolate. Anyone else?”

  “Please,” Roman told her. “For both of us.”

  He squatted beside Kerrie and took her hand in his. She gave him a wan smile, but the color was returning to her cheeks. The hiss of air brakes announced the arrival of the fire trucks. Kerrie heard it, too. She flinched, then gazed at him with intensity. “Can they save it?”

  He considered lying to her. Knew she’d resent him for it and decided honesty was best. “I’m not an expert on fires, Irish, but it seemed to me that it was burning too hot I’m sorry.”

  Kerrie nodded and swallowed hard. “Was Sophia right about a gas leak?”

  He read the unasked question in her eyes. Or has Loverboy added arson to his list of crimes? Roman recalled the ear-splitting boom. Demolitions? Or an open gas jet? He knew they couldn’t rule out Loverboy until an investigation said otherwise. But speculation wouldn’t ease Kerrie’s mind. And right now, that was all he wanted to do. “Why don’t we wait and see what the experts have to say?”

  Sophia entered the room with the cocoa. They all drank in silence. Gradually Kerrie’s natural color returned.

  “You know,” Sophia said. “I saw a stranger, a man, lurking around the neighborhood the past couple of days. I told that nice Detective Cage about him earlier today.”

  “Oh?” Roman’s attention was immediately piqued.

  Kerrie set her cup on the coffee table. “What did this stranger look like?”

  “Well…” Sophia set her cup down. “He reminded me of that actor Tom Something—the one who won all those Oscars—the one who was in the movie about Seattle. Has curly hair. Not real handsome like this one.” She gazed at Roman and blushed. “More wholesomelike. Kind of guy you could trust on sight.”

  “Mike Springer,” Roman said with assurance.

  “No, that’s not the actor’s name.” Sophia shook her head, her face still scrunched as she tried recalling who the stranger reminded her of.

  Kerrie sat straighter. “I wonder if he’s turned up at his house yet?”

  “We’re not going to worry about that tonight.” Roman put his cup down, set the towels to one side and stood. He offered Kerrie his hand. “Right now, I’m recommending a hot bath and a warm bed for you.”

  “You’re both welcome to stay here,” Sophia offered, lurching from her chair.

  “Thanks. But I don’t think that’s a good idea.” Roman wasn’t about to put this kind woman in jeopardy. Plus, he wanted Irish out of this neighborhood.

  “Well…if you’re sure.” Sophia gathered the towels, but she didn’t pursue the issue.

  They both thanked her and left.

  The night smelled of wet smoke and ash. The rain had stopped and the air was eerily calm. Kerrie caught Roman’s arm. “I want to see my house.”

  They approached slowly. The brilliance of the flames had been snuffed, but there was no mistaking the extent of the damage even in the dark. The house was gutted. Arcs of water still streamed from hoses, hissing and sizzling on hot coals that refused to die.

  They spoke to the first firefighter they saw, a tall middle-aged man with a smoke-streaked face. “Nothing we can do now, Detective Muldoon,” he told her. “Except contain the burn. I’m real sorry, ma’am.”

  Roman thought she took the news well. Too well. Her face was a mask. Whatever she was feeling, she was hiding it. This had to be agonizing for her, but no one would guess it. Roman wished to hell she’d let down and mourn this loss. Scream. Cry. Something. Anything but this blasted calm acceptance.

  She said, “When will you know what caused the fire?”

  The firefighter shook his head. “Not until the ashes cool. Couple days at least.”

  Kerrie sighed loudly.

  Roman wondered if he should call Glynna. Maybe talking to her mother would help. Trouble was, telling Glynna would only result in her immediate return to be with Kerrie. That was out of the question. She and the girls were safe as long as they stayed in hiding. He had only to look at what remained of their house to know that.

  “Come on, Irish. Let’s get out of here.”

  To assure no one followed them, Roman drove in a roundabout way to a downtown hotel. He booked them into adjoining rooms, and immediately ran Kerrie a hot bubble bath, insisting she get into it.

  She was too wiped-out to argue.

  As soon as he was sure she was out of earshot, he placed a call to Philip Waring.

  Philip answered on the third ring. “Roman, good. I was just about to call you. Let me put your mind at ease. All arrived in fine fettle and are now settling into their rooms for the night.”

  For the first time in what seemed like days to him, Roman smiled. He felt as if a stone had been lifted off his heart. His daughters and Glynna had arrived safe and sound. He thanked God. “I’ll breathe easier knowing they’re with you, Philip.”

  “I’ll protect them with my life.”

  “I know that.”

  “Your daughters are a delight.” Philip chuckled as if recalling something sweet. It was a nice sound to Roman’s ears. His friend had found little to laugh about since Wendy’s murder.

  “And their lovely grandmother is a pleasant surprise.”

  “Glynna Muldoon is a pretty special lady.”

  “Not unlike her daughter?”

  Roman wasn’t about to participate in Philip’s fishing expedition. Instead he gave him the number of the hotel and told him Kerrie would call her mother in the morning.

  “Glynna told me about the guard that was killed at her house. Is that why you’ve decided not to stay there?”

  Roman tensed. “One of the reasons. Actually I’d prefer you didn’t mention the hotel to Glynna, unless it’s unavoidable.”

  “Curiouser and curiouser. I’ll not mention it.” The lighthearted tone in Philip’s voice was gone. “Are you getting any closer to finding Loverboy?”

  Not for one minute did he consider telling Philip about Kerrie’s house nor that, at the moment, Loverboy seemed to have the upper hand. Bad news could wait. Right now it was enough that they were all safe. “We’ve got some solid leads.”

  “Glad to hear it. Now get some rest and don’t worry about your
girls. Oh, and Roman, as far as Loverboy is concerned, break a leg.”

  “Your theatrical roots are showing.” Roman teased. Philip had been an off-Broadway actor in his youth, and still embraced some of the superstitions he’d acquired during that time.

  Roman hung up, then tapped on the bathroom door. “Irish, the girls and your mom arrived without a hitch. I told Philip you’d call Glynna in the morning.”

  “You didn’t mention the house, did you?”

  “No.”

  “Good.” Kerrie sank further into the tub. She felt numb now that her anger had subsided. She didn’t know what she’d tell her mother when the time came. For now, however, she didn’t want Glynna worried about anything but her own safety and the safety of the girls.

  Roman’s voice filtered through the door again. “I’m going out for a few minutes. Be right back.”

  Kerrie lathered her skin and scrubbed every inch for the fourth time, then laid back and drenched her hair. None of her efforts erased the stench of smoke from her nostrils. She supposed the smell would linger in her memory for a long time.

  She watched a drip of moisture meander from the showerhead to the faucet taps as though it were the most fascinating thing she’d ever seen. It seemed a minute passed, but when the water felt suddenly tepid, she realized she must have been staring at the wall for at least half an hour.

  Her fingertips and toes were pruny and white, her hair slick with suds. She emptied the tub, then pulled the shower curtain into place and stood beneath the hot beating water until she could no longer feel any soap in her hair.

  She stepped out of the shower, wrapped herself in a towel and twisted another turban-style around her wet hair. What was she going to wear to bed? The thought of sleeping naked held little appeal, the thought of putting on the clothes she’d worn since morning even less. Especially since they were the only clothes she now owned.

  She fought down the wave of outraged grief this thought resurrected. Loverboy may have destroyed her house, but he would not destroy her. She’d buy new clothes tomorrow. Meanwhile she supposed she could wear the robe the hotel provided. She’d wash her undies in the sink. Hopefully they’d dry by morning.