Boiling Point (Phoenix, Ltd. Book 2) Page 21

He scrubbed a hand over his bristly face. “I need to shower and shave before anyone else sees me.”

  “You’d better hurry. Casey got up early to make a blueberry streusel coffee cake, and it’s going fast.”

  Twenty minutes later he joined the others at the breakfast table, feeling cleaner and more alert, but inside, his nerves still crackled like crumpled cellophane.

  Marian’s eyes rounded when she saw him. “What happened to your head?”

  He touched the bandage. “It’s nothing—just a little cut.”

  Zoë set a plate with a big hunk of coffee cake in front of him. “His head got in the way of another player’s hockey stick.”

  “That’s awful,” Marian exclaimed. “Did you see a doctor?”

  Nick shrugged. “It’s all stitched up—probably won’t even leave much of a scar.”

  Marian sent her husband a determined look. “If we have a son, he can play something safe like golf…or tennis…or better yet, chess. But he is not playing hockey.”

  Lyman laughed. “Given the power of genetics, do you think any son of mine is likely to take up a sport like hockey?”

  “Hmph.” Marian appeared unconvinced. “You never know, and I don’t want to spend the rest of my life in the emergency room.”

  Nick grinned. “My mom got used to it. You will, too.”

  “Never.”

  After breakfast Casey packed up, said her goodbyes, and left. Nick called Kenny and learned the Indiana state police had reported a possible sighting of Jimmy Mahoney’s motorcycle traveling south on I-65 just outside Lafayette. They had initiated pursuit, and Kenny was awaiting confirmation of apprehension. That was good news. Maybe.

  Nick knew he should take a deep breath and relax. He wanted to believe Mahoney was on his way to Louisville, but instinct told him otherwise. The man wanted something from the Prescotts, and wanted it so badly he’d been willing to risk Marian’s life by running their car off the road. He was clearly desperate, and desperation drove smarter men than Jimmy Mahoney to take terrible risks. For that reason, Nick decided not to share Kenny’s news until he had something more definitive to report.

  His apprehension seemed to have spread to Marian, who moved from room to room all morning, picking up and then discarding one project after another. After lunch, she went upstairs for her usual rest but showed up again in the kitchen at two-thirty.

  Nick and Zoë were in the middle of a conversation about how to handle Mahoney in the event he eluded capture and showed up at the house, but dropped it the minute Marian appeared in the doorway.

  Zoë smiled and reached for the polished chrome knob on the overhead cabinet next to the sink. “Can I get you something? Maybe a cup of tea or some cookies?”

  Marian rubbed her lower back with her left hand. “I’d love a cup of that gingerbread-flavored herbal tea we bought. But that’s not why I’m here. I’ve decided what I’d like to do with the rest of the day.”

  Nick hoped it was something like a rousing game of pinochle in the living room. The last thing they needed to worry about right now was how to protect the Prescotts outside the gates of the estate.

  Marian’s laugh told him his expression had given away his thoughts.

  “Don’t worry. I’m in no condition to go ice skating downtown or caroling through the neighborhood.” She tipped her chin up and squared her shoulders. “I’m tired of worrying about what Jimmy might do. That just makes me sad. I want to start decorating for Christmas. It always makes me happy, and we could use some cheering up.”

  Zoë popped a mug of water for Marian’s tea into the microwave and pushed the buttons. “That sounds like fun. I haven’t decorated for the holidays since I left home.”

  Nick pictured the enormous windows and stone crenellations of the old mansion and swallowed hard. He’d never been fond of working on a ladder, especially outside in the winter. “I don’t suppose you like to hang outdoor lights, do you?”

  Marian’s blue eyes twinkled. “Lucky for you, no. Just a tree and some wreaths and candles—things like that.”

  He smiled. “My knees and I thank you. In that case, I’ll be happy to carry the boxes. Just point me in the right direction.”

  “Everything, including the tree, is in a storage room over the garage, next to your apartment. I told Lyman I want a real tree next year, but under the circumstances, we can use the fake one again this year. I’ll show you where it is.”

  The microwave dinged, and Zoë removed the mug and dunked a teabag into the steaming water. “Does Lyman like to help, or should we leave him happily in his workshop?”

  “Oh, we don’t want to bother him. Lyman enjoys the end result of my fussing and puttering, but the only part of decorating he’s good at is getting all the bulbs to light once the tree is in place. ”

  After Marian finished her tea, they headed outside. Nick was glad he’d taken the time to shovel the overnight accumulation of snow from the back porch, courtyard, and steps after breakfast. As it was, he kept a firm grip on Marian to make sure she remained upright. When they reached the bottom of the outside staircase, he handed Zoë his key. She headed up the steps and opened the door while he helped Marian.

  The door to the storage room opened off the apartment’s living room. Inside, boxes of varying sizes were stacked haphazardly under the sloping roof. Marian pointed to a big rectangular box about six feet long. “There’s the tree. We should probably take it down first.”

  Nick corrected her. “We aren’t going to take anything down. You are going to point out the boxes you need then Zoë and I will carry them into the house.”

  “Yes, sir.” Marian gave him a jaunty salute and started poking around the boxes, checking the descriptions written on the outside in bold black marker and opening a few to confirm the contents.

  Nick tested the weight of the box holding the tree then hefted it under one arm. It wasn’t too heavy, but it was awkward. He had a sudden image of stepping through the outside doorway and a gust of wind striking the box, sending him reeling like a drunken lumberjack. “Marian, if you’ll open the door and help guide me, we’ll take the tree first. It’s the biggest and heaviest.”

  “Absolutely.” She stepped in front of him and reached for the knob. “I’m so excited. The house is beautiful, but it can be a little…I don’t know…somber at times. Wait ’til you see how cheerful it is with reindeer and angels and elves everywhere.”

  When she opened the door, his prediction came true as a blast of frigid air hit the tree box. He tightened his grip, lowered his head, and tucked his chin against his chest. “I’ll go down first. Marian, you follow, but be sure hold tight to the railing. This wind might knock you off your feet.”

  “I doubt that. I’m pretty solid these days.” She patted her tummy. “But I don’t want to slip. It might take a crane to get me back on my feet.”

  He started down the stairs, placing one foot carefully in front of the other. When the box started to swing sideways, he adjusted his grip. “When we get to the house, you can open the door.”

  Zoë stood in the doorway as they picked their way down the staircase. “I’ll organize the rest of these boxes then start carrying them down.”

  Nick turned his head but tried to keep the box straight so it didn’t smack Marian. “Wait until I get back before you lift anything. Some of those boxes are heavy, and you don’t want another twisted ankle.”

  “What?” Marian turned to Zoë. “You twisted your ankle? When?”

  Zoë shot Nick a fierce glare before shifting her gaze to Marian. “It’s nothing. I’m fine.” She raised her leg and twirled her foot. “See. No problem. You go on in the house and get out of this weather.” She disappeared back inside and closed the door.

  When Nick and Marian reached the house, she opened the back door and stepped aside, holding it wide while he maneuvered through the opening and into the kitchen. “Where do you want this?”

  “In the living room, next to the fireplace.”

 
He toted the box through the foyer and set it down where she directed.

  Marian pulled off her gloves and unzipped her parka. “Thanks so much for carrying this. You should have seen me and Lyman trying to do it ourselves last year. It’s a miracle we didn’t both end up in traction. I can’t wait to see how we do with a live one next year.”

  “I’m sure this will look great when you’re finished.”

  Her face brightened. “Oh, it will. The first year we were married, I bought tons of ornaments.”

  He couldn’t help but smile at her enthusiasm. Marian Prescott was one of the most warm-hearted, optimistic women he’d ever met. She looked for joy and found it in the smallest things. She didn’t deserve to have her life turned upside down by a low-life ex-husband. For the first time in months, Nick missed wearing a badge. It would be so satisfying to be able to go after Mahoney personally and put him back behind bars. He hated being forced to wait for someone else to do the job.

  He smiled at Marian. “I’d better go help Zoë with the rest of the boxes. You can wait in the kitchen and open the door for us.”

  She followed him, chatting happily about her holiday decorations and where they would go in the house, until they reached the back door. As soon as Nick pulled it open, he caught a strong whiff of acrid smoke. When he glanced across the courtyard, his heart froze.

  Oh, dear God, no!

  Flames licked at the staircase and door to his apartment. The garage was on fire.

  “Call nine-one-one,” he shouted to Marian then rushed outside.

  Chapter Sixteen

  Zoë was bent over, trying to read the label on one of the boxes when a faint shout from outside caught her attention. She straightened too quickly and hit her head on one of the rafters of the storage room. As she rubbed her injured scalp, another shout followed the first. Then another. Someone was calling her name.

  What the…?

  Had she accidentally locked Nick out?

  “I’m coming,” she yelled.

  As she wound her way through the boxes of holiday decorations, she sniffed. What was that smell? Sharp, oily, and caustic—like gasoline.

  She rushed to the door but released the handle the moment her hand touched the metal. It was hot enough to sear bare flesh in seconds. Shaking her hand, she peered through the glass panes at the top. Yellow and blue flames flared on the steps and slithered up the wooden handrails of the outside staircase like fiery snakes. The exterior of the door itself must be on fire, too. Even if she managed to get it open, she would never be able to make it down the stairs unscathed.

  Smoke was starting to pour in around the leaky old door, filling the air with a toxic haze. She ran to the bathroom and grabbed a hand towel, dunked it under the faucet then wrung it out and covered her mouth and nose. Although her eyes still watered and stung, the damp cloth cut the smoke and cooled the air coming into her lungs. She took a couple of deep breaths and tried to beat back the rising tide of panic.

  How long had Nick and Marian been in the house, maybe ten minutes? How much longer before someone looked out and saw the fire?

  Her breath came in rapid pants, sucking the wet towel in an out against her mouth as she searched for a possible exit. A small, arched dormer window behind the living room sofa appeared to offer the only potential escape route, but it was so tiny Zoë wasn’t sure she could shimmy through the opening.

  She climbed onto the sofa and knelt against the back, trying to get enough leverage to shove the old window open, but she kept losing her footing on the soft cushions. The window had probably been painted shut half a dozen times over the years and refused to budge.

  Her eyes and nose were streaming, and a deep, barking cough racked her body every few seconds. If she didn’t get fresh air into her lungs soon, she would pass out before the flames reached her. Her oxygen-deprived brain grasped for an alternative, and then she noticed the brass lamp on the small table beside the sofa.

  She reached down, yanked off the shade, and grasped it by the base. Wielding it like a broadsword, she smashed the glass of the window. Shards of glass clattered onto the tile roof of the garage.

  Smoke rushed past her head and out through the opening, as if it sought the crisp, fresh outside air as desperately as she did. She sputtered and coughed, but kept bashing the wood trim and remaining pieces of broken glass until she could stick her head through without danger of decapitation.

  She took a huge gulp of air and screamed. “Help!”

  Nick’s voice rose above the roar of the flames. “Zoë, hang on!”

  She forced her eyes open and tried to focus through her tears. He stood directly below her in the courtyard.

  He cupped his hands to his mouth. “The fire department’s on the way!”

  “I can’t get out!”

  Multiple sirens howled in the distance, their wails growing steadily louder until two fire trucks and a pair of ambulances roared up the driveway and screeched to a halt in front of the garage. Yellow-clad firefighters poured from the vehicles and began readying various pieces of equipment.

  A firefighter propped a ladder against the gutter below her window and climbed toward her. Half-way up, he raised his head and yelled, “Can you climb out onto the roof?”

  Zoë curled her shoulders forward and tried to angle her body to fit through the opening, but the wooden frame bit into the flesh of her upper arms. She eased back until only her head remained outside. “No. The window’s too small.”

  As soon as the words left her mouth, another spasm of coughing seized her and wouldn’t let go. Each time she gasped between coughs, smoke filled her lungs. She tried holding her breath, but she couldn’t fight her body’s automatic response. Her head swam, and the tips of her fingers began to tingle from lack of oxygen. Panic gripped her. She couldn’t move forward, and she couldn’t go back. The heat in the room had grown almost unbearable.

  Suddenly a big hand cupped the back of her head and another slapped a mask across her mouth and nose. “Breathe,” the fireman shouted.

  She obeyed automatically. Despite her continued coughing, he held the mask firmly against her face. After a few breaths, her vision cleared enough for her to raise her head and meet his gaze.

  “We’re going to get you out of there. Take two more breaths then close your eyes, cover your face, and step back from the window.” He raised an axe in one hand. “I’m going to break the frame out to give you enough room. Got it?”

  She nodded then followed his instructions. With her eyes closed, she concentrated on the crashing sounds of the axe splintering the old window frame.

  After four or five solid hits, he reached in, grabbed her arm and pulled. “Come on. Now!”

  Two minutes later she was sitting in the back of an ambulance, shivering inside a reflective blanket and sucking oxygen from a mask. Nick sat beside her, clutching her hand as if someone might snatch her away. Shouts, thumps, and bangs outside told her the firefighters were working to extinguish the blaze.

  The paramedic was the same skinny young man with the neck tattoo who had attended Marian after the car accident. After pushing Zoë’s sleeve up, he slipped a blood pressure cuff on her arm and pressed his stethoscope against the inside of her elbow. Seemingly satisfied, he released the pressure and moved the cold metal disc to her back and chest, instructing her to take several deep breaths before draping the stethoscope around his neck.

  “I’d say you’re pretty lucky. Your blood pressure is normal, and I only hear a slight wheeze in your lungs. How do you feel?”

  Zoë lifted the oxygen mask. “My throat’s a little raw, and I may never be warm again, but otherwise I’m okay.” Her voice sounded raspy to her own ears, but her head was clear and her chest didn’t hurt. If only the hard shivers would stop.

  “I still think we should take you to the hospital and let a doctor check you out.”

  “That’s not necessary.” She turned to Nick. “I’ll be fine, and I’m needed here.”

  Lines of worry
creased his brow. “Are you sure? I can probably get Kenny or Hugh to stick around until you’re discharged.”

  She shook her head and squeezed his hand. “They’ve got their own jobs to do, and I’m sure they’re even busier now that this has happened.”

  The paramedic checked the monitor hooked to the plastic clip attached to her finger. “Your O2 sat is ninety-eight percent, and I can’t force you to go to the hospital, so I guess you’re good to go.” He removed the mask and clip. “At least you’re in much better shape than the other guy.”

  Zoë tightened her grip on Nick’s hand. “What other guy? There wasn’t anyone else in the garage, was there?”

  “Not inside, no.”

  Before he could continue, Kenny popped his head into the back of the ambulance. “Nick, they’ve got Watanabe stabilized and ready for transport in the second ambulance. Should I call you when he regains consciousness? You might want to be present when we question him.”

  “Absolutely. Thanks.”

  Kenny flashed Zoë a quick smile. “You look a lot better.” He ducked around the side of the door.

  She stared at Nick. Had she heard correctly? Maybe she needed another hit off the oxygen. “Victor Watanabe is here?”

  Nick nodded. “We found him outside near the stairs. He was unconscious and had second degree burns on his hands, arms, and face.”

  She struggled to make sense of this strange twist of events. “So he set the fire?”

  “That’s what it looks like at this point. We’ll know more when we question him.” He scooted closer and wrapped one arm around her.

  The warmth of his body helped calm her shivers, but it didn’t banish the chill of knowing someone had tried to kill her. “I don’t understand. Why would he do it? Why would he want to kill me?”

  Nick stroked her hair. “We don’t know that he was trying to harm anyone. He might have seen me and Marian go into the house and thought the garage was empty.”

  “I suppose,” she agreed, slightly mollified. “But why set the fire at all?”

  “Who knows? Maybe to create more stress for Lyman.”