Boiling Point (Phoenix, Ltd. Book 2) Read online

  “I don’t see how that would make him want to sell GRAMPA.”

  “Neither do I, but I gave up trying to figure out how some people think a long time ago.” He straightened and dropped his arm from her shoulder to her waist. “Time to get you inside out of the cold.”

  He held her tight and helped her ease down from the back of the ambulance to the cobblestone courtyard. Firemen still swarmed the garage, but they appeared to be mopping up the blaze, hitting the remaining hot spots with the hose. The roof had collapsed, reducing the charming old structure to a pile of blackened timbers and scattered red tiles. In the middle of the mess sat the twisted skeleton of Lyman’s beloved Bentley, along with a smaller car, which must have been Marian’s.

  Zoë blinked back a couple of tears. Now that the physical shock of her ordeal had begun to recede, the reality of the situation was starting to sink in. “Lyman will be so upset. I know how much he loved that car.”

  Nick turned her away from the scene of destruction. “He’ll be happier to see you in one piece. Come on. The Prescotts are waiting in the kitchen, and Marian’s a wreck.”

  They found Lyman hovering over his wife, who sat with her left elbow on the table, her head down, and her fingers speared into her hair. When Nick and Zoë entered, Lyman turned and Marian straightened and looked up.

  With her blotchy face and puffy red eyes, Zoë barely recognized the same woman who had been so bubbly and excited a few hours earlier. Mascara smudges gave Marian the appearance of a grief-stricken raccoon. Her lovely blond hair hung around her shoulders in lank disarray, but her countenance brightened the moment she saw Zoë.

  She pushed up from the table and rushed to enfold her in as big a hug as she could manage, given the firm protuberance of her belly. “You’re all right! I’m so relieved!”

  Zoë hugged her back. “I had a couple of scary moments, but I’m fine.” She released Marian and turned to Lyman. “I’m sorry—your car is a total loss.”

  He waved one hand in dismissal. “Don’t give it a second thought. The Bentley served this family well for seventy years. Besides, I need something safer and more modern to drive Marian and the baby.” He tipped his head in Nick’s direction. “We won’t always have a chauffeur.”

  Marian took Zoë’s hand and pulled her toward the table. “Come sit down, and Lyman will get you a glass of water. Won’t you, dear?”

  “Of course.” He headed for the cupboard where the glasses were kept.

  “How about I fix you both a cup of tea?” Nick suggested. “Zoë’s still chilled, and you look like you could use a pick-me-up.”

  Marian settled back into her chair with a sigh. “That sounds wonderful. Are you sure?”

  “Trust me. I can nuke water with the best of them.”

  Five minutes later he set a pair of steaming mugs in front of Zoë and Marian then joined them and Lyman at the table.

  Lyman leaned back in his chair and tapped his finger against his upper lip. “Officer Zolnicki said they found Mr. Watanabe near the garage and believe he started the fire.”

  “That’s the working theory. We’ll know more as soon as he’s recovered sufficiently to answer questions.”

  Marian looked up from her cup. “I never liked that man, but I can’t imagine why he would do such a thing.” She sighed. “At least it wasn’t Jimmy.”

  Lyman squeezed his wife’s hand but kept his attention on Nick. “I won’t be able to relax until I know he’s been apprehended. I don’t suppose you know if the police have any new information as to his whereabouts.”

  “Not since a possible sighting in Indiana this morning.”

  Lyman sighed. “At least that’s away from here. I wish I could believe he’ll keep heading south.”

  Zoë’s hand shook as another chill struck her. She set her empty cup on the table. Despite the blanket and hot tea, she couldn’t seem to get warm. She pushed back from the table. “I think I’ll go take a shower. I need to get the smell of smoke off me and out of my hair.” Her voice wavered, and when she tried to smile, the skin around her mouth felt like it might crack.

  Nick rose quickly. “I’ll help you up the stairs.”

  “That’s not necessary. I’ll be fine.” She didn’t want help. She wanted to curl up and close her eyes until the memory of being trapped in choking smoke faded.

  “I’ll help you up the stairs,” he repeated, slowing the words for emphasis.

  Her legs wobbled like strands of cooked spaghetti—if she didn’t get to her room soon, she might not make it. She didn’t want to waste what little energy she had arguing with him. “Fine.”

  He wrapped an arm around her waist, and she allowed herself to lean against his solid heat. Together they trudged up the stairs to the staff quarters in the attic.

  When they reached her room, he sat her on the bed and squatted to pull off her shoes. After tossing them aside, he cradled her feet in his hands then glanced up. “Your feet are like ice.”

  She tried to smile. “No worse than the rest of me.”

  He released her feet and straightened. “We’ve got to get you warmed up. I’ll start the shower while you undress.”

  She wanted to protest. He shouldn’t be taking care of her this way. They weren’t lovers, at least not yet. She wanted to maintain some measure of modesty, of mystery. She didn’t want him to see her like this—weak, pitiful, and broken.

  Somewhere she found the strength to pull her sweater over her head and dropped it on the floor, followed by the rest of her clothes, then slipped into the old blue terry robe she’d tossed into her suitcase as an afterthought. Instead of offering comfort, the rough fabric was cold against her skin. She wrapped her arms around herself and shivered.

  Nick stuck his head into the room. “The water’s hot. Are you ready?”

  She nodded, and he stepped back into the hall to allow her access to the steamy bathroom.

  He stroked the side of her cheek then tucked a lock of hair behind her ear. “I’ll wait out here in case you need anything. Call me if you start to feel weak or have a problem. Okay?”

  She nodded again. “Thank you.”

  After he shut the door, she dropped her robe, stepped over the side of the old cast iron tub, and turned her face to the spray from the wall-mounted shower head. Hot water streamed down her body like liquid sunshine, washing away the charred remains of her fear along with the stench of the smoke. By the time the water cooled, she was refreshed but wobbly with fatigue.

  She stepped out of the shower and smiled at the clean, long-sleeved pink T-shirt and loose gray exercise pants folded on the seat of the toilet. Nick. He might claim to be baffled by the fairer sex, but the man understood a woman’s needs better than he realized. She had pulled on the top and started to rub her hair with a towel when a knock sounded.

  “Are you doing okay in there?”

  She opened the bathroom door. “I’m nearly finished. Thanks for the clothes.”

  “I wanted you to be warm.” His serious expression eased, and a hint of dimple appeared in his cheek as his gaze drifted over the soft curves of her unrestrained breasts. “You look…uh…more comfortable. And pink is my favorite color on you.”

  Certain the color of her cheeks now matched her top, she turned her attention back to drying her hair.

  Nick seemed reluctant to leave. He leaned against the doorframe and watched her in the mirror. “Do you want to come downstairs for dinner? Lyman and Marian are making soup with a little help from GRAMPA.”

  “As much as I’d like to see that, I think I’ll pass. I’m so tired, I’m quivering.” She held out her hand to demonstrate.

  “Post adrenaline-rush shakes.” Nick took her hand and pressed a kiss on the back. “Let’s get you to bed.”

  He drew the blanket and sheet back and held them while she climbed in, then nudged her over and sat on the edge of the bed. Pulling the covers up under her chin, he leaned close, until his warm breath brushed her cheeks. “You scared the hell out of me,
you know.”

  As the low, intimate tone of his voice caressed her, Zoë’s world shrank until it held only the two of them.

  “You can’t imagine what I felt when I looked out and saw the stairs and door in flames.”

  His words drifted above her consciousness, but the movements of his mouth mesmerized her. As it drew closer, she closed her eyes and waited.

  Nick’s lips touched hers, light as a feather at first. Then the pressure increased until she reached up and clasped his shoulders, trying to pull him closer.

  When his phone jangled in his pocket, they jerked apart. He sat back and pulled it out. “Hello.”

  He listened for a minute. “I’ll be there as soon as I can. Thanks for the heads-up.”

  As he tucked the phone back in his pocket, Zoë sent him a questioning look.

  “That was Kenny. Watanabe has regained consciousness, and the doctors say he’s well enough to be questioned.”

  She rested one hand on his shoulder. “Go. I’m ready for this to be over.”

  “Me, too.” He pressed a quick kiss on her lips and rose. “You get some rest. I’ll fill you in when I get back.”

  He closed the door with a soft click, and she sank back against the thin mattress and allowed her muscles to relax. With her eyes closed, her mind seemed to float in space, barely tethered to her body. Her limbs felt leaden and weightless at the same time. Seconds later, her last remnant of thought faded into oblivion.

  ****

  Nick kept one eye on the speedometer, easing his foot off the accelerator when necessary, all the way to the hospital. The last thing he needed was a ticket or another accident, but if he could have teleported, he would have. He reminded himself this wasn’t his interrogation—he could only observe while the Lake Forest officers questioned Victor Watanabe—but it was hard to suppress his impatience. Like Zoë, he was ready to wrap this case up, give the Prescotts their lives back, and move on with his own. He wasn’t sure which direction he might go from here, but he was beginning to get a few ideas.

  At the hospital the receptionist directed him to the burn unit, where he had to suit up in a sterile gown, mask, and booties before being allowed into Watanabe’s room. Inside he found Kenny and Sergeant Lewis, similarly attired and standing next to the bed. Watanabe’s hands and arms were swathed in gauze, and his face coated in antibiotic salve. A pair of IV bags hung from a pole, and a slew of machines monitored his vitals.

  Kenny acknowledged Nick’s arrival with a nod. “Pull up a chair. We were just about to get started.”

  Nick snagged a metal chair with a molded plastic back and seat and settled into a position where he had a clear view of their suspect’s face as Sergeant Lewis flipped open his notebook and began the questioning.

  “Mr. Watanabe, I understand you have visited the home of Lyman Prescott several times on behalf of your employer in an attempt to purchase the rights to one of his inventions. Is that correct?”

  “Yes, that is correct.”

  “And Mr. Prescott rejected those offers and told you not to return.”

  Watanabe gave a brisk nod. “Yes.”

  “So what were you doing there this evening behind the garage?”

  The man dropped his gaze to his burned hands and seemed to weigh his response.

  “Mr. Watanabe.” Lewis’s voice had a sharper edge now. “Did you set that fire?”

  Watanabe sighed and regarded all three men. “It is a complicated story. If you will allow me to explain…”

  “Go ahead.”

  “As you said, I was employed by Ichiro Electronics to negotiate for the rights to Mr. Prescott’s meal preparation robot. As I usually do prior to contacting a potential business partner, I researched Mr. Prescott and his wife, looking for information that would allow me to tailor my sales approach for the greatest probability of success. Since Mr. Prescott is something of a recluse, I found no useful contacts there. Mrs. Prescott, however, has a number of family and friends.”

  Nick’s gut tightened. He had an inkling where this was going, and he didn’t like it.

  Sergeant Lewis glanced up from his notes. “Go ahead.”

  Watanabe nodded and continued. “When Mr. Prescott rebuffed my first two offers, I contacted Mrs. Prescott’s former husband and asked him to use any influence he might have to persuade her to speak to Mr. Prescott on our behalf.”

  “Wait a minute,” Nick interrupted. “You asked Mahoney to help you?”

  “Perhaps it would be more accurate to say I employed Mr. Mahoney to assist me.”

  Sergeant Lewis shot Nick a warning glance then turned back to Watanabe. “Were you aware of his background?”

  “Of course. As an ex-convict, the man was desperate for money. I hoped it would help motivate him.”

  “And what exactly did Mahoney do for you?”

  “As soon as I learned Mr. Prescott had hired a personal protection agent to work in his household in the guise of a chef, I asked Mr. Mahoney and an associate to check the woman out and perhaps discourage her from accepting the position.”

  Nick clenched and unclenched his fists. Damn. Mahoney and Gehke were definitely the bikers Zoë had encountered on her way to Strathmoor.

  “And how did you make this discovery?”

  Watanabe bowed his head. “I am ashamed to admit I asked Mr. Mahoney to install a listening device in Mr. Prescott’s office.”

  Lewis turned to Kenny. “That must have been the break-in I investigated where nothing was stolen.”

  “Yes.” Watanabe nodded again.

  “Okay. Go on.”

  “Later, Mr. Mahoney met with Mrs. Prescott but reported that she refused to cooperate. At that point, I am afraid he decided to take matters into his own hands.”

  “He ran us off the road, didn’t he?” Nick’s blood pounded in his ears at the memory.

  A deep sadness overlaid Watanabe’s somber expression. “I most sincerely regret his actions. I am very grateful no one in your vehicle was seriously injured. I hoped Mrs. Prescott would accept my humble gift as my way of expressing my deepest apologies.”

  “You sent the stroller?” Nick asked.

  “I did. The sales associate at the store assured me it was the one she had admired.”

  Nick sensed a brief twinge of relief. Another mystery solved.

  Sergeant Lewis steered the conversation back to the main point. “You still haven’t told us what you were doing at the Prescott’s house tonight.”

  “I came to stop Mr. Mahoney.”

  Nick cursed under his breath. His instinct had been right. Mahoney hadn’t left the area. He’d headed straight back to Strathmoor.

  Watanabe shot him a quick glance then continued. “When I terminated his employment on behalf of my company after the car accident, he was furious. But then he called earlier today, raving about something he planned to do tonight that would make me sorry and get him what he wanted. I couldn’t make sense of it, but I convinced him to meet me this afternoon. He gave me directions to a small house at the back of the Prescott’s property. I was to leave my car on the street and come on foot.”

  Lewis glanced up from his notebook. “And you did as he asked?”

  “I did. We met, and I tried to reason with him. But that seemed to enrage him further. He shoved me down in the snow and ran toward the house, carrying a gasoline can. I followed, but by the time I reached the garage, he had set the building on fire.” He raised his bandaged hands. “I tried to put out the flames with my coat, but as you know, I failed. I am so very sorry.”

  “Were you aware someone was in the garage?”

  Watanabe’s eyes widened. “No, I was not.”

  “Where did Mahoney go after he set the fire?”

  “I did not see. I was too busy.” He dropped his chin. “Again, I am sorry.”

  Nick couldn’t wait for Lewis to wrap up his questioning. He had to get back. Mahoney could be anywhere. No one was looking for him. He could be hiding in the woods, waiting for the fir
emen to leave to make his move—whatever that was.

  Nick jumped up, knocking his chair over backwards in the process. “I’ve got to go. I left Zoë asleep, and the Prescotts think Mahoney’s half-way to Mexico by now.” Without waiting for a response, he raced out of the room and down the hall, leaving a trail of discarded blue protective garments on the floor behind him.

  Chapter Seventeen

  Zoë’s eyelids fluttered when a board creaked somewhere in the hall outside her bedroom door, but her body and brain felt mired in molasses. She blinked several times as she fought to drag herself into consciousness. How long had she slept? The room was so dark she could barely distinguish the outline of the small dresser on the opposite wall.

  The creak sounded again, then the slow click of her doorknob turning. She froze.

  “Zoë,” a low voice whispered. “It’s me.”

  She recognized Nick’s husky baritone. The knob turned further, and the door pushed open a few inches.

  “Are you awake?”

  “Barely. Come in.” She scooted into an upright position and reached to turn on the lamp on the small bedside table. “What time is it?”

  He stepped into the room, closing the door behind him. “A little before midnight.”

  She shivered and pulled the blanket up to her chin. “You’ve been gone for hours. Have the police been interviewing Victor Watanabe all this time?”

  He crossed the small room and sat on the edge of the bed. “No. Kenny, Hugh, and I—along with a couple of others—have been outside, combing the grounds for any sign of Jimmy Mahoney.”

  Her heartbeat surged, waking her fully. “Jimmy? I thought he was supposed to be in Indiana, or points south.”

  “That turned out to be a false sighting. He’s here—or at least he was earlier today. According to Watanabe, Mahoney set the fire.”

  The fire. Zoë crossed her arms and hugged herself —partly to ward off the chill in the room and partly as a reminder that she’d come through the ordeal whole and unscathed. She’d known the fire was deliberately set, but that was a more abstract concept than hearing the identity of the arsonist. Jimmy Mahoney had tried to kill her. The words rattled around in her brain without grabbing hold. “But why? Did he know I was in the storeroom?”