Sleeping Beauty Suspect

He had a strong urge to rub that pleat between her eyes away so he kept his fingers busy rinsing lettuce for the salad.

“The press is going to find out who you are sooner or later, you know,” he warned. “A beautiful woman in an expensive evening dress inside an abandoned house that someone set on fire? That’s a story they’re bound to keep in the headlines for a while.”

Her fingers trembled. “You’re saying the fire wasn’t an accident?”

Flynn looked to see if she was kidding. She wasn’t. The fear was right there on the surface now.

“No. It definitely wasn’t an accident. Someone poured enough accelerant over the downstairs to send that place and everything inside it to ashes in under five minutes.”

She closed her eyes. “Someone tried to kill me.”

The words were a flat, bald statement. At least she wasn’t having hysterics.

“I’d say that’s a good bet. See that blinking light on my phone? I’ll give you odds most of those calls are from reporters. The rest are probably from my family, but that’s another story. Everyone wants details. People came to the door several times while I was trying to sleep this afternoon. I was too tired to answer.”

She nodded grimly. “Channel Nine was leaving when I arrived.”

He got out silverware, napkins and placemats and set them on the counter beside her. “Who’s trying to kill you, Whitney?”

“I don’t know.”

The words were a bare whisper. She carried the items over to the table. He watched her position them with almost painful precision. Frowning, he set two small salads on the counter and walked over to the stove to finish scrambling the eggs.

“I’m not hungry,” she announced.

“Yes, you are, you just don’t realize it yet. Your mind’s so busy worrying about what happened to you that it forgot to listen to your stomach. Give the food a try. I promise you’ll feel better.”

Dividing the steak and eggs, he placed the two plates in front of her and rinsed out the pan while he waited for the toaster to pop.

“Why are you being so nice? You don’t even know me.”

“Do you have to know someone to be nice to them?” He pulled a second glass from the cupboard and got the pitcher of cold water from the refrigerator. “I was raised to be nice to everyone. My mother would nail my hide to the wall if I wasn’t. She’s a little thing like you, but she’s got a core of granite.”

“I’m not little.”

He measured her with his eyes as he came around the corner. “Five-three?”

“Four and a half.”

Flynn grinned. “I’m six-one and a quarter. Everything under five-ten is little to me. Water okay with you? Given the circumstances I don’t figure you want a beer and I don’t have any wine or sodas.”

She shuddered. “Water’s fine.”

“Figured as much. Let’s eat while it’s hot.”

He added more water to her glass and waited for her to take a seat. She neatened her already straight silverware beside her plate, unfolded her paper napkin and settled it on her lap just so. His mother had raised her sons to have manners, but there were manners and then there were manners.

“You’re an only child, aren’t you?”

She paused in the act of adjusting her salad bowl. “Yes, why?”

“No reason.”

Her head tilted in puzzlement. “What made you ask that?”

Flynn forked up a bite of steak, chewed and swallowed before he answered. “You’re so self-contained.”

He watched her think about that as she speared a piece of lettuce with dainty precision. “Do you consider that a bad thing?”

“Nope. I wish someone would contain my brothers at times. Meals at Mom’s house are noisy affairs. There’re four of us boys and we learned to speak up and eat fast or lose out on seconds.”

Whitney brushed hair back from her face. Flynn found himself noticing a light, womanly fragrance that wasn’t perfume and wasn’t shampoo. Whatever it was, he liked it, but he told himself to get a grip. Of course he was attracted to her. What man wouldn’t be? But this woman had some serious issues going on.

Like the fact that someone wanted her dead bad enough to burn a house to the ground around her.

“Those pictures in the other room are of your family?”

Flynn nodded at her question and cut off more steak. “Yep. Ever since Neil and his wife had their first child, I’ve been inundated with pictures of my nephew, Devin. Phyllis is convinced no child was ever that perfect. I can’t wait to see what happens when the next one is born. She’s pregnant again,” he added.

Whitney took a tentative bite of her eggs and began eating with more enthusiasm. “There was a second woman in one of the pictures.”

“Ronan’s wife, Sally. She’s interning at Community Hospital. My brother’s a pilot for Sky Air. Their schedules hardly ever mesh, but it seems to work for them.”

“No wife for you?”

Flynn grinned impishly. “I know how to run faster than my brothers.”

“Smart.”

That surprised him. “Not a fan of marriage?”

“Too restrictive. Why would anyone want to give up control to another person?”

He wondered at the shadows in her eyes. There was a story here, he was certain, but this wasn’t the time to ask. He kept things light. “I don’t think marriage is supposed to be about control, but on the other hand, I can hardly believe the perfect woman is sitting here having dinner with me.”

Her tendency to blush fascinated him. He couldn’t remember any other woman ever blushing around him.

“What do your other brothers do?” she asked quickly.

“Neil’s a lawyer and Lucan’s a cop.”

She stilled. Very carefully, she set down her fork. “I should go.”

He covered her hand with his.

“Why are you afraid of the police?”

“I’m not.” She pulled her hand free.

“Yeah, you are.” Flynn leaned back to give her space. “The minute I said my brother was a cop you turned to stone.”

“I need to—”

“Finish your meal.”

He thought she’d bolt anyhow. It was touch-and-go. After a second she picked up her fork again, but he knew it wouldn’t take much to send her running for the front door.

“Look, Whitney, you came here for answers. I wish I had some for you, but I don’t. We got a call to respond to a house fire with a victim trapped inside. When we got there I found you crumpled on an old mattress, unconscious. I barely saw you through all the smoke. The fire was spreading so fast my partner and I barely made it out. That’s the sum total of what I know about the situation.”

The fork in her hand quivered slightly as she raised her eyes to meet his.

“How did anyone know there was a victim trapped inside?”

Chapter Three

Comprehension moved across those handsome features. “Good question.”

Flynn O’Shay was exceptionally handsome with a muscular physique that came from physical work. She hadn’t anticipated this strong tug of attraction when she’d come here looking for answers.

Men were usually drawn to her looks and she wasn’t above using that when it served a purpose because most would-be suitors were quickly put off when they discovered she had a brain and knew how to say no and make it stick.

Flynn was…different. He had a quirky sense of humor that threw her off balance while his innate kindness drew her to him. Her eyes flicked over his T-shirt. No doubt women came on to him the way men did with her. She needed to stay focused. She’d come here for answers, but Flynn claimed he didn’t have any. She should leave.

“The only thing I can figure is that someone saw you carried inside the building and called in the alarm,” Flynn told her.

She tried not to shudder. “Then someone saw the person who set the fire.”

“It’s a good bet,” he agreed. “The fire marshal will be checking with dispatch to see who called the fire in.”

“What if it was from a cell phone?”

“They have technology in place that lets them know who the cell phone is registered to now. They’ll know,” he promised, “and I guarantee you they’ll be talking to that person. You’re going to need to talk with the investigator as well.”

“No.” But she knew he was right.

Flynn chewed and swallowed. He never took his gaze from her. “What are you afraid of, Whitney?”

She couldn’t meet that intense stare. Those eyes saw too much.

“You know who put you in that house, don’t you?”

“No!” If only she did.

“You must have some idea. Murder doesn’t just happen.”

Murder. She tried to wrap her mind around the concept. Someone had tried to murder her. Someone she knew.

She set down her fork carefully. All desire for food had fled.

“Who do you know that likes to set fires?”

“What?”

“I’m thinking either the fire was a copycat and someone hates you enough to murder you in cold blood or you’re a threat to the arsonist’s identity.”

Her mind tried to remember what she’d read and heard about the half-dozen arson fires that had been in the news lately. “I don’t know anyone who’d deliberately burn down a building.”

“Then who wants you dead?”

The image of her stepmother, her perfect features contorted in rage, made her close her eyes. How could she tell Flynn that the leading candidate was her evil stepmother? Talk about trite. Besides, that was mixing fairy tales. In Sleeping Beauty it had been the evil godmother, not the stepmother.

She shook her head. Exhaustion was turning her thoughts absurd. She opened her eyes to find Flynn watching her closely.

“I gather you have a candidate?”

“Of course not,” she protested instantly. Ruby might not care if Whitney dropped dead, but her stepmother wouldn’t go out of her way to make it happen. Trapping an older man and taking him for all she could get, that was Ruby. Murder? No way. Ruby was too clever to show a dark side publicly. No matter what Whitney said or did to provoke her, the former nurse was unfailingly polite and ingratiating. Especially when Whitney’s father was around.

How could he not see through her? The years-old question made her cringe. Braxton Charles was a respected real estate developer. He was no one’s fool.

Until it came to Ruby.

“No amorous ex?” Flynn continued. “Boyfriend, husband, would-be suitor?”

“No.”

“I find that hard to believe. The men around here aren’t all blind or gay.”

She couldn’t even smile at his compliment because her mind had flashed back to last night and Christopher’s unexpected and unwanted advances. While she disliked Ruby intensely, she’d never let it become an issue with Ruby’s much younger brother. She actually liked Christopher. He was handsome, funny, friendly and outgoing. Privately, she’d always considered him something of a puppy.

Until last night.

If she’d been paying more attention to the scene at the door would never have taken place. How had she missed the cues that his teasing had become something more? Had it always been more and she’d been too preoccupied to notice? She would have handled last night better if she’d been prepared and hadn’t been so upset about her father.

Whitney hadn’t realized she was holding a fork until her fingers cramped around it with painful intensity.

“Hey. It was supposed to be a compliment. You okay?”

Carefully, Whitney set the fork down on the plate. “I’m fine.”

His lips thinned. “That is not a look I’d want to cross your face when you were thinking of me.”

She could feel the heat pinking her cheeks once more and cursed the fair skin bequeathed by her mother. “It’s complicated.” Coming here had been a mistake.

“Don’t ever play poker,” he advised.

“It’s not on my to-do list.”

“What is?”

She brought him into focus, reining in her emotions. “Finding the person responsible for what happened last night heads my current list.”

All teasing left his expression. “Then you need to talk to the fire investigator.”

She tensed.

“What’s the problem here, Whitney?”

She thought of her father’s pinched, haggard features and the anger that had been in his eyes as they’d squared off last night. The problem was fear—gut-wrenching, sick fear for herself and the man who had sired her. She could hardly tell Flynn that.

“Publicity for one.”

“I’ve got news for you, sweetheart, being carried out of a burning building and disappearing from a hospital room guarantees you publicity.”

“No one can tell that picture is of me.”

“Are you sure?”

No, and it worried her. If her father recognized her dress… She didn’t want to contemplate that possibility.

The doorbell shattered that worry. Almost immediately, someone banged against the wood without waiting.

Whitney jumped. Flynn came to his feet. The person pounded a second time.

“Wait here.”

“Flynn? Open the door or I’ll kick it in.”

Heart pounding, she tried to tell herself there was no reason to panic as she rose from her chair.

“What are you doing here?” Flynn greeted as he cracked open the door.

“If you’d answer your damn phone once in a while, I wouldn’t have to be here. You going to let me in?”

“No. This isn’t a good time.”

But the man facing him had already looked past his shoulder and spotted her. Features stamped with Flynn’s same dark good looks stared in obvious surprise. Whitney didn’t need an introduction to know this was one of Flynn’s brothers and she had a sinking feeling she knew which one.

“You have a date?”

“Frequently. Now get lost.”

But his brother continued to stare. A coughing fit seized her once more.

“I don’t believe it. I don’t damn well believe it.”

He pushed past Flynn and strode into the room.

“The entire police department is out looking for her and my own brother has Sleeping Beauty stashed at his place? No wonder you aren’t answering your phone.”

Flynn stepped in front of his brother and pressed a hand firmly against a chest as broad as his own.

“Get out.” Hard and flat, Flynn’s determined voice challenged him.

A flash of answering anger crossed his brother’s features. “You going to make me?”

The deadly soft tone filled with threat sent chills down her arms as she got the coughing under control again. Flynn didn’t back down an inch.

“If I have to.”

“Stop it!” she commanded, then ruined the order with more coughing.

Flynn was there to guide her back down on her chair. He held out the glass of water her fingers blindly sought. The tightness in her chest made it hard to draw a breath.

His hand soothed as it lightly rubbed her back. “Take it easy. My brother’s leaving.”

“No, I’m not.” But his voice had gentled. “I can’t, Flynn.”

“Yes, you can. Walk out the door and forget you were ever here.”

“She’s a material witness.”

“She’s a victim! An injured victim who doesn’t need a third degree right now.”

Unable to speak, Whitney held out an upraised hand demanding peace. She managed to sip at the water Flynn still held for her. Having an unexpected champion was so strange. She was used to fighting her own battles. Flynn’s instant defense was comforting and confusing. Only a minute ago he had been urging her to talk to the fire investigator. Now he was sending his brother the cop away.

“Please.” Her lungs struggled for air. “It’s…okay.”

“Don’t try to talk,” Flynn advised.

“She should be in the hospital.”

Even the voice sounded like his brother’s. Flynn’s deep, soothing bass rumbled in her ears.

“She doesn’t like hospitals.”

“She inhaled a houseful of smoke.”

“You’re a doctor now?” Flynn sneered. “Or maybe a fireman?”

“I didn’t come here to argue.”

“Then don’t. Leave.”

“I can’t walk out the door and pretend I don’t know she’s here,” Flynn’s brother protested. “Why is she here?”

“She came to me for help.”

“So you’re a cop now?” his brother mocked.

“Stop!” At her injunction, they both turned to stare as if they’d forgotten her. Whitney thought she finally had the coughing under control, but it wouldn’t take much to set it off again.

She sipped more water to ease her scratchy raw throat. This time she was able to hold the glass. Flynn picked up their dinner plates and carried them to the kitchen. His brother pulled out a chair, turned it around and sat on it backward facing her.

“You shouldn’t have left the hospital,” he told her. “Why did you run away like that?”

“I didn’t run, I left. There’s a difference. Don’t worry, I’ll pay my bill.”

He ignored that. “You were at the scene of an arson.”

“So was your brother.”

“Hey!” Flynn waved an arm between them. “Let’s calm down here.”

“This is official business, Flynn. Stay out of it.”

“Not likely. Whitney is my guest. Either put on your manners or hit the door.”

“I’m not kidding, Flynn.”

“Neither am I.”

The brothers glared at each other. They were evenly matched in size and weight and she suspected temperament as well. She allowed another cough to take hold. It was enough to divert the tension.

“You should be in the hospital,” Flynn’s brother told her again.

“And you shouldn’t barge into your brother’s home,” she admonished, “but here we both are.”

His startled expression mirrored Flynn’s.

“She took the words right out of my mouth,” Flynn told his brother with a slow smile. “And Mom would give you hell for acting this way.”

The cop sent a scowl at his brother. “Mom sent me here to check on you.”

“I already talked to her.”

“You thought that would be enough?”

“No. I knew she’d send you over eventually. You want some sherbet?” he asked, limping to the kitchen and pulling a carton from the freezer.

Flynn’s brother continued to glare at him over the island. “What flavor?”

“Rainbow.” Flynn reached for bowls.

“Okay.”

Their mercurial mood shift left her gaping. Whitney forced her mouth closed. It was as if they hadn’t been at each other’s throats only a second ago. Flynn winked at her and turned back to dish out the sherbet.

“Nice limp,” Flynn’s brother noted. “Think it’ll buy you any sympathy?”

“Not from a coldhearted bastard like you.”

He grinned unrepentantly. “Sally says you pulled a muscle.”

“Feels like more than one,” Flynn agreed.

“That’s what you get when you play hero.”

“You should know.”

Flynn’s brother turned back to Whitney. “Since my baby brother has no manners to speak of let’s start over. I’m Lucan O’Shay. And you are—?”

“Not interested,” Flynn told him as he set a bowl in front of her. “Eat it. It’ll help your throat.”

“Flynn, this is police business,” Lucan protested.

Flynn’s expression hardened. “Is there a warrant out for her?”

“No, of course no—”

“Then we’re two brothers sharing a dish of sherbet with a friend.”

“My name is Whitney Charles,” she told Lucan to forestall the new explosion building between them. “And I’m not stashed anywhere. Your brother and I were having dinner together before you barged in.”

Flynn grinned. “What she said.”

Obviously enjoying Lucan’s discomfort, Flynn set a large dish in front of his brother and one at his own place. After a second Lucan stood, turned his chair around, picked up his spoon and sat at the table correctly.

“Anyone want coffee before I sit?”

Whitney shook her head.

“Got any beer?” Lucan asked.

“With sherbet?” She cringed at the thought.

Flynn grinned. “That puts him off-duty,” he explained as he returned to the refrigerator for a cold bottle.

“I don’t understand you people.”

“Don’t worry about it,” Flynn assured her. “We’re harmless.”

“He’s a cop,” she pointed out dryly.

“Okay, mostly harmless.”

“Right. Harmless.”

Flynn winked at her as he set the bottle of beer on the table without a glass. Lucan thanked him, removed the cap and took a swig.

“Okay. I’m off duty. So why don’t you explain why I’m sitting here with the most sought-after woman in the county having a beer when I should be taking a formal statement from her.”

“Because you’re my brother and you love me.”

“Go soak your head.”

Flynn winked at her again and sat down, plunging his spoon into the sherbet. After a moment’s hesitation, Whitney followed his example. The cool, tart taste slid with welcome ease down her raw throat.

“Against my better judgment, we’re off the record for now, Ms. Charles. You have my word on it. Can you at least tell me what you were doing in that house?”

“No.”

He scowled.

“She isn’t kidding, Lucan. She doesn’t know how she got in there.”

“I need to hear that from her, Flynn.”

“I don’t know how I got there,” she parroted.

Flynn grinned in approval.

“Really,” she told his brother. “I was at home having a glass of wine and then I was in the hospital suffering from smoke inhalation. The rest is a void.”

Lucan’s scowl deepened and he attacked his helpless sherbet. “You must have some idea.”

She shook her head at his low mutter. “I don’t.”

“Someone tried to kill you.”

She couldn’t quite control the trembling of her fingers. “So it appears.”

“Current behavior aside, my brother isn’t usually a complete jerk, Whitney,” Flynn assured her. “Stop trying to bully her, Lucan. She’s in trouble, not the arsonist.”

Lucan opened and closed his mouth. He took a bite of sherbet and washed it down with a mouthful of beer. Whitney tried not to cringe.

“Sorry,” he apologized. “The media’s on the chief. He’s jumping down the captain’s throat. The captain…well let’s just say he’s a bit testy at the moment. It filters down. We’re all edgy. Still, I didn’t mean to come off sounding like…”

“A cop?” Whitney asked.

After a second he nodded and almost smiled. “Think we can start over?”

She savored a bite of sherbet, found Flynn’s eyes watching and swallowed hastily. “I think I should call my lawyer.”

Until that moment she hadn’t thought about Barry Lindell. The handsome young lawyer was the obvious person to go to for help. She should have considered him immediately.

Whitney had known Barry forever. His father had been her father’s best friend. Franklin Lindell had helped her mother set up and manage Whitney’s trust fund after she was born. He’d even helped Whitney start her business. Franklin had worked with her father to oversee her family’s finances and legal issues until he’d fallen ill a few years ago. Then Barry had stepped in and smoothly taken over his father’s law practice.

Barry would know the legal ramifications to answering police questions. He’d also know what she could do about her father’s failing health. If Ruby was keeping her dad from getting medical attention, Barry could help her circumvent the woman.

“That’s your choice, of course,” Lucan agreed. “But is there some reason you don’t want to talk to the police?”

She hesitated, looked at Flynn, and quickly looked away from his distracting features. “The sort of publicity this is going to entail… My father’s a well-known developer,” she admitted reluctantly. “He’ll be furious.”

“He’d rather you were dead?”

“You don’t understand.”

“Why don’t you explain it to me?”

“It’s complicated.”

“Family always is,” Flynn agreed easily.

“This really is off the record?” she asked Lucan.

He shot Flynn an irritated expression. Flynn raised his eyebrows.

“Unless you tell me something that as a police officer I have to take immediate action on, our conversation is off the record. But you’re going to have to talk to someone officially, soon.”

Whitney considered that. There was no reason to drag Barry over here at this hour on a Sunday night. She had done nothing wrong. Time enough to call Barry when things became official.