Baptism In Fire

Luke looked from her to A.J., well aware of A.J.’s ability to talk the leaves off a tree, if the need arose. “Like I’m supposed to believe he didn’t pressure you into this.” Luke stared at her, his jaw clenched so tight his teeth ached. “You need to get out of here and go back to Atlanta,” he growled, his gaze locked with Rachel’s.

His attitude puzzled Rachel. He knew she was a damn good profiler. Why this sudden need to send her packing? It certainly couldn’t be because he had any concerns about her personally. The day he’d packed his clothes and walked out of their apartment, he’d given up any right to a say in her life.

“I’m here, and it’s a done deal.” She snapped her briefcase closed with a decisive click, then turned to A.J. “Can we get started?”

A.J. sighed, his tense expression melting into one of relief. “How long before you have to get back to Atlanta?”

Ignoring Luke’s reproachful scrutiny and his presence in the small office as best she could, she said, “I have two weeks of vacation time, so we’d better get to it.” Rachel took a pad from her briefcase and clipped a pencil from A.J.’s desk. “Tell me about the fires.”

Transforming from concerned friend to hard-nosed cop, A.J. glanced at Luke, then took his place behind the desk. He motioned for Luke to sit in the chair beside Rachel. When he didn’t, she glanced around.

“I’ll stand, thanks.” Luke leaned against the gray file cabinet, which, when she turned to face A.J., would put him just out of her range of vision. His arms were crossed, his flinty gaze silently castigating A.J.

Did his hardened expression mean that he was pissed because A.J. had brought in outside help? Or was it because the outside help was Rachel?

It didn’t matter. Either way, she was here and, like it or not, he’d have to learn to live with it.

A.J. waved a dismissive hand at Luke. “Suit yourself.” He opened a file folder and began. “In a nutshell, the three victims are women, one separated and two divorced, single moms living alone, ages twenty-eight to thirty, small children. Two blondes, one brunette. The fires were set at night and when each victim was alone. The kids were with relatives or friends. All were rendered unconscious with a rag soaked in chloroform. The first fire was set about six months ago. Cause of death in all three cases was smoke inhalation.”

He took a glossy photo from the folder and tossed it on the desk. “Marsha Adams, married but legally separated, bound with a lamp cord.” Other photos taken of the women at the fire scenes followed. “Jane Madison, bound with a lamp cord. Colleen Winston, tied up with duct tape. Both divorced.” He wiped a hand over his eyes. “This bastard wanted them to suffer, and they did. One other thing—” He took a deep breath, glanced at Luke, then back to her. “We found all of them in a closet with a Bible beneath them.”

Rachel stared at the photos. Instantly she saw the similarities to her own fire, which A.J. had alluded to on the phone. The closet. The lamp cord. The chloroform. The Bible.

The color photos swam before her eyes. Cold sweat broke out on her forehead. She was sure she’d prepared herself for this part. She’d been terribly wrong.

Rachel closed her eyes to shut out the images, but the same frustrating, disjointed memories that had been torturing her for years, memories that she could never put definition to, flitted in and out in snippets like a badly edited movie. No face to put on an arsonist. No one to tell her what happened to Maggie. Just a blur of indistinguishable events.

Sleeping peacefully. Something on her face. A sweet smell filling her nostrils. Sleep. Then waking in a closet.

Her bedroom engulfed in flames. The smoke. Choking.

Closet too small. Can’t move.

Hands tied behind her. Bible cutting into her chest.

Helpless to escape.

Helpless to save her baby.

Heat. Intense heat. A voice calling to her.

“Mommy. Mommy?”

Maggie?

Blackness.

Then fresh air seeping into her burning lungs. Wet grass beneath her, soaking into her thin nightgown. A fireman standing over her. Luke, cradling her close to his chest, crying, calling her name and Maggie’s.

“Rachel? Rachel? Are you okay?” Luke’s voice called her back from that terrible place she’d hidden inside her for so long.

Rachel snapped her eyes open. The images, images that mirrored a periodic dream she’d been having since that night, faded.

She blinked. Luke and A.J. were standing over her, their faces twisted in concern. She searched her mind frantically for something to excuse what had just happened. She knew her ex-husband too well. If she told him the truth, he’d send her back to Atlanta despite what A.J. said. And she made up her mind in that instant that she wasn’t going anywhere until she nailed this bastard.

“Yes, yes, I’m fine, just a bit…dizzy. I was so eager to get here that I skipped lunch.”

Luke exhaled a huff of air. He crossed his arms over his chest again and glared down at her, eyebrow arched so high it almost disappeared in his hairline. He hadn’t believed a word of her explanation.

Determinedly, she squared her shoulders, took a deep breath and forced her gaze toward the photos again. Silently, she employed a system she’d used when she’d started in the firefighters’ academy and was confronted with her first horrific fire scene.

You’re a professional. Detach yourself. You’ve got to prove to them that you can do this. If they send you home, you won’t be able to help anyone. Detach yourself. This can’t be personal. You are a professional. This is your job.

Slowly, the tension eased from her body, and her stomach settled. When she felt calm enough, she picked up the pictures. All three women were curled in the fetal position common after exposure to the high temperatures of a fire. Most of their hair had burned off, and the intense heat had split their skin in several places. In all three cases, their arms curled behind them, most of their bonds burned in the fire. Because they had been facedown, the underside of each body had escaped the heat. She could just make out the corner of a book beneath each woman.

She pushed the photos toward A.J. Quickly, he gathered up the pictures and shoved them inside the folder. Instead of handing her the file, he held on to it, glanced at Luke and then to her.

Doubts that hadn’t been there before lurked in his eyes and colored his expression. “Maybe this wasn’t such a great idea.”

“Amen to that,” Luke grumbled behind her.

Rachel leaned toward A.J. “If you take me off this case now, I swear I’ll stay and work it without the police department. He almost burned me alive, then he took my baby and—” Her voice broke. She glanced at Luke. The concern she’d seen in his expression before had been replaced by a pain she knew well. That of a parent who had lost a child. “And, though we never found her body, it’s been almost two years, and I know now that he killed her. I want this sick bastard.”

A.J. studied her for a long moment. Her gaze held his without wavering. He nodded and handed her the file folder. “Everything we have is in there—interviews with relatives, spouses, boyfriends, friends. If there’s anything else you need, just give a yell.”

“How about the arson investigator’s photos, the firefighters’ narrative reports?”

“They’re in there, too. I’ve designated a room in the annex out back for your office and a place for the task force to meet. The names of the two officers I’ve assigned to the task force are in the folder.”

Stiffening her spine, she clutched the folder. When she looked up, both Luke and A.J. were staring at her.

“What?”

“You okay?” A.J. asked.

Rachel knew she couldn’t wiggle out of answering him, but she refused to be treated like a porcelain doll. “Stop worrying about me, dammit.” A.J. seemed surprised at her sharp tone, but satisfied. Luke continued to study her. “I told you, I’m fine,” she said with much more confidence than she felt.

“Is anyone ever fine with crap like that?” Luke hitched a finger toward her briefcase, where she’d stowed the files.

Was he doubting her or goading her? His complexion seemed to have paled, and she wondered if they were fighting the same demons.

“No, never, but if I’m to do this job right, I need to be able to look at everything as dispassionately as possible.” Including you. She swung back to face A.J., who’d been watching them closely. “I’ll need to walk the fire scenes.”

“When you’re ready, I’ll walk them with you,” Luke said.

Another emotional mountain to climb. “No need. I can do it alone if someone will clear me to enter them.”

“I said, I’ll go with you.” Luke stared unflinchingly at her.

Rachel knew that fixed expression and his adamant tone. There would be no more discussion. She hated that he thought she needed to be babysat, but something deep down inside was glad he’d be with her. “I want to study all the notes and the photos first. I should be ready in a day or two.”

Putting off the walk-through was not going to make it any easier, but she swore she would do it before the end of the week. Now that she was here, there was no way in hell she would let Luke see her back down. More important, she had to see it through to the end. The time had come to exorcize her demons and what better way than to catch the maniac who was responsible for creating them.

“I’ll call you,” she said, deliberately leaving it open as to who she was addressing and avoiding eye contact with Luke.

It didn’t escape Luke’s notice that she conveniently forgot to ask for his phone number, nor that she quite obviously hoped he’d back down from his offer.

Luke knew that she’d envisioned herself and Maggie in those photos and not their victims, just as he had. He’d had to have been blind not to see the way they’d affected her. God knew, he was familiar enough with the sick, helpless feeling, the way it made his gut come up in his throat, the huge empty hole inside him that nothing and no one could fill.

He’d seen those photos innumerable times and still couldn’t look at them without seeing his beautiful daughter, without having to fight down the guilt eating a hole in his soul for not being home to stop any of the events that had torn his family and his life apart.

Knowing this could head into territory he faithfully avoided, he closed off that part of his mind. Turning his attention back to Rachel, he watched her closely. Though she hadn’t lost one ounce of her beauty, her shoulders didn’t seem as square as he remembered them. Her head lacked the proud angle it had always had. Her body had shed a few pounds and appeared, though he knew there was not a delicate bone in Rachel’s gorgeous body, almost fragile.

Self-disgust washed over him. Damn A.J. for bringing Rachel here and reminding her. Luke couldn’t change the past, but he could and would be there for moral support when she went through the fire scenes. And at the first sign she was breaking under the emotional strain, he’d ship her back to Georgia, kicking and screaming, if necessary.

“What about motive?” Rachel asked.

Luke noted the quiver in her voice. He was sure she’d tried to cover it up, but he’d heard that voice too many times not to be able to read every inflection.

Shaking his head, A.J. leaned back in his chair. “Nothing except the Bible, which points at something religious. Hell, for all we know right now, maybe his mother dropped him on his head at his christening. Who knows? That’s your department. Get into his head. Right now, all we have to go on is that the fires are being set by the same torch.”

Rachel nodded. “I’ll be able to tell you more after I’ve looked this stuff over.”

Luke moved to the side of A.J.’s desk. He knew her caution came as a result of her firefighter training and would keep her from making or voicing premature decisions that she’d have to eat later.

Rachel stood, grabbed her briefcase, clasped A.J.’s outstretched hand, then handed him a slip of paper. “I’ll be in touch, but in case you need me, here’s my private cell-phone number.” Offering nothing to Luke but a curt nod, she headed for the door.

“Rachel, one other thing.” A.J. looked from Luke to her. “Luke is heading up the task force and will be working closely with you on this. I trust this isn’t going to be a problem for either of you?”

“Saving the best till last, right, buddy?” Luke waited, sure she would ask to have him replaced and hoping she’d say she’d go home rather than work with him.

Rachel paused, her back to them. A long moment passed before she turned and looked directly at her ex-husband. “Not if he stays out of my way.”

Through A.J.’s open office door, Luke watched Rachel walk away. His gut instinct was telling him to go after her and do anything he could to convince her to go home. But, stubborn as she could be, he knew it would do no good. It still took everything he could muster not to.

Again, as he watched her disappear around a corner in the long hall, he wondered where he’d found the strength to let her go, to walk out of her life. Maybe because he knew she could make it alone, and she’d be safe without him. Maybe because walking out was easier than looking into her grief-stricken face every day and being reminded of his failure to protect her and Maggie. Maybe, as the days stretched into weeks, then months with no word, he just couldn’t face her undying belief that their little girl was still alive. Thank God she seemed to have reconciled herself to Maggie’s death.

“Here,” A.J. said, ignoring the emphasis Rachel had put on private, and copying Rachel’s cell number, then handing it to Luke. “If you tell her I gave it to you, I’ll say you swiped it.”

“Thanks.” Luke tucked the paper into his shirt pocket but continued to stare down the empty hall. He knew, if he encouraged A.J., his friend would make it a personal crusade to get him and Rachel back together. Not a good idea.

“Think she still has what it’s gonna take to handle this?” A.J. asked from behind him.

Sighing, Luke turned to his boss and friend. “When it comes to expertise and pure guts, I’d put her up against any man in this station.” Then he smiled. “But if you tell her I said that, I’ll deny every word.”

Guts? Yes. He’d stake his life on her courage, and had. But could she withstand the emotional buffeting she’d take investigating the arsonist who had kidnapped and killed their daughter?

Chapter 2

Back in the beach condo A.J. kept for relatives from out of town, Rachel threw her briefcase on the sofa, slipped off her gray suit jacket and shoes, then switched on the TV for background noise. While she unbuttoned the pearl studs on her white silk blouse, she stared at the blond, female news anchor on the screen.

“In local news, the Orange Grove Police Department has confirmed that arson investigator/profiler Rachel Lansing-Sutherland has been called in to consult on the serial arsons that have been plaguing Orange Grove for the last six months. Ms. Lansing’s own daughter was abducted two years ago on the night that the Sutherlands’ apartment burned down. The case remains officially open, and our sources in the department say that after such a long period of time, abducted children are rarely found alive.”

Choking back a sob, Rachel pressed the mute button on the remote. She threw it on the coffee table and headed into the bedroom, leaving the voiceless, female anchor on the TV screen resembling a bad mime.

It had taken Rachel a long time to concede to the belief that her beautiful little girl would never come home again, never laugh at her daddy’s silly jokes, never draw those unrecognizable pictures of houses and cows, never drift off to sleep while Rachel sang her favorite lullaby—

Unbidden, the words of the lullaby played through her head. Hush, little Maggie, don’t say a word—

Grabbing the edge of the dresser, Rachel bent double, clutching her heart. Would the pain never go away? The emptiness never leave her arms or her heart? How does a mother forget a part of her?

Maggie’s birth had been the most momentous thing that had ever happened to Rachel. When the nurse laid that tiny being in her arms, their daughter had completed the circle of love she and Luke had found. Rachel had marveled that the fiery passion she and Luke shared could have produced something so small, so perfect, so delicate. Luke adored their baby with the same intensity he applied to his work. Together, the three of them had become a family, sharing their love.

After Maggie’s birth, the love Luke and Rachel had for each other had grown by leaps and bounds until she was sure their lives could only get better. But she’d been very wrong. Ironically, all it took to shatter their happiness was a macabre twist of fate and one match.

Exhaustion pressing down on her, Rachel shook loose of the memories and began undressing for a shower. In the mirror above the dresser, she noted that the necklace she wore constantly had snagged in a strand of her chestnut hair. She disentangled the hair and allowed the chain to drop back against her skin. Staring in the mirror, Rachel picked up the medallion hanging from the chain. The artificial light from the bedside lamp caught in the grooves of the Oriental engraving on the gold disk. While in Japan to escort a prisoner back to the States, Luke had bought it for her. He’d told her it was the Chinese symbol for protection and, when she needed him, she had only to rub it and say his name. The whole idea had been foolish fun, but she had never taken the necklace off, not even after the divorce. During the worst times, after she’d ceased opposition to the certainty of Maggie’s death, just fingering it had provided her with a small sense of comfort, but no matter how often she had said his name, Luke had never come.

With the pad of her thumb, she stroked the familiar squiggle, noting that the edges of the design had become smooth and rounded, unlike the sharp carving it had been when she first got it. She thought of Luke, his infectious laughter, his charm, his magnetism, and wondered if this little hunk of gold had the power to protect her from him as well.

Showered, shampooed and feeling much better about the job she’d agreed to do, Rachel slipped into jeans and a pale green T-shirt emblazoned with Puppy Love Is Forever, flopped onto the sofa and opened the folder. Turning the victims’ photos facedown and moving them to the side, she began to go over the detectives’ narrative reports. Using a yellow legal pad she’d pulled from her briefcase, she divided the top sheet into two columns and headed them Similarities and Differences.

Rachel had just gotten started filling in the columns when her cell phone rang. She stiffened, then remembered she hadn’t given Luke her number. Digging through the congestion of gas and credit-card receipts, loose change and gum wrappers she’d stuffed into her briefcase during the drive south, she found the cell phone and flipped it open.

“Hello.”

“Rachel?” Luke’s voice sent a warm ripple through her.

“How did you get my number?” But he didn’t need to answer. She knew. A.J. When she and Luke divorced, it had been as hard on A.J. as it had them. She was sure this was his subtle attempt at mending the relationship.

“I’m sworn to secrecy,” he said, a hint of amusement in his tone.

“Well, you can tell A.J. that I’m glad it wasn’t my virginity I trusted him to guard.”

Once the words were out, Rachel was shocked at how easily she had slipped back into the habit of exchanging quips with Luke.

Would it be just as easy to slip into other things with him? Keeping an emotional distance between herself and the man she’d once loved beyond logic was imperative. She sat straighter.

He laughed. “Yeah. Where we’re concerned, he never got high marks for keeping a secret.”

An instant replay of the evening A.J. let it slip that Luke had an engagement ring for her crossed her mind. A.J. had waged quite a battle with himself, trying to make up his mind if he should stay and be a part of the big moment or if he should leave them to their privacy. Privacy had finally won out, but not before A.J. had inadvertently blurted out that he couldn’t be happier that his two favorite people had decided to tie the knot. She smiled.

A long silence hung on the phone. Why had Luke called? Just to show her he had the number?

“I’m going over the notes A.J. gave me. Was there something you wanted?”

“I just wanted to give you my cell-phone number.” He recited the number, and she wrote it across the tope of the legal pad.

“Anything else?” she asked, eager to get him off the phone before she obeyed her urge to see him, to talk to him about this big step she’d taken and ask him to please not fight her on it. Silence. She doodled absently while waiting for him to say something.

Then, “Did you eat dinner yet?”

“No,” she blurted a little too sharply, trying to kill the urge to say she’d love to have dinner with him.

He chuckled, deep and sexy. “Even grouches have to eat,” he said, reminding her of the first thing he’d ever said to her. She’d gone with him to dinner that night and every night after that. Their entire courtship had been like that, fast, furious and filled with passion and laughter. Then—

No, dammit, she refused to mourn their marriage. She had enough to mourn without adding that. She stiffened her spine.

“I’m not hungry. I’ll fix something later.” She rarely hungered for anything these days, except what she couldn’t have. Like her daughter in her arms.

And Luke? a little voice prompted.

Before he could say anything more, she heard the unmistakable interruption that signaled an incoming call. “I have to take this, Rachel. I’ll talk to you later. Don’t forget to eat,” he admonished, then hung up.

Rachel stared at the dead phone. An acute loneliness washed over her. She folded the phone and laid it on the coffee table. Not until she felt the cold metal on her fingertips did she realize she’d begun stroking the Oriental pendant. When she looked down at the legal pad where she’d written his number, she saw that she had doodled hearts all around it.

Hours passed, and she’d made good progress on assigning the similarities and differences she’d found in the notes. Under the column headed Differences, she’d listed: marital status, hair color and restraints. Under Similarities, she’d written: chloroform, charcoal lighter, victims alone at the time of the fire, all died from smoke inhalation, no signs of sexual assault, one child, each had a Bible placed under her.

Since starting, she’d added a third column to the paper, headed up with one word—Mine. All the similarities she’d listed also appeared under her column. The only differences were that she’d been married and the others had either been separated or divorced at the time of the fires, and she had not been alone.

The common thread that captured her attention was the Bible. Every serial arsonist had a signature. It could be anything from the brand and kind of accelerant they used to the type of incendiary device and where it was planted. This one evidently had religion and, since religious motives were a twisted version of the arsonist’s beliefs, it could make him one of the hardest to catch.

She was studying the columns, thinking about the profile of the arsonist, when the cell phone rang again. Rachel jumped.

“Hello,” she said, expecting Luke’s voice to come back at her through the receiver.

“Rachel, it’s A.J. There’s another house fire. I’ll pick you up in ten minutes.”

Adrenaline coursed through her, bringing her to her feet. Blood pumped through her veins at an accelerated rate. “Is it our arsonist?”

“Not sure. We’ll know better when we get there. I think it’s worth looking into. We’ve never been on scene while it’s happening before. If it is our torch, we might just find him milling around in the gallery enjoying the fruits of his labor.”