Page 22 of Slow Burn (Buchanan-Renard 5)

  What had set her off? “Sure,” he said. “If you want to go alone, you can go alone.”

  She immediately became suspicious. This was too easy. “Thank you.”

  “How are you going to get there?”

  “I’ll drive.”

  “Wasn’t your car blown up?”

  How could she have forgotten that? “I won’t drive my car.”

  “I guess not.”

  “I’ll rent a car.”

  “Kate, what’s this about?”

  You, you big dummy. You’re what this is about. You could get killed. Oh, God, she couldn’t even think about that. And what about all the other detectives and policemen? All of them could die in one big boom. She shook her head, letting him know she wasn’t willing to explain.

  He didn’t take the hint. “What’s this about?” he repeated.

  She gave in. “It just struck me. People could die protecting me . . .”

  Tears pooled in her eyes. Dylan must have seen them because he pulled her to her feet and hugged her. “It’s okay. You’re just a little overwhelmed.”

  “I guess I am,” she said. She waited for him to give her a few words of comfort, to say something, anything, that would make her feel better.

  He didn’t seem inclined to do more than hold her, and after a moment she realized that was all she really needed.

  Chapter Thirty-two

  Kate lifted her head from Dylan’s chest. “What about Carl?”

  “What about him?”

  She put some space between them. “Are you convinced that he had nothing to do with any of this?”

  “Yes, I’m convinced.”

  “Then he can go home?”

  “No, not yet. He’s going to have to convince some other people first.”

  Two FBI agents and another detective from Charleston PD who were helping Nate out arrived at the police station an hour later and took turns questioning Carl. After they had finished with him, they let him go home. He kissed Kate on the cheek, squeezed her hand, and whispered, “Be brave, darling.”

  They questioned her next. She was weary of having to go through every little detail again, starting with that first explosion, but she cooperated and answered every question as thoroughly as she could. By the time they ran out of questions, she had run out of patience.

  Drummond came to get her. “Come on, Kate. It’s time to go home. Your house has been searched from top to bottom, and is clear.”

  “Where’s Dylan?”

  “He’s waiting for you in back.”

  She collected her purse and briefcase from his office and followed him to the back door.

  He put his hand on her shoulder. “You’re going to get through this just fine,” he said. If she wasn’t sure of his good intentions, she might think he was chastising her with his abrupt order.

  “I’ll be over later with dinner,” he added.

  “You don’t have to go to all that trouble—”

  “Yes, I do. I looked inside your refrigerator. I’ll bring something,” he said curtly.

  She was glad hadn’t protested when she arrived home and looked in the refrigerator. There really wasn’t anything there she wanted to eat. Her stomach was grumbling. Neither she nor Dylan had eaten anything since breakfast, and it was already after six.

  “Time flies even when you’re not having fun,” she remarked as she walked into the front hall.

  Dylan followed her up the stairs carrying their bags.

  “You’re not having fun? I guess we’ll have to do something about that.”

  He didn’t ask her if she wanted him to share her bed. He put his bag in the guest room and dropped her bag on her bed.

  She was not going to ask him to sleep with her. Absolutely not. She went into the bathroom, locked the door, and took a long shower, hoping that would revive her.

  It didn’t help much. She put on her favorite pair of old jeans and a T-shirt and actually did feel a little better then. She combed her hair and went downstairs.

  Dylan was in the backyard talking to a police officer. She watched him from the kitchen window while she chewed on a wilted celery stick. He looked tired, she thought. And wonderful. He certainly seemed to be coping better than she was. There were moments when she felt she was going to fall apart.

  Not wanting him to catch her staring at him, she forced herself to turn away. She listened to the messages on her home phone. Most of them were for Isabel, and none of them were important.

  She was feeling out of sorts and restless. She got a bag of potato chips out of the pantry and put it back unopened.

  She knew what was wrong with her. Dylan. How long was it going to take her to stop loving him, she wondered. Was it even possible, or was she doomed to live in misery the rest of her life? There was no one to blame but herself for her unhappiness. She had known from the very beginning what she was getting into with him—he loved them and he left them. He didn’t make any excuses about the way he lived. He was what he was.

  And she was what she was—a complete idiot because she had fallen in love with him.

  Definitely melancholy tonight, she decided. Stress was putting her on edge. That’s what it was, all right. Stress. And feeling completely helpless.

  The doorbell rang, and she was forced to stop feeling sorry for herself. She assumed it was Drummond with dinner, and she was suddenly ravenous. It wasn’t Drummond, though. It was Nate, and when she opened the door for him, he looked astonished to see her.

  He was quick to recover. “What are you doing opening this door?” he demanded.

  His glare made her flinch. “You rang the doorbell. Answering it seemed the proper thing to do. Please, come in.”

  “Are you alone in here?” he demanded as he stormed past her. “What the hell’s wrong with you? Don’t you know someone’s trying to kill you? Or don’t you care?”

  “Yes, I know, and yes, I care,” she said softly. “Please stop shouting at me. My ears are ringing.”

  He took a deep breath before continuing. “I’ve got to yell at someone. Where’s Dylan?”

  “In the backyard. There are deputies in the front and the back,” she said. “So it was all right for me to open the door.”

  “That’s not why I’m angry,” he snapped.

  She chased him to the kitchen. “Then why are you?”

  “Because I didn’t know where the hell you were last night. Not good,” he snapped. “You two just . . . vanished. What if I had vital information? What then? Dylan wasn’t answering his cell phone, and you weren’t answering yours . . . what the hell’s the matter with him? He knows better. Where is he?”

  Nate was on a rampage. “I just told you,” she answered.

  “Tell me again,” he demanded.

  “In the backyard,” she said. “Have at him.”

  “Don’t you dare open that front door again. Understand me?”

  He didn’t wait for an answer but tore the kitchen door open and went outside. The door slammed shut behind him.

  He’s just lost his dinner invitation, she thought. How dare he shout at her. She wasn’t a child he could scold.

  But he was right, she reluctantly admitted. They should have let him know where they were going. It wasn’t deliberate; they weren’t trying to hide from him. They hadn’t been sure where they would spend the night, and once they had checked into the hotel, one thing led to another, and they had become occupied.

  Oh, that’s a great excuse. Sorry we didn’t call. We were too busy having sex. Nate would understand. Sure he would.

  The chief arrived a few minutes later with enough food to feed half the town.

  “What’s going on out there?” he asked as he set the bags on the kitchen counter and looked out the window. “Looks like Hallinger is giving Dylan hell.”

  Kate quickly explained.

  The chief glanced out the window again. “Dylan doesn’t seem contrite. Fact is, he’s giving it back.” With a shrug he added, “They’ll work it out. L

et’s eat.”

  The chief was right; they did work it out. Nate didn’t ask if he could stay for dinner. He grabbed a plate and helped himself.

  “I’ll get some men here in an hour and let you off the hook, chief,” he offered.

  “No reason to do that,” Drummond replied. “We’re all set. You’ve got enough going on trying to get everyone in place for tomorrow’s meeting.”

  “Is that a for-sure thing?” Nate asked. “She signs the papers tomorrow? No more changes?”

  “Seven o’clock tomorrow night unless you change the plan,” Dylan said. “We just went over this in the backyard.”

  “I’m making sure. No one’s going to disappear on me again. Got that?”

  “You need to let that go.”

  “And you need—” Nate began.

  Drummond put his hand up to stop him. “That’s enough. Kate needs all the help she can get, so stop bickering and get with the program.”

  Nate nodded. “Yes, sir.”

  The three men went over strategy for the next day while they ate.

  “What did you find out about the video?” Dylan asked Nate. “Any idea who taped it?”

  “No. We know that it and the packet of photos were delivered by messenger to Anderson Smith’s office. He claims no one there even knew a video existed until it and Compton MacKenna’s instructions showed up on his desk.”

  “Someone knew about it,” Dylan insisted. “When Compton was talking into the camera, he would glance beyond the lens every so often. Obviously, someone else was in that room. What about servants, staff?”

  “No, there’s no one we can find who knew anything about it.”

  Dylan glanced over at Kate, whose eyes were half closed.

  “Kate, why don’t you go upstairs to bed,” he suggested. “We’re almost finished here.”

  She was happy to oblige. It had been a very long day. She could hear the men talking as she put on her pajamas, and a few minutes later she heard Nate and Drummond leaving.

  She was tired, but she decided to call Isabel to check on her before going to bed. Her sister surprised her by answering. Kate said hello and didn’t get another word in for about fifteen minutes. Isabel must have assumed that the reading of the will had turned out to be a big nothing because she didn’t ask Kate about it. Her social life seemed to be the only thing she was interested in talking about, and Kate had to remind her she was there to study. She was relieved, however, that Isabel was happy . . . and safe.

  “Have you heard from Reece Crowell?” Kate asked.

  “He should still be in Europe, but don’t worry. If he comes back and starts bothering me again, I can handle him,” Isabel replied, and then she moved on to more immediate topics.

  While Kate was listening to Isabel’s description of the young man who sat next to her in her sociology class, the call was interrupted. Thinking it could be important news, Kate cut into Isabel’s chatter.

  “Isabel,” she said, “I’ve got another call. I have to hang up now. You be very careful, okay?”

  She was surprised by the voice she heard when she switched over.

  “Kate, this is Vanessa MacKenna.”

  Kate was slow to respond, unsure of how she should react. After an awkward pause, she said, “Vanessa, hello, what can I do for you?”

  Vanessa was a bit stiff as she began the conversation, but she quickly loosened up and actually became quite gracious.

  “Anderson called and told me how much you loved having those photos of your father,” she said. “He asked me if I wouldn’t mind looking around Compton’s house—or rather my house now—and see if there might be others. The attic is packed full of boxes, and I decided I might as well get started clearing things out. As luck would have it, I found a box full of things I believe belonged to your father. There are photos but also trophies and school papers and a couple of report cards. I’ll pack it all up and send it to you, or I could drop it off at Anderson’s office if you’d prefer. And I’ll keep looking for more,” she promised. “I’m staying at the house now because Bryce went back into the hospital last night, and this will make it a shorter commute to see him. You know, you could stop by and see the old place . . . if you’re interested. I’d love to show you around.”

  “Yes, I’d like to see it someday,” she responded.

  “Just let me know when it’s convenient. Perhaps next week or the week after? I’d like to get to know you, Kate. You seem so . . . different from Bryce and his brothers, refreshingly different.”

  Kate felt a pang of guilt after the conversation ended and she’d hung up the phone. She hadn’t asked Vanessa how serious Bryce’s condition was, but then she realized an expression of sympathy or concern would have been hypocritical.

  Dylan walked into her bedroom as she sat cross-legged on her bed with the phone still in her hand.

  “I just received a call from Vanessa MacKenna,” she announced. “She invited me to come to Compton’s house. She said she has more things that belonged to my father.”

  Dylan stopped at the foot of the bed and scowled. “You’re not going anywhere near that house or any of the Savannah MacKennas until we’ve caught whoever is out to kill you,” he ordered.

  “No, of course not,” she assured him. She wasn’t in the mood for a lecture now. She’d had enough pressure in one day to last a lifetime, and so she moved away from the subjects of bombs and killers and money.

  “I also talked to Isabel,” she said. “She seems happy. I didn’t tell her you were here. I didn’t want her to know . . . you know . . .”

  “Know what?” he prodded.

  “I told her everything was fine, and if she knew you were here, she’d start asking questions. What are you doing?”

  “What does it look like I’m doing? I’m taking my clothes off, and then I’m going to get in the shower.”

  “There’s a shower in the guest bath . . .”

  She stopped talking when he shut her bathroom door. A second later she heard the shower.

  She could be more forceful and send him to the guest room to sleep, but she didn’t want to, and that was the problem. In her heart she knew she was going to attack him as soon as he opened the door.

  “I need help,” she muttered. She was thoroughly disgusted with herself. She pulled the covers back and stretched out on the bed. This is all Jordan’s fault, she decided. Jordan sent Dylan, and she knew . . . oh, yes, she knew what would happen.

  Kate rolled onto her side and picked up the phone. Jordan couldn’t avoid her forever, and she decided she would leave a message that would guarantee she’d call back.

  Voice mail picked up. Kate waited for the beep and then she said, “Just thought you should know I—” She suddenly stopped. What if someone else listened to the message and heard her say she’d slept with Dylan? “Never mind,” she said.

  She was hanging up the phone when she heard someone say, “She should know what?”

  It was a man’s voice. “Who is this?”

  “Michael Buchanan. Is this Kate?”

  Thank God she’d come to her senses. “What are you doing in Boston?”

  “I’m on leave. I got in early, and I’m staying with Jordan until next weekend. Then I’ll move over to Nathan’s Bay. Mom and Dad will be home by then.”

  Michael had graduated from Annapolis and was training to become a Navy SEAL. He was a real daredevil, and of all the Buchanan brothers he was the most competitive.

  “When are you coming back to Boston?” he asked. “I want a rematch.”

  “Why? You’ll only lose again.”

  His laugh was just like Dylan’s. “We’ll see about that.”

  “Did you know Dylan’s here?”

  “Yes. Jordan told me he’s helping you with a little problem.”

  A little problem? “Yes, that’s right.”

  They talked for another minute. She promised to tell Dylan that Michael was home, and Michael promised to make Jordan call her back.

&nb

sp; She’d just hung up the phone when Dylan came out of the bathroom. He’d put on his khaki shorts and was going downstairs to check on the police officers to make sure they were where they were supposed to be. Kate thought he was being a little obsessive-compulsive.

  He didn’t come back upstairs for a long time. Kate tried to go to sleep, but her mind wouldn’t rest. She kept thinking about the “little” problem of figuring out who was trying to kill her. It had to be one of the MacKennas, but which one? Maybe all of them. Wouldn’t that be something? Vanessa could be in on it, too. At this point anything was possible.

  Chapter Thirty-three

  Kate had been tossing and turning for what seemed like hours when Dylan finally came to bed. It was well after midnight.

  He didn’t ask her if he could sleep with her. He simply took off his shorts and slid in next to her. He was awfully sure of himself, she thought, and she was about to tell him so when he pulled her into his arms.

  “You awake, Pickle?”

  “I’m too nervous about tomorrow to go to sleep.”

  “Good,” he said. He lifted her hair off the back of her neck and began to nibble on her soft skin.

  Shivers coursed down her legs, and she moved restlessly against him. “Why is it good?” she asked breathlessly.

  “It’s good because I won’t have to wake you up to make love to you.”

  He might have said something more to her; she couldn’t remember. The way he was touching her demanded her full attention, and forming a coherent thought simply became impossible.

  Their lovemaking was different tonight, more passionate, far more intense. And when at last they had both found fulfillment, he continued to hold her in his arms and stroke her back. His chin rested on top of her head, and every once in a while he would kiss her.

  As soon as the haze of passion lifted, she was miserable. She wanted to tell him how she felt, but she couldn’t. Why? Because the quickest way to get him to disappear would be to admit that she wanted to be with him forever.

  She did want that impossible dream with all her heart. How would he respond if she told him she wanted him forever? He’d probably pass out on her. She was actually able to summon up a smile as she thought about how crazy those three little words would make him.