Unlock the Truth

Chapter Twenty

Dena jolted awake. Where was she and what was that sound? Every part of her body went on alert. She took a deep breath, realized she was in the living room at the casita, in an armchair, in the pitch black of midnight, snuggled beneath a blanket.

She and Zeke had argued.

A soft crunch sounded outside the window, then another. She held her breath and listened. There it was again, a definite crunch. Footsteps. She’d observed that sound whenever she’d moved off the concrete and onto the edges of the garden beds that were covered with crushed rock. Was someone out there, or was it a wild animal, maybe a feral cat? No, the tread was too heavy.

She put the recliner footrest down with caution. Perhaps it was Zeke coming to apologize? But she knew him, he’d have called first. Or, he’d knock on the door. She shuddered. There was nowhere to run. No way out. Every instinct told her to hide.

The sound of the doorknob turning spurred her to action. She stepped behind the chair that was closest to the wall, crouched behind it, lowered her body to the floor and clutched the blanket to her chest. She clamped one hand over her mouth, sure any intruder would hear her nervous breathing, and if not the breathing, then the heartbeat.

It couldn’t be Zeke, he’d said there was only one key. And he’d insisted on a safety chain, he’d put it on himself. Had she remembered to use it? In her prior emotional state, she doubted she had. Something turned in the lock and made a tiny scraping sound, then a click. Every muscle in her body tensed.

The door eased open. No light flooded the room and it should have, so the person must have removed the light bulb from the entrance. A dark shape filled the room. The door closed. The soft sound of footsteps moved toward her bedroom. Afraid to move for fear of giving herself away, she didn’t dare to even peep around the armchair. She concentrated on calming her adrenaline rush. Then she heard a sound, like punching at her bed, and almost let out a gasp. She pressed her lips tight, clamped the hand tighter over her mouth.

There were a string of oaths in English and Spanish, from a deep male voice, as the man re-crossed the small room.

Darkness washed over her and she almost passed out from fear. Stay centered. She took several quiet breaths and eased them out. The sound of her heartbeat pounded in her ears, almost as loud as the footsteps.

“Whore,” the man said.

She froze at the words. Had she ever heard that voice before? There were several gruff, angry cusswords then the door opened and slammed against the wall. She shivered, knew the door was still open by the rush of cool air, and strained to hear the footsteps fade.

She stayed still, held herself tight and tried to stop the shaking. How long she was there she was unsure. It could have been seconds, could have been minutes. The person was long gone. She peeked from behind the chair. The door was wide open.

On hands and knees, careful to work her way around the perimeter of the room and not disturb where he’d walked, she made her way to the telephone. Through the open bedroom door she saw the bed. The pillow she’d hugged earlier looked like it had been ripped down the middle.

She raised her body up, pulled the handset from the wall phone and punched in 911. Bile rose in her throat and she felt like vomiting into the kitchen sink.

“Someone…someone broke into my place…tried to kill me,” she said, and then she started to shake violently and her knees buckled. She pushed a hand hard against the wall to prop herself up.

“Are you injured?”

“No…no, I hid. He didn’t see me.”

“Your name?”

“Dena Roman.”

“Are you alone now, Dena?”

“Yes, but there’s a main house, I’m in a guest house. There are people up there.” Thinking of Zeke and their argument she started to shake harder. Tears slid down her face and she swiped at them and tried to hold the telephone handset steady.

“Give me the address,” the operator said.

Damn. She couldn’t remember the actual address, and she’d slept with the guy who owned the place. Shame filled her and the panic crept back in.

“It’s…I can’t remember,” she said, and cried harder. She gave herself a talking to about getting a grip, sniffed hard, and finally realized they’d know how to get here. “It’s the Cabrera estate, Three C’s. I’m in the guest house near the pool.”

“We’ll dispatch someone right away. Would you like to stay on line with one of us?”

“Why?”

“In case he comes back.”

Dena shivered. The door was still open. She hadn’t wanted to touch anything. She’d wanted them to get fingerprints. Yeah, like he hadn’t worn gloves.

“Miss? Are you still there?”

“Um, yes,” Dena said. “Thanks, but there’s no reason to stay on the line. I’ll call up to the house. Someone will come down here.”

“Okay.”

She left the front door ajar as her intruder had left it and sat rigidly at the kitchen table. She pressed the intercom button and waited for Zeke to answer.

****

Zeke tossed and turned. Sleep would be a long time coming tonight. The intercom buzzed. He glared at the clock, pressed the button.

“Yeah?”

“Zeke, I need you.”

Damn. Couldn’t she wait until morning to yell at him? He knew he was an idiot. Her voice was funny, like she was crying. He didn’t need her to tell him he was an ass, or to cry, or whatever it was that women did in those awkward situations.

“What’s up?” he asked, and tried to make his voice sound groggy, like he’d been deeply asleep instead of pounding his pillow.

“Zeke, listen,” Dena said, her voice hoarse and shaky. “Someone tried to kill me—”

“What? Where?” He was out of bed in a flash, looking around the floor for his jeans. He pulled them on and hopped from one foot to the other, heard her say something about a knife, and a pillow, and the door to the casita.

He pressed the speaker button. “Hang on,” he said, and zipped up. “I’m on my way. Call 911.”

He grabbed his cell phone and took off at a sprint. Damn it. He’d thought he’d seen someone earlier and in his own indignant response to Dena’s assertion he’d ignored it, placed her in danger. He ran harder.

The minute he burst through the back door of the hacienda he smelled the acrid smoke and scanned the perimeter of the property then back to the casita. Smoke curled up from behind it, somewhere near the bathroom.

Dena. He couldn’t see any flames, but there was an eerie glow behind the building. Was she inside? His bare feet slapped on the path as he ran.

A horse whinnied. They’d have smelled the smoke. There’d be bedlam soon. When he got to the casita, Dena was in a pair of boxers and a tank top, attaching the hose to the hose bib.

“Oh, Zeke, I didn’t know…the fire,” she said, and waved one hand around. “He must have come back and lit it. I just smelled the smoke after I hung up with you, and then I ran outside to wait, and I saw this.”

Her eyes were wide and scared as she looked toward the back of the casita. He grabbed the hose, turned the faucet full on, and ran.

“Call 911 again,” he yelled over his shoulder, and tossed his cell phone to her. “Get fire trucks.”

He sprinted across the garden dragging the hose. Flames met him at the rear of the casita; damn fire was spreading, and he shaded his face from the heat. He sprayed the water over the nearest flames, but they were heading fast toward the back wall of the casita. The roof was Spanish tile and pretty heat resistant, and it would slow the fire down some.

Dena ran around the side of the casita. “Fire trucks are on their way. Is there another hose somewhere?”

He tried to reassemble his thoughts, aimed the stream of water to the center of the blaze. “Yeah, in the stables. If this spreads, they’ll be the next thing to go, they’re all wood.”

“I’ll let the horses into the back pasture,” Dena said.

“Dena,” he yelled, above the crackle of the flames, his throat parched from the heat and the smoke. “Close the front door to the stables before you open the back door.”

The last thing he needed were horses running in this direction. She raised a hand in acknowledgement and ran.

****

Dena got the horses out, dragged the hose from the stables, propped it in the branch of a tree and angled the stream toward the nearest flames on the opposite side of Zeke. She ran back to the stables, emptied out the bucket that held the horse’s treats, grabbed one of the workers bandanas and put it over her mouth and tied it in back.

She ran to the pool and filled the bucket with pool water and carried it, water sloshing over her legs, to the rear of the casita where she tossed it onto the walls.

Zeke was wild eyed. He’d climbed onto the roof and was hosing down the wall from the top. He was barefoot, and she knew the heat that would be on those tiles, but he was making good progress. His wiry body was silhouetted against the dark of the sky, and the glow from the fire. She ran back and forth to the pool, dragging bucket after bucket of water, not knowing what else to do.

Sirens sounded, but she couldn’t see lights. They must be a couple of miles away. She pulled up the bandana. “Get down, Zeke,” she yelled. “It’s getting too hot up there.”

He raised a hand. She took in a ragged breath and coughed, replaced the bandana. Her chest was tight. Her feet ached from the roughness of the pavement, but she refused to slow down.

Zeke moved across the roof, closer to the back edge. There was a crack of timber on the other side, and he went down onto his knees with a loud curse.

“Zeke,” she yelled.

She couldn’t see him. Her eyes stung from the heat, and the smoke, and the fear of losing him. He was no longer visible and her heart leaped. Had the roof caved? She dropped the bucket and ran around the side of the casita. Relief flooded her as she saw his head. He crawled over the roof top, and half-fell, half-jumped to the ground below.

“I left…the hose…on top,” he said hoarsely, and rolled over onto the grass, gasping.

She pulled him away from the building toward the pool, and switched on the outdoor pool lights. His hair was singed, and she doubted he had any eyebrows left. His face was dark with soot but it didn’t look like he was burned. His body was hot to the touch, and it felt like it was baked. He was so weakened, he could barely stand.

She looked back. The fire was almost under control. They’d made great progress, but the slightest breeze, the tiniest spark—

“Get in the water,” she said, and pulled him toward the pool steps.

She sat him on the edge, went in first then eased his body into the cool water. She washed his face, cupped the water for him to drink. A little chlorine wouldn’t kill him.

Two fire trucks pulled up, and the firemen jumped the side gates, just as a new surge of flames lit up the sky in the trees beyond the casita. The wind had pushed the fire in that direction. Thank goodness. Trees could be replaced.

The fireman dragged long hoses behind them, and yelled directions to each other.

“Stay here,” Dena said to Zeke, who had tried to climb out of the pool. She hurried toward one of the firemen.

“There’s nobody in there,” she called out. “But there was a crime committed here earlier.” She knew it was dumb to say, probably the place would be gutted, or flooded. “If you don’t have to go inside the front door, well, that would be great.” She shrugged. “Evidence.”

“Sure. Gotcha’ ma’am,” the fireman said kindly. “We’ll do what we can.”

More orders were given, a couple of men climbed onto the roof as Zeke had done. She noticed they had heavy boots though and grimaced at the pain Zeke must have felt.

Manny ran down from the house toward her, rubbing at his eyes. He was also dressed in boxers. It seemed to be the uniform of the day.

“I heard the sirens.” He stared around at the chaos. “Where’s Zeke?”

“In the pool.”

“What?”

Manny took off at a run, and Dena allowed herself a tiny smirk. It was a funny thought, the owner of the place swimming laps while his home burned to the ground. She followed, and an incredible tiredness washed over her. Zeke still sat on the edge of the pool, soaking his feet. He looked a bit better.

“I’m going over to the casita, see if I can help,” Manny said, and began to move away.

“Don’t touch anything,” Dena said, and collapsed onto the steps beside Zeke. “They might sweep for fingerprints. Or make footprint images.”

“Yeah, Zeke told me what happened,” Manny said. “Are you okay?”

Dena nodded.

“Better still,” Zeke said, and winced as he stood. He motioned toward the casita. “Look.”

Huge billowing clouds of dark smoke curled above the building. “Flames have died down. We should all stay away,” he said. “The guys have got the fire under control. Let’s sit at the table.”

****

When they were seated, Zeke searched Dena’s face. Her eyes were wide, fear-filled, she shivered and he realized she was in shock. She’d been through her own trauma, and yet kept on going to help save the place from burning to the ground. He hadn’t even heard fully what had happened to her.

Everything was under control. He could hear the firemen’s yells, and saw the last flicker of flame turn into plumes of thick black smoke.

Dena shivered. He had nothing to give her for warmth, and it was cold.

“Let me get you a blanket, and then you can tell me what happened. Will you be okay if I run up to the house?” His eyes scanned the shrubs surrounding the pool. What the hell was he thinking? Of course her attacker was long gone.

Dena shook her head, mumbled something about his feet.

Manny looked down at Zeke’s feet, and then over at Dena. “I’ll go,” he said. “Tell me what you want, blankets, anything else?”

“Open the courtyard gate, and the front door,” Zeke said. “Leave it wide open, for the cops.” He felt unbelievably tired, and put his arms on the table. He rested his head on them for a moment.

“Are you…you…okay?” she asked, and her teeth chattered.

He drew her chair closer, put his arm around her, although he was soaking wet. “Hang in there Dena, hang in there,” he said, and smoothed her hair. “I love you babe. Everything is going to be all right. I love you.”

Manny came back with two blankets, just as a cop car siren sounded.

Zeke was close to throwing up.

Fear gripped him. This wasn’t going to look good for Manny.

“Bring the cops down here, will you, Manny? Don’t go anywhere near the casita. Don’t touch anything, whatever you do.”

Fear crossed Manny’s face for a second. “Sure,” he said, and took off.

Poor kid.

Zeke watched Stanton step out onto the hacienda verandah.

For once he was grateful to see his old friend.