Susan was preparing for the midmorning newsbreak when Andy approached her. She glanced up, wondering if today was going to be her last day. She rose, deciding she’d face her executioner.
“Did you hear? Jenna Thompson’s house burned last night.”
Her heart jumped a beat but she kept her voice even and steady. “Is she all right?”
“She escaped. House is a loss.”
Her mind started spinning, not with worry but stories. “Do they have a suspect?”
“Word is they think it might be the mother of that girl that was found dead.”
“Loyola Briggs.”
He arched a brow. “You’re on your game.”
“Pays to know. Want me to cover the story?”
“Already sent Brandy.”
“Brandy?”
“Like I said before, she polls better than you.”
Anger didn’t bubble but simmered. This day had been coming for a long time. Still, she couldn’t resist mentioning, “I started this story.”
“And Brandy is going to finish it.”
Susan glanced at the clock. Ten minutes to airtime. As she opened her desk drawer and removed her purse, she realized in thirty years she’d never missed a cue or broadcast. Today would be a day of firsts. “Andy, I quit.”
He cocked a brow. “You have a broadcast.”
When Jenna had refused her story idea, she’d known her time on the job was dwindling. She’d cleaned out her desk yesterday, knowing when the time came, she’d walk out with her head held high. “I’m sure you’ve got some nice young thing waiting in the wings.”
When Jenna woke the afternoon sun shone through lace curtains and sunlight slashed across the bed. For a moment she didn’t know where she was and then she remembered the fire and . . . Rick. They’d made love twice, the first time heated and quick, each surrendering to an animal need. When the storm had passed, Rick had traced his hand up her belly and circled his calloused finger against the hollow of her neck. She’d sucked in a breath, heat and fire reigniting. She’d arched her back. Her lips had parted and his name had escaped on the wings of a soft moan.
Jenna smiled at the memory. She’d liked making love to Rick Morgan. Liked it a lot. Twenty-four hours ago, the threads holding her to Nashville had been fraying, but now . . . well, she still had three weeks. She couldn’t make promises beyond that, but there was now.
As she sat up in bed, she searched for a feeling inside her that might be akin to belonging. She’d never had that feeling in Baltimore and not in Nashville either.
The moments in Rick’s arms, there’d been no worries about past, present, or future. No dreams of Shadow Eyes. No insomnia. Simply safe.
She glanced around at the empty, rumpled bedsheets. The impression of his head in the pillow remained a hollow reminder of what they’d shared.
She looked around the room, listening for any indication that he might be in the adjoining bathroom or nearby. When there was no sign of him, she dressed, and moved into the kitchen. She found no note from Rick.
She’d gone out of her way to remind him that she was leaving soon. That Nashville was not her home. Made sense he’d not leave a note. Why did it tweak her that he’d not?
In the kitchen, it took her time to find the coffee and to figure out the coffee machine. The process, which should have been automatic, was a time-consuming reminder that, despite great sex, she was an outsider. Normally, she accepted that status with grace, but this time, regret burned. For the first time she wanted to belong.
Rick arrived at his desk with Tracker, and a strong cup of coffee in hand. Tracker eased down on a pad by his desk. It was three in the afternoon and there was no sign of Bishop. Jenna had mentioned that her sister had had a boyfriend and that her teen years had been troubled. He’d made a few calls very early this morning to a friend who worked in juvenile records, hoping to get more information on Jenna’s sister, Sara.
Sipping the coffee, he opened the file. Sara’s trouble with the law had begun when she was fourteen. She’d been arrested for shoplifting, a charge that was dismissed thanks to her father’s intervention. Sara didn’t stay out of trouble long. Three months later, she shoplifted again. And two months after that, she was in the car when her boyfriend was arrested for driving one hundred miles an hour on I-40. The social worker on the case wrote several notes. “Problems began when Sara started dating her new boyfriend, Billy Martinez. Sara defends boyfriend. Sara expresses a desire to leave home.” Comments like this continued throughout the file.
The boyfriend’s name was Billy Martinez. Billy. Ronnie’s best friend. Susan Martinez. A brother perhaps? He studied the picture featuring a kid with long, blond hair and with blotchy skin; Billy appeared to be about eighteen or nineteen. Rick searched the kid and got a hit. A few phone calls and he had the kid’s record.
Billy had met Sara at the high school football game. According to his record, he had come from a low-income family but had a charming personality that could convince anyone to do just about anything. Classic bad guy meets and corrupts good girl? Billy’s record started with a theft charge and within six months had progressed to arson. Arson. The fires had been small but most arsonists started with small fires. And as their need for excitement and thrill grew, so did the fires.