Read Online Once Burned (Task Force Eagle) by Susan Vaughan - Free Book Online Page B

cold for too long and had just found hearth and home. Was it
Lani he wanted? Or was he remembering Gail?
    Dangerous. He had to stash those feelings where they
couldn’t pop out at him.
    She rattled the paper with Tyson’s directions. “We
should be almost there. It’s a cedar-shingled Cape.”
    A few moments later, she leaned forward, peering
ahead. “I smell smoke.”
    He caught a hint of it. No surprise she was
hypersensitive to fire. “Probably someone burning brush.”
    Eyes wide with dread, she’d gone as pale as the paper
she held. She pointed ahead. “I see Tyson’s mailbox up ahead, the red one
shaped like a fire truck.”
    Jake smelled charred wood but musty and sour and
mingled with an acrid tang. He knew that odor better than she did and it wasn’t
from burning brush. He braced for the worst as he turned into the gravel drive
by the rural mailbox. Yellow police tape blocked the drive. He cut the engine
and stared.
    “Oh, God!” She pressed her bandaged hands to her
mouth. “I talked to Tyson only last night.”
    Two water-soaked walls and a brick chimney were all
that remained of the house. A broken picture frame hung askew on soot-blackened
stripes of wallpaper. A few blackened posts marked the location of the attached
barn.
    “He could’ve gotten out. Maybe he’s all right.” But
his ATF sixth sense told him otherwise.
    They left the SUV and stood at the tape barrier. Tendrils
of smoke curled from smoldering embers in the granite-block foundation and that
of the attached barn. Up close, the flat-out stink stung his nose and eyes.
    “No, no, please, God, no,” Lani whispered. “It can’t
be.”
    Blue lights flashed behind them. He turned to see two
black sheriff’s department cruisers pull in behind his Cherokee.

 
     
    Chapter 7
     
    By the time Lani and Jake made it to Birch Brook Farm,
night had fallen. She was exhausted, mentally and physically, and her hands
were bleeding.
    The deputies had been watching for anyone who came to
the scene. One escorted them to the sheriff’s office, where a state arson
investigator questioned them. Frank Tyson died in the fire. The investigator
revealed no other details, but the implication of arson was clear. Also clear
was that Lani and Jake were under the microscope. Jake carried no official ID
with him so his claim to be an agent on leave merely roused smirks. No worries,
he told her. He’d clear things up later with the fire marshal’s office.
    While they waited for pizza delivery, she sat at the
table and Jake cleaned and re-bandaged her palms. Part of his ATF training, he
told her. He dumped the old bandages in the trash and washed his hands in the
kitchen sink. Over his shoulder he said, “You can’t blame yourself for Tyson’s
death.”
    She stared at her hands, palms up in her lap. The
healing scabs stung and itched. An ache throbbed in her chest but the rest of
her was numb. “He must’ve had something important in his notes. If I hadn’t
phoned him—”
    “Don’t guilt yourself.” He sat at the table with a
beer from the refrigerator. “Whoever set the fire is the murderer.”
    An icy finger trailed down her spine. “Don’t you think
I know that?”
    “Who knew you were going to see Tyson today?”
    “No one. I didn’t mention him, only Oak Mills as my
destination. I told Nora. Steve Quimby. I saw him in the general store. Buddy,
of course.”
    “Half the town, once Buddy got to the Wheelhouse. The
killer knew exactly where Tyson lived, drew the logical conclusion.
You—we—might not need to do more. This fire is tied to the old fire. No
question in my mind” He sipped his beer, looking too in charge. Too settled in
her kitchen. “Re-opening the investigation was our goal, remember? That could
take awhile, so I intend to continue. He’s killed again, so there’s no time to
waste. You’re in danger. Is there anything you haven’t already told me about
the night of the fire?”
    Grief dragged at her. On a deep sigh,