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

hell didn’t have Galt’s.
    He shook his head, smoothed his mustache. “Too
nebulous. They’d jump in if you had real evidence. As I understand it,
you don’t remember much of anything about the fire.”
    What she remembered and what she’d dreamed in the haze
of pain swirled in her mind like soured cotton candy. She raised her chin. “That was true.”
    His eyebrows shot north. “I’d like to know if you
remember something, anything at all.”
    “Not your case, is it, Chief Galt? It’s the state fire
marshal’s office I should tell.”

 
     
    Chapter 5
     
    When Lani didn’t see Jake’s blue SUV in the drive of
his grandmother’s house, her shoulders drooped. The walk from the police
station was less than a mile, but her sore body felt like she’d just hiked the
Knife Edge of Mount Katahdin. Backwards. But, whoo hoo, here came the man as if
she’d conjured him. Maybe she was psychic. Then again, a psychic would have
prevented the fire or run into the barn in time to save Gail. She rubbed her
chest with the back of one hand.
    “Hey, Lani,” Jake called as he exited the vehicle. “You
come to make fun of my amateur carpentry?”
    He looked good in well-worn jeans and a blue oxford
shirt that matched his eyes. No harm in looking. She’d looked often enough when
they were younger.
    “I didn’t, but thanks for the warning. I need someone
to do repairs at the farm, but I’ll cross your name off my list.”
    They climbed the three porch steps, weathered and
sagging from generations of running children. He opened the door and waved her
inside. “For now, I’m doing mostly demolition. My specialty.”
    The sun-washed scent of his cotton shirt and a faint
trace of spicy aftershave caught her off guard. Shaking off the impact, she
filed past him into the bungalow’s living room. Piles of jagged plaster and
lath, a sledge hammer and power tools, and black trash bags filled to bursting
lay about.
    “Whoa, has Dragon Harbor had a tornado I don’t know
about?”
    He laughed, the first time she’d heard his rich voice
in full force. He used to laugh all the time. They all did.
    “Told you. Demolition. Too much of the lath and plaster
is mouse-eaten and mildewed from roof leaks. All of it has to go. Hank had the
roof done so all’s dry now. New drywall is next. A learning experience.”
    “So’s driving my car off a cliff. Don’t think I want
to give either one a try. Kudos to you for having the guts. The farmhouse doesn’t
need nearly as much.”
    He gestured for her to follow him toward the kitchen. “We
can sit on the back porch. I haven’t messed it up too bad. I want to talk to
you anyway.”
    “You said last night you were headed to the farm.
Because you wanted to talk to me?”
    He didn’t answer her, but stopped in the kitchen to
snatch a couple of colas from the ancient fridge.
    She shook her head and held up her bandaged hands. “I’ll
pass unless you have a straw. Or maybe you want to hold the can up to my mouth.”
    The lines around his eyes tightened in embarrassment.
He gave her a crooked grin. “My bad. I wasn’t thinking. No straws, and I wouldn’t
trust me not to spill soda on you.”
    Scattered around the screened porch were a padded
wicker loveseat, some Adirondack chairs, a stack of packing boxes, and a bench.
    Gesturing for her to take the loveseat, he paced,
regarding her with enough intensity to see through her bones. “Just wanted to
make sure you were all right.”
    “Lucky for me you tried. I wouldn’t be sitting here
otherwise. You’d think after all these years, I’d be over my fire phobia.
Post-traumatic stress.”
    He shifted one shoulder in an offhand shrug. “PTSD’s a
hard thing to shake. Even with counseling.”
    “I’ve had plenty of that, believe me.” She stopped
there. More, like descriptions of her nightmares, would be TMI. She looked out
over a freshly mowed backyard with overgrown shrubbery—lilac bushes, a row of
rhododendrons, others she