Buch lesen: «Burning Secrets»
“I’ll walk you up.”
“That’s not necessary.” Drowsiness thickened Karen’s voice, turning it husky.
Jesse faced her and covered her hand with his. “Someone tried to make sure we didn’t get off that mountain yesterday. I am not about to let you walk into a dark house by yourself. End of discussion.” He smiled. “I told you I’d do my damnedest to protect you, and that still goes.”
Warmth rushed through her body. No one had ever wanted to protect her. Just the thought turned her all soft inside. “Okay.” She slipped from the car and went up the front walk with Jesse at her side, her elbow cupped in his warm palm.
At her room inside the B and B, Karen inserted her key in the lock. The tumblers clicked, but before she opened the door, she leaned forward and kissed Jesse’s cheek lightly. “Thank you.”
He said nothing, just touched the spot she’d kissed, stared intently into her eyes and then turned on his heel to leave. After one last glance in his direction, she opened the door…and screamed.
Dear Reader,
First of all, I want to thank all my readers for the wonderful reception you gave Baptism in Fire and Touched by Fire. You truly touched my heart with all your support for my debut into romantic suspense, along with my first foray into the twisted mind of the serial arsonist.
I am very excited about the publication of the next and last book in the F.I.S.T. series, Burning Secrets, for many reasons. Mostly because it ties together Jesse Kingston’s story—the last of the Kingston family series that I began in the Harlequin American Romance line—and Karen Ellis’s story, Sam’s sister from Touched by Fire, in a grand finale. So, for all of you who asked for Jesse’s story and waited patiently, here it is. Enjoy!
I’ve found that despite being terrified of fire in real life, I really enjoy writing about it and burning things up on the printed page while helping my heroes and heroines find love, understanding and inner peace. So I can guarantee there will be more arson-related stories coming from me.
In the meantime, be happy and healthy, and may all your dreams see fruition.
Until next time…happy reading!
Blessings!
Elizabeth Sinclair
Burning Secrets
Elizabeth Sinclair
MILLS & BOON
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ELIZABETH SINCLAIR
In 1988 Elizabeth’s husband, Bob, dragged her kicking and screaming from her birthplace, the scenic Hudson Valley of upstate New York, to historic St. Augustine, FL. It took her about three seconds to stop struggling and fall deeply in love with her adopted hometown. Shortly after their move, at 3:47 p.m. on August 3, 1992, she sold her first romance novel, Jenny’s Castle.
Despite the fact that she used to spend hours in the kitchen cooking big meals, Bob, Elizabeth’s most ardent supporter, has learned to enjoy hot dogs and delivery pizza as much as he used to enjoy spaghetti sauce from scratch. Oh, and he no longer complains about all the books she spends money on. Bob and Elizabeth have three children, four lovely grandchildren, a rambunctious sheltie, Ripley, and an affectionate adopted beagle, Sammi Girl, whom they found abandoned along the roadside and took into their home.
Elizabeth is the author of several romances for the Silhouette Romantic Suspense and Harlequin American Romance lines. For more about Elizabeth, visit her Web site at www.elizabethsinclair.com.
To Nancy Quatrano, a very special, caring person.
Our “furry” girls love you lots. So do we.
Contents
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Epilogue
Chapter 1
“I’ve been a complete ass.” Karen Ellis glanced apprehensively across the dining-room table at her older sister, Samantha Branson.
“Yes, you have.” Sam softened the accusation with a smile. “Want to tell me why?”
Sam’s birthday party guests had left hours earlier, and there was no longer any way Karen could escape the inevitable explanation that had waited years to be put into words.
Nervous about how Sam would take her admission of guilt, Karen put off explaining by repeatedly running a piece of yellow ribbon between her thumb and forefinger. As it slid between her fingers, the ribbon’s curl became tighter and tighter, until it mirrored Karen’s coiled nerves. Needing no reminder of how much the mere thought of having this conversation had made her skin crawl, Karen threw the ribbon back into the pile of torn and crumpled wrapping paper, empty gift boxes and mangled bows that littered the table.
“Well?” Sam prompted.
Karen glanced at her. Even though Sam pressed her for an answer, Karen could tell from her sister’s guarded expression that she had no more desire to open the door to their very painful past than Karen did. The uncomfortable silence of two strangers trying to find common ground enveloped them.
Sam shifted forward, determination evident in her set mouth. “What happened to us, Karen? We were close once, when we were little. When did it all fall apart?”
Karen took a fortifying breath. No matter how difficult and no matter what the consequences, the time had come to clean the slate and finally be honest with both herself and Sam.
“I guess it started when I began blaming you for Dad walking out on us and Mom living vicariously through you in her quest for fame and, in the process, forgetting she had two daughters.” Karen looked away, ashamed now of how long she’d allowed her petty, misplaced blame to stand between them. “But you were as much a victim as I was.” She shrugged. “Maybe more so. After having a long talk with Dad today at the party, I understand why he left. It couldn’t have been easy for him watching Mom steal our childhood by treating me like a stepchild and dragging you from beauty pageant to beauty pageant.” All the years of loneliness that had burned inside her seemed to melt away with each word she spoke. She pushed on.
“You were the shining star and I became the invisible child. Samantha’s hanger-on sister. Mom’s unwanted burden. Somewhere along the way I began to resent you for it. It wasn’t until years later that I realized that Mom never gave you a choice. By that time, I didn’t know how to fix things between us.” Her eyes burned with unshed tears. “Can we fix it?” She blinked the tears away and met her sister’s gaze. “Can we?”
“Isn’t that what we’re doing?” Sam smiled and squeezed Karen’s hand. “It’s in the past, sweetie. If I’ve learned anything in the last few months, it’s that we have to let the past rest and not taint today. Life is too short for should-haves. Sometimes we’re so busy worrying about what was that we miss out on what can be.”
Emotion clogging her throat, Karen could only nod. She didn’t think she deserved Sam’s forgiveness, but she was infinitely glad that she’d given it, especially now. Never had she needed her sister more.
“The Ellis sisters are reunited, so where are the smiles?” Tilting her head, Sam frowned. “Could it be that burying the hatchet isn’t the only thing that brought you here?”
“Not entirely. Truth is, I’m—” Karen swallowed hard, summoning the courage to let go of her precious secret.
Sam got up and came around the table. She drew up a chair beside Karen and put her arm around her sister’s shoulders. “You’re what?” She waited, but Karen still couldn’t find the words. “Come on. We’re sisters. Sisters share.” Sam laid her forehead against Karen’s. “Remember how we used to whisper our secrets to each other after Mom and Dad went to bed?”
Unable to force words past the clog of emotion in her throat, Karen nodded.
Her sister squeezed her hand again. “Well, I’m still willing to be your confidante.”
Karen raised her head. “You’re the best.”
Responding with a grin and a wink, Sam looked happier than Karen could remember ever seeing her. “That’s what A.J. tells me.”
The all-too-familiar ache of loneliness that had squeezed her heart for the last three months grew inside Karen. Sam was so lucky to have A.J. Her handsome detective husband doted on her, and anyone with eyes in their head could see the depth of his love for his wife.
“Sam, I’m pregnant.”
The words tumbled out before Karen could stop them, but as she said them, she felt the tension drain from her body. Until that very moment, she hadn’t realized how much it had been costing her to carry this burden alone.
Sam’s mouth fell open. Surprise and delight danced across her features. Then she hugged Karen. “That’s wonderful. When are you due? What about your husband? I didn’t even know you’d gotten married.” Her eyes filled with questions, Sam leaned closer and studied Karen for a long moment. “Why do I get the feeling that you’re not a happy mother-to-be?”
Sunshine sifted through the window and beat down on Karen’s cold, tightly clenched hands. Amazed that talking about this could still hurt so much, she reached deep down inside and summoned the words of explanation. “I’m thrilled about the baby, but…I’m not married, Sam. The baby’s father, Paul Jackson, died three months ago in a forest fire in upstate New York.” Old pain muffled the last few words. She cleared her throat of emotion. “He didn’t know about the baby. Aside from my doctor and now you, no one else knows.”
Smoothing her hand over her flat stomach, Karen couldn’t help but smile. At three and a half months, she wasn’t showing yet, which had helped her keep her secret. The weight loss she’d suffered from morning sickness and the shock of Paul’s death had kept her pregnancy concealed from everyone but her doctor. And that’s the way she’d wanted it, until now.
Paul’s child was all she had left of him, and she wanted to treasure that for a bit longer. Not having the opportunity to mourn Paul in the normal way, the process had been hard for Karen to weather, but she’d made it. But only by reminding herself of her responsibility to her child. Memories of Paul continued to haunt her. But memories weren’t the only thing on her mind.
“There’s something else.” Karen grasped Sam’s arm in a desperate grip. “I want this baby to have the family we never had. I want to find Paul’s family and tell them about the baby. Will you help me?”
Perplexed, Sam stared at Karen. “I don’t understand. Why don’t you know where his family is? Didn’t you meet them at his funeral?”
Memories bombarded Karen again. “I didn’t go to Paul’s funeral. I didn’t even know anything had happened until I called the ranger station to find out why I hadn’t heard from him. By that time, Paul had been dead for weeks. The funeral and burial had already been held.
“As for family, Paul and I never discussed his or mine.” She felt the heat of her cheeks blushing slightly. “We only had a few months together, and I guess we were too busy being in love to care about our pasts. Then again, maybe we sensed that neither of us wanted to discuss our families. All I know is that he was from the Midwest and he graduated from Cornell University’s School of Forestry, where he met Jesse Kingston, his fellow ranger and best friend. I’ve contacted the university and they gave me the same runaround as the Adirondack Mountains Preserve’s ranger station—it’s against policy to give out any personal information.”
Sam thought for a moment. “Did you do a search for Paul on the Internet?”
Karen grimaced. “Do you know how many Paul Jacksons there are in the Midwest? Millions. I don’t even know which state to focus on.”
Sam sighed. “Jeez, Karen, I want to help you, but I’m not sure how.” Deep in thought, she drummed her fingertips on the tabletop. “What about his friend, this Jesse what’s-his-name? Wouldn’t he know how to locate Paul’s family?”
“Jesse Kingston.” Karen sighed. “Another dead end. When I called to talk to him, he’d just left for home on medical leave, and the ranger station wouldn’t give me his address.”
A broad grin broke across Sam’s face. “Well, I happen to have connections within the firefighting community, and my connections have connections.” She picked up the phone, punched in a number from memory and waited. “Rachel, I need a favor. Can you find the home address for a forest ranger named Jesse Kingston? He’s based in upstate New York’s Adirondack Mountains Preserve.” Sam paused. “I’ll explain later, just find it for me as soon as you can and call me back.” She covered the receiver with her hand and turned to Karen. “Do you want her to get Paul’s info, too?”
Knowing she hadn’t told Sam everything, Karen hesitated for a moment, then shook her head. She had to speak to Jesse herself. “This is enough of an imposition. If she can just get Jesse’s address, I’m sure I can get Paul’s information from him.”
For a long moment, Sam frowned at her, but finally removed her hand from the receiver. “Okay, Rachel, I guess that’s it. Thanks. I owe you one.” She hung up. “Rachel Sutherland is my best friend and the head of F.I.S.T., the Fire Investigation Special Team. She knows people she can contact. She’s going to do some digging and get back to me.”
Relief washed through Karen. Because it was pure speculation on her part, she hadn’t told Sam her other reason for wanting to find Jesse Kingston.
Paul had been a first-class forest ranger, and she was having a hard time believing that his death was an accident. She recalled vividly how upset he’d been when he’d related how a new ranger had done something very like what they claimed Paul had done. The young ranger had nearly died for his lack of good judgment.
It didn’t make sense that Paul would walk into a wall of fire that he knew would probably kill him. If anyone could tell her why Paul had done something so completely out of character, it would be Jesse.
“The mongrel son returns,” Jesse Kingston jeered softly to himself.
He backed his battered brown SUV into one of the two open parking spots in front of the Diner, his tiny hometown of Bristol’s favorite gathering place. Turning off the engine, he glanced first at the array of pickup trucks and cars crowding the lot, then at his watch. The trip south from the mountains to Bristol should have taken only a little over an hour. If it hadn’t been for the weekend traffic, he’d have been here a long time ago.
More to the point, if his boss, Chief Ranger Hank Thompson, hadn’t ordered him home to “get his head on straight,” Jess wouldn’t be here at all. He’d be in the only place he’d ever considered to be his real home—the forest.
He could still hear Hank’s words ringing in his ears. “You’re driving everyone around here crazy with your questions about Paul’s death. I want the questions to stop, and I want you to go home and get a handle on your life.” He’d taken a deep breath, and when he spoke again his voice was less strident. “Dammit! It’s not rocket science, Jess, and there’s no big mystery. The official report was that Jackson stupidly walked into a bad situation and paid the price. We all make mistakes. For your sake and mine, let it go.”
Jess couldn’t let it go. Hank was wrong. Paul didn’t make mistakes. Jess had known him since they’d graduated from forestry school. They’d been through hell together, fighting forest fires shoulder to shoulder. Paul was the best. He’d risen up the ranks fast and eventually became Jess’s superior officer. But they’d remained friends. Paul had never pulled rank on Jess until that day three months ago when he’d ordered Jess to stay behind while he’d walked into the trees and never came out.
Jesse hadn’t told Hank, but just because he was back in Bristol didn’t mean he’d stop trying to find out what actually happened to Paul. Before Jess could find any inner peace, he had to know if it was his fault—if he’d followed Paul, would it have made a difference and would Paul be alive today?
Familiar guilt flooded through him. Jess rubbed his hand over his tired, burning eyes and wished for the thousandth time that he hadn’t obeyed Paul’s orders. If he’d just followed him anyway, if he’d—
He cut off the painful musings and let his gaze wander, taking in the lazy street activity. The town hadn’t changed much. Elma Davidson hobbled toward the library with the latest bestseller tucked under her arm, a cane supporting her arthritic body. Marv Adams still had the For Sale sign in the Gazette window, right where it had been for twenty years. The Garden Club had planted a colorful array of summer flowers around the flagpole in the center of the small, grassy town square.
How deceptive it all was. Beneath its lazy, welcoming exterior, Jess could almost hear the hum of gossip that would begin when the townspeople found out Frank Kingston’s son was back. The same gossip mill had worked overtime when Jess’s mother had left his father and then again when Jess had come back here at the age of nine.
Jesse sighed. Despite the familiar sights and the fact that he’d grown up here, he still felt like a stranger. Would there ever come a time when he thought of this place as home?
He started to open the car door, but hesitated. Did he really want to stay? He could just back the car out and no one would know he’d even been there.
You’ve been running away from things all your life. Isn’t it about time you stopped?
Unsure if he was ready to face his childhood demons, Jess conceded that running hadn’t helped before and probably wouldn’t help now. He was here, and he might as well stay. Stuffing his apprehension in his back pocket, Jesse climbed from the car, closed the door and then went into the diner.
Karen’s stomach growled. She hadn’t eaten since the Danish and coffee she’d grabbed at a thruway rest stop hours ago. She leaned into the car, retrieved her purse, closed and locked the door, then headed for the diner, appropriately named the Diner. From all the travels with her mother over the years, she’d learned that the hub of any information in a small town was one of two places—the local garage or the local eatery.
Thanks to Sam’s friend Rachel’s connections, Karen knew that Jesse Kingston had just been sent home on leave to Bristol, New York. With any luck, stopping at the diner would allow her to fill her stomach and learn something about the man she wanted to meet.
Inside, Karen paused and did a double take. From its pink-and-black vinyl booths to the chrome bands around the counter stools and the rainbow-colored jukebox tucked in the back corner, the Diner looked like it had fallen straight out of an episode of Happy Days. The hum of the customers’ voices nearly drowned out the strains of a plaintive country song drifting out from the jukebox. The air hung heavy with the odor of grease, cooking meat and bodies.
A sign beside the cash register read Seat Yourself. Since there were quite a few patrons, Karen didn’t have much of a choice. The booths were taken by several couples, four men loudly discussing the latest baseball scores and one man sitting alone with his back to her, his attention buried in a newspaper.
She made her way down the narrow aisle between the booths and the counter seats and chose one of the only available stools.
A tall, thirtyish man emerging through a door to her left drew her attention from the small, cardboard menu card she’d pulled from between a napkin holder and a bottle of ketchup. Over his shoulder she could see a door with the word Roosters and a picture of a rooster in overalls chewing on a piece of straw painted on it.
The man walked down the aisle with the assurance of someone totally at home. As he moved toward her, he spoke to several people at the counter and paused to add his opinion of the Yankees’ last game to those already expressed loud and clear by the group in the booth. Moments later, obviously seeing that he was not going to change anyone’s assessment that the Yankees would take the pennant, he shook his head and moved on. He’d almost reached her when he stopped next to the booth occupied by the lone man reading the newspaper.
“Well, I’ll be damned. As I live and breathe. If it isn’t Jess Kingston in the flesh.”
Jess glanced up from the newspaper, which he hadn’t been really reading but using more as a shield against anyone engaging him in conversation. Evidently, Charlie Clay didn’t let a little thing like a newspaper stand in his way.
“Hello, Charlie.”
“When’d you get back in town?”
“Little while ago.” Hopefully, if he didn’t give the appearance of wanting to exchange pleasantries, this conversation would end quickly. Charlie’s next words told Jess he’d been successful.
“Well…nice to see you.” Charlie moved on.
As the construction worker moved on, Jess caught sight of a woman at the counter. She faced him and although he couldn’t see her eyes, which were hidden behind sunglasses, he could tell she was showing an overt interest in him. Used to his dark looks drawing attention from women, he tried to dismiss her stare. But he couldn’t seem to tear his gaze from her.
Jess didn’t recognize her. If this woman had lived in Bristol, he would definitely remember. With that kind of breathtaking beauty, how could he not? Feeling more interest in a woman than he had in some time, Jess made no effort to hide his blatant appraisal of her.
A cascade of ash-blond curls fell around her shoulders, which were exposed by her snug green halter top. Low-slung jeans molded her curvy hips, thighs and endless legs. She removed her sunglasses and brilliant green, questioning eyes gazed back at him.
To his surprise, he felt his breath catch. His chest expanded in an effort to draw in enough oxygen to sustain him. His throat went dry. Jess felt more life surging through him than he would have believed possible. Still, two questions hammered at his mind.
Who is this gorgeous woman, and why is she staring at me?
When Karen had heard the man’s name, her heart beat had sped up. She gasped. Unable to believe her luck, she stared across the narrow aisle at Jesse Kingston. His gaze slid over her. Rather than seeing it as an insolent gesture, she felt her body warm involuntarily, as though he’d actually made physical contact with her skin. He was probably one of the handsomest men she’d ever encountered. Windblown waves of jet-black hair framed his tanned face, and the set of his square jaw proclaimed an unbending nature.
Stop it, Karen!
But the desolate look in his dark brown eyes struck a chord inside her. A sharp ache passed through her heart. She knew that look. She’d seen it often enough on her own face while she was growing up. Loneliness. She also knew he’d never admit it, because she never would have. She’d lived inside her painful world, praying for someone to notice. But no one ever had.
Even though she empathized with his pain, there was nothing she could do for him. Nothing she wanted to do. So why did she still feel this overwhelming need to try?
Since Paul’s death, she hadn’t noticed any man, drop-dead handsome or dirt ugly, and her unsolicited reaction disturbed her. Why now? Why him?
Mentally shaking herself, she redirected her thoughts. She hadn’t come here to ogle the local male population. Jesse Kingston interested her for two reasons and two reasons only—to find out how to contact Paul’s family and to discover how much of an accident Paul’s death had really been. And there was no time like the present to start finding those answers.
She stood and walked to the booth where Jesse sat, his gaze still fastened on her. “Hello, Mr. Kingston. I’m Karen Ellis.” She extended her hand. He ignored it. Despite the obvious snub, she waited for some reaction from Jesse, but none came. “I need to talk to you about Paul Jackson,” she said before she lost her nerve.
Jesse’s face grew grim and stiff. “I have nothing to say about Paul.”
Throwing her what could only be classified as a disdainful glare, Jesse laid the paper aside, stood, then tossed a few bills on the table. He shouldered past her and walked out the door to the diner.
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