Behind the Shield Page 4

  He broke from the trees and his heart hit his gut with a thud.

  The house was engulfed. Fire crackled and swirled around blackened timbers. He killed the truck engine and pushed open the door. Heat slapped his face and his eyes stung. The fire roared like a tornado. A hot hail of cinders pelted his hat and arms. He turned the truck so it faced away from the fire in case the surrounding scrub caught fire and he had to escape. He grabbed the large flashlight out of the holder attached to the dashboard.

  “Madeline!” he yelled.

  Firelight cast weird, shifting shadows. A smaller fire burned a few yards from the house. Glass shattered. A van burned almost as ferociously as the house. He pressed a forearm over his brow, shielding his eyes from the heat. A stench of gasoline mingled with smoke.

  “Madeline!” He ran toward the house.

  Scorching heat shoved him back.

  He ran around the perimeter, seeking any sign of life, any way past the wall of flame. The garage was untouched. The sliding door was open enough for a slim body to slip through. Shouting for Madeline, hoping against hope, he shoved the door and turned on the flashlight. So much dust and smoke swirled inside the garage that he wondered if he’d made a mistake and it was on fire after all. Smoke particles diffused and muted the light.

  A faint groan made him freeze. He strained to hear beyond the whoosh and roar of the flaming house. He heard it again. He scuttled forward, bent over while holding his shirt collar over his mouth. He shone the flashlight along the floor and into the corners.

  He found her curled in a tight ball beneath a table. She moaned painfully and coughed. The smoke and heat increased. He checked the path to the door then shoved the flashlight into his belt. He gathered Madeline into his arms. Her groans turned into whimpers as he hurried out of the garage. Every breath was like trying to swallow sandpaper. Gusts of hot wind swirled. The roof collapsed sending up a cloud of sparks and snapping embers. Carson lugged Madeline to the truck. He had to lower her legs so he could get the door opened. She nearly slithered from his grasp.

  “Get in,” he urged her. “Come on, work with me. Get in.” He pushed her inside. She was covered in soot, dirt and blood. All she wore was an oversize T-shirt. “Can you talk to me? Madeline, come on, can you talk?”

  She pushed hair off her face. The gesture seemed to take all her strength. Her lips were split. Blood trickled from a cut on her forehead.

  The van’s gas tank exploded.

  An enormous whump accompanied a hot hand shoving Carson against the open truck door. His eardrums pulsed. He dropped to one knee and instinctively shielded his head with both arms. He waited for shrapnel to tear through his body. He grew dizzy from holding his breath before he knew they were in the clear. He rose and looked back.

  The van was a fireball.

  Someone should have noticed the flames by now and alerted the fire department.

  A touch on his shoulder startled him. Madeline’s mouth moved, but he couldn’t understand her. He wondered if she’d lost her teeth or broken her jaw. Then it hit him that it wasn’t the roar of the fire he heard, but buzzing inside his head. He worked his jaw to pop his ears and shook his head.

  “Strap yourself in.” He barely heard his own voice.

  Of all the nights to forget his cell phone. Cursing his own stupidity, he ran around the front of the truck. He tore the flashlight from his belt and flung it onto the seat before he slid behind the wheel. The rearview mirror blazed orange with reflected flames.

  At the road he searched for approaching fire trucks. Madeline was sitting up straight and seemed to be breathing normally. Her mouth formed the words, “I’m okay.”

  Tony Rule’s cabin was closer than Carson’s house. Tony would have a first-aid kit and a telephone. Carson headed there.

  Lights were on and as soon as Carson pulled up, Tony appeared in the doorway. Carson jumped out of the truck.

  Tony yelled, “Hey, don’t you know the cops are death on speeders around here?”

  “I need some help,” Carson yelled back. “I’ve got an injured woman.”

  Tony helped Carson unload Madeline and carry her into the house. They placed her on a leather sofa. “I’ll be right back,” Tony said, and hurried out of the room.

  Carson crouched next to Madeline and stroked blood-crusted hair from her face. Her eyes were wide and scared.

  “I’m okay,” she said, her voice cracked and husky. “I don’t think I’m hurt.”

  It sounded like a wasp’s nest in his head, but Carson heard her clearly.

  “What happened?” Tony asked. He draped a blanket over Madeline. He wrinkled his nose and looked between them, his expression worried. “No offense, but you guys stink.”

  “Take a gander out your back door. I need your phone.”

  “Kitchen.” Tony led the way. The fire was visible through the window. “Is that a forest fire?” Tony exclaimed in horror.

  “Not yet.” Carson knocked the side of his head with his palm in a vain attempt to dislodge the ringing.

  He called the fire station. The fire chief, Dooley Duran answered. It was poker night for the volunteers and men were laughing in the background. “Break off the game, Dooley, there’s a fire out at the Shay ranch.”

  “Carson?” Dooley said.

  “Yes, it’s Carson. There’s a fire.”

  “Did you say the Shay ranch?”

  “Out on Hoshonee Road. The house is on fire and a vehicle exploded. I need EMTs, too. I’ve got an injured woman.”

  “The Indian girl? Life-threatening injuries?”

  Carson answered, “I don’t think so,” and knew it was a mistake as soon as he spoke.

  “Are you there now?” Dooley sounded bored.

  Carson wanted to reach through the phone and grab Dooley by the throat. “I’m at Tony Rule’s cabin, the old Gonzales place. Get a move on before we have a wildfire on our hands.”

  “Okeydoke.” Dooley hung up.

  Carson glared at the handset before slamming the phone onto the cradle. Dooley and the rest of the fire-fighters better do their jobs no matter how they felt about Madeline Shay.

  His friend raked both hands through his shock of black hair. “It looks huge. Who’s the pretty lady?”

  “Grab a first-aid kit and a towel.” He called Pete Morales at home. When the sergeant answered, Carson explained the situation. He trusted Pete to do his job and do it well no matter who was the victim. He returned to the front room.

  Tony stood by with a white box marked with a red cross, and a dampened towel slung over one wrist. Madeline was sitting up. She’d wrapped the blanket around her shoulders. Her bare legs and feet were streaked with soot and dirt. Carson gently tipped her face in order to examine the cut on her forehead.

  “Ambulance is on the way,” he said.

  “No ambulance.” She coughed and grimaced as if it hurt.

  “You swallowed smoke. You need a doctor to check you out.”

  “I can’t pay for it. Forget it. I’m okay.”

  “Don’t worry about the money.”

  “Easy for you to say.” She swiped her eyes with the back of her hand and coughed again.

  Carson used the damp towel to wipe blood and soot off her face. She flinched. The cuts on her forehead and lip were minor. He squirted a dab of antibiotic cream on the forehead cut and covered it with a bandage. She coughed. When he asked if it hurt her chest, she denied it.

  Tony handed Madeline a glass of ice water. She thanked him and drank greedily. Water dribbled down her chin. She winced with every swallow. Tony offered Carson a beer. He shook his head in refusal, and went to the front door, where he searched the darkness for approaching emergency vehicles.

  He would figure out who had fled the scene. Arson, assault and battery—someone was going to jail. He had a fairly good idea that someone was a towheaded hot-head who answered to Harrigan.

  “Do I get an introduction?” Tony asked.

  To hear Tony talk, women fell all
over him and he had lady friends in every city he visited. His wolfish grin said he wouldn’t mind adding Madeline to his list of conquests.

  Under normal circumstances, Tony’s self-centered arrogance amused Carson. Right now his friend seemed callous and predatory.

  “Give us a moment in private,” Carson said. “Police business.”

  Tony’s eyes darted from Carson to Madeline then back again. Smiling, he shrugged. “I’ll make a pot of coffee. I have some Kenyan beans that’ll knock your socks off.”

  Taking care not to jostle Madeline, Carson sat on the sofa. Her facial injuries fueled his temper. In his book, men who abused women were lower than scorpions and deserved the same treatment. “Who hit you, Madeline?”

  “Nobody. I don’t know. I was sleeping.” She touched a finger to her split lip and winced. “It’s all a blur. All I remember is the fire and getting out the window.” A lone tear trickled down her dirty cheek. “It was so hot and smoky. I couldn’t see. I put up a board to keep out the bugs. I must have broken it. I got out. I hid. I tried to hide.” She drew in a long, ragged breath. “I don’t know what happened.”

  Carson’s gorge rose. The bastard had left her to burn.

  MADELINE SIPPED a second glass full of ice water. The shock subsided. She tested her teeth with her tongue, not quite daring to believe they were all there. She remembered getting tangled in the sleeping bag and falling on her face. Her throat felt as if a rough hand had worked over her esophagus with steel wool.

  She cocked her head to listen to men talking in the kitchen. A cop in uniform had arrived a few minutes ago.

  “Can I get you anything else?”

  She lifted her gaze to Tony. He was as tall as Carson, but had the tight, lean build of a marathon runner. He was almost pretty with black hair, very blue eyes surrounded by a thick fringe of lashes, a perfectly straight nose and a full lower lip. He wore baggy shorts and a tank top that showed off his muscular arms. He smiled, his interest open and unabashed.

  She tugged the blanket tighter around her shoulders. “I’m fine. Thank you.”

  He waited for her to introduce herself. Carson had ignored requests by Tony to introduce them. She hesitated, uncertain how he’d react to allowing her in his house.

  “I’m Tony Rule, resident layabout.” He thrust out his right hand. His grip was warm and gentle.

  “I’m Madeline. Thank you for helping me.”

  “I can’t resist a damsel in distress. Were you and Carson…camping?”

  She shook her head. She eyed the pelts, hides and animal heads hanging on the walls. Deer, elk, moose and javelina stared through glass eyes. Madeline had nothing against responsible hunters, but trophies gave her the creeps.

  He pointed down a hallway. “If you want to clean up or something, the bathroom is that way.”

  Feeling naked and exposed in the old T-shirt she wore as pajamas she held on to the blanket.

  Behind the bathroom door, she allowed a few tears to fall. Her emotions were divided so strongly they may as well have been sitting on her shoulders playing angel and devil. The devil stridently accused Carson of telling everyone she was in the area; the angel regarded him with adoration for saving her life.

  She sucked in a deep breath. Her lungs ached. Swallowing hurt. She stopped shaking. With steady hands she turned on the water tap. Her reflection was hollow eyed and filthy. The rank smell of smoke gagged her. She washed her face, hands and arms, but her hair reeked of smoke. She eyed the shower stall and sighed. She could not impose that much.

  When she left the bathroom, Carson and the other cop were in the front room, along with a pair of young men wearing emergency services shirts.

  “No ambulance,” she said. She pleaded with her eyes for Carson to understand. “I’m fine.”

  “Let them check you out.” Carson beckoned with his hand.

  The shorter of the EMTs picked up a medical case. He leveled a contemptuous gaze on Madeline. “Hey, if she don’t want help I won’t force her.”

  The other EMT looked confused and made a motion to take the case from his partner.

  “That’s Frank Shay’s daughter,” the first one said, and walked out the door. Understanding dawned on the other’s face.

  Madeline lifted her chin, refusing to let them see her humiliation. “I do not need any help. Thank you very much.”

  The EMT turned for the door, but Carson blocked the way. He looked taller, bigger, his shoulders bunched up and his head lowered. Those gray eyes burned with dangerous light. The EMT backed away and drew his hands to his chest.

  “You do not pick and choose who to help,” Carson said. “Do your job.”

  “I, uh—”

  “Let him go,” Madeline said. “I don’t want help.”

  Carson allowed the EMT to escape. “I’ll run you down to the clinic in Whiteriver.”

  Better he turned her out naked in the middle of Ruff rather than returning to Whiteriver. “I’m fine.”

  His face was streaked with soot and his hands were filthy. He had saved her life. One word from her and he’d drag those EMTs by the collars back into the house. The devil voice faded.

  “I am truly fine,” she said more calmly. She looked at the other cop and Tony. He stared as if she’d sprouted a third eye in the middle of her forehead. “I’m more shaken than hurt.”

  Carson rubbed the back of his neck and glowered at the floor. “I need you to give Sergeant Morales a statement. Tony, we can take this elsewhere and get out of your hair.”

  “Mi casa, su casa, big guy. I’m more than happy to help.” He chuckled. “Even if I do have to keep leaving the room. Banished like a naughty child.” With a comical roll of his eyes, he sauntered into the kitchen.

  Okay then, Madeline thought, maybe Tony didn’t realize who she was.

  Sergeant Morales pulled a chair to face the sofa. He was Hispanic and his eyes were dark and wise. “Are you really okay?”

  She couldn’t tell from his voice or expression if he was sincere. She lifted a shoulder.

  Carson remained by the front door. He watched the night, but she sensed he paid attention to her.

  Sergeant Morales asked, “Are you up to telling me what happened?” He held a pen and notebook.

  “I don’t quite know what happened. I was asleep. Then the house was on fire.”

  “Your face didn’t get like that by going through the window,” Carson said without turning around.

  She touched her tongue to her swollen lower lip. “I fell. My feet got caught in the sleeping bag and I fell on my face.”

  “I saw a vehicle fleeing the scene. Did you see anybody? Did anybody touch you?”

  “I’m asking the questions, Chief,” Morales said while he wrote. “Did you see anybody, Miss Shay?”

  Madeline forced her memory into gear. Try as she might, the only thing she remembered was the smoke and the heat and scrambling out the window. “No, I did not.”

  “Any ideas about the vehicle, Chief?”

  “I saw it exit the driveway onto Hoshonee Road, but I was too far away to see more than headlights. I’m pretty sure the driver saw my car approach.”

  Morales grunted. “Mind if I take a few pictures to document your injuries?”

  She looked again at Carson. “Why?”

  Carson finally turned around. His mouth was set in a grim line. “This is going to court, Madeline. I will catch the responsible party.”

  In another place, another time, she might have believed him. This was Ruff, and her father’s crimes were too fresh. Not even the paramedics could overcome their revulsion. “You’ll never catch them. You’ll never prove anything.”

  Carson and Morales exchanged a look. “We’re small-town folk,” Morales said. “But we’re good cops. Arson is serious business.”

  “Like you said, Chief Cody, Ruff isn’t a healthy place for me. Guess I should have listened.” She tightened the blanket around her shoulders and wished they would leave her in peace.

 
“Damn right you should have,” he said. Color rose in his face.

  His sharp tone made her stiffen. Even Morales looked surprised.

  Carson’s boots rocked the floor. “Pete, document her injuries. Tony? Do you have a phone where I can speak privately?”

  Tony appeared in the doorway. “My bedroom. End of the hallway.”

  Carson stalked away. Madeline could feel the vibration of his anger trailing him like a wake. Her indignation rose. If anyone had cause for anger, she did. Carson Cody should be ashamed of himself.

  “Take your pictures,” she said.

  In silence she allowed the police sergeant to photograph her face and her hands where she had scraped them in her escape from the burning house. The sergeant was gentle with her, but she sank inside her mind. He was one of them, one of the enemy. She, who had felt the outsider all her life, had never felt so alone.

  SERGEANT MORALES FINISHED taking her statement and left. Carson rattled car keys, ready to go.

  “You are more than welcome to stay here tonight,” Tony said. “I’d love the company.”

  The mere thought of trying to sleep under those dead animals was too depressing to think about. But Madeline had nowhere else to go.

  “She needs police protection,” Carson said. “She’s coming with me.”

  She supposed spending the night in a jail cell was better than worrying about another fire.

  Tony spread his arms. “I’m armed to the teeth, big guy. I’ll protect this beautiful lady with my life.”

  Madeline knew he joked, trying to add a little levity, but it fell flat. She chewed silently on the annoyance until certain her voice wouldn’t betray her feelings. “I appreciate all you’ve done, Mr. Rule. I’d better go with Chief Cody.” She rose. She tightened her hold on the blanket, unwilling to release it. Her T-shirt was thin, ragged and full of holes. She hoped they had clothes for her at the jail.

  “Ah, come on. Look at her, she’s exhausted,” Tony said. “Let her stay.”