Slow Burn

Chapter Twenty-one

Kiera's plan to be on the highway by seven didn't quite work out. Isabel was on time; she wasn't. It was almost eight before they were finally ready to leave. Kate stood by the car for a final good-bye and tried to assure them that everything was going to be fine.

"I hate leaving you with this financial mess," Kiera said.

"We've been over this. We've got a plan, right? So stop worrying."

"You'll let me know what's going on? Don't try to shield me, Kate," Isabel said.

"I'll tell you everything," she promised.

"I'm glad Dylan's here," Kiera said. "You've had such a hella-cious week, and it will be nice for you to have company driving to Savannah."

Dylan locked the front door and took a seat on the top step of the porch waiting for the good-byes to end so he and Kate could leave. He'd already packed his rental car and was impatient to get going.

Kate said something to her sisters, and they all turned to smile at him.

Dylan looked at his watch, and when he glanced up, he was momentarily struck by the beauty of the three girls facing him.

Though they looked like sisters, there was something unique about each one. He'd already figured out that Isabel was a charmer and a people pleaser. She was about five-five, and her hair was blond with streaks of honey. Her eyes were as big and as round as Kate's, but the color wasn't the same. Kate's were a vivid blue and were stunning framed by her dark chestnut hair. Isabel's eyes were more of a blue-green, like the ocean. Kiera was taller than the other two, and in the sunlight he could see the streaks of red in her strawberry blond hair. She had freckles on her nose like Kate, but they were on her cheeks, too. She reminded Dylan of a well-scrubbed girl next door who just happened to have a very nice body. She was the most laid-back of the three, and he thought she was also a peacemaker in the family.

Kate was neither a charmer nor a peacemaker. She gave as good as she got, and then some, at least with him, anyway. She stood up to him, and he liked that. He must, he thought, because here he was, back for more.

Kate had a little something extra that drew him to her. On the surface she was one tough cookie. He imagined she was a barracuda when she negotiated a business contract, but there was a vulnerability he could see that pulled at him. She was talented and a smart businesswoman, but he didn't think she was smart about men. Maybe that was why he had been able to get her into bed so quickly. He knew she regretted their night together, but he sure as certain didn't. The fact was, he couldn't stop thinking about it.

One thought led to another, and it didn't take long before he was picturing her naked in his arms. Not a good idea to be daydreaming about that now, he realized.

"Kate, wind it up. We've got to get going."

She ignored him and waited until Kiera had backed out of the driveway before she finally turned away.

She had tears in her eyes, and she knew he'd noticed. He didn't say anything. He simply walked to the car, opened the passenger door, and waited for her to get in.

"I feel like I'm forgetting something. My purse…"

"In the car."

"What about the overnight bag you made me pack in case we have to stay in Savannah, which by the way is totally unnecessary since we'll have plenty of time to get back home…"

"You mentioned that."

"I'm sure I left my bag in the foyer."

"It's in the trunk. Get in, Pickle."

She gave him what he had begun to call "the look." He translated it to mean, "Call me Pickle again and I'll deck you."

"What about…"

He gave her a little nudge. "The iron's turned off."

"I didn't turn it on… did I?"

"Kate, get in the car."

She stopped arguing. Once she was settled and had clipped her seat belt on, she said, "Why do we have to leave so soon? We have plenty of time."

"No, we don't."

He didn't explain until they had pulled away from the house. "We need to stop at the police station, and I don't know how long that's going to take. Chief Drummond's waiting."

She gave him directions. The station was only a mile from her house. The parking lot was in the back of a two-story brick building that looked old and worn. And charming, he thought, if such a word could be used to describe a police station.

Ivy crept up the back of the building nearly to the roof, and the brick path that led to the front door had chunks broken off.

"Is there a jail inside?" he asked.

"I think so, either in the back or upstairs."

The front door had recently been painted a shiny black. He noticed the white shutters flanking the windows had been painted, too.

He'd never seen anything like it… for a police station, that is.

"It looks like a bed-and-breakfast place."

As soon as he walked inside, though, he felt as if he were back on familiar ground. The floors were an ugly gray linoleum; the walls were a dingy pea green, and the receptionist was just as old and surly as the one back in Boston. The station even smelled the same-must and sweat and Pine-Sol. He loved it.

Chief Drummond came out of his office to meet both of them. He was a heavyset man with a permanent scowl on his face and the grip of a weight lifter in his handshake.

He offered Kate a cup of coffee and asked her to wait in the outer office.

Kate took a seat on one of the gray metal chairs against the wall and pulled her BlackBerry out of her bag to check messages. Haley had called again, probably about the ribbon on back order, she thought. Nothing she could do about it now, so she decided she'd call her from the car.

If she had her briefcase with her, she could go through some of her other notes. Had she left that at home, or had Dylan put it in the trunk?

The chair was hard and uncomfortable. Kate sat back, crossed one leg over the other, and tried to remain patient. What was taking so long? It seemed that Dylan had been in the office for at least fifteen minutes. She noticed the receptionist was repeatedly glancing at her from behind her computer screen.

Kate looked at her skirt to make sure it hadn't hiked up, then checked her blouse to make certain all the buttons were buttoned.

The woman's head was hidden behind the computer monitor when she said, "I like your candles."

"I'm sorry?"

She leaned to the side. "I said, I like your candles."

"Thank you," she said. "I'm happy to hear that."

The receptionist was blushing. "I'm thinking about buying some of your lotion next, but I'm not sure which scent I want. Got any suggestions?"

"Let me see if I have any samples." Kate dug through her purse and found three. "Try these three," she said. "They're all different: Isabel, Kiera, and Leah."

The woman was thrilled. She introduced herself and shook Kate's hand. "You know, you're a celebrity around town."

"I am?" she asked, smiling. "My candles?"

"Oh, no, dear. They're lovely, of course, but you're famous because you nearly blew yourself up at the old warehouse."

She made it sound like Kate had done it on purpose. Kate was about to respond to the woman's assessment, but the door opened, and Dylan and the chief walked out of the office. She immediately noticed the gun in a holster at Dylan's side. He had a box in his hand. Probably extra bullets, she thought. Can't have enough of those, can he?

"You're in good hands with this boy, Miss MacKenna. He's got an impressive record and his superior in Boston was mighty aggravated he was doing a job for Silver Springs. He finally agreed but made sure I knew it was temporary. They want him back," he added with a nod.

She couldn't stop looking at the gun. Images of Dylan lying in the hospital bed flashed into her mind. She realized his job required that he carry a gun, and as Drummond had just confirmed, Dylan was very good at that job, but still, just seeing the weapon made her feel queasy. She smiled at the chief and said, "Yes, I am in good hands with this boy."

Drummond walked them to the door and held it open. In parting he called, "Try not to get yourself blown up again, Miss MacKenna."

Kate walked ahead of Dylan to the car. "The way people are acting around here you'd think I was some kind of walking detonator-wherever I go there's an explosion," she complained.

Dylan laughed. "I think you've brought a little more excitement to Silver Springs than they're used to."

He pulled the car out of the parking lot but stopped at the corner. "Want to give me directions?"

"The most direct route to get to the highway is to take Main Street, which is your next left, but there will be a lot of traffic this time of morning."

"Compared to Boston, this is nothing," he said a few minutes later. "It's nice not to have to be so aggressive. The noise level is so much lower here. I like that."

Kate adjusted the air conditioner vent so it wouldn't blow on her face and tried to relax.

"What did you think of Chief Drummond?"

"Cranky," he said. "The man is definitely cranky. I don't think he knows how to smile. The way he was frowning at me when he took me into his office made me think he was going to give me trouble, and even after he started complimenting me on my record, the guy was still frowning. It took me a while to catch on." He shook his head and added, "He kind of reminds me of my father."

"Judge Buchanan isn't cranky. He's a dear man. He's always so kind to me."

"He likes you," he said.

"Jordan and Sydney still call him Daddy."

"His sons don't. We call him 'sir.' He was tough with us when we were growing up, but I guess he had to be. Keeping six boys out of trouble couldn't have been easy."

Kate was remembering what Judge Buchanan was like in the hospital when he was waiting with his family for Dylan to come out of surgery. The time had dragged on and on, and the anguish in his eyes was heartbreaking to see. He might have been hard-nosed with his sons, but he also loved them fiercely.

"I hate hospitals."

She hadn't realized she'd whispered the thought out loud until Dylan said, "I imagine you do." Responding to the sadness he heard in her voice, he put his hand on top of hers and said, "What made you think about hospitals?"

She didn't want to talk about it. "I just did," she said without an explanation.

The highway traffic was light. Dylan set the cruise control and sat back.

"I talked to Nate early this morning," he said.

"You did?"

"I let him know last night that you were going to Savannah," he explained, "and I asked him to check out a couple of things."

She turned toward him. "Yes?"

"Remember, he had already told us that a corporation owns the warehouse that blew, but he was having trouble finding out who the shareholders were. He finally was able to dig through the layers, and guess who has controlling interest."

"Who?"

"Carl Bertolli."

She certainly hadn't expected to hear his name and immediately thought there had to be a mistake. "Carl? Are you sure? He said Carl? That can't be right."

"You think Nate made it up?" he asked, smiling.

"No, of course not, but… Carl? He never said anything to me… why wouldn't he tell me he owned the warehouse?"

"Obviously because he didn't want you to know."

"Did Jennifer know?" she asked. "Surely she did. She's a Realtor, for heaven's sake. She'd have to know who the owners were. Did anyone talk to her yet?"

"She and her family are camping, but she's scheduled to be back at work tomorrow morning. Nate could have tracked her down, but he'd already gotten the names of the shareholders, so he's waiting until tomorrow to question her. Nate's guessing Carl instructed her not to tell you."

Kate couldn't wrap her mind around any of it. It just didn't make any sense.

"What would Carl have to gain by blowing up his property? Even if he had the place heavily insured." Her mind was racing. "He doesn't need the money. And tell me, please, what would he gain by killing me? No, it doesn't make any sense."

"You can bet the FBI is digging into Carl's financials right now. If there's a motive, they'll find it."

"The FBI won't find anything."

"You might be surprised. Everyone has secrets, and Carl could have a couple of big ones."

She couldn't accept it. "I've got to think about this."

"I'll give you something else to think about. Compton Thomas MacKenna was, in fact, your great uncle."

"Was?"

"That's right. He died last night, exactly two hours before the letter went out. According to his attorney, Anderson Smith, Compton left specific instructions about the notification of his relatives."

"Then why-"

"You're not going to the attorney's office to meet Compton as the letter implied. You and your sisters have been summoned for the reading of his last will and testament."

She was shocked by the disappointment she felt. "Then I guess I can't ask him any questions, can I? You might as well turn around. I'm not interested in anything the man left."

"Your sisters might be interested."

"I'll be happy to give them the attorney's phone number, and they can talk to him. The next exit is coming up. We can turn around there."

"Kate, you and your sisters weren't the only ones to receive letters. Your cousins will also be there. Now are you interested?"

"Just cousins?"

"I can't answer that. The attorney only mentioned cousins to Nate. Smith also told him that the cousins don't know you're coming. Fact is, he was certain they don't even know you and your sisters exist."

She was even more disheartened. "I'm definitely not interested, then. Slow down. You'll miss the exit."

The exit ramp was a blur as they sped by.

"Dylan, I told you I'm not interested. There isn't any reason for me to go to the reading now. If these cousins haven't been told anything about Kiera and Isabel and me, they certainly won't be able to answer any of my questions, now will they? They were obviously kept in the dark by their parents."

She thought about it another moment and said, "I know Kiera would like medical history, but-"

"There's more," he interrupted.

"Oh?"

"The attorney has photos of your father and other mementos that belonged to him."

She nodded. "Okay, now I'm interested."