Flaming Crimes
Table of Contents
Excerpt
Praise for Chrys Fey and…
Flaming Crimes
Copyright
Dedication
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-One
Chapter Twenty-Two
Chapter Twenty-Three
Epilogue
A word about the author…
Thank you for purchasing this publication of The Wild Rose Press, Inc.
Beth’s heart clenched
at the sight of the smoke stacks, as if a fist had driven through her chest and was squeezing the meaty human drum, paralyzing it. She gripped the door handle. The faster Donovan drove and the closer they got to home, to those tiers of billowing, dark smoke, the more anxious she became. Donovan’s words replayed in her head.
It looks like it’s right next to our house.
Her heart woke from its coma and punched her ribcage like a boxer attacking a speed bag. Perspiration dampened her underarms and slicked her palms. Please, God, no. I can’t lose my home again.
The smoke stack was soon right in front of them, right where their home was located. Donovan turned down their street, and the tower of smoke loomed above them. Fire consumed the empty lot next to their house. Flames ate their way up the bark spines of pine trees. Orange flickers slithered along the length of the branches, reaching toward the roof. The fire was descending upon their forever home as a raiding army would race toward a city with swords drawn.
Donovan floored it down the street and brought the truck to a jerking stop in the driveway. He jumped out of the truck without taking the key out of the ignition. Beth shoved the door open and stumbled out onto the driveway.
“Call the fire department, pack some clothes. I’m getting the hose.” Donovan raced toward the fire and slipped around the side of the house.
Praise for Chrys Fey and…
HURRICANE CRIMES:
“HURRICANE CRIMES by Chrys Fey is a pure delight. It is a romance first and a suspense novella second, but both are combined in a perfect formula for a wonderful afternoon’s reading.”
~Readers’ Favorite
~*~
SEISMIC CRIMES:
“Action packed is the only way to describe this exciting, sizzling love and adventure story! Between the steamy private scenes and the made-for-TV shoot-outs and natural disasters, there is adventure that keeps your heart pumping on every page.”
~Readers’ Favorite
~*~
TSUNAMI CRIMES:
“Ms. Fey’s strong and compelling visual storytelling coupled with the overwhelming uncertainty facing Beth and Donovan make this a powerhouse novel.”
~InD’Tale
Flaming Crimes
by
Chrys Fey
Disaster Crimes Series
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales, is entirely coincidental.
Flaming Crimes
COPYRIGHT © 2018 by Chrys Fey
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission of the author or The Wild Rose Press, Inc. except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews.
Contact Information: info@thewildrosepress.com
Cover Art by Kim Mendoza
The Wild Rose Press, Inc.
PO Box 708
Adams Basin, NY 14410-0708
Visit us at www.thewildrosepress.com
Publishing History
First Crimson Rose Edition, 2018
Print ISBN 978-1-5092-1878-3
Digital ISBN 978-1-5092-1879-0
Disaster Crimes Series
Published in the United States of America
Dedication
To my family,
who were there with me during the 2001 fire.
RIP Angel
Chapter One
Beth paddled down the Little Manatee River. The four and a half miles of flowing water was one of her favorite stretches to canoe. Upstream, she had to wind her way through the twisting path around cypress, willow, and cedar trees. Each turn was a challenge but rewarding once she saw the scenery beyond. Every twist, dip, and rise offered her something new to see. Overhead, the canopy was thick. Trees leaned over the river like archways. She maneuvered her canoe around the obstacles in her path, occasionally bumping a tree with the back of her canoe.
Flowing water and the greenery filling the banks and stretching above the river brought her a sense of peace. As she made her way downstream, she let her mind go. Her muscles moved mechanically, knowing what to do. The current’s speed slowed, and the water’s level lowered. She knew this would happen. With no rain for weeks, the land was dry, and the rivers were dropping. With the shallower water, she could see the sand below. She pulled the paddle out of the water and lay it across the canoe. Sunlight touched her skin, and a breeze tickled her sweaty neck. She floated in the middle of the river and took a deep breath. The air had a faint smoky smell to it. There were so many fires popping up throughout the state you couldn’t go anywhere without smelling the evidence. At least it wasn’t so thick in this sanctuary, for that she was glad.
As she drifted with the slow current, she thought about the past year and a half. As Oahu rebuilt after the tsunami, Beth rebuilt herself. While seeing a psychiatrist, she slowly ventured back to the beach with Donovan—first for a simple stroll along the shore, letting the shore tickle her toes, and then to sit on her surfboard as she worked up the courage to face a wave. Panic attacks plagued her for months until she could stand up on her board and ride a wave. For her shoulder, she took physical therapy until the gunshot wound no longer caused her pain. She also spoke to a therapist about the tsunami, the girl she tried to save from the rapid torrents, her kidnappers, and every moment she spent locked in the closet with a GSW and broken fingers. After eight months, both doctors declared her well, but Beth continued to work on herself by getting reacquainted with the things she loved, especially those that involved water. The last time she had canoed had been through the floodwaters Hurricane Sabrina left behind. She had decided to do this adventure solo, despite Donovan’s request to accompany her, because she needed to do it alone. Later, she promised to take him on a trip, to share the magic of canoeing with him, but she needed this time to reflect.
The fear she had brought back from their honeymoon had paralyzed her for a long time. She felt sorry for Donovan now, having to deal with that when they should’ve been experiencing the bliss of new marriage. But he loved her and had been there through it all. He stood by her side in her darkest moments when she needed anti-anxiety medication and woke up screaming from nightmares every night.
She was much better now, though. No medication, no nightmares. And she didn’t try to hide her GSW scars anymore. For months, she had stamped large bandages over the round, rough scar on her shoulder and asked Donovan to do the same to the matching scar on the back of her shoulder. From the mirror, she could see his reflection as he smoothed it over her
skin; the pain in his eyes visible. After going through several boxes, she eventually stopped hiding them. Rather, she’d make sure the straps to her workout tops covered them. Each morning, she’d ask Donovan if they were visible, and he’d reassure her they weren’t. Although she wasn’t doing either of those things anymore, to this day, she still hated the sight of them.
Beth lifted her paddle and cut it through the water to start moving again. While making her way downstream, she had to get out of her canoe a few times to glide it over the lowest levels of water when the bottom of her canoe touched sand. She didn’t mind, though, as it let her stretch her legs and back. Near Tampa, the end of the stretch, she floated next to a manatee lazing in the water. He was so peaceful she couldn’t stop from smiling. She hovered her hand over his body, wanting to touch his smooth body but restraining herself. Although manatees were no longer considered an endangered species, they were still protected, and she respected them. Ever since she was a little girl, manatees were her favorite aquatic mammals.
She moved her hand a foot over his head. “Hi, handsome. Thank you for letting me share the river with you.”
The manatee lifted his head out of the water and looked at her. When he bobbed his head and dipped back beneath the surface, she smiled.
He nodded at me. Feeling blessed by his acknowledgement, she removed her hand and carefully glided her canoe past him.
At the end of her trip, she utilized the offered transportation to get back to the car waiting for her upstream. With her canoe strapped to the top, she climbed into the driver’s seat and blasted her AC. With the engine running and car in park, she picked up her cell phone to call Donovan.
“Hey, beautiful. How was it?”
She smiled at his greeting and leaned back in the seat. “It was nice. Serene. I think I have a new boyfriend.”
There was a pause on the other end. “Really?” Donovan’s voice was deep. “And what is this new boyfriend’s name?”
“Manny,” she said, biting her lip. “Manny the Manatee.”
Donovan’s rolling laughter touched her ear. “Well, damn, I can’t compete with that.”
“Nope, no, you can’t.” She giggled. “I was just calling to let you know I’m heading home.”
“Okay. See you soon. Love you.”
“Love you, too.” She hung up and backed out of the parking space. Driving down the interstate, she passed two separate fires consuming the dry wildlife beside the road. Flames flickered beside the concrete barrier. Smoke seeped through the vents. She crinkled her nose and breathed through her mouth. Traffic slowed as police cars directed cars out of the outer lane, away from the fire. She slipped between two cars and endured a crawling pace until they passed the fires and broke out of the obscuring smoke.
In her hometown, she encountered another fire; this one dangerously close to homes. Firetrucks clogged the road. A cop stood behind a roadblock. Detour signs were set up, pointing her down a side street. She sent Donovan a quick text.
20 mins away. Detour.
Following the detour signs, she passed a section of woods that had been devoured by the fire. Smoke drifted from the ash-covered ground. Palmetto bushes had been fried down to blackened stumps. Trees stood like burnt giants. Their leaves and branches were gone; their bark was like charcoal. Seeing the black, sparse land was a stark contrast to the lush, green woods on the other side of the road. The blackness went on for two blocks, and then suddenly, everything went back to green.
She drove the rest of the way home while peering at the smoke stacks in the rearview mirror. They shrank the farther she drove, but they remained menacing. Living in the Sunshine State, you got used to hurricane season and fire season, but you weren’t always impacted by them. Until you were. And this fire season was proving to be harsh. Already twenty individual fires had erupted just in Central Florida. Two hundred acres in total burned to a crisp. Authorities didn’t see it ending any time soon, either. Not with the drought. Several fires were said to have been set by the hands of arsonists. She didn’t understand why anyone would get a kick out of starting fires. Back when she was in school, learning about psychology, she did a paper on arsonists. They loved fire because it was alive—it breathes, eats, and moves. They liked starting fire for the thrill of it, the rush. Striking a match was like arousal. And they enjoyed that they could use it as a weapon for vengeance. Power. Fire was a power they could unleash on anyone, anywhere. Seeing things burn was a game of foreplay; hurting people was climax. They enjoyed every blazing second.
The only forms of fire Beth thought sexy were candlelight and fireplaces. Fire that burned away nature and wildlife habitats hurt her soul. And seeing those fires so close to homes made her heart heavy.
She pulled into the driveway of her stunning two-story house. She felt blessed to be living in such a beautiful home with Donovan, on the same lot where her childhood home had been, on the same street where she grew up. It was a home built on promises and full of possibilities.
She walked into the house and dropped her keys on a side table by the door. “I’m home!” She ran up the stairs to their bedroom. Donovan wasn’t there, so she kicked off her shoes and stripped out of her sweaty clothes. In the shower, water streamed down her body, taking away the sweat clinging to her skin. The wet drops beating against her head relaxed her. She lingered beneath the spray after her hair had been washed and all the bubbles from her body had slithered down the drain. After stepping out of the shower, she wrapped a towel around her body and tucked the corner between her breasts. With an extra towel, she shook the access water from her hair. Standing in front of the mirror, she caught sight of the scar on her shoulder. A clenching sensation in the middle of her chest had her looking away. The jagged circle and uneven skin was hideous. She brushed her hair over it before stepping out of the bathroom.
Donovan came into the bedroom at the same time. He stopped suddenly. She paused in the doorway. “Hey,” she said. “I didn’t see you when I came in.”
“I was on the patio.” His gaze lowered to her legs. Drops of water slipped down her shins to her ankles. He came toward her, and she knew. She knew what he wanted—her. The look in his eye and the way his chest rose and fell were clear signs. His fingers trailed lightly across the pink skin on her chest. Beads of water converged and leaked down the crevasse between her breasts. His hands molded around her shoulders and roamed down the length of her arms. Droplets fell from her fingers. He lifted her hand and sucked the water from her fingertips. The contact made her mouth go dry. Her breathing quickened, straining the towel around her chest, making it tighter and tighter.
“You’re never more beautiful than when you’re wet,” he said.
She arched a brow at the double meaning.
It only took him a second to realize it, too. He grinned at her as he pulled her close. Lips touched her neck, kissing and sucking. Clutching his shoulders, she dipped her head back. His warm lips traveled down her neck to her chest. His hand brushed her upper thigh. The feel of his work-roughened palms against her skin made her quiver. Then two fingertips stroked her center. Heat exploded. Those fingertips circled the heat, drawing out more and more. They became slick with her pleasure as they tweaked, and she sighed. He caught her most sensitive flesh between his fingertips and rubbed until she let loose a moan.
Heart pounding, center humming and screaming for more, she moved her mouth to his ear as he sucked on damp skin. “I just canoed a river, Donovan. My arms are tired.”
His head rose. “You won’t need your arms.”
With her back against the wall, he unzipped his pants, whisked opened her towel, exposing her naked body, and lifted her off her feet. Twining her arms around his neck and locking her legs around his hips, she gazed into his violet eyes. He slipped into her slowly, filling her completely. Her eyelids fluttered, but she kept them open so she could watch him as he watched her. Her mouth parted as her breath escaped. He moved at a leisurely pace, as if wanting to savor this moment, thei
r contact, their binding. Each sedate stroke had her core quaking. Her leg muscles worked with his steady pace, pulling him deeper. Every other stroke, when he was fully enclosed within her, he stilled, holding himself in place. Like this, he’d stare into her eyes, and their breathing would synchronize. Then he’d retract. Her toes curled. Her leg muscles flexed around him. Finally, it became too much. She couldn’t hold her eyes open any longer, so she let her lashes stay sealed. After a moment, his body pressed into hers as he buried his face in the crook of her neck. Her nails trailed up and down the back of his neck, a touch she knew could soothe and seduce. His pace eased into a faster tempo.
Their moans blended.
“Baby, let go.”
Donovan’s deep voice in her ear had her core contracting. She pulled him into her and held him there as she shattered. And he shattered with her.
Donovan set her on her feet, zipped his pants, and staggered back. He lowered onto the floor. His body was shaking as he tried to catch his breath. She wrapped the towel around herself and slide to a sitting position. Curling her legs beneath her, she sat across from him with her head against the wall. She looked at him. He was leaning back on his hands, with his legs bent. He looked as though he had played a tough game of basketball and was now cooling down on the court, unable to move. His eyelids opened, and his gaze settled on her. She probably looked as stunned as he did; her center still hammered.
A slow grin took Donovan’s mouth, enticing a matching smirk to appear on her lips. They laughed at the same time.
“I guess I should go canoeing alone more often,” she panted.
He shook his head and laughed. When he caught his breath, he said, “You’re magnificent.”
“You’re just saying that because we had sex. Great sex.”
He shook his head again. “I’m saying that because it’s true. I don’t know another woman sexier or fiercer than you.”
“If you met one, I’d have to kill her.”
He chuckled. “That would never happen.”