An Inner Fire Read online

  She was thankful to be done with the interview. She hoped never to think, dream, or come close to the red-haired man again. The gigantic lieutenant with his aura of command looked totally capable of handling the dangerous man. “I hope my description will help you find him.”

  “Is this the best phone number to reach you?”

  Grayce stared at the sheet of paper he handed her. She swallowed the rising panic and ignored the bone-deep awareness that the red-haired man wasn’t finished.

  “I may need to contact you,” he said.

  “I’ve told you everything.”

  “You never know what may come up with an investigation.”

  She forced her lips to curve into a smile of sorts. “Of course. You have both my office and cell number.”

  When she stood, Henny stood, too.

  For a man his size, the lieutenant was quick. He was next to her by the time she had picked up her purse.

  She craned her neck to look up at him. His eyes were focused on her. They locked gazes briefly. Grayce looked away, trying to lessen the forceful connection between them, the heat racing through her body. She bent down to pet Henny. “It was great to meet you, girl.”

  Henny had been a bright spot in the morning, supporting Grayce with her gentle, loving spirit. Throughout the interview, Grayce had agonized over how much she should reveal about her intuitive grasp of the man’s violent nature. She had almost confided in the lieutenant. She had almost believed he might be able to accept her gifts.

  Almost. Almost wasn’t good enough. Almost wasn’t enough to trust. Almost would open up an abyss of her secrets.

  Chapter Three

  Davis stared down the hallway after Dr. Walters left. He hated surprises. Getting back late to the office, he hadn’t been able to do a rudimentary background check before the interview.

  The delectable Dr. Walters was more than disorienting. Her big green eyes, short skirt, and the way she laughed, lying on the ground with Henny licking her face, was a shock to his system. And he wasn’t sure he liked the jolt.

  He sat down and opened his computer to do the witness profile he hadn’t been able to do before the interview. The woman was brilliant, Phi Beta Kappa from the University of Michigan, honors from Vet School at Cornell. There were endless pages on her research, papers, and presentations. Now, she practiced animal acupuncture. What the hell was that?

  She was a good witness, factual not emotional. Her lack of reaction left him suspicious. Most witnesses needed to describe the experience of encountering criminals. Not the intrepid Dr. Walters. She seemed frightened as she described the man with red hair. But unlike most witnesses, she disclosed none of her fears.

  He appreciated the irony of the situation. She had given the perfect interview logical, precise and it made him suspect her. Dr. Walters hadn’t offered any personal insights. He was familiar with the tactic; he used it all the time. When his neatly constructed world had careened out of control two years ago after his father’s slow, agonizing death, Davis learned the only way to survive was not to reveal anything.

  There was something inexplicable about Dr. Walters, something he couldn’t grasp. She bore watching. God, who was he kidding? Her tight little body and her legs bore watching.

  * * *

  Skipping the elevator, Grayce took the stairs two at a time to her second-floor office. She reminded herself, she had a normal life, a life filled with lightness and healing animals. A life not inhabited by red-haired men who beat dogs, set fires, and caused explosions.

  Hollie’s voice echoed down the wide hall from the partially open door. Bold black letters stood out against the white background. “Grayce Walters, D.V.M., Veterinary Acupuncturist.” Maybe normal wasn’t precisely the right word. Grayce entered the freshly painted, mint green waiting room.

  Hollie, with a phone perched at her ear, mouthed, “Mornin’, Boss.”

  Grayce listened to her receptionist’s husky voice, counseling a client. Hollie was the biggest surprise of this new endeavor. A technophile Goth, Hollie had attached herself to Grayce at Teen Feed, a program for homeless youths. Despite finding herself drawn to the thin, tattooed woman, Grayce still marveled that she had hired a street kid with a nose ring who was addicted to video games.

  Grayce entered her office/exam room, peeling off her soaked North Face coat. She stretched the jacket over her chair since she still hadn’t installed coat-hooks on the door.

  She inspected the large space with its vaulted ceilings and generous windows overlooking the Montlake Cut, a waterway connecting Lake Washington to Puget Sound.

  She was glad she hadn’t allowed the lieutenant to interview her here. It was hard enough keeping the healing space balanced.

  She had a regular life, a home, a cat, and an assistant. The last few days had been an aberration. She repeated the mantra, wondering how long it would be before she actually believed it.

  Hollie had left today’s schedule on the desk. Eight clients—her acupuncture practice was growing.

  “Mrs. Leary and Beowulf are here.” Hollie stood at the door. Today Hollie wore a pleated black skirt and a black T-shirt. Her tattoos were well concealed but the nose and brow piercings and the dyed jet-black hair stabbed by chopsticks couldn’t be hidden. Her skirt barely grazed her thighs, but her black patent leather boots bridged the gap, reaching the hem of her skirt. Grayce enjoyed Hollie’s original take on work attire.

  From Hollie’s sagging shoulders, Grayce knew immediately that Beowulf was faring no better today. The old gray tabby, the center of Mrs. Leary’s life, had been diagnosed with leukemia months ago and had been holding on to allow Mrs. Leary time to adjust. Grayce was grateful she could relieve Beowulf’s pain. Relieving Mrs. Leary’s pain wasn’t as easy.

  Hollie returned with the gray tabby in her arms. Mrs. Leary followed, leaning heavily on her cane.

  Grayce rose from her chair and moved to greet them. She spoke softly to Beowulf, petting his large head, opening her heart to his vibrations. Beowulf gazed back, the luster in his eyes diminished. His time was close.

  “Mrs. Leary, why don’t you hold Beowulf on your lap for his treatment?”

  Although withered and wrinkled, Mrs. Leary always moved with a graceful efficiency. Today her shoulders slumped and she took small, measured steps to the treatment chair, overstuffed with chintz pillows. The giant chair dwarfed the delicate woman. Hollie tenderly placed the large cat on Mrs. Leary’s lap.

  “Would you like a cup of tea?” Hollie pressed her hand against the delicate woman’s shoulder.

  “I just couldn’t drink anything. Thank you for asking.”

  Grayce knelt next to the cat. She focused her energy into gentle oscillating waves. “You’re a handsome fellow, my friend. You’ve given so much joy to Mrs. Leary.”

  Grayce purred at the cat, speaking in a lyrical voice, “Mrs. Leary knows you’re tired, and she doesn’t want you to suffer.”

  Tears formed in Mrs. Leary’s eyes. The woman’s translucent hand rested on Beowulf’s front paw, like mother to child, friend to friend.

  Grayce steadied her breathing. She absorbed the woman’s pain, feeling her sorrow. Grayce visualized ribbons of blue and yellow light surrounding Beowulf and Mrs. Leary, binding them together in the light of a white hot summer day.

  Beowulf didn’t budge when she placed the acupuncture needle into the crown of his head. Entry of the thin filliform needle pinched like the bite of a mosquito but Beowulf was oblivious to Grayce’s ministrations.

  She placed the next needle at the lumbar sacral junction, the Bai Hui, the center of energy. She raised her own vibrations to support Beowulf’s deficient Bai Hui. Mrs. Leary’s hand remained on the cat’s paw, anchoring him in this world.

  Grayce placed additional needles down Beowulf’s spine. With needles in his head and back, the tabby drifted into a calm state. She slowed her vibrations while she rotated the needles then raised her heat into each one directing it in small increments until Beowulf slep
t peacefully.

  There wouldn’t be many more sessions.

  After Mrs. Leary and Beowulf left her office, Grayce retreated to the large office window, trying to absorb the sun’s warmth into her soul. The emptiness of grief sat on her shoulders, pressing down on her, exhausting her. With her eyes closed, she took slow cleansing breaths through her mouth.

  She had dedicated her life to healing animals. With all her clinical skills and knowledge and her intuitive healing abilities, she still couldn’t prevent the end.

  Her mentor had always attributed her great capacity for caring, her ability to heal, to her experience of losing her sister. He had taught her not to block her feelings of anguish but to honor them.

  She continued to breathe slowly, visualized her sister’s laugh and light filled the room.

  Chapter Four

  Davis and his jet-black standard poodle Mitzi climbed out of the fire department’s Suburban and were surrounded by fishermen with knitted hats, flannel shirts and yellow rubber overalls, right out of The Deadliest Catch. These guys could out-macho firefighters any day.

  The fireground was still too hot to begin his investigation. Since he couldn’t start digging, he had come to Fisherman’s Terminal expecting to ask questions. Instead he had his hands full fending off the questions being fired at him.

  “Is the fire department solving crimes with poodles these days?”

  Laughter followed.

  Always the tallest in a crowd, Davis was surprised to find himself looking up to a few of these Viking descendants. “This is my dog, guys.”

  He ignored the rolled eyes and knowing looks.

  A burly man, clad only in a T-shirt and overalls to protect against the forty degree chill, bent to pet the poodle. “What’s the dog’s name?”

  “Mitzi.”

  “Did the dude say Mitzi?”

  “Yeah. He said, Mitzi. More loud guffaws.

  First rule of investigation was to build rapport. Davis spoke in a clear challenging voice. “Mitzi belonged to my ex-girlfriend.”

  Enjoying the attention, Mitzi mingled with the men, winning them over with her soulful dark eyes.

  A huge man with a bulbous red nose, knelt down and scratched behind Mitzi’s ears. The poodle leaned into his legs.

  One of the giants queried in a deep bass voice, “So what caused the shed to burn?”

  Questions were shouted from all sides.

  “Any suspects? How you gonna find the guy? Got any witnesses?”

  Rule Number2: Never, never give a press conference.

  Davis cleared his throat. “Well, gentlemen, that’s exactly why I’m here. Why would anyone want to burn down a shed? And just one shed? Any theories?”

  “You’re saying it was arson.”

  Davis scanned the group. Not a red-top among them. “Someone sure went to a lot of effort to burn just a shed.”

  “You think so, Sherlock?”

  There was always one in a crowd. It was the same guy who’d made the crack about the poodle.

  A brawny youth, his knit cap down low over his eyes, stood behind the wise-ass. Davis moved to get a better view, but the kid shifted position.

  Davis raised his hands in the air. “Can someone tell me what’s kept in the sheds? The port office tells me that you store supplies in there. Would that include flammables?”

  “Traps, rope. Nothing to catch fire.” The men nodded. “Must be a grudge.”

  Davis searched for the face to match the ornery voice. The fisherman had a bushy red beard; unfortunately, the hair poking out of his baseball cap was brown. Davis asked, “Why would you think it’s a grudge?”

  A guy who looked like a bouncer who’d taken too many hits to his face growled.

  “Cuz he’s not from around here. He’s a Russian.”

  “That don’t mean nothing.” The joker spoke again, the obvious leader of the group.

  “Why was he unloading crab cases from the Jupiter in the middle of the night?” All eyes turned toward the bouncer, but no one answered.

  “Hey, help me out here. Don’t you all catch crab?”

  “No, we catch salmon. You can’t store crab here.”

  “Where’s it stored?”

  “King crab is put in cold storage either on Pier 91 or in the south end.”

  “So why was he unloading here?” Davis asked.

  “That’s what you’ve gotta find out,” the bouncer countered.

  Someone shouted. “Good luck with that.” This was followed by another group guffaw.

  “So how do I find this man? Does he have a name?” Davis asked.

  Another guy who was petting Mitzi shook his head. “The Jupiter went out this morning. Won’t be back for weeks.”

  “How convenient.” Davis muttered under his breath. “Thanks, guys. I’ll be around if you think of anything. Here’s my card.” No one budged, just like his days as an investment banker after the market tanked when no one wanted to talk about investments.

  Suddenly Davis heard a loud insistent bark and then a man’s angry voice. “Get off me.”

  Davis scanned the crowd for Mitzi. She had pinned the young man who had been hiding. She kept her paws on his chest and tried to lick his face.

  A few guys laughed.

  “Hey, Mike, afraid of a poodle?”

  “What the hell?” Davis’ surprise at his dog’s behavior drew another loud hoot of laughter. “Mitzi, get down.”

  “Can’t handle your women, Mr. Investigator?”

  The men howled.

  Mitzi sat down next to the youth. The dog gave a look of total innocence.

  Davis moved towards Mitzi. “I apologize. I don’t know what came over her.”

  A man put his gargantuan arm on Davis’ shoulder, blocking any movement. “Just like my wife. Never does what she’s supposed to.”

  The men chuckled and began to walk away. Mike, the kid with the low cap, merged with the crowd before Davis could get to him. The kid was probably afraid. It might not have anything to do with the fire, but he planned to ask Mike a few questions.

  Davis bent to Mitzi. “Why did you jump on that kid? Is he in trouble?” Mitzi pushed against his hand. Davis watched the men move toward the boats docked at the pier.

  “Okay, girl, I see what boat he got on. We’ll be back tomorrow to have a little private talk with Mike. Let’s get over to the port offices and see what they can tell us about the Jupiter and crab fishing.”

  Chapter Five

  Grayce ran but her legs wouldn’t move. A faceless pursuer hounded her in a strange garden. She couldn’t escape. His hard breathing grew closer and closer, sucking her into a black twirling mist.

  She dropped to her knees and crawled behind a massive slab of steel. Crouched behind the twisted shadows, she waited. Her tracker’s hatred surrounded her, devouring her into nothingness.

  Grayce awoke with a start. Gloom pressed on her chest, making every breath a struggle. Gasping, she forced air down into her lungs. Cold sweat trickled down her back.

  Sinister menace permeated her soul. She’d had the same dreams of catastrophe in her childhood after her sister Cassie had been killed, the same dreams of darkness, and the same sensation that she could never escape.

  Trying to calm her ragged breathing, she climbed out of bed. She inhaled deeply into the mountain position and focused on purging her mind and body of the fear.

  Exhausted, she crawled back into bed and dreamed of her sister and her family’s devoted yellow lab, Gus. She and Cassie were being pulled up the hill by Gus at Gasworks Park. At the top, they dropped to the ground and rolled down the hill. Gus chased them, trying to lick their faces. The presence of Cassie and Gus in her dream brought lightness and sunshine.

  The dream shifted, and her feelings of safety vanished. Lieutenant Davis, his face contorted in pain, shouted at her to get back, away from the edge. He hovered on the brink of a disaster, of falling into emptiness. She had to save him. The backs of her knees tingled and her stomach
trembled as she started to fall into the black void.

  Grayce awakened herself and jumped out of bed. She had to shake out the night terrors, shake out the sensation that her world was spinning out of control.

  Usually, she could control her dreams. In her work as an energy healer, she absorbed her client’s emotions, fears, and illnesses. She processed and released their disturbed energy in her dreams, restoring her balance, replenishing herself. Since the wharf fire, her dream world had become disrupted. She had to regain her equilibrium or she wouldn’t be able to work. Or heal.

  Chapter Six

  Assistant Chief Stewart Maclean came down the hallway before Davis had time to make it into his office.

  “You’ve got a witness to the fire?” Maclean asked.

  “And a good morning to you, Officer Maclean.”

  “I told you to keep me informed.”

  “There’s nothing to report,” Davis said.

  Maclean leaned on the door jamb. “Well, what did the witness see?”

  “She saw a man carrying a duffel bag. It may have been the torch or she may have seen one of many fishermen on the wharf.”

  A woman?” Maclean asked.

  He bristled at the idea of Maclean knowing anything about Dr. Walters. “She didn’t see anything, just a guy walking into the fog.”

  “Send me her statement. Anything else I need to know?”

  “This fire just doesn’t look like the work of any of our regulars. It’s too good.”

  “Really?” Maclean stared at Davis, waiting for more.

  “The calculated explosion to burn one shed makes me think the guy knew what he was doing. The question is, why an isolated shed?”

  Maclean’s beady eyes seemed to get smaller. “Go on.”

  “I’m planning to go through the list of our fired or should I say retired firefighters to see if anyone fits the bill. Do you want me to send you the list?”

  “No. I know the losers list.”

  “Peterson and Benson were really good firefighters.” He felt a need to defend the men, even if their personal lives were a mess.