Scorch (Missoula Smokejumpers Book 6) Read online

  “Don’t belittle your experience or your love of this job and the men you work with. You are the kind of leader this team needs. Never forget that. I’ll never forget that. You taught me well, Sawyer,” Antonio said, his voice cracking.

  Very slowly he tilted his head, locking eyes with a man he’d never considered a friend and could see a change in him, as if the past few months had altered his larger than life personality. He shoved the memories back into a darkened place. “And you were a damn handful.”

  Antonio kept the hard stare then grinned, yet his eyes continued to hold his own intense pain. “Hey. I was all that and a bag of chips.”

  “Get out of here before I tell the rest of the crew all the stories I have on you!” The single moment of helping Sawyer realize he wasn’t alone was enough to yank him by the balls back into the present day.

  At least for now.

  “You dare try and I’ll destroy that rust bucket you call a vehicle!” Antonio winked and backed away.

  Sawyer laughed, even though the sound was hollow. Out of the corner of his eye, he noticed the captain and stood straight, immediately turning off the water. “Captain Phillips.”

  The captain gave Antonio a look before turning his attention to Sawyer. “You and Boone in my office in five minutes.”

  “Yes, sir.” Sawyer held his breath until the man left. “He’s pissed.”

  “Yeah, he is.” Tossing Sawyer a towel, Antonio shrugged. “But my guess is not at you.”

  He dried off and thought about Steve one last time. His best friend. A remarkable smokejumper. A damn ass fool. As he walked toward the lockers, his thoughts drifted to the amazing white mustang once again. While he wasn’t the spiritual man the fairy tale required, he had no doubt he’d been led to seeing the horse for a reason. Perhaps a sign.

  Or a warning.

  “Don’t tell me what or who I can’t have. I’m perfectly capable of making my own choices.” He snuffed as he glared at the man, loathing everything about this visit.

  “We’ve been over this before. You have to be very careful in everything that you do. I’ve warned you about this.”

  He wanted to lash out, to rip out the man’s eyes, but there was no good in alienating who he was forced to consider as a partner. Some fucking partner. A weak man with no understanding of what was needed. “I am being careful. You have no idea. I’m waiting and watching. Nothing more.”

  The man exhaled and rubbed his eyes. “Look, I know how difficult this has been on you. I really do. You’re doing your best and I appreciate it. We’re doing what’s required and exactly what should happen. Just… Just take your time. That’s all I ask.”

  Take his time. Oh, hell yes, he would. The planning was the sweetest part, every nuance and every detail as if performing on Broadway and he was the star. He chuckled and leaned against the back of the chair. If only he wasn’t so antsy. “I need a drink.” Scotch. The perfect selection for a stormy evening.

  “Don’t we both?” The man moved to a small table, darting glances before continuing his task. “I think it’s time I told you a story.”

  “A story? I love a delicious story, as long as murder is involved.”

  Chuckling, the man nodded. “A man after my own heart. What I have to tell you must be kept between us. Do you think you can do that? This might help as you continue on our endeavor”

  Our endeavor. He resisted chuckling. Play the game. That was his plan. “Absolutely. You know what I’m made of.” And what I can do.

  Reese sorted through the paper files as she wrote additional notes. Closing arguments were set for nine in the morning sharp and at this point, she’d written: Ladies and gentlemen of the jury. That was an academy award winning opening. Yanking the piece of paper from the notebook, she balled it up, just like the seven or eight others and tossed the wad toward the tiny trashcan. “Score!” Snorting, she studied the area surrounding the cheap plastic can and resisted laughing. The story of her life. Overflowing trash.

  “Miss Winton?”

  Hearing the sound of her boss’ voice created a moment of anxiety. Roger Gant was formidable in his own right and generally terrified the other attorneys in the office. “Yes, sir. What can I do for you?”

  Lifting a single eyebrow, he exhaled, allowing the sound to be overly exaggerated as he glared at her desk and the surrounding floor. Taking the one foot inside and to her chair, he brushed off the vinyl seat before easing down. “Do you enjoy working here, Miss Winton?”

  “I beg your pardon?” She wanted to spout off the truth. The man was a cheapskate, a terrible person to work for and if she had to answer certain truths, she’d consider his actions sliding way over the line of sexual harassment. At least he’d never hit on her. Perhaps because the poor man knew she’d likely deck him in the parking lot.

  “I asked,” he stated between clenched teeth as he leaned closer. “Do you enjoy working here?”

  “Absolutely. What’s not to love?” She smiled sweetly. Don’t take out your anger regarding Christopher on him. As if her little voice could control her.

  “Then why are you allowing the prosecution to get the better of you?”

  “On which case exactly? I’m working on three at the moment.” And she was, even though two had taken a very distant backseat to the Walker Tatum case.

  “You know exactly which one I mean!” Roger snapped then adjusted his tie. “This is very important for us. We were lucky enough to be chosen for this defense. Do you understand what I’m saying? This is good money for us. Besides, the young man has been a model citizen.”

  “Good money?” she retorted.

  Roger remained unblinking. “Let alone the exposure.”

  “Do you even hear yourself, Mr. Gant? This man is a serial killer. He ceremoniously tortured and slaughtered three women. Three.”

  “You don’t know that. Our experts have already testified that Walker isn’t capable of committing these crimes. He’s too… polished.”

  “Polished?” Snorting, she grabbed several of the pictures, the goriest ones she could find and shoved them in front of his face. “I don’t know that? That’s what I do know in my being. I’m an attorney. I know when people are lying to me and that slick man with the two-thousand-dollar suit and Harvard education can’t fool me. I’ve spent hours with that man, delving into his psyche. Serial killers don’t need a rhyme or reason for slaughter. They don’t follow a text book, Roger.” You bet she’d pushed his buttons.

  “Are you a licensed psychiatrist, Miss Winton?” When she hesitated, he smiled. “That’s why we seek those in various professions, to use their expertise in order to paint a true picture of those indicted with a crime of this nature. Evidence doesn’t always indicate the truth.”

  Reese was momentarily taken aback, but she sensed in her gut that the man had been bought off. Bile slithered into the back of her throat. “Look at the pictures, Mr. Gant. Take a look at what the hunting knife did, let alone the flames ignited by gasoline.” She could see the mixture of anger and shock in his eyes. The man had never paid close attention to the details. “Look! See this girl? She’s only nineteen years old or I should say was. Her entire face was peeled off before she was stabbed and if that wasn’t enough, she was alive when her house was torched. Do you understand what I’m saying?”

  His face reddening, he took gulping deep breaths.

  “As in she was alive when she was tortured,” Reese shot off, sliding another picture in front of him. “And this girl-”

  “Stop,” Roger interrupted. “I am very aware of what Walker is accused of doing. I’ve read every report, talked to the police several times and have full knowledge of every detail. The various experts have given their statements and the prosecution certainly grilled the hell out of them. They stand by what they’ve testified to. That, at minimum, should give you a certain level of comfort. Now, the jury will decide.”

  “I understand what I’m required to do.” Whether he truly had any desire to compr
ehend the reality of the situation, she certainly wasn’t going to push. “And the truth, Roger, is that I’m doing everything I can for Mr. Tatum, but he’s not been willing to help himself.”

  The tension could have been cut with a dull spoon.

  “Walker Tatum has requested another meeting with you. Maybe this will garner you the comfort you’ll need to put this one to bed.”

  Shivering, she could feel her skin prickle at the thought. The words were disgusting, as if this was a simple misdemeanor. The blond haired, blue eyed poster boy of wealth and influence certainly had made no bones about his attraction for her. Given any other circumstances, she would consider him a potential stalker. Murderer. He’s a cold-blooded killer. “I don’t need to see him again, Roger. I have everything in order to finish this case with flying colors.”

  “Miss Winton. I am still your boss and your employer. Need I remind you who Walker Tatum’s father happens to be?”

  The truth behind the basic bullshit. Money talked. “No, you certainly don’t.” She’d been reminded more times than she could count. “What does Walker need?”

  “That would be between you and your client.” Roger pushed on the arms of the chair as he got up. “I have faith in your abilities, Reese. That’s why I hired you over four other candidates. You’re intelligent, know the law cold and don’t mind getting dirty. I suggest you dig deep on this one. I understand your viewpoint about Walker Tatum, but he deserves a fair trial. There is evidence to suggest that he’s not the killer. Yes?”

  “Well, yes, but-”

  “No buts. That’s what we do as defense attorneys. We make certain there are no holes in the prosecution’s case. If there is, we use that hole. Talk with him. Perhaps there is another angle or additional evidence.” He half smiled. “I like you as well as appreciate your style. Kickass. You remind me of myself when I was younger, which means your future is very bright.”

  “Thank you, sir,” she managed, able to keep the nasty tone out of her voice. The sad thing? He was serious. If this was her future, she was taking up belly dancing. “I’ll do my best.”

  “Excellent and I know you will. I’ll be in court tomorrow. For support of course.”

  Of course, you will, you pompous dickhead. “Thank you. I appreciate it.” She kept her practiced smile until he left then sagged, her heart and mind heavy, full of demons clawing at her very soul. Everything seemed to be crushing in on her. She glanced at her watch and groaned. It was almost five. She was going to have to hustle. Perfect ending to another shitty day. At least she hadn’t run into Christopher. She grabbed her things and headed out. Drinks with the girls was definitely going to happen later. Large drinks.

  Less than ten minutes later, she was in front of the jail, fidgeting in her car. The last time she’d been alone with Walker, he’d leered at her, commenting on her delicious attire. He’d even hinted at meeting her for lunch, as he if already knew the outcome of the case. After that meeting? She’d gone home and taken two showers. At least in a conservative black suit, he should have zero comments. She rolled her eyes and as she killed the engine, she realized her hand was shaking. Why was she so nervous? He was locked away in a secured facility and there would be at least three guards outside the door.

  The thought boosting her confidence, she yanked her notepad out of her briefcase and a single pen. Whatever he had to say wouldn’t make a difference at this point. She had complete confidence in the jury, even though they’d been made aware of Mr. Tatum’s famous father. Yes, she’d used the trick as directed by her boss and even though the comment had been stricken from the record, she could tell the information weighed heavily on the jury’s minds. Still, the art had been presented and she hadn’t objected in the least.

  Color images left a lasting impression.

  She slipped her identification into the pocket of her jacket before climbing out of her car. The clouds were thickening, indicating another summer storm. The wind had kicked up, the slight howl creating a thrumming in her ears.

  Crack!

  The flash of light crisscrossed the sky, creating a neon effect. How she hated lightning and thunder. Hated. She was petrified of storms to the nth degree. Shuddering, she glared at the ominous sky and darted toward the building.

  Whoosh!

  The thunder rolled, creating a series of vibrations between her feet. Huddling against the building, she tried to calm her nerves. This was just a storm. There was nothing evil. Go inside. You can do this. After swallowing and running her fingers through her damp hair, she pushed aside her wayward fears.

  Once she was inside, she was forced to wait in line for the security check. Every second that passed, the dread in her stomach increased.

  Tick. Tock.

  She could swear she heard the powerful swings of a grandfather clock coming from somewhere on the hallowed grounds. She loathed this place, the scent as well as the poor attempt at lighting, brightening the interior. There was no disguising a jail and its intent.

  After being led to one of the rooms meant for discussions with attorneys and clients, she simply placed her notebook on and toward her edge of the table, arranging then re-arranging her ball point pen three times. Groaning, she slid the palms of her hands down her tight skirt. Why the hell had she worn such a tight skirt today?

  There were no windows in the room and she was claustrophobic, the heavy anxiety creating beads of sweat racing down her back. Folding her arms, she scuttled backward until she was in the corner of the room and far enough away from the dingy steel door.

  Click!

  Only minutes later, the door was unlocked, and Walker Tatum was led inside, his wrists and ankles shackled. For a split second, she envisioned the night before, her arms secured by the set of steel cuffs. She held her breath, pushing aside the memory. This was no time to reminisce about her lackluster love life.

  The deputy gave her a waning smile before pushing Walker down onto his seat. She knew Deputy Carter Worth from various cases. They’d chatted, and he’d even asked her out twice. There was no way she was mixing business with pleasure. She almost burst into laughter at the thought. If only she would have accepted Carter’s invitation. Maybe she would have an actual boyfriend instead of a distasteful memory.

  “Thank you, Deputy. I’ll let you know when we’re finished,” Reese stated, keeping her eyes locked on Walker.

  “I’ll be just outside,” Deputy Worth said before moving outside.

  Even the slight wham of the door as well as the sound of the lock sliding into place was enough to create wet spots under her arms. “You asked to see me, Mr. Tatum. You are well aware that the closing arguments are tomorrow. Is there something that you need for court?” There was usually nothing in his eyes. No humanity. No love. No care of anything. He was cold. Dead. Today, they were different, almost engaging and full of light.

  “Walker.”

  “What?”

  He shifted in his seat, his expression almost leering. “All the hard work and all our intimate conversations, I think we’ve earned the right to call each other by our first names. Don’t you, Reeeesssseee?”

  The way he said her name, a slither of his tongue, was unnerving but she refused to take the bait. “Mr. Tatum, this is a business arrangement. I was hired by your father to represent you during trial. We are not friends nor will we ever be. Do you understand what I’m saying to you?”

  “Crystal clear, Miss Winton.” He smiled, his eyes flashing.

  Swallowing, she absently brushed her hand across her face, pushing away the same damn strand of hair that always fell. “Then what can I do for you?”

  With a sudden jerking motion, the force grinding the metal tips of the chair across the floor, he leaned almost half way across the table.

  She could swear he was staring at her breasts and she didn’t need to steal a glance to realize a button on her blouse had popped open, revealing a hint of her lace bra. She knew she’d jumped from the noise, albeit only a hair, but he’d noticed.
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  “Are you afraid of me, Miss Winton?”

  “Am I afraid of you?”

  “Yyyeeesss…”

  Reese forced herself to smile. “Do I have any reason to be afraid of you?”

  Snickering, he folded his hands. “Absolutely not. I’m innocent of these horrific crimes I’ve been charged with. You, more than any other, know that I’ve been wrongly accused. I could never hurt a beautiful creature, one just blossoming with life. Only bitches and sluts deserve to die.”

  Did he just say what she thought he did? The entire room seemed to have an electric echo, leaving her uncertain that he wasn’t merely trying to get under her skin.

  And the bastard had succeeded.

  “Old news, Mr. Tatum. You continue to plead your innocence. I will ask you again. Is there something that you need for tomorrow?” A rope to hang yourself with, perhaps? If only the slimy creep knew what she really thought. Feeling more confident, she eased onto the chair, pulling her notebook as close as possible.

  He rubbed the tips of his fingers on the table, sliding them back and forth, creating zigzags and circles, cocking his head as if studying her. Seeing right through her.

  “Well, then I have other things to do,” she stated as she started to rise from her chair.

  “I’m giving you a gift today. The real killer.” He allowed the words to linger, his smile almost maniacal.

  “Really? The real killer. And who might that be?”

  Walker inhaled, his gaze shifting up and down, as if mesmerizing every inch. “My father. He’s. Evil. As. Fuck.”

  The information couldn’t have shocked her any more, but she maintained her composure. “And why would you say that?” Granted, Richard Tatum was a formidable, powerful and highly influential man. There were various stories, albeit undocumented, that Richard could indeed be considered evil. But no one had ever made a single attempt to thwart the congressman.

  “Because he confessed to me. Right here.” He curled his other fingers, pressing just his middle finger against the table.