Chapter Three

Lindsey

Scared, I watched from my window as the drama unfolded. Brody's house on fire, the firemen forcing him outside, even as he yelled and swore at them. My fear failed to diminish even as the fire fighters contained the fire, brought it under control, doused it. The cops talked to Brody even as the other neighbors watched and talked amongst themselves without offering to help him.

That's not right. He'd step forward to help you, if your house caught fire.

Most of the police left. A fire truck departed. The paramedics cared for Brody as he sat with a blanket around his bare shoulders and an oxygen mask over his face. The remaining fire fighters inspected his house, then obviously deemed the fire out. They spoke to him. Brody looked at his broken window, the blackened glass clear in the strobe light, and shook his head.

The paramedics made him sign a form.

"I can't let him be alone," I muttered. "He's so – alone ."

Not a hero by any stretch of the imagination, I donned shoes, pulled a robe over my jammies, then left my house. Not comfortable being in the spotlight, so to speak, I paced down my driveway to the street, then over to where Brody sat at the ambulance's rear. I garnered curious looks from the professionals.

And a look from Brody that all but melted my heart.

I dared to sit beside him. "Are you okay?"

"Some smoke inhalation," he replied, his voice hoarse. "My feet got burned."

"Should you go to the hospital?"

He grimaced. "I won't. I'll be okay."

I glanced at the broken window where tendrils of smoke trailed from within his house. "You shouldn't go back in. Not yet."

"I guess I'll go to a hotel."

I almost killed the words before they erupted. "You can sleep on my couch."

His strong hand settled on mine. "Thanks, but I won't put you in that position."

"What position?" I stared into the hollow sockets of his eyes. "I'll be in my room, you on the couch. If they," and I gestured at the gaping neighbors, "give a good goddamn, they'd be offering couches, too. Or a spare bed."

Brody stared downward. "I'm still – you don't know me."

"You don't know me, either," I snapped. "Maybe I am a psycho killer and am luring you into my torture chamber. Maybe it's time for a little trust here."

Brody glanced around at the staring neighbors. "I've lived here for seven years," he murmured. "They know me. You don't. But you stepped up to the plate. Why?"

"Who cares?"

"Okay." Brody smiled. He handed the blanket back to the paramedic, naked save for his shorts. I gulped hard and glanced away. "I'll accept your offer of a couch for the night."

The EMTs seemed happy to put Brody into my custody. "If you have problems, just call 911 or come to the ER."

Brody didn't answer as he limped beside me to my house.

"I'm sorry," I said, letting him in and switching on the lights, "the A/C is on the fritz."

"I don't care," he murmured, sitting on my couch.

"Let me see your feet."

He leaned back as I knelt and set his right foot on my lap. As I'd gone to college to become a nurse before falling in love, I examined his foot with clinical assessment. I immediately saw why the paramedics didn't insist he go with them. His burns, while bad, weren't bad enough to rate a hospital visit.

Leaving him, I went to my bathroom to retrieve gauze, ointment, and pain killers.

"Take these," I ordered, placing the pills in his hand. "I'll bind your feet."

Kneeling, I smothered his feet with the soothing ointment, then bound them in the gauze. Throughout my treatment, Brody endured the pain with calm stoicism, and occasionally offered me reassuring smiles.

"You have a light touch," he murmured.

"I trained as a nurse."

"Ah. You'd be a good one. Why'd you quit?"

I shut my jaw and focused on caring for his burns. "I had to."

Brody didn't ask for specifics, to my great relief.

I stood, then urged him to lie down. "There's a blanket here if you get cold," I said. "The windows are open."

"I feel the breeze. It's nice."

He lay down with a sigh, his head pillowed on a couch cushion. "Thanks, Lindsey."

"No worries," I said quietly. "Get some rest."

When I started to walk away, his hand gripped my wrist. Fear, no terror, shot through me, and I nearly yanked my arm from his hand.

"You're a good person," Brody murmured, his voice thick from the narcotic pain remedy I gave him. "I'm glad to know you."

My fears faded at his words, at his hand that failed to hurt me. I gently peeled his fingers from my arm and placed his hand beside him. "You've had a tough night," I said, my voice low. "Get some sleep. Everything will appear better when the sun comes up."

***

I was wrong about that.

Brody groaned in pain, sweating when I got up not long after dawn, thrashing on my sofa. "Christ, it hurts."

"Your feet?"

Kneeling, I pulled the blanket from him, examining his bandaged appendages, seeing only the oily gauze with no swelling, no blood. I lightly touched his bandages and felt no excessive heat emanating from them.

"Everything hurts," he muttered thickly. "Shit."

"Lie still," I ordered covering him back up. "I think you got an infection. But not from your burns."

Sure enough, my hand on his brow told me of his fever. His skin, bright and sweatless, worried me. I needed to cool him down while figuring out where his infection originated. His lungs? Maybe. For that, I should get him to a hospital.

"No hospital," he declared when I said as much, his eyes bright, burning. "I'll be okay."

I sighed heavily. "Are you allergic to any antibiotics?"

"Don't think so."

I stood up, then went down the short hall to the bathroom. I'd hoarded various medicines, including antibiotics, for a just in case. And here was my just in case. I selected penicillin, another Vicodin, then took them into the front room. After shaking the pills into his hand, I fetched him water, and watched him drink thirstily.

He held the glass out. "May I have more?"

"Sure."

Brody downed two more glasses of water before lying back and closing his eyes. "You've done so much for me, Lindsey," he murmured. "May I ask another favor?"

I folded my arms and feigned an imperious expression. "And that would be what exactly?"

His eyes shot open. His jaw dropped. "Uh."

"I'm kidding. What do you need? Clothes?"

"If you don't mind running to my house."

I rolled my eyes. "It's sooo far away."

This time, Brody caught onto my humor. He grabbed my hand and planted a kiss to my knuckles before I grabbed my hand back. "My angel."

"Yeah, right. Whatever."

Two sedans sat parked in front of Brody's house. I frowned as I crossed the lawn to his property and found the front door wide open. The acrid scent of smoke and ash wafted from the house's interior. "Hello?"

Two dudes in business attire poked their heads from the front room where the fire started, their brows hiked in identical queries. In fact, they even looked alike. Smooth brown hair brushed back from their brows, black suits, white shirts, blue ties.

"Who are you?" I asked, tense. "You're not supposed to be in here."

"And who are you?" the dude on the left inquired. "Where's Mr. Sheffield?"

The other opened his wallet, holding out an ID and a badge. "Arson investigation, miss. I'm Lieutenant Carlson, this is Lieutenant McAdams."

I relaxed a fraction, paced toward them for a closer look at the ID. The city fire department ID, I read, arson investigation. "I'm Lindsey. I live next door. Brody is at my house."

"Ah." McAdams nodded, then returned to the front room. "Might we interview him there, Miss Lindsey?"

"I guess so." I gestured toward the hall. "He asked me to get him some clothes. The fire sent him out in his jockeys."

Carlson replied, also turning away, "Sure. I don't see a problem."

They both walked around, examining the burned carpet, the broken window, the scorched blanket I suspected Brody used to fight the blaze. I noticed glass shards in the middle of the carpet, more from the window underneath.

"What happened?" I asked.

"Molotov cocktail," Carlson replied, bending to pick up the neck of a broken bottle with his pen. "Does Mr. Sheffield have enemies?"

"I've no idea. I met him for the first time yesterday."

Both lieutenants eyed me sidelong. I shrugged. "What can I say? He needed help and none of the neighbors stepped up. I did."

"Good of you, Miss Lindsey," McAdams commented. "How is he?"

"Not good. He's developed a fever."

"Maybe he should be at the ER."

"He won't go."

Leaving them, I found Brody's tidy yet clearly a bachelor's bedroom. Naturally, he had hung framed photos of Sports Illustrations swimsuit models on the walls. His queen-sized bed was made, he didn't fling his clothes on the carpet. Score one for you. I found his clothes hanging in his closet, grabbed a shirt, a pair of jeans. His boots stood nearby, and for good measure I added socks and a fresh pair of jockeys.

The cops were taking photos, discussing point of origin when I returned. "I might suggest you talk to him soon," I said. "I gave him a Vicodin, and he may be sleeping soon."

The pair of brows hiked yet again. "Are you a doctor who can prescribe controlled narcotics?" McAdams asked.

"Nope. If you plan to arrest me, I'll be next door."

Brody nodded wearily when I told him the arson squad needed to interview him. "I sorta expected that."

I helped him don his clothes, left his boots by the sofa, then encouraged him to lie back down. After covering him to his waist with the blanket, I went into the kitchen to make coffee. As I'd anticipated, the lieutenants arrived, knocking as they entered, and welcomed cups of the coffee.

"Brody," I said, leading them into my still cluttered TV room. "These are the arson cops."

Carlson glanced around before sitting in an armchair. "You're just moving in?"

"Yep."

Brody sat up, his face drawn, pale, and shook hands. "Sorry, I'm a bit of a mess this morning."

"That's quite all right," McAdams replied, sitting in my recliner. "Miss Lindsey said you have a fever?"

"Yeah. Maybe an infection."

As they spoke of hospitals, I fetched mugs, poured coffee, and handed the mugs around. "I have sugar somewhere but no clue where it is."

"Black is fine," both cops murmured, and Brody accepted his mug with a half-smile.

I sat beside him with my own, observing how the pair sized us up, perhaps wondering if I'd spoken the truth when I said we'd just met the day before. Like they can't see I've just moved in. McAdams sipped his coffee, offered his appreciation, then asked, "Do you have any enemies, Mr. Sheffield? Anyone who would do this to your house?"

Brody nodded slowly. "Yeah. I do."

"Please explain."