go, it was only because he had. He was surprised to find he still had enough pride left for her incredulity to wound.
But apparently he did.
“No, honey, I wasn’t just an arson investigator,” he growled, closing the gap between them. “I was a damn legend. I was the best there was. And I say you’re wrong—the fire that killed Claudia wasn’t a result of her smoking in bed.”
Too late he heard the sighing of the doors as they swung fully open behind him. The tense expression on Tamara’s face disappeared instantly, to be replaced by immediate concern, and as he turned and saw the stiff little figure standing there in a hospital gown, Stone’s heart sunk.
“You’re trying to make it look like that fire today was all Mom’s fault, aren’t you?” Petra’s gaze, green and accusing, was leveled at Tamara. “I don’t think you were her friend at all.”
The cold little voice shook. “I—I think you hated her!”
Chapter Four
“You were right, Lieut,” Tamara said under her breath, furiously pulling on the clean pair of sweatpants she’d laid out on her bed. “He is a jerk. Thanks to Stone McQueen that little girl thinks I’m the bad guy. What’s worse, as far as she’s concerned the sun rises and sets on him.”
From the bathroom down the hall came the sound of running water. She narrowed her eyes.
“So how did he end up crashing at my place for the night?” she said loudly. “I must have been out of my mind.”
The cat that had just strolled into the bedroom halted as it saw her, turned around again and walked out, insolently graceful despite the fact that it only had three legs. Securing her wet hair in a covered elastic, Tamara followed the animal down the hall to the kitchen.
“You don’t get to sleep on the guest bed tonight, fleabag. But the good news is you can ignore another human being besides me for a change.”
Except the way things were going the damn cat would probably end up fawning all over McQueen, she thought, depositing a couple of teabags in the flowered china pot that had been one of Aunt Kate’s favorite possessions. Briefly she wondered if the man drank tea or not, and then dismissed the question. If he didn’t like it, tough.
I think you hated her.
Dropping suddenly into the nearest chair, Tamara squeezed her eyes shut. She couldn’t even remember her own response, but whatever it had been the child’s glare hadn’t wavered. Only when McQueen had scooped her up in his arms had the pinched features lost their tight look.
“That’s crazy talk, Tiger,” he’d rasped, scowling at Petra. She hadn’t seemed fazed by his manner.
“It’s not.” She’d scowled back at him, but her arms had crept around his neck. “She’s trying to blame the fire on Mom, Stone.” She’d twisted around in his grip to face Tamara. “You know she quit smoking last year. She told you in her letters.”
Petra hadn’t even looked back as McQueen had carried her down the hall. The sound of his husky rumble mixing with the little girl’s chatter had wafted through the swinging doors, getting gradually fainter. Unhappily Tamara had wondered how she was going to heal the breach that had opened up between her and Claudia’s daughter.
“You never wrote me, Claudie,” she murmured now as she poured her tea. “I think that’s what hurt the most in the end—knowing that the two of you had completely erased me from your lives.”
Although from what Stone had gathered from Petra, Rick had been killed in a car accident before his daughter had been born, she reflected somberly. About to lift her mug to her lips, she paused.
“She’s got to be almost seven,” she whispered. “Oh, Claudie—you were pregnant with her then, weren’t you?”
Trembling, she set the mug down on the table. The wedding that hadn’t happened—the wedding where her groom had run off with her chief bridesmaid—had been just over seven years ago. A vision flashed into her mind of Claudia, dressed in a baggy sweatshirt and leggings, tossing her bridesmaid’s dress onto the floor of her bedroom.
“I tried it on at the store, Tam. It fits, all right? Can we talk about something other than the darn wedding for once?”
The peevishness hadn’t been like her, but it had flared up again after that. At the time Tamara had put it down to Claudia’s worry over her mother’s health.
“And maybe if your mom hadn’t been going through chemo just then you might have confided in her. You’d always told me everything, but this was the one thing you couldn’t share, wasn’t it, Claudie?” Tamara wrapped her hands around the hot mug. “I wish you had. Everything might have been so different,” she said softly.
The thing was, she thought painfully, she’d gotten over Rick in a matter of months—although at the time she couldn’t admit to herself that losing the man she’d thought of as the love of her life hadn’t devastated her. She’d put her name in for the fire department and had written the preliminary exam, more from a desire to discard the routine of her old life than from any real urge to begin a new one, and to her shock she’d been accepted. She’d taken the medical at Quincy and passed the physical, with a little coaching from Uncle Jack, and finally had begun the intensive thirteen-week training process on Moon Island, across the harbor from Boston.
It had been gruelling. It had been exhausting. She’d never felt more alive, more fulfilled.
And a few weeks later when she’d tried to remember exactly what shade of green Rick’s eyes had been she’d found she couldn’t.
But losing Claudia had been a wound that hadn’t healed. McQueen had been right, she thought. Maybe the bond between them had been stretched, but it had never really broken.
She took a sip of her tea, her throat aching with unshed tears. “She reminds me of you, Claudie. But she’s her own person already, isn’t she?” she whispered. “I don’t know how qualified I am to take on your role in her life, but I’ll give it my best shot.”
Except they’d already gotten off to a rocky start, thanks to McQueen. She set her mug down on the table with a sharp click.
Lieutenant Boyleston had driven them home from the hospital, Tamara’s vehicle being still in the stationhouse parking lot, and upon Stone’s request—demand, more like, Tamara thought—Chandra had made a stop at a small mall on the way. Without a word, McQueen had gotten out of the car and headed for a army surplus store that had a quelling display of gas masks and bayonet-style knives in its window. Chandra had shrugged.
“Best not to ask, with Stone.” She’d given Tamara a lopsided smile. “If you’re having second thoughts, he can stay the night at my place. Hank knows I’ve always had a soft spot for McQueen.”
“Second thoughts?” Tamara had snorted. “Try third or fourth thoughts. But I’ve got to have this out with him, Lieut, the sooner the better. Petra wants to see him again, and Dr. Pranam seems to think we should let her, since for some reason she’s opened up to him. I want him to understand he can’t encourage her in this arson thing.” She’d shot Boyleston a searching glance. “He’s wrong, isn’t he?”
Chandra had sighed. “He
