Page 55 of The Promise
She went over the details in her mind, trying to focus on her actions. She remembered cratingThe Promise. Michael had helped. And then she'd finished the paperwork, except the manifest. And then she'd— "Oh my God. I turned them off. Michael, I turned off the space heaters."
"Exactly." The smile reflected in his lapis gaze warmed her insides, making her feel like she was the most amazing woman on the planet.
"So I didn't…" She hesitated, unable to finish the sentence.
He shook his head, still smiling. "No. You didn't."
She exhaled, the rest of what he was saying sinking in. "You don't think this was an accident."
"Frankly, I don't see how. At the very least, someone had to turn those heaters back on."
The bite of pancake in her mouth suddenly lost its flavor. She swallowed. "And at the very worst?"
"Someone set the fire deliberately."
"But why?"
"I haven't worked that out yet." He frowned. "But I will."
She leaned forward, her mind spinning. "You think Nick did it, don't you?"
"I don't know anything for sure, but I think it's a little too coincidental that we saw him five minutes before the explosion and then again right afterward."
Cara shook her head. "That can't be right. Nick can be pushy and even obnoxious, but he'd never hurt me. I mean he…" She cut herself off, wrinkling her nose, smiling in embarrassment.
"Wants you?" Michael raised his eyebrows, his mouth curling into a grin. "Can't say that I blame him."
Cara's body clenched deep inside, responding primordially to some signal she hadn't even realized he'd sent. She'd never known a man who was so…well, manly. His expression sobered and she came back to reality with a crash.
"Did he know about the space heaters?" he asked.
"Yes, he did. He was always ragging on me about it. Said I was just asking for trouble. But that still doesn't give him a reason to burn down the gallery."
"No, but I'd be willing to bet a bundle it had something to do with your paintings."
"The Promise?"
"Yeah." He rubbed his chin thoughtfully. "I heard him, Cara, hewantedthose paintings badly enough to threaten you."
"I told you, I don't think he would have hurt me. Besides he wanted the paintings. That's hardly motivation to destroy them." She winced, the pain of losing her artwork almost physical. "Why would he do something like that?"
"Maybe because you wouldn't sell them to him. I don't know." Michael shoved his chair back and stood, leaning forward, hands braced on the table, his face hardened with anger. "Truth is, there's only one person who can give us the answer."
"Nick."
"Right. So, I'd say it's time we pay him a little visit." He narrowed his eyes, the anger solidifying into granite composure. "Do you have any guns?"
She triedto tell herself there was something good in all this.
Michael was still here, his thoughts of returning put on a back burner. He'd made it perfectly clear that he wasn't going anywhere until he was certain she was safe.
But that was merely postponing the inevitable.
She sighed, sneaking a quick look at the tense man sitting beside her. His crash course in driving after the fire may have madehimconfident in his skills, but considering the grinding noises under the hood,shewas somewhat less enthusiastic. The engine was not responding well to his less than gentle manipulation of the gear stick. What in the world had she been thinking when she'd allowed him to drive?
The steel butt of a revolver jutted out of his jeans. Her grandfather's. She glanced behind her at the rifle carefully bracketed to her Jeep. It was like riding in a damned arsenal. And she was riding shotgun, literally.
"Turn here." She pointed to an intersection and Michael swung the Jeep sharply to the left without benefit of braking first. The Jeep squealed in protest, but made the turn with all four wheels on the ground.
