"Shadows in Flames"
Title: "Shadows in Flames"
Author: ValleyA
Disclaimer: KFTLC and its myriad of characters belong to Michael Sloan and others. Wish they were mine deep sigh but alas I am only playing with them and must give them back when I am done. Hehehe, but I didn't say what condition they'd be in when I gave them back. VEG
Canon Characters: Peter Caine, Paul Blaisdell, Annie Blaisdell, Kermit Griffin, Kelly Blain, Mary Margaret Skalany, Jody Powell, Roger Chin, Blake, and Sgt. Broderick
Original Characters: Willie Stamper, George Temper, Bob McMasters, and a variety of medical and emergency personnel (well, this is one of my stories, so medical personnel is a given GG)
Rating: R for violence and language (warning: there is blood and injury in this story. If that disturbs you, stop reading right now VEG)
Archiving: My stories at my website: /valsmusings , at , and at Cindy's multifandom website: /KFTLC/
Word Count: 63,510
Synopsis: A pyromaniac is after Peter and soon it involves most of the detectives at the 101st
Special Thanks: To those who read beta read this story a few years ago in its earlier incarnation and for those who read it more than once. Your insights and support have earned you a special place in my heart. I dedicate this story to you and all that I've learned from you. Of course, any mistakes found are all mine. I really can't believe I'm actually posting this story. It only took five years from start to finish sigh
But as they say, never say never! Hope you enjoy it!
"Shadows in Flames"
by ValleyA
Chapter One
(Set approximately one month after Return of the Shadow Assassin)
Peter was speeding, trying to beat the rush hour traffic, even though he knew his last minute stop at the florist had doomed him to gridlock. Glancing around, he grumbled at the number of cars on the road for a late Friday afternoon, even using the rural shortcut from his foster mother's home to his apartment hadn't saved him much time.
"Geez, why can't people just stick to the main highways when I need them to?" he asked aloud, then smirked. "Because they're just doing the same thing I'm doing, taking a shortcut to get home faster. Come on, people, move it!"
Gesturing with one hand at the traffic ahead of him, he sighed and dropped his hand to pound the top of the steering wheel. It was hard to corral his frustration – he needed to take a deep breath, but he was so looking forward to spending the weekend with Kelly. He glanced at his watch and cringed. Kelly was going to be pissed at him big time. Again. Sometimes, it seemed like he couldn't do anything right for her, but this trip to the cabin would go a long ways toward mending the broken fences of their relationship.
After a few maddening minutes, the traffic began to thin out to practically nothing. "Now, we're talking," he said with a smile.
He could finally make up some lost time. Luckily, Kelly's 1968 candy apple red Mustang had plenty of power. His Stealth was in the shop and he planned to pick it up on the following Monday. He started to speed up, but a older model blue Chevy came out of nowhere and passed him on the narrow two lane back road. It moved back into the lane in front of Peter – and promptly dropped down to forty miles an hour, even though the speed limit was fifty-five.
Cursing under his breath, Peter stewed for a minute, then whipped around the car, passing it after they were clear of a blind curve. "Damn! I should have left work at noon and we'd already be up at the cabin!"
Apparently, the driver of the slow-moving sedan took offense to Peter's passing, because he flashed his headlights several times, waved obscene gestures, and then proceeded to ride on the rear bumper of Peter's car – or more specifically the bumper of Kelly's car. The sudden burst of speed the old Chevy used to catch up so quickly surprised Peter. That thing had some real power under its hood.
Peter glared at the reflection of the bald man behind the wheel in the rearview mirror. He thought about flashing his lights and siren to pull the jerk over. Kelly's car had the same setup as his Stealth as far as sirens, loudspeaker, and lights, but then common sense won out. He wasn't about to let one idiot with overactive road rage spoil his plans with Kelly, mostly because any time spent writing him up would negate the time he'd just saved by using the shortcut home.
The thought of Kelly's disappointment again caused his thoughts to drift. It had taken nearly a month for him to arrange for the time off for their trip and it wasn't easy. He'd spent many long hours clearing open case files from his desk while worrying over Kelly at home and Paul at work. Both Paul and Kelly had suffered at the hands of the Shadow Assassins – simply because of their association with him, but he'd sworn to make it up to them, to both of them. First, Kelly with the getaway to the Blaisdells' cabin, then a weekend fishing trip with Paul.
He shuddered as he remembered how close he'd come to losing them to the Shadow Assassins. Those murderers had taken his lover, Kira Blakemore from his life, but they didn't kill Kelly. It was only through the intervention of Peter's father, Kwai Chang and Lo Si that she lived.
Kelly had tried to act like she'd moved past her brush with death, but Peter could tell she was still recovering emotionally from the incident. That was exactly why this trip to the cabin had been a top priority for both of them. They needed some time alone together to recover from the trauma.
His father and Lo Si had left for Tibet on a mission for the Dalai Lama. They'd been gone for almost a month. Peter wasn't sure, but thought it might be another month before they returned – which seemed like an eternity. Peter needed to have his father in his life, but there always seemed to be some urgent mission that carried him away.
Sudden loud and persistent honking in the car behind him jolted Peter back into the present and he reacted without thinking.
"Okay, buddy, you just blew it," he grumbled and he reached down to put the portable police light on the dashboard of the car. He flipped it on while also activating the loudspeaker as he ordered, "Pull it over."
The moment he made it official, Peter regretted it. Now, Kelly would definitely be pissed at him for the rest of the night. 'Maybe I can just give the guy a stiff talking to and then let him go with a warning. That shouldn't take too long... Crap, who am I trying to kid? This jerk isn't going to be impressed with a slap on the wrist.'
Peter straightened his shoulders as he justified his actions. "No, this is important – there's no place for tail-gating or road rage on a road filled with hairpin turns and sharp drop offs. As Eppy would say, he's an accident waiting to happen."
He gestured for the driver behind him to pull over. The Chevy began to slow and pull to one side as ordered – when the driver suddenly slammed on the accelerator. He sped up alongside the rear of Kelly's Mustang and jerked on the steering wheel hard, hitting the rear quarter panel of her car with enough force to spin it around.
Peter used every trick he could think of to regain control of the car, but the Mustang was simply too close to the edge of the road. The impact and continued force of the Chevy pushing against the smaller Mustang caused it to go plunging down a sixty-foot embankment without impediment, rolling over as it went.
"Ah, shit!" Peter shouted as he realized there was nothing to stop his descent.
He held onto the wheel briefly, but lost his grip as the car continued to roll over and over. Despite the safety belt restraints, he was bounced around so hard and so fast, he wasn't sure if he was going to survive. The Mustang came to an abrupt stop when it hit a tree at the bottom of the culvert, and the collision forced a branch through the windshield and into Peter's side.
Peter screamed as the wood pierced his lower right side. He tried to pull it loose with a shaky hand, but even though the branch was less than a half-inch thick, it was too firmly imbedded to move. He looked down, staring at it in disbelief and whispered, "Oh, God."
He struggled to catch his breath, looking around within the dimly lit interior of the car for a distraction, anything to keep him from focusing on the pain. Of course, his injury was a concern – yet, he was more upset with himself for letting the idiot who'd knocked him off the road get away with it. He should have had his mind on the driver of the Chevy and not on being late.
Peter sensed moisture running down his temple, then he remembered banging his head against the window and used one hand to swipe at it. He remembered banging his head against the window and when he looked at his hand, it was wet with blood.
"Head wounds always bleed a lot," he consoled himself in a loud whisper.
"Now, this – this is another matter... " He paused as he tried to see how badly he was bleeding from the wound in his side, but the angle and dimness in the interior of the car made it difficult. Licking his lips, he considered his situation, wondering if anyone had witnessed the accident and called it in. Traffic had thinned out to practically nothing by the time he'd encountered the Chevy, so it was possible no one had seen the accident happen.
Where is all that damned traffic when I really need it? he groused.
Peter knew the statistics all too well. A car this far off the road could go unnoticed for days... even weeks. He had to get moving or Kelly's car would become his coffin. He shoved against his crumpled car door with all his might, and then groaned when the movement made his side hurt like hell.
His head fell back against the headrest as he closed his eyes and tried to slow his breathing. When he made a little progress, he attempted to lower his pain level by using some of the tricks his father had been trying to teach him, only to sigh and roll his eyes in frustration.
"What the hell am I doing?" he mumbled. "This might be a piece of cake for Kwai Chang Caine, Master Shaolin Priest, but for not me."
He brushed at the sweat and blood on his forehead and closed his eyes, then unconsciousness crept up on him, catching him by surprise. He faded away before he had a chance to fight it. His last thought was of Kelly and what she would do to him when she saw her battered Mustang.
oOoOoOoOo
Captain Blaisdell sipped on stale coffee as he listened to Kelly Blaine's worried voice on the other end of the telephone line. He kept his tone light on purpose. Life with Peter was never easy and it didn't help that Kelly's nerves already weren't in the best shape.
"No, Kelly, Peter ran out of here hours ago, jabbering goodbyes while saying something about being in a hurry to pick you up to head for the cabin."
"Well, he isn't here. Captain, I'm worried about him," Kelly said in a rush. "He was too committed to this trip to be late. I've called his cell phone several times and all I get is his voice mail. He's got my car, so I can't even go out to try and find him."
Blaisdell felt a nagging worry begin, but he still tried to keep the concern from his voice as he replied, "Give me a few minutes. I'll make some calls of my own, and then I'll get back to you. If he shows up there, give me a ring."
"If he shows up here, the first thing I'm going to do is ring his damned neck," she said in a half-hearted joke.
Paul chuckled, recognizing the sentiment from personal experience with Peter. The police captain hung up the phone and stood, then bent forward a little. The injuries he'd sustained in the attack by the Shadow Assassins a month ago were slow to heal, vexing him with their constant reminder.
God only knew the depth of Peter's guilt those first few weeks after the attacks, feeling responsible for what had happened. It was only after Paul and Kelly returned to work did the haunted look in Peter's eyes begin to diminish, though things were still mending between Peter and Kelly.
Paul walked to the door of his office, and looked around. He couldn't see his Chief of Detectives, Frank Strenlich, in the bullpen, but Kermit Griffin was there, emerging from his inner sanctum to refill his coffee mug. He glanced Paul's way. After one look at Paul, Kermit came to see what was wrong.
"What's up?" Kermit asked in a lighter tone than his expression implied.
Paul rubbed his mouth and sighed. "It might be nothing."
Kermit waited. After a moment, Paul waved his fingers in the air and continued, "Peter's rarely on time for anything."
Kermit's expression darkened a bit, but still he said nothing.
"He was supposed to pick Kelly up hours ago for their trip to the cabin... "
"But he hasn't shown up yet," Kermit finished what Paul had been unable to say.
Paul nodded, trying not to let the worry he felt show on his face. "Peter was too excited about this trip to blow it off like this, or even worse, not even call Kelly to let her know what was going on."
Kermit walked over to Broderick's desk and put out a call to Peter over the police radio, patiently waiting for a response. When there wasn't any answer, he tried Peter's cell phone, but again there was no response. He left a short message and turned back to Paul.
Broderick looked at Kermit and Paul, apparently picking up on their concerns and volunteered, "I can keep calling for him, if you like. Do you want an APB on his car?"
Kermit looked at Paul, who took a deep breath. Paul didn't want to jump the gun, but his intuition as a policeman and a father told him Peter was in trouble, one way or another, so he nodded. "But Peter's Corvette is in the shop. He's driving Kelly's Mustang. We should have her license plate number on file. Call me the moment you hear anything."
Kermit leaned toward Broderick as Paul started to walk away. "Check the accident reports for the last couple of hours, along with anything from the local hospitals."
Broderick didn't say anything, but his eyes widened and he nodded. "Okay, got it."
Paul was already on the phone with Annie by the time Kermit entered his office.
"Hello, honey," Paul started, biting his lip as he listened to her response. He hated to alarm her when there was just a possibility of trouble, but it had to be done. "Did you speak to Peter today?"
He glanced over at Kermit and waited. The ex-merc leaned against the closed door of Paul's office with his hands on his hips as he listened to Paul's side of the conversation.
"Kelly called you, too?" he asked.
After she answered, he said, "An hour ago? Well, did Peter say exactly where he was going before he left?"
Again, there was silence in the office as Paul listened to Annie's reply. Paul sighed, forced to say the words he'd wanted to avoid. "He might be in some kind of trouble, Annie, that's why I'm asking. Kelly just called and he still hasn't made it home yet. I'm trying to backtrack to see if I can find him."
Paul waited until she had finished her questions before answering. "No, he hasn't been in an accident that we know of, but he's not answering his radio or cell phone. Did he say anything to you about making any stops after he left you?"
Paul glanced to Kermit. "Okay, the florist on Madison and Turner. We can check on that. Anything else?"
He listened some more, then interrupted her. "Let's not jump to any conclusions just yet. Not with Peter. It might not be an accident. You know what he's like... he might have decided to get Kelly some special present for their trip. Hell, with Peter, anything could have happened."
Paul glanced at his watch. "He left at 3:30?"
His gaze met Kermit's troubled expression as both men checked their watches and knew it shouldn't have taken Peter two hours to go from the Blaisdell home to his apartment. Paul frowned as he heard Annie mentioned the shortcut notorious for accidents. The back roads saved some time, but the route was also treacherous.
He chewed on the inside of his cheek, then said, "I'll check it out and call you the moment I hear anything."
He couldn't help the slight smile that sprang to his lips as he replied, "I love you, too."
Kermit disappeared as Paul said his goodbyes to Annie. When he returned, he had his trench coat on and Paul knew from experience his Desert Eagle was holstered underneath.
"I'll backtrack from your house to the florist, and see what I can find out, then head out to Peter's apartment."
"I'll go with you. I know that rural route like the back of my hand. We might do better together."
Kermit nodded, pausing long enough for Paul to grab his jacket, weapon, and cell phone. As they walked out, Paul repeated his earlier sentiment. "It might be nothing, just some stupid Peter move that has us worrying for nothing."
Kermit gave Paul a long sideways glance as he opened the lobby door. "Paul, you aren't prone to worrying over nothing. Neither am I. My gut tells me something's wrong and we need to find the kid ASAP, and that's exactly what we are going to do."
oOoOoOoOo
Peter opened his eyes and tried to focus on the scene around him. His memories were groggy at best and what he saw had him confused for a moment. Then he straightened with sudden realization and groaned from the movement. He put one hand to his side and the other went to his forehead.
'Damn, I went through the railing when that asshole rammed the rear end of the Mustang!'
He shook his head slightly, trying to clear the cobwebs and he wondered how long he'd been unconscious. The pain of his injury came alive with his increasing awareness. The hand at his side felt the tree branch still lodged there. His warm, rapid breathing had fogged over the windows, leaving him feeling as isolated as he'd ever felt. His chances of survival weren't getting any better if he didn't get help soon.
"Shit, this is all I need!" he exclaimed.
He pressed the hand more firmly against his throbbing side and bit his lip against the pain, then realized his fingers were wet with something sticky... blood. Crap, he had to slow the bleeding somehow. His body trembled, sweaty yet so cold. He knew he was on the edge of going into shock, but he couldn't just sit there doing nothing.
Gasping, he tried to reach the radio mike. Even as he made the effort, he knew the gesture was probably futile. The handheld mike was on the floor and the radio had been silent since the crash. Maybe it was damaged in the accident. He tried his car door again with his left hand, but it wouldn't budge and he felt so damned weak from the blood loss.
His feet were trapped, pinned against the center console, because the left front section of the car was crumpled in on itself. Grabbing the cord for the mike, he pulled it up toward him, then swallowed, trying to bring moisture to his dry mouth. His voice still rasped as he spoke into the mike, "This is Baker 1-9. Officer in need of assistance. MVA off Rte 203, heading to Jefferson Avenue, near mile post number four... I think."
There was no reply from the radio, but a malicious laugh erupted right outside Peter's door. The unexpected sound startled him and he jumped, then groaned at the unexpected movement. He reached around with his left hand and clasped his Beretta in its holster, somehow sensing his situation was now much more serious. His hand, slick with blood, shook but he tightened his grip as the laughter outside grew more frenetic.
An insistent tapping on Peter's driver's side window made him point the weapon in that direction, but the menacing voice that spoke made him even more nervous. "How are you doing in there, po-lice-man?"
Before Peter could answer, the man rocked the Mustang. Peter groaned again with the unexpected movement and a tear slipped down his cheek. Peter fought to keep his senses alert. He couldn't pass out – not now – not with an adversary right outside his door.
"Your pretty car looks totaled. I hope you have good insurance – not that it's gonna matter much to you when I'm done. Hell, it's amazing you're even still alive. You must have rolled over five or six times. It was really something to watch... " The man's childish giggling became even more hysterical.
Then the stranger grew silent again, and he quipped, "Bet you won't cut anyone off in traffic again, will you, Detective Caine?"
Peter's head whipped around toward the fogged window. The asshole knew his name! This wasn't some random act of road rage. The guy knew who he was and had caused the accident on purpose. Peter wiped at the foggy window with one hand, trying to get a better visual on the man taunting him, but the guy just stepped out of his line of sight.
"You're in a lot of trouble, buddy," Peter warned, wishing his voice sounded stronger.
Again, the man's laughter exploded in an evil frenzy. "No, I think you're the one in trouble. You just don't know how much trouble yet... but you will. Yeah, you will and soon."
"What the hell do you mean by that?" Peter demanded.
He used the butt of his gun to shatter the cracked driver's window and stretched as much as he could, blindly firing off a couple shots to get some distance from his assailant.
"Missed me! And I thought you were supposed to be some kind of hotshot with a gun. Just goes to show you can't believe everything people tell you."
Peter prepared to fire again, but froze when he heard a sloshing noise, then detected the scent of gasoline and heard the crazy man's laughter again. The guy was at the front passenger side of the car now, always staying out of Peter's line of sight. This time, the man sounded very pleased with himself.
"You know, they are gonna have to use the Jaws of Life to get that door open."
The man rocked the car again. "That twig in your side will hurt like hell when they do, because those machines vibrate like a rocket taking off – but long before that happens, you're gonna burn, cop. Burn like you should have done a long time ago. Burn..."
Peter swallowed hard, drained from the man's taunts. He'd managed not to scream with the movement of the car, but he knew he couldn't hold out for long. Not if that asshole kept bouncing the car around like a child's toy. The worst of it was knowing Peter couldn't do a blasted thing to stop him from carrying out his threats.
"Christ, why didn't I think of this earlier," Peter whispered as realization struck hard.
He reached inside his leather jacket and pulled out his cell phone. He didn't care if his assailant heard him groan or not. The display listed several missed calls. They must have been made while he was unconscious. Damn, he could have requested help, but now he was trapped with a madman threatening to set Kelly's car on fire with him inside.
He hit one of the preprogrammed numbers and closed his eyes with blessed relief when Paul answered, "Peter? Where the hell are you?"
"Paul," he gasped, his injuries again threatening to pull him into unconsciousness. "Have to talk fast. Not sure how long I have."
He quickly relayed his location.
"Are you injured? Why are you whispering?"
"I'm not alone, Paul. I'm trapped in Kelly's Mustang. I was knocked off the road by some idiot and now he's outside the car with gasoline... " Peter paused, "And he says he plans to light it up with me still inside."
"Hang on, son. We're less than two minutes away."
Peter swallowed, his mouth suddenly dry as the maniacal laughter outside increased. Two minutes wasn't long, but it only took a second to strike a match.
"Paul, come with sirens blasting and your lights on. It might scare him off before he... before he... "
"I understand, son. You just hang in there. We're almost with you. Keep talking to me until we arrive."
The strong gasoline fumes made Peter dizzy and his vision was starting to swirl. He dropped the cell phone, using the steering wheel to hold on as he fought to remain conscious.
"Damn it, I can't pass out now," he whispered to himself as he heard Paul's distant voice shouting for a response.
He blinked a few times, then saw a shadow move around to the front of the car. He fired a couple more shots, shattering the windshield in front of him even more, hoping to keep the man busy until Paul could get there. The cold evening air rushed in through the new opening, along with a much stronger smell of gasoline and a whiff of sulfur.
Moments later, he could see flickers of flames through the hole in the windshield just as he heard the distant siren approaching. With Peter's fading consciousness, the flames outside caused an image to flash in his mind – one of the temple walls collapsing around him. Fire. Fire was everywhere. And his father gone from sight. God, how he hated fire.
"Ah, it looks like you cheated, Caine, like you cops always do. Well, I've got a little surprise ready to greet your friends when they get down here. Don't worry, if you survive... we'll meet again, Caine. And when we do, I'll finish what I started today."
Smoke started to fill the interior of the car as tires screeched to a halt on the road above. Help had arrived. Peter coughed and flinched in pain. Damn, that asshole hinted at a trap for the people coming to help him. He had to warn them. Unfortunately, there was little he could do. His cell phone was on the floor of the car and the smoke filling the interior of the car left him panicky.
His eyes streamed with tears from the smoke's irritation. His world was going dark, as black as the smoke swirling around him. The effect left Peter wondering if he'd remain conscious just long enough for the flames to reach him, then his disorientation worsened and he realized he was unable to do anything except watch his worst nightmare, fire, attempt to destroy his life once again.
oOoOoOoOo
Chapter 1