Chapter Eleven
Isabella's eyes widened and a gasp escaped her lips. "How did it happen?"
Pain throbbed through the muscles in Edward's neck and shoulders. He didn't want to talk about. He didn't want to remember. One minute he'd been hiding his head in the sand, telling himself that his father would someday quit drinking, someday stay on the right side of law, someday become a real father and husband. And the next thing he knew, he'd lost everything. His mother, his home and the bastard he'd pinned so many hopes on.
"He was driving drunk and hit a tree. Nothing new. The only difference was, my mother was in the car. She was killed on impact. He walked into a prison cell."
"How old were you when it happened?"
"High school. Barely fourteen. I lived in a succession of foster homes until I became of legal age." He blew a stream of air through tight lips. "So that's why I don't talk about the bastard. He never cared about my mother or me, no matter how we both wanted to pretend he did. Booze was the only thing he cared about." Edward rolled his shoulders, trying to relieve the pressure, the pain. "When he was done serving time for Mom's death, he went right back to drinking and driving and stealing to finance his bar tab. He's lived in jails, prisons and halfway houses since."
Bella's fingers closed tightly around his. "I'm so sorry, Edward. I'm so very sorry." Compassion ached in her voice. Compassion and sympathy and caring. But no pity. And for that he was profoundly grateful.
He looked deep into her brown eyes. He'd loved her once. So much it had frightened him. And looking at her now, he could almost believe his love had never really dead. That it was still there, strong as ever. Tempting him to trust. To forgive. To take her in his arms and promise her she would never be alone again.
And that he would never be alone.
Closing his eyes, he slipped his hand from hers and turned away. He had to get out of this room. He had to think. He opened his eyes and strode for the door. "I'll be back in the night to check your pupils."
"Edward?"
He stopped, but didn't face her. He couldn't. If he looked into her eyes once more, hi might just lose the sense of reality. He might just let himself fall back into her arms. Fall back into his dreams. "Yes?"
"You'll make a great dad. Trust me. You're nothing like your father. There's more love inside you than you'll ever know."
Edward stepped out of the room and closed the door. He wanted to trust her. Not just about being a good father to Luke. He wanted to trust her with his heart, his soul. And that scared him more than James Timothy Smythe ever could.
ISABELLA STARED at the closed door long after Edward left. His words echoed in her ears. His pain ached in her heart.
Her father had been greedy, corrupt and unconscionable. But that part of him hadn't surfaced until she was an adult, more able to deal with his betrayal. Edward's awakening to his father's sins had come much earlier. And the fact that his father had killed his mother made it all the more impossible to accept.
She sank into the pillows and switched off the bedside lamp. It all made sense to her now. The feeling she always got that if she crossed the line, he would write her off. And the fact he had done exactly that when she'd hesitated to believe his accusation against her father.
She tried to close her eyes, tried to sleep. But despite her throbbing head and weary bones, blessed unconsciousness wouldn't come.
She couldn't help thinking of Edward in the next room, alone with his bitter memories. If only she could have held him in her arms, kissed him until the shadows disappeared from his eyes.
She shook her head. He would never have accepted her touch, her tenderness. Even if she could have given it.
She'd loved Edward with her whole heart, it had almost killed her. And in the last fifteen months, nothing had changed. She still loved him, still yearned for his touch, his companionship, the glow in his eyes that once was there when he looked at her.
But now she knew why Edward could never give himself fully. Why she'd always felt as if she were walking a tightrope when they were together. Why he'd been so quick to write her off when she'd taken her first misstep.
"Maybe it wasn't me who was afraid to trust, Edward. Maybe it was you all along."
Smoke.
Edward jolted awake. His heart rattled against his ribs. He couldn't see. He couldn't breathe. He fumbled for the light he'd set next to him on the floor of the empty room. Finding the switch, he flicked it on. Nothing but darkness met his gaze.
He threw the blanket aside and scrambled to his feet. He didn't need a light to confirm what he already knew. The room was filled with smoke. There was a fire in the house.
Isabella.
Pulling on his pants and shirt, he crossed the room in three steps and touched the door with an opened hand. Good. The fire wasn't right outside his door. But he had to hurry. Smoke could kill long before fire could ever show its flame.
The smoke was stronger in the hallway, thicker. He crouched low, trying to find clearer air closer to the floor. There was a full blown fire, all right. He could hear the crackle of flame over the pounding of his pulse. He wasn't sure how far up the stairs it reached, but one thing was clear: they had to get out of here.
Groping his way the few steps down the dark hall, he located the door to the guest room and pushed it open. He ducked inside and shut it behind him. Through the haze and darkness, he could make out Bella's form on the bed. "Bella. Wake up. There is a fire."
She stirred, then jolted into a sitting position. Her hair tangled around her face. Her eyes shone bright in the moonlight filtering through the window. "Fire?"
"Hurry." He grabbed her hand and half lifted her out of the bed. They wouldn't be able to escape by the staircase, that was for certain. The hall was already choked with smoke, much of it pouring under the bedroom door with each second that passed. They'd never make it out without succumbing to the smoke. And the fire. NO, the only way out was the window. He crossed the room, pulling Bella with him.
She turned to him when they reached the window. "Can we get out this way? Aren't we pretty high off the ground?"
One this side of the house, the window was three stories above the ground, a dormer window set high in the middle of the sloping room. He peered out the glass. "We don't have a choice."
"We aren't going to be able to jump. There's a brick patio below this window."
"But there's a trellis as well. IF we slide down the roof to the trellis, we'll be able to climb down."
She nodded, as if his plan was logical.
He hoped to God her faith was justified. "With all the rain, the shake roof is going to be slick as ice. We'll need some way to control our descent."
She glanced around him, hurried to the bed and grasped the sheets. "We'll tie these together."
"It's worth a shot." He helped her strip the sheets from the bed and tie them, yanking the knots as tight as he could. When he was satisfied it would hold, he turned back to the window.
He slid the sash up. Fresh air rushed into the room. They took hungry breaths. So far, so good. The only thing in their way now was the screen. He unfastened the latches and gave the bottom edge a shove. It didn't budge.
Damn. As old as the house, the screens were painted in place.
Fire crackled from downstairs. Edward glanced at the closed door. The air grew thicker with smoke by the second. The rush of fresh air would fuel the fire. He hit the screen's bottom edge with the heel of his hand, again and again.
Finally the paint seal broke and the screen swung into the night, skidding down the shake roof and clattering to the brick patio three stories below. Both coughing from the smoke, he grasped her hand to steady her as she threw a leg over the windowsill. She wore only the T-shirt she'd slept in, her feet were bare. Not ideal clothing for a late-night climb, but it would all have to do. There was no way they'd be able to locate her clothes and shoes in the dark.
"The wood shake is going to be slippery, especially with bare feet. Hold on."
With out hesitation, she hoisted herself outside. She clung to the open window, wind whipping the hem of her T-shirt.
Edward hoisted himself out the window and clung beside her. The air was clear out here, and he took several deep breaths into his lungs.
"Ill go first. That way I can stop you at the bottom." The wood shake was cold and slick under his bare feet, he grasped the sheet and gave it a hard tug. It held. So far so good. The roar of ways below filled his ears along with the roar and crackle of the fire.
He glanced down. The edge of the roof was getting close now, as well as the end of his bed-sheet rope. Nothing but darkness loomed below. As long as the trellis was in the place he thought it was, they'd be all right. If it was more than a few feet to the left or right, he wasn't sure they could reach it on the slick shake shingles.
He glanced up to the window. Bella clung to the frame, a white spot in the gloom of fog and smoke. He had to be right about the location of the trellis. He had to get them both safely to the ground before the fire licked its way through the old house.
He hastened his steps His feet slipped on the shake. He fell hard against the roof. The breath exploded from his lungs. Clutching the sheet, he struggled for air. One breath. Tow. His lungs ached as he forced the smoky air into them. Slowly, he pulled himself back to his feet. Thank God the knot he'd tied to the radiator had held. If it hadn't he'd be nothing but a spot on the brick below.
Edward continued backing down the roof, hand over on the sheet rope until he reached the end. Now came the tricky part. If he went over the edge of the roof and the trellis wasn't there, it would be damn near impossible to climb back up.
He lowered himself to his stomach. The moisture from the shake seeped into his clothing. He let himself slide down the edge of the roof. Lowering himself to the end of the sheet, he tried to feel for the trellis with his feet. It was no use. He would have to let go of the sheet to get low enough to gain a foothold on the trellis. If it was indeed below him.
He sucked in a deep breath and released the sheet. He slid down the shake, the shingles both rough and slick at the same time. His legs went over the edge of the roof. Trying to stop himself, he dug his fingers into the edge of the wood shingles. At the same time, he clawed against the side of the house with his feet.
His feet hit nothing but siding...
He continued to slide. His pulse pounded in his ears. This was it. Either he found that trellis or h was on his way down to the brick patio. He moved his feet to the side, groping wildly. Finally, his toes hit wood.
Edward scrambled for a foothold, turning his body to the side to stop his momentum. A piece of trellis gave way under his thrashing feet. A few inches more. He had to have a few inches more. He strained. His toes caught a piece of solid wood. The edge of the roof dug into his stomach and scraped his skin. He clawed at the shake with his fingers. Just as he was about to go over, he wrenched his body sideways.
Then plunged over the edge.
He caught the edge of the trellis with his hands. His feet found a hold between vines. He clung there for several seconds, waiting for more of the rotting wood to crumble and send him falling three stories to the brick patio. But it didn't happen. He'd done it. Now he had to get Bella off the roof, as well.
Summoning his strength, he pulled himself up so he could see over the edge of the roof.
Bella was still at the window, staring over her shoulder at the spot Edward had disappeared. Smoke billowed out the window behind her. But even through the smoke, fog and darkness, Edward could see her tears streaking down her face.
He let go of the trellis with one hand and waved. "ISABELLA!"
She spotted him, her body almost sagging with relief. She yelled something, but he couldn't make out the words above the intensifying roar of the fire.
He motioned to her to climb down. She nodded and started lowering herself down the incline as he had, her bare feet skidding on the slippery roof.
She fell twice, but held on, lifting herself back to her feet as if by sheer will. Finally she reached the end of the sheet roof.
"Get down on your stomach."
She did as he said, flattering her body against the wet wood.
He reached for her and grasped her foot. "okay, let go and let yourself slide. Slowly."
She released the sheet without hesitating. He guided her slide, pulling her toward him as she went off the edge. She swung into the trellis, slamming into his legs. Edward could feel the wooden grid tremble under the strain, but it held. And so did he.
"I'm on the trellis."
"Do you have a secure foothold? This thing is rotten in places."
"I have it. I'm fine."
HE released her hand. The shriek of sirens slashed the night. Above, Edward could see the flame flickering out the edges of the bedroom window. They climbed down the tangle of wood and vines until they reached the ground.
Once his feet touched brick, he enfolded Bella in his arms. He held her shivering body tight against him. Tears stung his eyes.
She looked up into his eyes. "When you went over the edge, I thought you were dead. I thought we were both dead."
HE smoothed a hand over her wet, tangled hair, careful to avoid the bandage on her forehead. Her sweet scent rose above the stench of the smoke and filled his senses. "We aren't dead. We're alive."
He pressed his lips to her hair, taking in the scent of her, the feel of her.
She tilted her head back and slid her arms around his neck. Her lips were so close. So tempting. All he could think about was the feel of them against his. The feel of love. Te feel of life. He fitted his mouth over hers.
She accepted the kiss, moving her lips in a dance with his, her tongue darting into his mouth and accepting his. She clung to him as if she would never let him go.
And he didn't want to be let go. She tasted so sweet and warm, so accepting. He wanted more. He wanted all of her.
He deepened the kiss, moving his hands over her back and tangling his fingers in her hair. She was so alive. So real. It was as if the time they'd been apart never existed. As if all of it was a bad dream. The cold finger of reality inched up his spine. The last two years hadn't been a dream. This moment, the fell of her again, the kiss – this was a dream.
He pulled away from her. He could feel her eyes on him, but he couldn't return her gaze. And he damn well couldn't explain how he felt. He wasn't sure himself. "The firefighters are here. We'd better let them know we made it out of the house."
ISABELLA WRAPPED the blanket tighter around her shoulders and shivered. The June night wasn't cold. Far from it. And the flame and smoke engulfing Edward's beautiful home upped the temperature at least twenty degrees, even from where they stood across the street.
Edward stood next to her, talking with one of the firefighters about their strategy for saving the house. The flashing red lights from the trucks pulsed off his face. The white dress shirt he wore was rumpled from the day before and wet and dirty-streaked from his slide down the roof. His slacks were ruined and his bare feet. Yet his shoulders were unbowed, as if he was strong as ever, still in charge.
She tried to listen to the firefighters strategy for salvaging the house, but her mind wouldn't obey. Instead it kept replaying her and Edward's escape from the burning house, the way he'd almost plunged to his death off the roof, the way he'd guided her over the shake and onto the trellis, and most of all, the way he'd taken her into his arms and reaffirmed they were both alive. A flush spread over her skin. Being back in his arms, lost in his kiss, was the only thing that could warm her.
She shook her head. She couldn't let herself think about the way his kiss made her feel, the passion, the tenderness, the need that surged within her like a flame that couldn't be doused. She'd experienced those feelings before. She'd reveled in them. And all they'd given her was shattered dreams and a broken heart.
She forced herself to look away from Edward and to tune into the firefighter's words. "We'll have to wait to find out for certain what caused the fire, but I'd bet my bottom dollar it was arson."
"Arson?" Isabella parroted. She shouldn't be surprised. Houses didn't generally just break into flame without a good reason, even old houses like Edward's. "What makes you think it was arson?"
"The fire moved too fast. Some king of accelerant had to be used. But we can't say for certain until the fire investigator boys get in there and poke around. They'll be able to tell right away. Then all that will be left is to figure out who struck the match.
The chill spread over Bella's skin, making her hands tremble. She didn't have to figure out anything. She knew who did it. A glance at Edward confirmed he knew, too.
Smythe
He'd told Edward he was going to ruin him. Promised he would take everything Edward cared about and leave him with nothing. Of course that list would include Edward's house – the house the two of them had restored from squalor.
She felt safe in his house, as if just being inside its walls had swept her back to a simpler time, a happy time. How wrong that feeling was.
A firefighter crossed the street toward them. His stride was urgent. His face was shadowed by the fire and spotlights behind him, but she could see he was young, his pale complexion flecked by soot and ash.
He stopped beside the captain. "I need a word with you."
The older man nodded. "Go ahead."
The young firefighter glanced at Isabella and Edward. "Alone."
"Whatever it is, you can say it. Mr. Masen here is District Attorney. And Ms. Swan is an analyst at the crime lab."
The young firefighter nodded, but his eyes didn't lose their wary look. "We need to call for additional help. This isn't a simple case of arson anymore."
The captain's busy eyebrows turned down. "Outwith it, Franklin."
"We found a body, sire. A woman's body. In the master bedroom.
She was on the Master bed."
