Fight Fire with Fire Read online

  "Whether she's guilty or not," Elizabeth said after a moment, "I don't like the fact that Steven's gotten mixed up in all this."

  "I know," Jessica said, grabbing another slice of pizza from the pie in the middle of the table. "I don't think I've ever seen him so mad. I keep thinking that if one of our schemes to break them up had worked, he would at least be acting rational."

  "And now even jail can't keep Lila and Steven apart," Elizabeth muttered. "He's gone down there to bail her out—and ruin his career in the process, I might add."

  Jessica tossed her hair. "Well, even though I'm sure those two shouldn't be together, I'm proud of Steven for standing up for what he believes in. He thought he had to help Lila, and he refused to back down."

  "That's true," Elizabeth agreed with a small smile. "It was kind of cool the way he stood up to that jerk Garrison." She let out a long sigh. "But when I think of Steven and Lila wrapped in each others arms the way they were that day in the kitchen . . ." Her voice trailed off.

  "I just get sick," Jessica finished for her. Then she shrugged. "You know I don't usually give up easily, but it seems like we've done everything we could. I've tried talking to Lila about Steven and making him sound as repulsive as possible, but she just doesn't want to hear it."

  "And Steven won't listen to reason either." Elizabeth picked at a piece of pepperoni. "But maybe we haven't tried hard enough. I wish he could see how perfect he and Billie were for each other."

  Elizabeth had adored Steven's ex-girlfriend, Billie Winkler, with her beautiful chestnut hair and glowing smile. Anyone could see how in love Billie was with Steven. They both had the same simple tastes too. Billie was happy with barbecues, baseball games, and going out for spaghetti, just like Steven.

  The two of them attended Sweet Valley University and lived together in a little apartment off campus. Everything was going so well between them. Then Steven told Billie he would be back home all semester, interning in the D.A.'s office. Billie had felt hurt—left out of Steven's decision. She thought he had chosen work over her, and the two of them had split up.

  Elizabeth twisted a piece of silky blond hair between her fingers. "That stupid breakup could have been fixed right away. And I bet Steven could still get Billie back too."

  "Except that now Lila has her hooks into him," Jessica said with a scowl.

  Elizabeth sat up straight. "Well, there has to be some way to get those hooks out," she said. "Even if Lila isn't guilty of arson, she would still make Steven's life miserable. Imagine what his future would be like with her. . . ." She closed her eyes and began to paint the picture for Jessica.

  "Steven works day and night to get Lila everything she wants and nothing he wants. She keeps pushing him harder and harder." Elizabeth leaned forward and spread her hands flat on the table. "Then when he comes home and wants to kick back and relax, Lila makes him take her out to dinner . . ."

  "And not for something simple like tacos or fried chicken that Steven would enjoy," Jessica contributed. "Oh, no. They'd have to get all dressed up and go out to some fancy place that costs about a zillion dollars, where every dish on the menu has some unpronounceable name."

  Elizabeth opened her eyes and smiled her agreement at Jessica before continuing.

  "On weekends when Steven wants to go to the movies or to the beach, he won't be able to—because Lila will throw long, boring parties where only the 'right' people are invited. She'll nag Steven to stand around in a dinner jacket, kissing up to people who can improve his career."

  "Meanwhile," Jessica added, "Lila will be getting her hair done, getting her nails done, hiring servants, talking to interior decorators, going shopping, and spending lots of money. Plus she won't even let Steven buy a dog because she won't allow a little mutt to shed on her fancy furniture."

  "Oh, no," Elizabeth said with a grin. "Only hairless cats for Ms. Fowler-Wakefield."

  "Ugh!" Jessica groaned, holding her stomach as if she were about to be sick.

  "So here's the deal," Elizabeth said, resting her elbows on the table. "We have to come up with something over the top. So far we've been practical and subtle, and it hasn't worked."

  "Right," Jessica agreed with a sharp nod. "It's time to take some serious action." A slow smile started to spread across Jessica's face. "Wait a minute . . ."

  Elizabeth felt a tingle of curiosity and anticipation. She could almost see the wheels turning in Jessica's head. Count on her conniving twin to come through with a devious plan.

  Suddenly Jessica's face brightened as if a lightbulb had switched on inside her head. "That's it!" she said, snapping her fingers. "The one thing Lila and Steven have in common is their stubbornness. They won't listen when we tell them they're totally incompatible, so we have to try something else." She tapped her fingers on the table.

  "Like what?" Elizabeth asked.

  "We just have to find a way to make them see it for themselves." Her eyes danced as she gazed across the table at Elizabeth. "And I think I know just how to do it."

  Lila perched on the edge of the thin mattress and twisted her fingers nervously. Hurry up, Steven, she urged silently. She looked up at bars on the tiny window above her and felt a wave of panic threatening. With each passing moment she became a little bit more restless and a lot more scared.

  She had woken earlier to find herself still locked in the cramped cell. Lila longed for the splendor of the Fowler Crest mansion. Her family's twenty-room Spanish-style home boasted a genuine crystal chandelier in the foyer and an Olympic-size swimming pool in the back. Priceless paintings by world-renowned artists hung in every room. But that was before the fire, Lila remembered.

  Lila felt a lump rise in her throat as she leaned forward and rested her elbows on her knees. She knew that she had been under suspicion of arson ever since that awful night—the night much of her beautiful home had burned to the ground.

  Whoever set fire to her house had also bombed the Palomar House last night—she was certain of it. And she knew that both fires had been set to make her look like the guilty party. They were acts of cruel, twisted vengeance. For the millionth time Lila wondered who could hate her enough to take away her home and almost take her life.

  At least my parents weren't there. Lila sighed. If they had been in their room, they would never have gotten out alive.

  My parents, she thought bitterly. George and Grace Fowler were separated when Lila was very young, but they had recently been reunited. When she was a little girl, Lila had always wished for a family. But now that her wish had come true, her parents were never around. They had been on several so-called second honeymoons since they remarried.

  A few weeks ago her parents had been flown via private jet to a remote island in the South Pacific. They weren't even reachable by phone.

  If they really cared, they would have made sure there was a way for me to get in touch with them, Lila thought bitterly.

  Lila stood, tiptoed toward the small window, and gazed out, wondering if she was ever going to get out of this tiny, suffocating space.

  "Steven," she whispered. "Where are you?"

  She had been on a date with Steven Wakefield when the police had arrested her. As she was dragged toward the squad car he had promised to help her. But that was last night, Lila thought. Maybe he isn't coming for me. Maybe he thinks I'm guilty.

  Quickly she banished the thought from her mind. He couldn't possibly think that when she left the table to go to the ladies' room, she had actually gone outside, constructed a bomb, and hurled it through the restaurant window. He was much too intelligent for that. And Lila knew he believed in her innocence.

  Steven had been her knight in shining armor from the moment she had woken up in the hospital after the fire that had destroyed her home. She had felt so alone and frightened, but then she had found herself staring into a pair of kind, deep brown eyes.

  When she'd realized it was Steven Wakefield, she had been disappointed at first. She'd always thought of Steven as her best friend Jessica's ordinary, boring brother with the silly sense of humor and bad wardrobe. But all that had changed. He had become her rock of strength and her hero all rolled into one.

  Sometimes the strength of her feelings for Steven overwhelmed her. She thought their future was full of possibilities. In spite of everything Jessica said to the contrary, she was sure that she and Steven were the perfect couple.

  My dear Steven, Lila thought as a silent tear rolled down her cheek. She longed to feel his arms around her. He's the only one who believes me, she thought. He's the only one who can help me prove that the charge of arson is false.

  A loud clang sounded from the direction of the police station offices and Lila spun around, her heart in her throat. She heard hurried footsteps and hushed voices. Lila strained to hear whether Steven's voice was among them.

  Then, like a vision, she saw Steven's strong figure coming down the hall toward her cell. The same frizzy-haired female officer who had locked Lila in was with him.

  Lila's heart leapt in her chest. "Steven!" she cried, running up to the bars. "I thought you'd never get here. It seems like I've been in this place forever."

  She stared into his kind eyes and feared she might sob with relief.

  "I know, I know," he said soothingly. "You'll be out soon. They're just finishing up the paperwork. I have to wait out front, but don't worry. It'll only be a few minutes."

  Lila reached through the bars and clutched Steven's hand. "Please don't leave me in here alone again. I don't think I could stand it." She heard her own frightened, little whiny voice and was immediately disgusted with herself. But she couldn't help it. She had to get out of this cell.

  Steven lifted her hand and kissed it, then clasped it firmly, reassuringly. "I have to go, Lila," he said quietly.
"If I don't go out front, I can't sign the papers. It won't be long. I promise."

  A single tear squeezed from Lila's eye, and she felt her bottom lip start to quiver. Out of the corner of her eye Lila saw the officer fold her arms and shake her head in disgust.

  Lila took a deep breath and lifted her chin defiantly. "All right, Steven, go ahead. I was just a little rattled, that's all."

  "Good for you." Steven gave her a wink. "I'll be right back." And with a nod he was gone, leaving Lila totally alone once more.

  Ten minutes later the frizzy-haired officer unlocked the door of Lila's cell.

  "Looks like you got lucky," she said.

  As if being arrested and thrown in jail could possibly be lucky, Lila wanted to snap. But she held her tongue. She didn't want to do anything that might keep her in this horrible place even one second longer than she had to be.

  "So long, honey. Congratulations on getting outta this dump," the woman with the tattooed arm called. Lila shuddered.

  Her heart pounded with impatience as she went through the process of completing the paperwork and retrieving her jewelry and purse. She hated the fact that so many hands had touched her things.

  Steven led Lila out of the police station, and the minute the door closed behind them, she flung herself into his arms.

  "I knew you'd rescue me," she murmured, burying her face in his shirt. His strong arms wrapped around her tenderly.

  Lila reached up and ran her fingers through his hair. "You make me feel so safe," she whispered.

  Steven kissed her forehead gently. "Don't worry, Lila. Everything will be all right," he murmured. "We'll get through this together. I'll prove you're innocent." He slipped his hand underneath her hair, massaging her neck softly.

  "Oh, Steven." Lila gave a low purr of pleasure. She closed her eyes and leaned against him. For a moment she almost forgot the awful situation that had taken hold of her life.

  Finally she pulled back and smiled up at him. "I want you to take me straight to the Silver Door," she said, giving her body a little shake. "I want to spend some time in the Jacuzzi and then have a massage and maybe a seaweed wrap. Then I'll just lie back, sip a glass of cold, delicious, sparkling spring water, and relax for the rest of the day."

  "Are you sure you want to go straight to the salon?" Steven asked. "I mean, I thought . . ."

  Lila looked down at her clothes and gasped.

  "Oh, my gosh! Steven, you're right," she said. "I must look ridiculous wearing this cocktail dress in the middle of the day. The people at the salon would probably laugh me right out of there. Maybe I should go home and change first. . . ."

  She stopped suddenly and studied Steven's face. He was staring at her intently, and his eyes were wide with confusion.

  "What's wrong?" she asked.

  Steven hesitated. "I thought you'd want to spend some time with me. You know, just the two of us. I thought we could go over the case a little more. We could go get a cup of coffee. . . ."

  Lila's eyes narrowed. She had just had the most horrible, disgusting, undignified experience of her entire life and Steven wanted her to sit around drinking coffee? Not likely.

  "Steven," Lila said, trying to keep her voice calm. "I don't want to talk about the case anymore. I've already told you everything I know."

  "OK," Steven agreed, taking her by the arm and leading her toward his car. "We don't have to talk about the case. But let's at least go get something to eat together. . . ."

  Lila turned to face Steven as he opened the car door for her.

  "Listen, Steven," Lila said impatiently. "I just want to go home, get changed, and go to the salon. If you don't want to take me, I'll drive myself."

  "I don't understand." Steven looked perturbed. "I just thought you'd want to spend some time with me after being alone in that cell all night."

  Lila softened a bit at the little-lost-boy expression on his face.

  "Of course I want to spend time with you," she said, leaning over to give him a peck on the cheek. Then she plopped into the passenger seat and slammed the door. "Just not right now."

  Chapter 3

  Devon was back in position, contemplating the crack in the ceiling, when there was a rap on the door of his motel room.

  The bedsprings creaked in protest as Devon hauled himself to his feet. He opened the door and shut his eyes tight for a moment against the wave of bright sunshine that flooded the room.

  "Mail!" an unusually loud voice announced.

  "Thanks." Devon opened his eyes and accepted the stack of envelopes that was thrust toward him. He glanced at the desk clerk. He was a skinny, stoop-shouldered fellow in his late forties with pockmarked skin and thick, black-framed glasses. Instead of turning away, the clerk kept standing there, wearing a bewildered expression.

  "Oh," Devon said after a moment. "I get it. You want a tip." He fished in the pocket of his jeans and handed the guy a dollar. The clerk accepted it without a word and shuffled away.

  Everybody's got their hand out, Devon thought sourly as he closed the door. He sat on the edge of his bed and rifled through the envelopes, examining the return addresses: Connecticut Department of Taxation and Finance; Law Firm of Boyd, Dewey, Cheetam, and Howe; Egress Funeral Home; Havermeyer Landscaping. . . .

  All legal stuff and bills, Devon realized. He rapped the mail against his palm and then tossed the entire stack into the wastebasket.

  Why should I care about all that stuff? he wondered. It's all part of my past.

  After a moment Devon sighed with resignation and fished the stack of mail out of the wastebasket. It wasn't as if he had anything better to do.

  Devon thumbed through the stack until he came across a small, white envelope. It was addressed in neat handwriting rather than a computer-generated label like the rest of the mail. Devon read the name and address—Nan Johnstone, Thirteen Hummingbird Lane, Sweet Valley, California. Nan Johnstone. Why did that sound so familiar?

  Then in a rush it came back to him, and he almost dropped the envelope. Nana!

  Warm feelings flooded through him as he recalled the woman who had been his childhood nanny. With her sweet face and auburn hair pinned on top of her head, she had seemed like an angel. He recalled Nana smiling at him as she pulled a tray of cookies from the oven, Nana holding him up to see the puppies in a pet store window. For years Nana had dried his tears and bandaged his skinned knees, and then . . .

  Devon's throat closed, and he felt as if someone had drenched him with an icy bath. The happy recollections were replaced with a memory of the day at age seven when he had stood in the kitchen with Nana and his parents, sobbing hysterically. It was the day his mother told him that Nana was leaving.

  "Oh, stop whining," his mother had scolded in an icy voice. He had tried to run to Nana, but his mother had pulled him back by the shoulder with a firm grip.

  "Act like a big boy," his father had admonished him. "You're too old for a baby-sitter anymore."

  Devon had broken away from his mother and run to his nanny. She had tried to hide the tears in her eyes as she hugged him. "You be a big grown-up boy like your mama and daddy say," she had whispered.

  This time his father had pulled him away. "Go to your room!" he had thundered.

  Seven-year-old Devon had hidden just outside the door of the kitchen and overheard the brief, angry conversation between Nana and his parents. Nana had begged them to reconsider and let her stay on. He remembered his father telling her that he knew what was best for their son.

  Devon swallowed hard. Then Nana had turned her back and walked away without ever really saying good-bye. He had never heard from her again. Through all the years of birthdays and Christmases, of other holidays and in between, there had never been a phone call—never a letter or even a card.

  Devon turned the envelope over and over. Why had she contacted him now, after all these years? A voice in his head whispered the obvious answer—money.

  He held the envelope between his palms for several minutes. He wanted to know what she had to say, but he was afraid too. He had been disappointed so many times that he was scared by the leap of hope his heart had taken when he saw her name.