by Nora Roberts
detail.”
“No, I’m not.” She was pale again, and rigid. “I’m trying not to be frightened by it. It isn’t difficult to add the elements and come up with the fact that someone is doing this to me deliberately. Two of my buildings within two weeks. I’m not a fool, Ry.”
“You’re a fool if you’re not frightened by it. You’ve got an enemy. Who?”
“I don’t know,” she shot back. “If I did, don’t you think I’d tell you? You’ve just told me there was no forced entry. That means someone I know, someone who works for me, could have gotten in here and started the fire.”
“It’s a torch.”
“Excuse me?”
“A pro,” Ry explained. “Not a very good one, but a pro. Somebody hired a torch to set the fires. It could be that somebody let him in, or he found a way to bypass your security. But he didn’t finish the job here, so it’s likely he’ll hit you again.”
She forced back a shudder. “That’s comforting. That’s very comforting.”
“I don’t want you to be comforted. I want you to be alert. How many people work for you?”
“At Lady’s Choice?” Frazzled, she pushed at her hair. “Around six hundred, I think, in Urbana.”
“You got a personnel list?”
“I can get one.”
“I want it. Look, I’m going to run the data through the computer. See how many known pros we have in the area who use this technique. It’s a start.”
“You’ll keep me up-to-date? I’ll be in the office most of the day. My assistant will know how to reach me if I’m out.”
He straightened, walked to her and cupped her face. “Why don’t you take the day off? Go shopping, go see a movie.”
“Are you joking?”
He dropped his hands, shoved them in his pockets. “Listen, Natalie, you’ve got one more person worried about you. Okay?”
“I think it’s okay,” she said slowly. “I’ll stay available, Ry. But I have a lot of work to do.” She smiled in an attempt to lighten the mood. “Starting with getting a cleaning crew and decorators in here.”
“Not until I tell you.”
“How did I know you’d say that?” Resigned, she glanced toward the wooden cabinets against the left wall. “Is it all right if I get some files out? I only moved them out of the main office a few days ago so I could work on them here.” She lifted a shoulder. “Or I’d hoped to work on them here. More delays,” she said under her breath.
“Yeah, go ahead. Watch your step.”
He watched it, as well, and shook his head. He didn’t see how she could walk so smoothly on those skyscraper heels she seemed addicted to. But he had to admit, they did fascinating things to her legs.
“How are your hands?” she asked as she flipped through the files.
“What?”
“Your hands.” She glanced back, saw where his gaze was focused, and laughed. “God, Piasecki, you’re obsessed.”
“I bet they go all the way up to your shoulders.” He skimmed his eyes up to hers. “The hands aren’t too bad, thanks. When’s your doctor’s appointment?”
She turned away to give unmerited attention to the files. “I don’t need a doctor. I don’t like doctors.”
“Chicken.”
“Maybe. My throat’s a little sore, that’s all. I can deal with that without a doctor poking at me. And if you’re going to lecture me on that, I’ll lecture you on deliberately sucking smoke into your lungs.”
With a wince, he tucked away the cigarette he’d just pulled out. “I didn’t say anything. Are you about done? I want to get this evidence to the lab.”
“Yes. The fact that the files didn’t go up saves me a lot of time and trouble. I need Deirdre to run an audit after we’ve dealt with this other mess. I’m hoping things look solid enough for me to scout around and open a branch in Denver.”
The little flutter under his heart wasn’t easily ignored. “Denver? Are you going to be moving back to Colorado?”
“Hmmm …” Satisfied, she tucked the paperwork in her briefcase. “It depends. I’m not thinking that far ahead yet. First we have to get the stores we have off the ground. That isn’t going to happen overnight.” She swung the strap of her briefcase over her shoulder. “That should do it.”
“I want to see you.” It cost him to say it. Even more to admit it to himself. “I need to see you, Natalie. Away from all this.”
Her suddenly nervous fingers tugged at the strap of her briefcase. “We’re both pretty swamped at the moment, Ry. It might be smarter for us to concentrate on what needs to be done and keep a little personal distance.”
“It would be smarter.”
“Well, then.” She took one step toward the door before he blocked her path.
“I want to see you,” he repeated. “And I want to touch you. And I want to take you to bed.”
Heat curled inside her, threatening to flash. It didn’t seem to matter that his words were rough, blunt, and without finesse. Poetry and rose petals would have left her much less vulnerable.
“I know what you want. I need to be sure what I want. What I can handle. I’ve always been a logical person. You’ve got a way of clouding that.”
“Tonight.”
“I have to work late.” She felt herself weakening, yearning. “A dinner meeting.”
“I’ll wait.”
“I don’t know when I’ll be finished. Probably not much before midnight.”
He backed her toward the wall. “Midnight, then.”
She began to wonder why she was resisting. Her eyes started to cloud and close. “Midnight,” she repeated, waiting for his mouth to cover hers. Wanting to taste it, to surge under it.
Her eyes sprang open. She jerked back. “Oh, God. Midnight.”
Her cheeks had gone white again. Ry lifted his hands to support her. “What is it?”
“Midnight,” she repeated, pressing a hand to her brow. “I didn’t put it together. Never thought of it. It was just past twelve when we got here last night.”
He nodded, watching her. “So?”
“I got a call when I was dressing for dinner. I never seem to be able to ignore the ring and let the machine pick up, so I answered. He said midnight.”
Eyes narrowed, Ry braced her against the wall. “Who?”
“I don’t know. I didn’t recognize the voice. He said— Let me think.” She pushed away to pace out into the hall. “Midnight. He said midnight. The witching hour. Watch for it, or wait for it—something like that.” She gestured toward the charred and ruined carpet. “This must be what he meant.”
“Why the hell didn’t you tell me this before?”
“Because I just remembered.” Every bit as angry as he, she whirled on Ry. “I thought it was a crank call, so I ignored it, forgot it. Then, when this happened, I had a little more on my mind than a nuisance call. How was I supposed to know it was a warning? Or a threat?”
He ignored that and took his notebook out of his pocket to write down the words she’d related. “What time did you get the call?”
“It must have been around seven thirty. I was looking for earrings, and rushing because I’d gotten held up and was running late.”
“Did you hear any background noises on the line?”
Unsure, she fought to remember. She hadn’t been paying attention. She’d been thinking of Ry. “I didn’t notice any. His voice was high-pitched. It was a man, I’m sure of that, but it was a girlish kind of voice. He giggled,” she remembered.
Ry’s gaze shot to her face, then back to his book. “Did it sound mechanical, or genuine?”
She went blank for a moment. “Oh, you mean like a tape. No, it didn’t sound like a tape.”
“Is your number listed?”
“No.” Then she understood the significance of the question. “No,” she repeated slowly. “It’s not.”
“I want a list of everyone who has your home number. Everyone.”
She straightened, forcing hers
elf to keep calm. “I can give you a list of everyone I know who has it. I can’t tell you who might have gotten it by other means.” She cleared her aching throat. “Ry, do professionals usually call their victims before a fire?”
He tucked his notebook away and looked into her eyes. “Even pros can be crazy. I’ll drive you to your office.”
“It’s not necessary.”
Patience. He reminded himself he’d worked overtime so that he could be patient with her. Then he thought, the hell with it. “You listen to this, real careful.” He curled his fingers around the lapel of her jacket. “I’m driving you to your office. Got that?”
“I don’t see—”
He tugged. “Got it?”
She bit back an oath. It would be petty to argue. “Fine. I’m going to need my car later today, so you’ll have to get yourself wherever you’re going after you drop me off.”
“Keep listening,” he said evenly. “Until I get back to you, you’re not to go anywhere alone.”
“That’s ridiculous. I’ve got a business to run.”
“Nowhere alone,” he repeated. “Otherwise, I’m going to call some of my pals in Urbana PD and have them sit on you.” When she opened her mouth to protest, he overrode her. “And I can sure as hell keep your little shop here off-limits to everyone but official fire- and police-department personnel until further notice.”
“That sounds like a threat,” she said stiffly.
“You’re a real sharp lady. You get one of your minions to drive you today, Natalie, or I’ll slap a fire-department restriction on the front door of this place for the next couple of weeks.”
He could, she realized, reading the determination on his face. And he would. From experience, she knew it was smarter, and more practical, to give up a small point in a negotiation in order to salvage the bottom line.
“All right. I’ll assign a driver for any out-of-the-office meetings today. But I’d like to point out that this man is burning my buildings, Ry, not threatening me personally.”
“He called you personally. That’s enough.”
* * *
She hated the fact that he’d frightened her. Stringent control kept her dealing with office details coolly, efficiently. By noon, she had a cleanup crew on standby, waiting for Ry’s okay. She’d ordered her assistant to contact the decorator about new carpet, wallpaper, draperies and paint. She’d dealt with a frantic call from her Atlanta branch and an irate one from Chicago, and managed to play down the problem with her family back in Colorado.
Impatient, she buzzed her assistant. “Maureen, I needed those printouts thirty minutes ago.”
“Yes, Ms. Fletcher. The system’s down in Accounting. They’re working on it.”
“Tell them—” She bit back the searing words, and forced her voice to level. “Tell them it’s a priority. Thank you, Maureen.”
Deliberately she leaned back in her chair and closed her eyes. Having an edge was an advantage in business, she reminded herself. Being edgy was a liability. If she was going to handle the meetings set for the rest of the day, she had to pull herself together. Slowly she unfisted her hands and ordered her muscles to relax.
She’d nearly accomplished it when a quick knock came at her door. She straightened in her chair as Melvin poked his head in.
“Safe?”
“Nearly,” she told him. “Come in.”
“I come bearing gifts.” He carried a tray into the room.
“If that’s coffee, I may find the energy to get up and kiss your whole face.”
He flushed brightly and chuckled. “Not only is it coffee, but there’s chicken salad to go with it. Even you have to eat, Natalie.”
“Tell me about it.” She pressed a hand to her stomach as she rose to join him at the sofa. “I’m empty. This is very sweet of you, Melvin.”
“And self-serving. You’ve been burning up the interoffice lines, so I had my secretary put this together. You take a break”—he fiddled with his bright red bow tie—“we take a break.”
“I guess I have been playing Simon Legree today.” With a little sigh, Natalie inhaled the scent of coffee as she poured.
“You’re entitled.” He sat beside her. “Have you got time over lunch to tell me how bad things are over at the flagship?”
“Not as bad as they could have been.” She indulged herself by slipping out of her shoes and tucking her legs up as she ate. “Minor, really. From what I could tell, it looked like mostly cosmetic damage to the manager’s office. It didn’t get to the stock.”
“Thank God,” he said heartily. “I don’t know how much my charm would have worked a second time in persuading the branches to part with inventory.”
“Unnecessary,” she said between bites. “We got lucky this time, Melvin, but—”
“But?”
“There’s a pattern here that concerns me. Someone doesn’t want Lady’s Choice to fly.”
Frowning, he picked up the roll on her plate, broke it in half. “Unforgettable Woman’s our top competitor. Or we’ll be theirs.”
“I’ve thought of that. It just doesn’t fit. That company’s been around nearly fifty years. It’s solid. Respectable.” She sighed, hating what she needed to say. “But I am worried about corporate espionage, Melvin. Within Lady’s Choice.”
“One of our people?” He’d lost his taste for the roll.
“It isn’t a possibility I like—or one I can overlook.” Thoughtful, she switched from food to coffee. “I could call a meeting of department heads, get input and opinions about their people.” And she would, she thought. She would have to. “But that doesn’t deal with the department heads themselves.”
“A lot of your top people have been with Fletcher for years, Natalie.”
“I’m aware of that.” Restless, she rose, drinking coffee as she paced. “I can’t think of any reason why someone in the organization would want to delay the opening. But I have to look for that reason.”
“That puts us all under the gun.”
She turned back. “I’m sorry, Melvin. It does.”
“No need to be sorry. It’s business.” He waved it aside, but his smile was a little strained as he rose. “What’s the next step?”
“I’m going to meet the adjuster at the shop at one.” She glanced at her watch and swore. “I’d better get started.”
“Let me do it.” Anticipating her, Melvin held up a hand. “You have more than you can handle right here. Delegate, Natalie, remember? I’ll meet the agent, give you a full report when I get back.”
“All right. It would save me a very frenzied hour.” Frowning, she stepped back into her shoes. “If the arson inspector is on-site, you might ask him to contact me with any progress.”
“Will do. There’s a shipment due in to the shop late this afternoon. Do you want to put a hold on it?”
“No.” She’d already thought it through. “Business as usual. I’ve put a security guard on the building. It won’t be easy for anyone to get in again.”
“We’ll stay on schedule,” Melvin assured her.
“Damn right we will.”
Chapter 6
Ry preferred good solid human reasoning to computer analysis, but he’d learned to use all available tools. The Arson Pattern Recognition System was one of the best. Over the past few years, he’d become adept enough at the keyboard. Now, with his secretary long gone for the day and the men downstairs settled into sleep, he worked alone.
The APRS, used intelligently, was an effective tool for identifying and classifying trends in data. It was possible, with a series of fires suspected to be related, to use the tool to predict where and when future arsons in the series were most likely to occur.
The computer told him what he’d already deduced. Natalie’s production plant was a prime target. He’d already assigned a team to patrol and survey the area.
But he was more concerned about Natalie herself. The phone call she’d received made it personal. And it had given him a very spe
cific clue.
Reaching for coffee with one hand, Ry tapped on keys and linked up with the National Fire Data System. He plugged in his pattern—incident information, geographical locations and fire data. The process would not only help him, but serve to aid future investigators.
Then he worked on suspects. Again he input the fire data, the method. To these he was able to add the phone call, Natalie’s impression of the voice and the wording.
He sat back and watched the computer reinforce his own conclusions.
Clarence Robert Jacoby, aka Jacoby, aka Clarence Roberts. Last known address 23 South Street, Urbana. White male. DOB 6/25/52.
It went on to list half a dozen arrests for arson and incendiary fires, all urban. One conviction had put him away for five years. Another arrest, two years ago was still pending, as he’d skipped out on bail.
And the pattern was there.
Jacoby was a part-time pro who liked to burn things. He habitually preferred gasoline as an accelerant, used streamers of convenient, on-site flammables, along with matchbooks from his own collection. He often called his victims. His psychiatric evaluation classified him as a neurotic with sociopathic tendencies.
“You like fire, don’t you, you little bastard?” Ry muttered, tapping his finger against the keyboard. “You don’t even mind when it burns you. Isn’t that what you told me? It’s like a kiss.”
Ry flipped a switch and had the data printing out. Wearily he rubbed the heels of his hands over his eyes as the machine clattered. He’d caught about two hours’ sleep on the sofa in the outer office that evening. Fatigue was catching up with him.
But he had his quarry now. He was sure of it. And, he thought, he had a trail.
More out of habit than desire, Ry lit a cigarette before punching in numbers on the phone. “Piasecki. I’m swinging by the Fletcher plant on my way home. You can reach me …” He trailed off, checking his watch. Midnight, he noted. On the dot. Maybe he should take that as a sign. “You can reach me at this number until I check in again.” He recited Natalie’s home number from memory, then hung up.
He shut down the computer, grabbed the printout and his jacket, then hit the lights.
* * *
Natalie pulled on a robe, one of her favorites from the Lady’s Choice line, and debated whether to crawl into bed or sink into a hot bath. She decided to soothe her nerves with a glass of wine before she did either. She’d tried to reach Ry three times that afternoon, only to be told he was unavailable.
She was supposed to be available, she thought nastily. But he could come and go as he pleased. Not a word all day. Well, he was going to get a surprise first thing in the morning when she walked right into his office and demanded a progress report.
As if she didn’t have enough to worry about, with department meetings, production meetings, meeting meetings. And she was tracking the early catalog orders by region. At least that looked promising, she thought, and walked over to enjoy her view of the city.
She wasn’t going to let anything stand in her way. Not fires, and certainly not a fire inspector. If there was someone on her staff—in any position—who was responsible for the arson, she would find out who it was. And she would deal with it.
Within a year, she would have pushed Lady’s Choice over the top. Within five, she would double the number of branches.
Fletcher Industries would have a new success, one she would have nurtured from inception. She could be proud, and satisfied.