Before the Dawn

by Gail Chianese

  She ignored Vinnie’s relationship advice. “I think I’ll start with the businesses first,” she said to Shawn. “They’re probably more inclined to talk than the residents in the apartment building, even if they don’t know more than we already know.”

  Shawn fell into step next to her, matching his stride to hers. Barefoot, she stood five nine, with her boots, five eleven, yet she noticed he still had a good two, maybe three inches on her in height, putting him somewhere in the ballpark of six foot two or three. Thumbs hooked into the front pockets of his jeans, shoulders relaxed, Shawn hummed a song as they walked the short distance. His persona had taken a one-eighty from when he’d showed her the site. Then the air had hummed with his energy. Now it soothed. He pulled open the door to the insurance agency and swept his hand in a welcoming gesture, allowing her to enter before him.

  It was your typical setup, main office, hallway leading off to other private rooms farther back. The front office had a plate glass window and door, but unfortunately the side walls were solid brick that blocked the view to the clinic. As employees of the closest business, the two middle-aged ladies manning the desks were her best shot at finding a witness.

  Holding out her hand, Kat introduced both herself and Shawn, explaining they were investigating the fire next door.

  “Hi.” Both women’s eyes were glued to Shawn. “Marshal Randall, what a pleasure to see you again,” purred the redhead with the bad dye job.

  Kat’s hand hung extended in front of her, ignored. Quickly she slid her fingers into the front pocket of her jeans. “Sorry to interrupt you, but we were hoping for a few minutes of your time—”

  “Who are you again?” the bleach-blond grandma type asked.

  “Katarina Jones. I’m a private investigator working for the medical clinic’s insurance company. I have a few questions for you—”

  “Oh, we already told Marshal Randall and that nice policeman everything we know,” cut in the redhead.

  Frustration at not being allowed to complete a single sentence built inside until her head felt like a volcano about to blow. Silently she counted to ten, tamping down on her temper, because once it blew the destruction would rival that of Mt. Vesuvius.

  “Ladies, if you could give Ms. Jones a few minutes of your time to answer some questions, I would be forever in your debt.” A hint of a dimple played at the corner of his mouth and the gold flecks in his hazel eyes sparked with mischief.

  Both women reluctantly shifted their attention to Kat, and she took them through a round of questions. Every few seconds their gazes would roam back toward the handsome fire inspector. Did they notice anyone hanging around the building after hours or early in the morning? Any patients cause a scene? Notice someone walking around with a blowtorch and a chip on their shoulder? No. No. No. Did they happen to notice what a fine backside Marshal Randall had? Kat was pretty sure if she’d asked that question, they would have given her an unequivocal yes.

  Thanking them for their time and cooperation, Kat and Shawn turned to exit the small office. His arm softly brushed against the side of her breast, sending happy, excited chills down her body.

  “Still think people are more open to talking to women?”

  “Hmm. Those two are clearly firefighter groupies.”

  A chuckle escaped from his throat. “That’s an urban legend told to entice young, naive men to sign on with the department, to give up sleep and risk their lives for low pay.”

  “Nope, as you can see, they exist. But don’t worry about them, they seem harmless. I just hope you don’t mind women your mom’s age fantasizing about you though, because trust me, they are.”

  His laughter changed, coming out between a choke and a snort. “They are not.”

  “They are. It was written across their faces clear as a billboard ad.”

  And the message, the fantasy playing out in their eyes, the feeling fueling those dreams, currently ran wild through Kat’s body as well, lighting it up from the inside out.

  She’d missed this sensation, the rush of emotions, the dance of anticipation between male and female leading up to the final mating of the sexes. It’d been months since she’d experienced the elation of love and lust. The rapid pounding of her pulse brought on by hot, sweaty sex. The simple fun of flirting. What she didn’t miss were the pain and anguish that came with love’s betrayal. That not-so-joyful emotion lived with her every day.

  “Shall we see if you have any more groupies in the fish market and health food store?”

  A snippet of an old Judas Priest song broke his stride. Pulling out his phone, he glanced down and tapped the screen before repocketing the cell.

  “As much as I’d love to find out—and what guy doesn’t want crowds of drooling fans?—I have to run. I’ve got a meeting I can’t miss, should last for about two hours or so. How about I give you a call later this afternoon and see if you found out anything new?”

  She agreed. He swaggered back to his truck, leaving her to admire his long, lean legs as they ate up the ground. Heading toward the next business, she reminded herself that it never hurt to look, just no touching. Touching brought trouble.

  Shawn couldn’t believe his luck when he’d walked into the site. The insurance company had called this morning and informed him they were bringing in their own investigator. He’d expected to find a guy, one as round as he was tall, reeking of smoke and with fast-food grease stains on his shirt. Apparently, he’d been watching too many B-rated movies lately. Today’s version of a PI suited him fine. A tall, leggy blonde, sexy waves of hair flowing out from under a pink hard hat. Curves in all the right places, showcased in snug jeans and one of those super soft sweaters that he couldn’t wait to run his hands over. A woman whose caramel brown eyes and easy smile sent his blood pumping.

  Last year could have been a million lifetimes away. A time when he’d been blindly and stupidly in love with Debi. The two weeks at the fair had been a welcome change. Looking back, he realized he had Kat to thank for that. Putting their two stations next to each other had drawn in a lot of visitors for them both. Cool by him, he loved kids. Kids didn’t play games, not mind games anyway. Generally, they told you how it was, pulled no punches, and didn’t leave you wondering what they thought. Sometimes, brutally so.

  Kat had been like that too, no head trips. From the start she’d casually mentioned her boyfriend, quickly establishing she wasn’t available, which didn’t stop him from a little casual flirtation. Nothing meant to send the wrong signals, just some fun to help pass the long days and survive the heat. He could deal with the move from the Pacific Northwest to New England about seventy-five percent of the time. The twenty-five percent summer took up he could do without. Back home summer arrived in August, left by September, and had practically zero percent humidity, at least that’s how it felt to him. Hundred-degree days with matching humidity that left you melting in the shade? Thanks, but he’d pass. He didn’t know what it was about the humidity on this side of the country but it was different, heavier, more noticeable, unbearable. If he were going to be hot and sweaty, he’d prefer to have it either be from fighting back a bitch of a blaze or a night of mind-numbing sex.

  These days he didn’t see much action from either. Working as a fire marshal gave him a chance to use his brains instead of his brawn. He didn’t mind the changeup in routine. It kept his mom and gram from worrying about him as much. As for the other, since Debi, the urge to be in a relationship had simply died. The urge to get laid, you bet, it nagged at him on a regular basis. But one-night stands didn’t do it for him, just weren’t in his wiring. Too bad he’d met Kat after Debi. Too bad she was taken. And too damn bad for him, timing was everything and his sucked.

  The drive time from Pawcatuck to New London gave him too much time to think of things better left alone. Visions of a leggy blonde filled his mind instead of the arsonist he hunted. This latest hit followed the same pattern as the first two. If the firebug tagged these three because of an ax to grind with
the owners, then hopefully the fires were over. They didn’t own any more clinics. But if that wasn’t the motive, then they had an even bigger problem on their hands.

  He needed a brainstorming session with his fellow inspectors. Both had been in the area longer than he had and perhaps they knew of an old case whose profile matched. Creatures of habit, arsonists followed set patterns, perfecting their technique, leaving few clues behind and making it damn hard to nail the bastards. It’d be nice to wrap this case up in short order. If all went well on his call this afternoon, he’d be leaving for a position with the Seattle Fire Department and be back with his family within the month.

  Most of the smaller towns in Connecticut operated on skeleton crews, but not the New London fire station. Fully staffed around the clock, it also served as the base for the marshals. Today he welcomed the chaos and camaraderie the busy house brought. The station buzzed with activity between a school tour going on, the firefighters cleaning equipment, and the medical services staff restocking the ambulance. All a good distraction from a certain private eye.

  “Hey, Randall, you got a call a little while ago. Some female wants to talk to the, and I quote, ‘hot fireman working the burned-up medical clinic.’ She wouldn’t leave a name or number. Called from a blocked phone.”

  Stopping in the middle of the bay, Shawn knew everyone around had heard the message and he was in for a rash of shit today. “Thanks, Rodriguez. She say when she might call back or anything else?”

  “Didn’t say, but did mention she thought you had a cute ass.”

  Imaginative ways of killing the messenger flashed across his mind as snickers around the open space filtered to him. “You’re kidding, right?”

  “Nope.”

  Many a quiet night had been passed in the house playing tricks on each other and Shawn had gotten Rodriguez a few times. Wouldn’t surprise him if this was payback. Or maybe Kat had called and mentioned his ‘groupies.’ He could see Rodriguez twisting the info into something that suited him better.

  “Anyone else call?”

  “What do I look like? Your friggin’ personal secretary? Check your desk, Marshal.” Rodriguez went back to polishing the chrome on engine three and Shawn headed down the hall to the marshal’s office.

  Entering the ten-by-ten space, he found the other two fire marshals, John Clark and Teri Calabrese. With three desks, file cabinets, and everything else the crews had stuffed into their office, he could barely breathe.

  “Hey, Shawn, did you get the message from Rodriguez?” Teri asked.

  “Yeah. Is he being upfront?”

  “Yep, I checked out the number. Dead end.”

  “So, we have a potential witness and no way to reach her. Great.”

  John hung up and kicked back with his hands crossed behind his head. “How’d it go with the PI?”

  Shawn brought them up to date on the meeting and that Kat would fill him in on her other interviews later. He left out the part about the groupies. No sense adding fuel to the raging fire, the phone message and cute ass comment were enough. He’d be getting razzed for the next week. Couldn’t blame the guys. If the tables were turned, he’d fully take advantage of the situation.

  “I’ve met her before—Kat Jones. We ran into each other at some charity event a few months ago. Seemed like a pretty with-it person. Not to mention drop-dead gorgeous.” Teri handed him and John each a stack of old cases before flipping open the top file on her own pile.

  “Hmm,” Shawn replied.

  “That’s all you’ve got to say?” Teri gave him one of those I’m on to you looks, brows raised, lips tilted upward.

  “I think our boy has a thing for the PI, John.” Man, he hated when they called him a boy. As if five years’ seniority didn’t mean shit.

  “We met last year at the Big E and she’s taken so it doesn’t matter. All that matters is if she helps us solve this case or not.” He kept his voice even, low and slow. Unlike his heart which sped up like a marathon runner at the end of a race with the mention of her name. “What’s with the case files?”

  “All the unsolved arson cases involving gas as an igniter. Since it’s readily available, it’s the most widely used, but you should know that. I pulled all of these this morning after we talked.”

  “Beside the gasoline connection, any of them resemble this current case? So far, this person has been in control, keeping the fires restricted to the clinics, but it wouldn’t take much for it to have jumped to one of the nearby buildings or to the apartments.”

  Before either could answer, the phone rang, Shawn grabbed it in the hopes it was his witness. Listening to the caller, he jotted down notes, shaking his head at the information he heard. Hanging up, he grabbed his keys and the note he’d written.

  “That was the captain over in North Stonington. We’ve got a possible fourth target. This time, we have a victim.”

  From the picnic bench outside of Dairy Queen, he had watched the pretty blonde and the fire marshal admire his handiwork. Nothing like seeing others gaze in awe upon your creation to make your day and give your work validation. He’d watched the inspector at the first two clinics, investigating his masterpieces. Idiot. Stumbling around, thinking he could find clues as to his identity. Didn’t the simpleton know a true master of the art left no tattletale traces behind—unless he wanted to? Oh, and how he wanted to give just a little sign, enough to give the fools false hope. But his patron wouldn’t allow it. Not on this commission.

  The blonde intrigued him. Called to his soul. Standing there with her pink hat and what looked like designer clothes, so out of place. A look of anguish marred her features. Such a pity. She had the face of a cover model. What was she doing poking around his creation? She definitely wasn’t one of the owners. Those three women couldn’t be bothered to take care of their appearance, always showing up in scrubs with their hair up in some messy ponytail or something. So busy and important. Thinking they’re better than the rest of us with their fancy degrees. But he knew the truth.

  This woman, this muse, called to him, screamed to the artist inside of him to capture her beauty for eternity. A true challenge. The beast whispered promises of glory in exchange for her sacrifice. Who was she? What was she like? Why was she here? He needed to know in order to find the ideal location. She deserved nothing less than perfection. A place of beauty in which to spend her final glorious moments on this earth.

  A buzzing zinged through his chest and he pulled out his phone. “Yes?”

  He listened to his patron praise him for a splendid job, assuring him his reward would be deposited by the end of the day. His mind drifted back to the blonde, imagined her admiring his greatness, gazing upon him with pure adulation. The patron’s nasal voice brought him out of the fantasy, squelching his longing. As usual, the man demanded information: where was he, what’s the status of the investigation, even going so far as to ask if the authorities had found any evidence yet.

  His hackles stood. How dare he suggest such a thing? I am a master of my craft. I don’t leave clues, unless I choose to do so. He caught the fury dripping off his tongue and reined it in. “As a matter of fact, I’m in Pawcatuck right now, was watching that fool of an inspector run around scratching his ass in confusion. He’s even called in some pretty blonde to witness his idiocy.”

  Pride swelled in his heart, knowing he’d once again stumped the so-called experts. He’d been beating them at this game for twenty-plus years.

  The patron demanded more details.

  “I have no idea who she is. Probably some reporter or insurance adjuster.”

  Hadn’t he learned not to make demands of him yet? While it was true the man on the phone paid him for the job, it didn’t make him the boss. He had no boss, answered to no one but whom he chose, when he chose. Soon he’d be done dealing with this small-minded man. The money from this job would last him for years.

  “She’s tall, probably about five-ten or so. Model-pretty with blonde curly hair, shoulder length. D
ressed in designer clothes, but not over the top, and she’s driving a deep blue, Lexus IS C convertible.” What’s it to him? He may be the man paying the bill, but why would he need to know about her?

  “Is anyone with her—?”

  An explosion of swearing and shouts erupted into his ear, followed by a pounding noise which sounded like the phone being smacked into a desk. The noise ceased as quickly as it started and in its place was the calm persona he normally dealt with. He had a request. A new commission for Peter St. Pierre and it sent a thrill to his heart.

  “If she gets in the way, kill her.”

  Chapter 2

  Kat walked out of the health food store and headed toward the two-story apartment building. The guys at the fish market definitely landed higher on the friendly scale than the women in the insurance office. Maybe a little too high. Lucky for her, Shawn had left before witnessing the flirtation, because she was sure he would have jumped at the opportunity to give her a little taste of payback for her groupie comment.

  Still, as helpful as they tried to be, they hadn’t seen anything. The young woman in the health food store turned out to be a dead end too. None of the businesses were open at night. During the day it was the usual suspects: families, the elderly, and single parents with little kids or teens, frequenting the businesses and the medical clinic. No one saw anything sketchy, questionable, or dangerous.

  A weird old guy sat on the hood of her car—no, wait. That was just her pesty chaperone of a ghost. Thank goodness no one else could see him. While he looked like he didn’t have a care in the world with his ankles crossed and head resting on his arms, Kat knew the truth. Those seasoned eyes took in every detail of the neighborhood. By the time they left he’d be able to tell her about every person who walked by or peeked out their windows, which cars slowed down and took extra interest in the site, and the clerk in the convenience store would have no secrets.