by Nora Roberts
“Wouldn’t be the first. But you gotta rule out accident first. Why’s he the only one here?” she repeated. “How long before you get an ID—ballpark?”
“Might get some prints. Dental. Few days.”
Like O’Donnell, she dug out a notepad, began to make some quick sketches to go with her photos. “What do you figure? Male, about what, five-ten, -eleven? Nobody’s been able to reach the owner. Wouldn’t it be interesting?”
She began to set up her grid, sectioning off the room in much the same way archaeologists section a dig. She would layer, and she would sift, document and bag.
On the far wall the burn pattern said accelerant to her, just as it had to the fire department’s investigator. She took samples, storing them in containers, labeling.
The lightbulb over her head was partially melted. She took another picture, another of the ceiling, and the track of the burn.
And she followed it out, moving over the soaked debris, through the ash. Four units, she thought, putting the pre-fire picture into her head. Untenanted, disrepair, under code.
She ran her gloved fingers over charred wood, down a wall, selected more samples. Then closed her eyes and sniffed at them.
“O’Donnell! Got what looks like multiple points of origin up here. Evidence of accelerant. Plenty of cracks and gaps in this old flooring for it to pool.”
She got down on all fours, eased her head over a ragged hole where the floor had crashed down to the level below. O’Donnell had his grid and was working sections.
“I want to check on the owner again, have somebody in the house get us some background.”
“Your call.”
“You want to take a look at the pattern up here?”
“You just want me to haul my old ass up that ladder.”
She grinned down at him. “Want to hear my initial working theory?”
“Evidence, Hale. Evidence first, then theory.” He paused a moment. “Tell me anyway.”
“He started the fire at the wrong end. Should’ve done it at the far side, farthest from the steps, working his way toward them, and his escape route. But he was stupid, and started lighting it nearest the steps, working back. Maybe he was drunk, or on something, or just a dumbass, but he trapped himself. Ends up cooking in the closet.”
“You find a container, something that held the accelerant?”
“No. Maybe it’s under some of these layers. Or maybe it’s down there.” She pointed. “He drops it here, in his panic, fire chasing after him. Fire hits container of accelerant. Boom, and you got your hole in the floor, and you’ve got your first level going up, and the debris from up here raining down.”
“You’re so smart you come on down and work those grids then.”
“On that.” But first she crawled back from the hole and dug out her cell phone.
It was tedious, filthy work. She loved it. She knew why O’Donnell was letting her take the point, and was grateful. He wanted to see if she could deal with the muck and the stink, the monotony and the physical demand.
And he wanted to see if she could think.
When she found the ten-gallon can under a mountain of debris and a sea of ash, she felt the click.
“O’Donnell.”
He turned from his sieving, pursed his lips. “Score one for the new kid.”
“Got punctures on the bottom. He trailed it through, lit it up, trailed, lit. Pattern upstairs indicates trailers. Dead guy can’t be a bystander or a victim. Fire doesn’t map that way. Whoever torched it had to get trapped. Riot bars on the windows first and second floors, so nobody got out that way. I’m betting the body ID’s as the owner.”
“Why not a pyro, a junkie, somebody with a hard-on for the owner?”
“Firefighters who responded reported the doors were all locked. Dead bolts. They had to break them in. The riot bars upstairs? Who puts bars on second-floor windows? And they’re new. They look pretty new. Owner does that. Owner locks the place up tight to keep the riffraff out. Owner’s got the keys.”
“Finish up, write it up. You might do, Hale.”
“Oh yeah, I’ll do. I’ve been waiting for this since I was eleven.”
That night, still revved up, Reena sat across from Fran at Sirico’s and shoveled in angel hair marinara.
“So, we can’t locate the owner of the building, who’s got three separate loans on the place and a boatload of insurance. People we talked to said he’s been complaining about how the homeless and the junkies ruined his investment. How he couldn’t unload the property. Figure the ME’s going to ID our CC as the owner, or the owner’s in the wind, gone under after the torch job went wrong. Still got a lot of work to do on-site, but it’s piecing together. Textbook.”
“Listen to you.” Fran laughed, sipped mineral water. “My little sister, the investigator. Wait until Mama and Dad hear you solved your first case.”
“Closed—and not yet. Still have some reconstructing to do, some interviews to conduct, some background to check. But I was hoping they’d call while I was in here.”
“Reena, it’s after one in the morning in Florence.”
“Right.” Reena shook her head. “Right.”
“They called this afternoon. They’re having the best time. Dad talked Mom into renting one of those little scooters. Can’t you see them, zipping around Florence like a couple of kids?”
“I can.” Reena grabbed her wine, lifted the glass in toast, drank. “They wouldn’t be able to do this without you.”
“Not true.”
“Absolutely true. You’re the one carrying on. The one taking over so much of the responsibility and work here so they can have a little time to travel. Bella, well, she hasn’t picked up so much as a glass in here unless it was to drink out of it on the rare occasions she comes by. I’m not much better.”
“You waited tables last Sunday, and pitched in for more than an hour on Tuesday after working a full day.”
“I live right upstairs, so it’s no big.” Still, she smiled, a bit wickedly. “I notice you didn’t mention Bella.”
“Bella is what Bella is. And she does have three kids to deal with.”
“And a nanny, a housekeeper, a gardener—oh, I forgot, a groundskeeper.” Reena waved at Fran’s frown. “Okay, don’t put the look on me. I’ll ease off. I’m not really mad at her. I guess I feel a little guilty that you take the lion’s share. And Xander’s right behind you, even with the load he carries in med school.”
“Forget the guilt. We’re all doing what’s most important to us.” She glanced over and smiled at the man tossing dough at the work counter.
He had big hands, and a sweet face just this side of homely. His bright red hair fell over his forehead like little licks of flame. And when he looked at his wife, as he did now, his eyes lit with fun.
“Well, who knew you’d fall for an Irishman who likes to cook Italian.” Amused, Reena ate more pasta. “You know, you and Jack still have that glow, even though you’re working on what, three years now.”
“Two last fall. But it might be a little something extra causing the glow.” Fran reached out, gripped both of Reena’s hands. “I can’t wait. I was going to wait until you’d eaten, and Jack and I could tell you together, but I can’t stand it another minute.”
“Oh my God, you’re pregnant!”
“Four weeks.” Her cheeks went rosy. “It’s early, I should shut up, keep it to myself. But I can’t, and—”
She broke off as Reena leaped up, caught her around the neck. “Oh boy, oh boy, oh boy! Wait!” She rushed away, around the worktable and jumped onto Jack’s back. “Daddy!”
His face turned the same color as his hair as she pressed a kiss to his cheek. “Champagne for the house! On me.”
“We were going to keep it to the family for now.” Jack grinned foolishly when she bounced down.
Reena looked over, at the applause, at the people who hurried over to congratulate Fran. “Too late. I’ll get the wine.”
Fran’s news and her own solid first day had Reena drinking a little more than was wise. But she enjoyed the buzz as she walked around to the back stairs leading to her apartment.
Gina and Steve were married now, nearly a year into it. There was no reason to keep up a two-bedroom apartment.
She knew her parents thought it was a little silly for her to live there, when her room was still kept at home. And they’d argued with her about paying rent. She’d had to remind them they’d raised her to be responsible, and make her own way.
She considered the apartment a first step. Eventually, she wanted a house of her own. But that was eventually. And there was something cozy and comforting living above the shop, and a stone’s throw from her parents. A block from Fran and Jack.
When she reached the back, she saw the light was on in her living room. Instinctively she opened her coat so her weapon was in easy reach. In all her years on the force, she’d only had to draw it twice in the line. It always felt slightly foreign in her hand.
She started up the steps, going back over her routine. She’d left before dawn, maybe she forgot to turn off the light. But it was a habit, her mother was a bear about wasting electricity, and it had been drummed into her since birth.
One hand stayed on her weapon as she reached for the doorknob to check the lock. The door swung open, her weapon was half out. Then she shot it back into place with a huff of breath.
“Luke! How long have you been here?”
“Couple hours. I told you I might stop by tonight.”
True enough, she thought as her heart rate leveled. She’d forgotten. Pleased to see him, she came in out of the cold, offered her lips.
The kiss was brief, perfunctory and had her raising her brows. Normally he couldn’t wait to get his hands on her. She felt the same. There was a sexy elegance about Luke Chambers, a tailored sensuality she found exciting. As she found his avid and romantic pursuit of her from the moment they’d met.
She’d enjoyed being pursued, being courted with flowers and phone calls, romantic dinners, long walks by the water.
She enjoyed, very much, being seen as completely female, and just a little delicate. A nice change of pace, she’d thought, from being considered sturdy and competent.
It was probably why it hadn’t taken him long to get her into bed. But it had taken three months before she’d given him a key to her door.
“I stopped in downstairs to get some dinner, caught up with Fran.” She unwound her scarf, pulled off her hat, then did a little twirl. “I had the best day, Luke, and the best news when I—”
“Glad somebody did.” He moved away from her, turned off the TV he’d been watching, then slumped in a chair.
Okay, she thought. He was sexy and interesting and often sweetly romantic. But he was also a lot of work. She didn’t mind that. In fact, being in what was largely a man’s world most of her day helped her enjoy little bits of being softer, and more consolatory in a relationship.
“Rough one?” She peeled off her coat, her gloves, put everything away in the narrow closet.
“My assistant gave her two weeks’ notice.”
“Oh?” Reena finger-combed her long curls, thought idly about trying a new style. Then felt guilty for not paying attention. “I’m sorry to hear that.” She bent to unlace her boots. “Why is she leaving?”
“Decided she wants to move back to Oregon, for God’s sake. Just like that. Now I’ve got to set up interviews, get somebody in she can train before she leaves. This on top of three out-of-office meetings today. My head’s killing me.”
“I’ll get you some aspirin.” She walked over, leaned down to kiss the top of his head. He had such nice, silky hair, mink brown like his eyes.
As she straightened, he took her hand, gave her a tired smile. “Thanks. Last meeting ran late, and I just wanted to see you. Decompress.”
“You should’ve stopped in downstairs. Decompression’s always on the menu at Sirico’s.”
“So’s noise,” he said as she moved into the bathroom. “I was hoping for a quiet evening.”
“It’s quiet now.” She brought out the bottle, carried it into the little kitchen with its old workhorse of a stove and cheerful yellow counters. “I’ll join you in a couple of aspirin. I had a lot of champagne down below. Major celebration.”
“Yeah, you looked to be having a hell of a time. I glanced in the window before I came around back.”
“Well, you should’ve at least poked your head in.” She handed him the aspirin, the water.
“I had a headache, Cat. And I didn’t want to sit around in a noisy restaurant waiting for you to finish partying.”
And if you had a headache, she thought, why the hell didn’t you get your own aspirin sooner? Men could be such babies. “I might’ve finished partying earlier if I’d known you were here. Fran’s pregnant.”
“Hmm?”
“My sister Francesca. She and Jack found out they’re going to have a baby. Her face could’ve lit up Baltimore when she told me.”
“Didn’t they just get married?”
“It’s been a couple years, and they’ve been trying almost since the get-go. We tend to head straight for the nursery in my family. Bella’s already had three, and is making noises about having one more.”
“Four kids in this day and age. It’s irresponsible.”
Easing down on the arm of the chair, she gave his shoulder a rub. “That’s what you get with a big Italian Catholic family. And she and Vince can afford it.”
“You’re not thinking about popping one out every couple years, are you?”
“Me?” She laughed, gulped down water. “Kids are way down the road for me. I’m just really getting started on my career. Speaking of which, I had my first major case today. Did you hear about that building on Broadway, untenanted apartment building, single victim?”
“I didn’t have time for the news today. I put in twelve hours. And spent a lot of that tap-dancing for a potential client, a major one.”
“That’s great, about the major account.”
“I don’t have it yet, but I’m working on it.” His hand, long fingers, narrow palm, ran gently over her leg. “I’ve set up a dinner with him and his wife, Thursday night. Wear something special, will you?”
“Thursday? Luke, my parents are coming back from Italy on Thursday. We’re having dinner at the house. I told you.”
“So, you can see them on Friday, or over the weekend. For God’s sake you live right down the street. This is a major account, Cat.”
“Understood. And I’m sorry you won’t be able to make it for the welcome back dinner.”
“Are you hearing me?” The hand on her leg clenched into a fist. “I need you with me. This is the kind of socializing I need to do to land this account. It’s expected. It’s already set up.”
“I’m sorry. My evening’s already set up, and was before you booked Thursday night. If you want to reschedule, I’ll—”
“Why should I reschedule?” He pushed out of the chair, threw out his arms. “This is business. This is a major opportunity for me. It could mean the promotion I’ve been working toward. You all but live with your family as it is. What’s the big freaking deal about eating some damn spaghetti, when you can do the same thing any other time?”
“Actually, we’re having manicotti.” But she pushed down the spurt of irritation as she got to her feet. “My parents have been gone nearly three weeks. I promised I’d be there unless I got called out on a case. They’re going to come home to the news that their oldest daughter is having her first child. This is major in my world, Luke.”
“So what I need doesn’t register?”
“Of course it does. And if you’d asked me before making these plans, I’d have reminded you that I was already committed, and you could have suggested another night.”
“The client wants Thursday, the client gets Thursday.” He snapped it out as temper ruddied his cheeks. “That’s how it works in my world. Do you
have any idea, any conception, how competitive financial planning is? How much time and effort it takes to swing a multimillion-dollar account?”
“Not really.” And it was probably her lack that she couldn’t care less. “But I know you work hard, and I know it’s important to you.”
“Yeah, that shows.”
When he turned away, she rolled her eyes behind his back. But she stepped forward, prepared to soothe. “Look, I’m really sorry. If there’s any way you can move it to another night, I’ll—”
“I just told you.” He threw out his arms again as he spun around. And the back of his hand caught her sharply on the cheek.