Crime Scene Cover-Up

by Julie Miller

  “Seems pretty straightforward to me.” He pointed to the burned-out house down by the lake. That meant O’Brien had told him about the firepit and stables behind the house, too. “You were accused of setting fires.”

  Chapter Six

  Mark stretched out on his bunk at the station house, but it was too early to try to sleep. He’d done his duty by the beef stew and home-baked bread his Station 13 captain, Kyle Redding, had prepared for dinner. But he’d barely tasted it, despite the warm, homey smells that had filled the station house while they’d been washing down the rig, checking hoses and stowing gear. He’d joined his brother Matt for a workout in the house’s weight room but had excused himself from an invitation to join some of the men and women he served with for a couple of hands of toothpick poker. Now the sun was setting, the city was quiet, and he had no other reason to put off reading the text he’d received from Amy Hall.

  He pulled up the message.

  Another rejection.

  His breath seeped out on a sigh of disappointment. But he wasn’t surprised. He wondered how long he should chase this chemistry he’d felt with the leggy redhead. He wondered how long the image of her crying in her studio behind her welder’s mask, hiding away where the chaos couldn’t reach her so she could grieve alone, would stay with him.

  His instinct had been to take her in his arms, just like he had up on the hill with the burned-out shed where she’d discovered her friend’s body. She’d fit against him like two pieces of a puzzle locking together. The woman had curves in all the right places. Yet he could tell she was fit, based on the endurance she’d shown running those Missouri hills. She had hair like wildfire and freckled alabaster skin. She was immensely talented, worked like a badass with power tools and fire, and had a beautiful mouth that could irritate, commiserate and make him laugh. And damn, he wanted to kiss that mouth.

  He’d never met anyone like her. He’d never felt this instant, intense draw to another woman before. He wasn’t a player, but he had enough experience to know that the attraction was mutual.

  But Amy Hall had keeping him at arm’s length down to an art form. He didn’t need to be a rocket scientist to understand that she was used to handling whatever she needed to on her own.

  So, he’d respected her need for space a whole twenty-four hours before calling to leave a voice mail. He’d wanted to make sure she and her grandmother were all right, remind her that his dad was a thorough, but fair, investigator who knew the difference between arson convictions and alleged suspicions that hadn’t been proved. And he’d wanted to apologize for Dale O’Brien being such a dickwad to raise those suspicions about her in the first place.

  Yes, there’d been two fires on her property before the wildfire that day. One, she confessed to starting when she’d been burning something in the horse paddock and the fire had gotten out of hand. He’d checked the records himself. Amy had been the one to call 9-1-1 that day to contain the accidental fire.

  The one at the old foreman’s house was still under investigation. And though Dale O’Brien had hinted that she was responsible for setting that one, too, there was no hard evidence to indicate she’d had anything to do with it. Her denial and his loathing for O’Brien had been good enough for Mark to believe her.

  But the woman was still hiding something. Something that made him all the more eager to get to know her better, that made him ache to hold her and listen or do whatever was necessary to bring a smile back to that beautiful mouth and chase the wary distrust from her eyes.

  So, for two weeks, he’d kept the conversations between them light and safe and fun, getting to know the little things about her before he pushed for the something more he thought could be really, really good between them.

  After that first terse We’re good. Thanks! reply, he’d waited another twenty-four hours to ask what she charged for one of her pendants or sculptures. How long it took her to create her art. Where did she get her ideas? What was her favorite food? Did she listen to country, rock or classical music? In turn, she’d gotten him to reveal he was a Chiefs football fan. That yes, he’d been to the Nelson-Atkins Museum and Art Gallery—with a school group—and the suits of medieval armor were his favorite display. And that he preferred his grandmother’s fried catfish over sushi any day.

  Mark had given it a full week before asking her out.

  It felt like flirting, reading all the clever ways Amy could say no to his invitations to coffee or lunch or browsing one of the big chain outdoorsman stores in the city before having dinner at the attached Islamorada restaurant. This evening’s answer was no different.

  In some parts of the world, they call this harassment, Fire Man. ;)

  Mark texted right back. In other parts of the world, they say that persistence wins the race.

  Amy’s reply was accompanied by an eye-rolling emoji. And what race would that be?

  The one where you finally say you’ll give in to our heat-of-the-moment, opposites-attracting thing and go out with me.

  You’re never going to let me forget those words, are you, she answered. I can’t see you tonight. I’ve got a university thing with Jocelyn’s parents. Sort of a wake for coworkers, profs and students who couldn’t get to Nebraska for the funeral. They’re making a donation to Williams U in Joss’s name. Strictly froufrou event. Speeches, canapés and cocktails. I’ve been forced to put on a dress and heels.

  He closed his eyes, having no problem imagining how killer her legs would look in a getup like that, before typing a response. Need an escort? he offered. I look good in a tux.

  Mark smiled at her reply. I bet you do. But there’s nary a fried catfish on any of these buffet tables, so I don’t know what you’d eat. She’d been paying attention to the little details of their conversations as much as he had. Besides, aren’t you at work?

  He answered the truth. Yes. But I’d skip out to be your arm candy.

  Two minutes passed before she sent a reply. You’re trying to rescue me again. You’d let Kansas City burn just so I don’t have to go to this shindig alone?

  Alone. There it was again. The thing about Amy Hall that kept nagging at him. She didn’t seem to mind chatting, as long as he kept his distance. Based on her responses to his texts, he didn’t believe it was him she had an aversion to. Just the idea of dating or relationships, in general. Why on earth was she so determined to be alone?

  What had happened in her life to make her think that facing adversity by herself—with just her grandmother for backup—was her safest bet? Was it Mark’s relationship to the man who was investigating the arson fires on her property that made her so cautious of doing more than play text tag with him? Was there something going on in her life that was forcing her to be distrustful of a man’s interest in her? An image of the portly contractor with the misogynistic attitude toward his mother and Amy came to mind. He really didn’t like that guy.

  Probably shouldn’t. But let’s make plans for tomorrow after my shift, ok? I promise, jeans will be the dress code.

  She asked, What did you have in mind?

  Mark swung his legs over the edge of the bunk and sat up straight in anticipation. It was the closest response to even a maybe he’d gotten since they’d started these daily text chats. He had to give the right answer.

  How about you and me talking face-to-face? Let’s go for a walk. I’ll bring the water bottles and you bring the sunscreen.

  Her reply wasn’t what he’d expected. Could we go back out to the shed where we found Jocelyn? Detective Beck said they took down the crime scene tape earlier today. No sign of Joss’s laptop or even her backpack anywhere.

  Mark frowned. Doesn’t that place have bad memories for you?

  I need answers, Mark. Not Fire Man. Not a joke. I’ll go out there on my own if I have to. But I’d rather you came with me. You can tell me what you know about the fire. Help me sort through the debris. Maybe your dad
and the police missed something.

  Tension knotted at the back of Mark’s neck. Her friend had met a killer at that shed, or somewhere close by. She’d been alone, too. No one was in custody for the crimes. Beyond Dale O’Brien, he wasn’t even sure who the suspects were that KCPD had been investigating. Besides the awful memories of Jocelyn Brunt’s murder, who knew what or who Amy would be facing out there in the remote hills behind her house. No culprit would appreciate a shapely redhead pawing through his business, trying to uncover his identity.

  Do NOT go out there by yourself. We don’t know who’s setting those fires or who killed your friend. He waited a whole minute with no response. Red? No reply. Be safe. I will go with you. I’ll call as soon as I get off tomorrow. Wait for me. Tell me you won’t investigate any of this on your own. Amy?

  Five minutes without any answer and he dialed her number. But when it went straight to voice mail, he got up and paced the length of the bunk room. Either she’d turned her phone off because of the reception, she was ignoring him or he was an absolute fool for worrying about her like this. He stopped at the second-floor window overlooking the landscaping and street in front of the station house. The streetlamps were coming on, telling him the hour was getting late. Still, there were steady lines of traffic moving in both directions, thanks to their location just off the interstate near several restaurants, hotels and suburban neighborhoods.

  There were so many people in Kansas City. Probably a lot of people at that hoity-toity university event. Lots of people outside this window. Why wouldn’t Amy let him in? Let him be her friend. Let him be something more? He’d always had family around to help him through tough times. He’d always had his real brothers and his brothers at Firehouse 13 to back him up when he needed to take a risk.

  Mark pocketed his phone before the frustration building inside him made him sling it across the bunk room. He pounded his fist against the window frame when he couldn’t shut off his concern and pulled out his phone to text one last message to Amy. Just let me know you’re safe. Ok? A thumbs-up will get me off your back tonight. I promise.

  “What did that window ever do to you?” Mark was still waiting for an answer when his brother Matt entered the bunk room. Matt sat on his bunk, stretching his long legs out in front of him. “I’m supposed to be the quiet one. But you’re making me look like a regular social butterfly tonight. Thinking about Grandpa again?”

  Nope. But he should have been. Mark squeezed his eyes shut against the lousy job he was doing taking care of people lately. He scraped his palm over the top of his hair and blanked the emotion from his face before turning to face his brother. He held up his phone in explanation before stuffing it into the pocket of his BDUs. “Just waiting for somebody to call me back.”

  Matt picked up a car magazine and flipped through the pages, his tone deceptively indifferent. “It’s her, then. The redhead?”

  No sense denying it. What Matt Taylor lacked in verbosity, he more than made up for in observation skills. Big Brother never missed a trick.

  “Her name’s Amy.” Mark strolled back to his bunk to sit across from Matt. “We’ve been, um, getting acquainted since that day we got called in on the wildfire.”

  “Uh-huh.”

  Mark interpreted that as I’m interested enough. Keep talking. “Dad confirmed that there’s been three suspicious fires on her property. The first one Amy admitted to—she called 9-1-1 herself. She was burning some trash in a homemade firepit that got out of hand. A couple of weeks after that, she lost a rental property, then another storage shed in the wildfire—the one where we discovered her friend’s body. Dad says those last two fires were deliberately set.” Matt didn’t look up from his magazine, but Mark knew that didn’t mean he wasn’t listening. “Now she wants to go exploring and solve the crimes by herself. Two fires are a coincidence. Three fires and a murder mean somebody’s really pissed off.” Mark waited for some flicker of a response in his brother’s brown eyes. Could he not see what the problem was? “How do I convince her she isn’t safe?”

  Matt lowered the magazine to his lap and met Mark’s gaze. “You think someone’s targeting her with those fires?”

  “Dale O’Brien wants her and her grandmother off that land. If they won’t sell, could be he’s trying to burn them out.”

  Matt nodded and dropped his attention back to the article he was reading. “O’Brien was only too happy to let Dad know that she was accused of setting at least one of those fires. That guy is a real piece of work.”

  “He’s probably the one who reported her.”

  Matt’s grunt was as good as an agreement.

  “Since she admitted to setting the bonfire in the firepit, she was the first suspect they looked at. She doesn’t trust the police. Or Dad. So, she’s investigating on her own.”

  “Sounds risky.”

  Mark pushed to his feet and paced toward the windows again. “Maybe it’s not my place to worry, but I’ve never seen anyone with less backup than that woman has. I keep asking her out and she keeps putting me off. And the hell of it is, I think she likes me. Maybe she doesn’t trust me enough to tell me what’s really going on with her. Maybe she thinks I’m just trying to get close to her so I can report to Dad. I’ve been up-front with her that if I learn anything, I’d have to share it, but that’s not why I want to see her.”

  “She’s really gotten under your skin.” Matt tossed the magazine aside. “Why are you trying to get close to her? You think you’re going to lose somebody else on your watch?”

  “It’s more than that. She needs somebody, Matt.” I want her to need me.

  “You sure you’re not making up a threat that isn’t there, so you can get closer to her?”

  Mark muttered a curse and shook his head. “I am not making this up. At least, I don’t think I am. There’s something dangerous surrounding Amy Hall. I think she needs help. But she’s too proud, or too scared, to ask for it. So, I’m offering.”

  “Grandpa would tell you to trust your gut. You think she needs help? Then do something about it.” Matt Taylor was a big reflection in the window as he walked up behind Mark and rested a hand on his shoulder. “But if this is just about you needing to save somebody because you feel guilty about Grandpa, let it go. The only one who blames you for Grandpa’s heart attack is you.”

  Mark shrugged off his brother’s touch. “Amy and I have been talking or texting every day. And it’s not just me being all stalkerish. She contacts me as often as I do her. We’ve got a connection. She’s funny. And smart. She thinks I’m funny.”

  “Oh, well, now I know there’s something wrong with her.”

  Turning, Mark smacked Matt in the arm. “Maybe you’ve got no interest in a relationship, but I think we could be something if she’d give us a chance.”

  “What makes you think I’ve got no interest—?”

  “I’m fine with going slow, if that’s what she needs. But I don’t want to lose the possibility of being with her because she’s too pigheaded to listen to reason.”

  Bracing his hands at his waist, Matt puffed up to a size that intimidated most men. But that only made Mark match his stance. He knew his brother too well to be intimidated by whatever salient point he suddenly wanted to make. “Amy’s not the only woman trouble you have.”

  “Huh?”

  “At Sunday dinner, Grandma Martha asked why you weren’t there. She knew you weren’t working because I was there.” Matt crossed his arms over his chest and glared. “She thinks you’re avoiding her.”

  “There were plenty of people there with her to christen the new house, right?”

  “We were all there. Every uncle, every aunt, every cousin. So, it stuck out that you were missing.”

  “Grandpa is the one who’s missing, Matt. I...” Mark turned to the window and looked down into the night. He hated that he’d caused Grandma Martha any pain. “I let t
he man she loves die. Why would she want me around to remind her of that?”

  Matt’s chest expanded as though he was about to light into Mark. But the fire alarm sounded, ending whatever butt-chewing session he’d been about to receive. Personal matters took a back seat as the call to duty rang through the building and the brothers Taylor answered.

  “Let’s move it, Thirteen,” Captain Redding called over the intercom as Mark and Matt jogged to the stairs. “Structure fire, fully engulfed. All trucks are rolling.”

  “We’ll finish this conversation later,” Matt announced as they hurried to their gear lockers. “And put the redhead out of your mind for now, too, bro. I don’t want to be saving your butt because you’re thinking about a woman instead of the call.”

  Mark gave Matt a curt nod and picked up his gear, letting his training move him through the steps he needed to perform. He stepped into his turnout pants and boots and grabbed his coat and helmet before climbing up to his position behind the driver’s seat of the first engine truck. Mark leaned forward as Matt settled behind the wheel and started the engine. “Where are we headed, Cap?”

  Captain Redding settled into the seat across from Matt and punched the address into the engine’s GPS system. “Copper Lake.”

  The adrenaline pumping through Mark’s veins skidded to a halt as recognition hit, filling him with dread. “That’s where Amy lives.”

  “Who’s Amy?” the captain asked.

  “A friend.” A friend who didn’t need more of this kind of trouble. Mark sank back into his seat before meeting his brother’s stoic gaze in the rearview mirror. “You still think I’m making up a reason to rescue her?”

  Chapter Seven

  Amy glanced down at the last text Mark had sent her and considered sending him a thumbs-up, so that he would stop worrying. She wasn’t reckless enough to search through the hills of her grandmother’s farm at this time of night on her own.