Consumed

by J. R. Ward

  Pain, unwelcomed and full of heartache, lanced through Anne’s chest as she watched his face change when he saw his woman. And then they were talking in those wonderful New York accents:

  “Hi.”

  “Hi.”

  “You look beautiful. Ya hair . . .”

  “Yeah, I had it done.”

  Anne let her head fall back as they went into the opera house, stared up at the chandelier, proceeded into the cloakroom. Funny that a movie about a man who’d lost a hand was on. On that note, maybe she needed to try and date a Cher.

  She nudged Soot. “See, this is where she sees her father out with the other woman. Or shall I say ‘otha woman.’ ”

  It was also the part where Ronny Cammareri tells Loretta, It’s been a long time since I’ve been to the opera.

  “He’s not talking about the opera, Soot. And I feel you, Ronny. I totally feel you.”

  At this point, Anne felt like she’d actually never been to the opera. In her world, the Met was closed, the sopranos and the baritones, the orchestra and conductor all home with perpetual head colds.

  Closing her eyes, she was lonely. And tired. And very sad.

  Tomorrow was a new day, though. She was smarter than she’d been yesterday, and stronger than ever. And what she needed to do was figure out this Ripkin mess.

  Danny Maguire was a thing in the past, nothing more than an ugly footnote in a life that was going to continue . . .

  * * *

  Disorientation struck as Anne opened her eyes. At first, she went for her gun because she heard the sound of bullets flying—but then she realized it was the movie on the TV, not anything inside or outside of her house.

  Picking up her phone, she saw that it was almost seven a.m. Soot was on his back, paws curled in, snoring.

  As soon as she got up, he was on his feet, and she turned off the alarm and let him out, standing watch. People were stirring in their houses, making coffee on the first floors, showering and dressing on the second.

  She did the same.

  When she came back downstairs, she poured herself a cup of java and realized she’d forgotten to take the phone up with her.

  Bracing herself, she checked the thing, expecting to see a picture of herself with her hair a mess on the back porch as Soot piddled on his favorite spot by the corner of the house.

  Nope. Nothing.

  Which was relief of a temporary nature.

  She was about to put the phone in her bag when she thought about Danny’s stupid-ass voicemail. She hadn’t even gone in to erase it, but on the theory of starting as one meant to go on, she opened the phone icon. The “Recents” screen popped up, and she was about to hit the voicemail icon with its red “1” on the lower right corner when something didn’t make sense.

  The list of calls started with Danny at the top. There was his name and “(4)” next to it, and the line was black because she’d answered the last call from him. Across from that, there was “Yesterday” in gray.

  Then there was Jack. In black. With a gray “Yesterday.”

  And “World’s Greatest Boss,” which was how she had Don in her contacts. Black. With a gray “Yesterday.”

  And under that was “Unknown.” In black. With a gray “Yesterday.”

  Scrolling down the list, she found the other “Unknown” caller. It was black from back when she’d answered the phone just before her window got shot out.

  Except she hadn’t answered two calls from an unknown number. Hitting the information button on the more recent one, she frowned. The time stamp was yesterday morning, and it showed a call lasting three minutes—

  The world spun and she threw out a hand.

  Moose. When he’d called her about Deandra and Danny. That was exactly the date and time when he had called her to ask to meet him at Hereford Crossings.

  So was he the one who had shot her car window? Put the gun on her doorstep? Texted her and watched her?

  Stumbling over to a chair, she sat down and stared at the details. Maybe there was another explanation . . .

  She went through all her recents, all the way back to when he had first called her to go see Danny that night. There, the phone number in her contacts showed up with the entry that read “Moose.”

  So he had a regular phone and had gotten a burner to make sure he was anonymous when he threatened her? But what was his tie to Ripkin and Ollie Popper, the warehouse fires and the office equipment—

  “The box trailer. Shit. The fucking box trailer!”

  Bursting up, she went to her sofa. She’d printed out a screenshot from the CCTV and it was here, somewhere—

  When she found the piece of paper, she tried to see if the trailer was the same as the one Moose used for transporting his cars. She couldn’t tell. There had to be a thousand of them in the city of New Brunswick.

  With her heart pounding and her mind racing, there was a temptation to scream from the rooftops, to call Jack and send the SWAT team over there, to get a helicopter in the air. But she didn’t want to put her foot in it.

  And Moose was her friend.

  Slow. Methodical. Let the situation reveal itself . . .

  Besides, it made no sense. Why would Moose set fires in his own district to destroy electronics for Ripkin? The two of them had never met.

  “Yes, they have,” she said to herself as she fumbled with the phone.

  When her call rang through, she could barely get the words out. “Tom? Tom! Listen, I need a favor—”

  “What time is it?” her brother mumbled.

  “In your office. On the shelf behind your desk. There’s a picture—”

  “Sis, you’re talking too fast. What—”

  “The picture. From the opening of the new stationhouse. The picture behind your desk. I need you to take a photograph of it and send it to me right now. Okay? Just take a picture of it and send it to my phone.”

  “Why?”

  She thought about coming forward with everything. But this was not just her brother she was talking to; it was Moose’s boss. What if she was wrong? All she had was “Unknown” caller—she didn’t have the digits themselves. Jack was still working on that.

  “I just need to see it. Please?”

  “Sure, fine. Whatever. I’m upstairs in my bunk. Gimme five minutes.”

  After she hung up, she cradled her phone. Tom no doubt had heard about the blowup between Danny and Moose at the 499, and if she started talking like Moose was some kind of serial arsonist setting fires for a psychotic killer businessman, her brother was going to think she was nuts.

  What she needed were facts. Proof.

  Motive: Moose had, in the last year, somehow managed to fund a fancy wedding, a set of implants for Deandra, two expensive cars, a new house, and all that ugly furniture on a fireman’s salary. Even if you assumed he was working as a roofer every second he was off shift? That was a couple hundred thousand dollars right there.

  Ripkin could afford to pay well the people he had doing nasties for him.

  Means: Moose was on the fire service. Fire service people did training runs in abandoned buildings where fires were set to burn in a controlled fashion. Back when she had been at the 499, he and Danny had always been the ones clearing sites and overseeing the training fires.

  It wasn’t that hard to imagine that he could set a controlled ignition by timer or remote device.

  Opportunity: The box truck on the CCTV.

  Assuming it was the one he owned.

  “Come on, Tom . . . come on . . .”

  From out of nowhere, an image came to her, coughed out of memories that she didn’t like to dwell on.

  It was from the fire, right after she had had her hand cut off. Danny had carried her to the collapsed wall that had presented an escape, and was pushing her through the hole, forcing her out . . .

  Into Moose’s waiting arms.

  Anne went back to her mess of papers, flipping through reports, and tables, and photographs, and—

 
The incident report from the 499 was in standard format, listing the time of call to that warehouse, the address, the engines and ladders and ambulances that were sent . . . as well as the crew that was working that shift. And down at the bottom, marked with an asterisk was the name Robert Miller.

  Moose had been med’d out that night due to a migraine.

  Which was why, when he’d helped drag her out of the collapse, he’d been in civilian clothes, not turnouts.

  How had he known to be there?

  Her phone went off with a bing, and she opened the text from her brother. Calling the image up, she enlarged it, passing by the line of officers and Ripkin standing in front of a red ribbon at the bays of the new stationhouse.

  And there it was. Off to the side.

  Moose talking intently with a man in a slick suit with silver hair. Sterling Broward, Ripkin’s fancy attorney.

  Except how exactly had it worked? Ollie Popper had been running a multi-state fencing operation involving office equipment, and anytime things had gotten too hot for him with the police, he’d disappeared the evidence against him in fires that happened to be taking place in Ripkin’s warehouses. Moose would know how to set a controlled burn and make sure the fire destroyed what it was suppose to. But that didn’t necessarily mean he and Ollie were tied to Ripkin.

  Just because Moose had clearly talked to Sterling Broward at a public event didn’t mean the Ripkin connection was solid.

  Her gut, however, told her something was there. That fire at Ripkin’s mansion that had nearly killed his daughter? The arson investigator who had been killed in the boating accident? Ollie Popper, represented by Broward, dead in the shower before his case went any further?

  Putting her phone facedown, she continued to think about it all, especially about what Don had gotten on her about before: Beware of information that only confirms your hypothesis.

  And start with what you know for sure.

  When it came to Moose, it was clear what she needed to do, and she went for her bag, her keys, and Soot’s leash.

  On the way out of her house, she made sure she had her gun with her. And her license to carry concealed.

  chapter

  51

  Anne hit the gas hard through the farmland. Moose had been on shift with Danny the day before, so if she hurried, she had a chance of getting a look at that box truck before the firefighter got home. And as for Deandra? Anne would just have to deal with the woman if she was on the property. If worst came to worst, she could pull the inspector badge out.

  Except turned out no one was home.

  She circled the property once before getting anywhere near the driveway, and was able to visualize the empty parking area in front of the ranch through the trees—as well as the mess that was all over the lawn.

  Someone had moved out. Or been thrown out.

  After a second pass around the acreage, she discovered a back way in. Given that she didn’t know when anyone would get home, the approach was safer and she was able to get her car within a hundred yards of the garage.

  And the box trailer.

  “You stay here, Soot.” She put his window down to make sure he had plenty of air. “I’ll be right back.”

  Getting out, she had her gun front and center and her phone in the grip of her prosthesis as she jogged across the grass to the garage.

  She froze as she back-flatted against the structure. When nothing happened, she shuffled along and stuck her head out around the corner.

  The box trailer was big enough to fit a car in, with its roof and four walls enclosing its contents. The double doors in the back were shut and had a heavy lock on them.

  Taking out her phone, she snapped a couple of pictures, and then went closer. She had to look inside of it, but how?

  Moose’s garage had been left open, and it was hard to tell for certain, but she had the impression someone had trashed the place—although given the mess he kept his tools in, who could be sure? Still, there had to be something she could use in there.

  She found the axe propped up against the siding and picked the thing up. Given its weight and the fact that she was one-handed, she was not going to be able to control it well enough, so she put it back.

  Only one way to do this.

  Taking the safety off her gun, she returned to the trailer and leveled the muzzle at the lock. Making sure that there was nothing but woods on the far side of her trajectory, she started to pull the trigger.

  In the back of her mind, she was aware that she was breaking the law. But this was kind of like telling Emilio to head to the second floor without her: Urgency over procedure.

  Apologize, don’t ask permission.

  Get the fucking job done.

  As the bullet exploded out of the barrel, the metal lock rang like a church bell and she lowered her weapon. Bingo. Worked like a charm. Opening one half of the doors, she took a deep breath.

  Computers. Phones. Monitors. Laptops—

  “Fucking hell, Anne. Now I gotta solve you like a goddamn problem.”

  Anne jerked around. Moose was staggering out of the house, his shirt stained with blood, a gash on his face, one foot trailing behind.

  He looked tired. Frustrated. Exhausted. But mostly like a stranger wearing the mask and body of the friend and colleague she had once known and loved like family.

  “Moose,” she breathed. “What are you doing?”

  The guy stopped and looked down at himself. “I crashed the Charger. It’s somewhere in the woods. I was chasing Deandra off. And then I kept drinking.”

  “No, about this.” She pointed to the trailer. “What are you doing with Ripkin?”

  He threw up his hands—and that was when she saw the small black box in his right palm. “What was I supposed to do? I needed the money. Deandra is expensive. Was.”

  “Did you kill her?”

  “What—no. I kicked her out. She’s at her sister’s. We’re done.” His bloodshot eyes finally focused properly. “But now, I gotta deal with you. I’m not going to jail, Anne. I can’t. I hope you understand.”

  She took a step back and raised her gun at him. “Don’t come near me.”

  “Is this where you arrest me?”

  “You killed people. You put the lives of your own crew in danger. And you did it all while you were in turnouts.”

  “Don’t get judgy with me, Anne,” he bit out. “You’re the sister of the fucking fire chief. Your life is all worked out. I got nothing. Nothing! My own parents didn’t want me. I barely graduated from college. I couldn’t make the SWAT team. Deandra didn’t even want me, she wanted Danny!”

  Her eyes flicked to what he had in his hand. The antenna gave it away—and she did the math quick.

  Moving away from the trailer, she triangulated the distance to her car. “Look, Moose, I don’t have to turn you in, okay? We can just forget—”

  “No, I know you. I fought fires with you for how long? You’re lying because you think I’m going to kill you and you’re right. But I’m not going to pick you over me. Sorry.”

  The explosion in the trailer was instantaneous, triggered as he initiated some button on that remote, the force of the blast throwing her off her feet and carrying her some distance through the air. When she landed on her back, the breath was knocked out of her and the gun flipped free of her hand.

  All she could do was stare up at the blue, cloudless sky, as she tried to get oxygen into her lungs.

  Moose’s face appeared above her own. “You know, I liked you, I really did.” He brought up her gun. “And I’ll do this quick and easy so you won’t hurt—”

  The gray flash came from out of nowhere, whatever it was moving so fast, it was just a blur.

  But Soot knew what he was doing. He launched his attack at Moose’s forearm, his impact swinging the gun away from Anne, the bullet discharging into the air. In response, Moose let out a curse and started punching the dog in the head.

  Not that Soot noticed. Growling, snarling, his mu
scled body was as much a weapon as his teeth were, and he refused to let go as he thrashed.

  “Leave my dog alone!”

  Anne launched herself at Moose, going for his throat before she realized she didn’t have two working hands. But she had a great intrinsic weapon, herself.

  She took the hard fingers of her prosthesis and speared Moose in the eye.

  He screamed and fell onto his back.

  For a moment, she was convinced they had won. But then a boot came at her head and she couldn’t duck in time. The heavy tread caught her right in the face, blood spooling out of her nose as she spun like a top.

  And then there was a yelp and whimper from Soot.

  chapter

  52

  Danny drove up to the front of Moose’s cocksucking ranch and slammed the brakes on the truck so hard, he kicked up gravel. The bastard’s yellow Charger wasn’t around, but there were pink clothes and high-heeled shoes all over the front lawn. He knew Moose was home, however. Vic Rizzo from the 617 had texted everyone that after a drinking spell at Timeout, that muscle car had been found wrapped around a tree by two NBPD-ers and its inebriated driver had been returned to sender out here in the sticks.

  Getting out, he—

  The explosion was so violent, it rattled the windows on the house, and Danny ducked down to take cover as shrapnel dropped from the sky.

  As a phone receiver hit him in the head, he cursed and jogged over to the front door. Going inside, he saw total chaos. Someone, most likely Moose, had taken a knife to the oversized black and white furniture, and there was stuffing and shredded pillows all over the place.

  Every single one of the wedding pictures had been punched, bloody fist and palm prints marking the walls.

  Danny ran through to the back. Outside, by the garage, Moose’s box trailer was in flames, the curling smoke blowing toward the house and obscuring the view.

  “Moose?” he called out.

  Running toward the garage, he got smoke in his eyes and he coughed.