by Karen Rose
“Who owns this KRB company?”
“I was just getting into that when the morgue called. I forwarded what I had so far to Faye and asked her to finish the search.” Abbott’s clerk was a research whiz. “I did run the construction manager through the system. Squeaky clean.”
“Does the construction manager own a gun?”
“He doesn’t have a permit. Micki did a residue test on his hands last night. He didn’t fire a gun, or if he did, he was smart enough to wear gloves.”
“We’ll need to check his finances and those of KRB. When we’re done here, we should start warrants.”
“Unless SPOT claims responsibility and then we have to bring in the Feds.”
Kane shrugged. “I’ve worked task forces with the Feds before. It’s not so bad, so stop worrying. You’ll give yourself wrinkles.”
“I’ve already got wrinkles,” Olivia muttered. Thirty-one and she was falling apart.
He stuck out his hand. “Give me another sandwich.”
Frowning, she dug into the bag on the seat between them. “You’re not leaving any for the firefighters.” She slapped one into his hand. “No more for you after this.”
They’d hit the Deli on their way out of the city, the coffee/sandwich shop that catered to cops, students, and professors, and anyone else who liked a good meal. It had been her turn to get breakfast, so she’d ordered Kane’s favorite—egg and pastrami on rye—then on impulse, added a dozen breakfast sandwiches for the firefighters, who wouldn’t have any trouble wolfing them down. When the Deli’s manager had found out who the food was for, he’d thrown in a thermos of coffee for free.
“There are still ten left,” Kane said. “How many can one pretty-boy firefighter eat?”
Olivia’s face flushed hot. “Kane,” she said warningly.
He looked unapologetic. “We’re almost there. You should do something with those bags under your eyes. Powder or something.”
She drew a breath. “Kane,” she said, the warning gone ominous.
They’d stopped at a red light, so he leaned over and pulled her purse from the glove box and dropped it in her lap. “Little lipstick wouldn’t hurt either.”
The light turned green and he started through the intersection without another word. Fuming, she flipped the visor down and checked the mirror. And winced. “Ye gods.”
“Indeed,” Kane said gravely.
She gave him a dirty look. “At least my hair’s okay.”
Kane shrugged. “If it makes you feel better to think that.”
Her long hair was pulled back in a tidy bun at the base of her neck. Which made her tired eyes look even more haggard. She sighed. “I really hate you sometimes.”
“No, you don’t.” He glanced over at her. “Any more than you hate him. You didn’t see your face, Liv,” he added when she opened her mouth to protest. “When Barlow said Hunter had nearly fallen four stories, you went white as a ghost.”
“I’m always white as a ghost. I never tan.” But she snapped her compact open and powdered her face with hurried strokes. Worse than driving up to the scene all haggard would be driving up while doing her face. She did have some pride, after all.
Kane handed her his comb. “Lose the bun, girlfriend. Braid it if you have to, but lose the bun. It makes you look”—he gave a mock shudder—“like a librarian.”
She laughed as he’d wanted her to and he grinned. Kane’s wife was a retired librarian and Olivia knew he loved her dearly. “Jennie would kick your ass for that.”
“Not if she knew it made you laugh. Hurry, now. We’re almost there.”
Monday, September 20, 9:45 a.m.
Eric found the bench and the padded envelope taped underneath. He leaned forward as if to tie his shoe and grabbed the envelope, slipping it inside his jacket, his fingertips brushing the cold steel of his gun as he did so. Heart pounding, he sat back, sure everyone on the street was watching him, sure they all knew he had the gun.
But no one glanced his way. Everyone was busy going about their own lives while he sat on a bench in plain sight, a fucking gun tucked into the waistband of his jeans and picking up packages like he was some James Bond wannabe.
I am an engineering student. I’m on the dean’s list. I’m one of the good guys. This cannot be happening. But it was. He walked the six blocks back to his car and got in.
He stared at the envelope, then ripped it open and shook out a cell phone and an MP3 player with a two-inch video screen and earbuds. A brittle laugh broke free. Soon that guy from Mission Impossible would be telling him the tape would self-destruct.
But it wasn’t funny. This was a nightmare. Whoever this guy was, he had video that could bury them all. Eric found the texter had painted a “1” on the back of the MP3 player and a “2” on the back of the cell phone with red nail polish.
Feeling like a fool, he put the buds in his ears and turned the MP3 player on. He hit PLAY and instantly the Mission Impossible theme blared in his ears. He gritted his teeth, then felt his stomach lurch when the video of the fire began to play on the tiny screen. Fury boiled up within him and he wanted to throw the MP3 player out the window. But he didn’t, and seconds later the music quieted and a computer-altered voice began to speak. It was impossible to tell if it was a man or a woman.
“You followed my directions. Very good. It is now time for your first test. If you pass, you remain in my good favor. If you refuse or if you fail, this video will be released to the police and the media and you will live the rest of your life in a very small jail cell surrounded by ape-sized men who will find you most entertaining.”
A prison filled the screen, followed by a photo of a man being sodomized. A pain shot up Eric’s neck and he realized he’d clenched his teeth almost to the breaking point.
“This is your target.” The photo changed and Eric let out a breath, swallowing the bile that had risen in his throat. The new picture appeared to be a factory. “The address has been sent to your phone as a text. You are to take your three pals and set fire to his place of business tonight. Make sure not a timber is left standing.”
And then Eric understood. The texter’s price was not money. It was far worse. Numbly he continued to watch the screen, but no new photos appeared.
“The proprietor has a guard dog,” the voice continued. “Deal with it, however you wish. If you wish to tell your compatriots the truth, feel free. If you fear they will not comply with your direction, tell them anything you choose, but know if even one of you chooses not to participate, the video will be distributed and all of you will go to prison.”
The voice had not faltered once, had not shown a hint of emotion.
“If anyone stands in your way, kill them. If for any reason your target appears to have been warned, or if any inventory in his place of business is removed unexpectedly, your video will be revealed. When you are finished, use the camera in the cell phone to document your activity and text the photos to the number provided. More directions will be provided at that time. Good luck, Eric, and if you should be caught”—now the voice laughed, a cruel, brutal, smug sound—“the world will know what you’ve done.”
The factory faded, replaced by a single frame from the video of last night. The very image that haunted him. The girl, her hands on the glass, her mouth yawning open in that horrible scream that, even in his mind, had no sound at all.
The file ended and the tiny screen went black. Eric opened the cell phone, clicked on the single text message it held. It was, as expected, an address. He wondered what the “proprietor” of this business had done to earn the wrath of the texter.
And he wondered what the hell he was going to do.
For now, he’d go to his ten a.m. calculus class. Maintain his normal schedule. And he’d think. Hard. There had to be a way out of this. There had to be.
He started his car and had put it in gear when the disposable cell chirped, startling him. He took a second to gather his thoughts. And his courage.
He f
lipped the phone open. Another text. yes or no?
Wildly Eric looked around, wondering if the texter had followed him, was watching him. His eyes searched windows and cars and people standing idly on street corners. It could be anyone. Panic clawed up, grabbed his throat. It could be anyone.
Who r u? he typed.
the invisible man.
A few seconds passed and the phone chirped again. yes or no? Next to the words was a link and before Eric even clicked on it he knew what he would see. The face in the window. His chest was so tight he could barely breathe. Yes, he typed back. “You sonofabitch,” he muttered. Again the phone chirped.
wise choice. i look forward to seeing your pictures tonight.
Eric closed the phone and stared at it. How had the SOB known he’d listened to the MP3 file and read the text? Either he was standing nearby, watching, or he had the cell phone rigged. Eric looked around the interior of his car. Or he’s wired my car and is watching me on a PC somewhere.
There had to be a way to track this guy. And if I can’t? Or if I can’t before tonight?
Then you’ll have to do what he says. “No,” Eric said firmly.
But when he pulled onto the street, his mind was already working the logistics of a factory arson. Just in case.
Monday, September 20, 9:55 a.m.
She’s here. David’s hands stilled on the line he was reeling in. He watched Kane’s Ford pull through the construction gate, his heart pounding and stomach jumping like he was thirteen and just about to ask a girl to his first school dance.
A pang of regret pushed through his sudden nerves. And we all know how well that ended, he thought bitterly. Nearly twenty years of service hadn’t been enough to atone. He was pretty sure a lifetime wouldn’t be enough. He could only do what he could do. And make sure this time, with this woman, it ended differently.
“She’s here,” Jeff said, dragging the last few feet of line to the truck. They’d spent the last hour walking the five-inch line, squeezing every drop of water from the hose. Every few minutes David had glanced toward the front gate, waiting. Now she was here.
Jeff’s grin told him that any attempt at nonchalance would be folly. “I see her,” he said, half expecting his voice to crack as it would have at thirteen. Gratefully it did not.
He watched as Olivia got out of the passenger side, the morning sun making her hair gleam gold. Then she bent over to get something from the front seat, giving him a perfect view of her very round rear end and he couldn’t control the sudden breath that hissed between his teeth. Vague recollections taunted him once again and he jerked his eyes away, staring instead at his hands.
He knew how she felt. How those smooth round curves fit in his hands. Perfectly. He shouldn’t know, but he did. And he needed to know again. Quelling a shudder, he exhaled, willing the need away. As if.
“I have to agree,” Jeff murmured in approval. “Very nice.”
David gritted his teeth against the urge to tell Jeff to keep his damn eyes to his damn self, making his voice deceptively mild. “Kayla would gouge your eyes out.”
Jeff’s grin broadened. “She can’t say anything. I’ve caught her eyeing your ass.”
David rolled his eyes. “Barlow called to say they wanted to see the fourth floor,” he made himself say reasonably. “Give me a hand with this line so we can leave.”
But Jeff continued to stare at the detectives’ car. “Hey, your lady brought food. From the Deli. That’s the good stuff. Take a break, Dave. You know you want to.”
Jeff walked off and David slowly stood, watching her kick the car door closed with her foot. Your lady. She wasn’t, of course. She might have been, if things had gone differently. If I hadn’t done… whatever. But she was here. Because it’s her job, idiot.
But she’d brought food, so that was a good sign. This is the opportunity you’ve waited for. Don’t blow it like you blew it the last time.
Which he obviously had, but that recollection was more vague than the others. Squaring his shoulders, he started to walk, knowing the exact instant she saw him coming. She went still, gripping a bag in one hand and a thermos in the other, and she looked right at him. He didn’t breathe for the space of three hard beats of his heart.
And then she looked away when Jeff reached her first, taking the bag from her hands. “There’s coffee in the thermos,” he heard her say when he got close.
Jeff was already stuffing his face. “Bacon, egg, and cheese,” he mumbled. “God, I thought I was going to drop. Thank you. There’s plenty, Dave. Have some.”
“There is plenty,” she said quietly, her eyes flickering everywhere but at his face, and David felt the frustration of being an adult trapped at a junior high party.
“Any news on the girl?” he asked and she finally met his eyes. Hers were round, blue as the sky, and very serious.
“Not yet. The hearing aid should help us narrow it down, so thank you.”
“Barlow said you wanted to see the fourth floor. I can take you up from the outside, but getting around on the inside still isn’t safe, especially without boots.”
She nodded. “Got it. Is there room for both Kane and me in the bucket?”
Kane walked up, a small black bag in one hand. “Me, go up in the bucket? I don’t think so. You go up. Here’s the camera. And my field glasses.”
She took the items he shoved into her hands. “You’re not going? Why the hell not?”
Kane’s expression was one of mild embarrassment. “Heights and me… a big no.”
She gave her partner a dirty look. “Wuss,” she muttered, then looked back up at David resolutely. “Then let’s go up. You want to eat something first?”
He didn’t think he could. “No, thanks. Zell, let’s go. I need you to man the truck.”
“I could go up with her. Or not,” Jeff added when David’s eyes narrowed. With a jovial grin, Jeff wiped his hands on the bandana he kept in his pocket and passed the bag of sandwiches to the captain, who’d just joined them. “Save me one.”
Casey smiled at Olivia. “Thanks, Detective. This was really nice of you,” he said.
“Our pleasure. I figured you’d all be hungry, staying here all night. We won’t keep you here any longer than we have to.” She looked around. “Where is Sergeant Barlow?”
“He said he had some reports to write,” Casey said, “and he’d be back after noon. Two guys from Arson are in there now, gridding off each floor so they can search.”
They’d search carefully, David knew, sifting the ash, looking for anything that could lead them to the arsonist. “Barlow said we should show you what we showed him. You can see the first floor through that window.”
David led Olivia and Kane to the first-floor window. “This window was regular glass and probably blew out in the first minutes of the fire. We found the backpack and the hearing aid on the other side of that hole.” Standing behind her, he leaned so that his cheek was inches from her temple and pointed. “There, where CSU left the markers.”
“I see,” she murmured. Her shoulders stiffened, but she didn’t shrink away and he took that as a good sign. “CSU took the items already?”
“About an hour ago.” He should move. He really should. He knew he reeked from smoke and sweat. But her hair smelled like honeysuckle, just as he remembered, and he took another second to fill his head with her scent before backing away.
Kane had leaned around her other side to stick his head through the window and whistled softly. “That is one hell of a hole, Hunter.”
“Tell me about it,” David said grimly.
Olivia’s brows crunched as she strained to see around the interior walls that remained. “The gel that covered the ball,” she said. “Did you find any down here?”
“No,” David said. “And I looked. But this area is a mess. If there was any gel, it’d be mixed with ash by now. The water pushes everything together. If it’s there, the arson guys will find it while they’re sifting. It’s thicker than kindergar
ten paste.”
She glanced up at him then. “We need you to keep the gel and the ball to yourself. It’s important. Who else knows about it?”
“Just me and Zell,” he said. “And Barlow. And the captain.”
“And Carrie and Gabe,” Jeff added from behind them, then shrugged when Olivia turned a mild glare on him. “I didn’t know, and Dave’s catch was too good not to tell.”
“Carrie and Gabe are on our team,” David told her when she turned the mild glare from Jeff to him. “They can keep a secret.”
“So can I,” Jeff said, aggrieved. “When I know I have to.”
“Can we talk to Carrie and Gabe?” Kane asked. “We need to keep it under wraps.”
“Certainly,” Casey said. “They’re walking line. I’ll call them back to the truck.”
“I’ll talk to the other firefighters,” Kane told Olivia, “while you go up. Have fun.”
The glare she flashed Kane was a lot less mild, David thought. She was clearly annoyed and once again seemed none too happy to see him. That did not bode well.
David climbed to where the platform rested on the front end of the truck and lowered the bucket until it was two feet from the ground where she waited. There was no expression on her face, but her foot tapped impatiently. He extended his hand and after the briefest hesitation she grabbed it, not looking at him.
He hauled her up and held on until she’d steadied herself. “You have to belt in,” he said. Silently she raised her arms and he looped the ladder belt around her slim waist, trying hard not to fumble the hooks. Or lift his eyes to stare at her breasts which were throwing a shadow on his hands. He tugged to test the connection, then rose, keeping his eyes to himself, very aware of Jeff’s smirk and Kane’s watchful gaze. “You’re good.”
“Okay,” she said, her voice slightly breathless. “Take me up.”
Oh, I will, he thought. He wasn’t sure when it would be or how he would manage it, but those recollections of his were just clear enough that he knew he had to have her again. “Are you bothered by heights?”
“No.” Her attention was on the condo wall as he toggled switches, lifting them in the air. After rising ten feet, she looked up at him, surprised. “I thought it would be jumpy.”