From Jay DeMarko.
“He said he looked away for a few seconds before the fire started,” she paraphrased. “He was the grill cook.”
“This might be a stretch but it’s more than we’ve had in a while,” Caleb said, grabbing the keys off his desk before going back to his computer. He wrote down the address on his screen. “I say it’s time we go have a talk with Jay DeMarko.”
“You think he’s trying to make us think he’s a stalker when really he’s our arsonist? But how does Daniel fit into this?”
“I don’t know. This could be nothing, just me trying to find a win,” Caleb admitted. “Or we could have just found our missing piece.”
* * *
THE RAIN HELD off as Caleb and Jazz drove to Jay’s apartment. Instead the air was filled with that same electric charge that he’d felt the day his house had burned down. It was foreboding. Caleb hoped it wasn’t a sign of bad things to come.
He parked his truck outside a set of stairs that led to the second floor unit that was listed on Jay’s citation. His brows knitted together.
“Delores Dearborn lives right there,” he said, pointing to the apartment on the ground floor.
“Eerie coincidence?” Jazz asked, checking her service weapon discretely below the dashboard. Caleb followed suit.
“I’ll let you know.”
They had both donned their blazers, a tactic they adopted when they had to deal with potential suspects. It hid their guns and badges until they were ready for either to be seen. Hiding the badge especially kept perps from running before they ever got a chance to talk to them. Caleb straightened his to make sure the badge on his hip wasn’t peeking out and went up the stairs. He knocked on the door. The force pushed it open.
Caleb and Jazz shared a silent look. Both pulled out their guns and held them low.
“Hello?” Caleb called, cautiously. From his vantage point the living room was empty.
No one responded.
“This is the Wildman County Sheriff’s Department,” he tried again. “We’re here to talk to Jay DeMarko.”
Again, no one replied.
Caleb and Jazz nodded to each other before they entered the apartment.
It was the same layout as Delores’s downstairs unit. Caleb led the way as they cleared the living room, kitchen and bathroom. There were two doors left. The first was open. It was a bedroom. Sparse, no sentimental items or decorations. Caleb opened the closet. Also sparse. Only a few shirts were on hangers. There was a closed suitcase on the floor. Caleb decided to come back to that after they checked that the last room was clear.
This time Jazz led the way. He threw open the next door as she rushed in, gun drawn. She was met with no resistance but Caleb heard her gasp clear as day.
“Holy—” she started before letting the thought trail off.
Caleb wholeheartedly agreed.
On the wall next to the bed there were cut-out newspaper articles taped across it. Caleb silently scanned them while Jazz went to look in the open closet.
“Delores wrote all of these,” Caleb said, voice low. “Not just above-the-fold stories, either.”
“If this Jay guy has a thing for Delores, I’m guessing he also has a thing for kerosene.”
Caleb looked away from the collage. Jazz pointed to the floor of the closet. Caleb went to her side.
“I know I’m no camping enthusiast but I feel like that’s more than what you need for camping,” she added.
Caleb crouched down and eyed several containers of kerosene. He cussed.
“You definitely don’t need fifteen canisters of it.”
Jazz got out her cell phone and started to take pictures. They didn’t have a warrant and the excuse they had come inside to make sure no one was in distress would only get them so far. Caleb was careful not to touch anything as he leaned into the closet to make sure he hadn’t missed a clue.
The bad feeling he’d had since they walked into the apartment was only growing.
“Let’s say Jay DeMarko is our arsonist, triggered by the fire that destroyed his home,” Caleb started, rolling forward to the balls of his feet. “He pays Daniel to be a distraction with Nina so he can split our focus. Then, when Daniel comes and sees the kerosene and doesn’t believe when Jay says it’s for camping supplies, Daniel decides he doesn’t want any part of it.”
“Then Jay goes and beats the crap out of Daniel to try and shut him up, but Daniel’s girlfriend scares him off.” Jazz added to the theory. Caleb stood and looked back at the wall and the newspaper articles. Jazz voiced his next question. “But how does Delores fit into this?”
Adrenaline threaded back into Caleb’s system.
“She covered his house fire,” he said. “She interviewed Angelica and Jay. It was the only article that she wrote about a fire that came after one actually happened. It started with her when she wrote that story.” He slapped his thigh as more puzzle pieces fit with each other. “And that’s why there’s a gap in the middle of them all. Delores left town for a year. She didn’t write anymore stories. The fires didn’t start until she came back and started again.”
“Do you think she’s in on it, then?”
Caleb shook his head. His gut and her alibis said no. Still, the bad feeling that was growing was reaching an all-time high.
“But I think we need to talk to her. Now.”
They rushed out of the apartment and down the stairs to Delores’s front door. Caleb didn’t have time to curse when they found it was slightly open. He shouldered in and immediately tensed.
The neat living room was trashed. The couch was overturned, a lamp was shattered and the coffee table was cracked. There was blood on the wall closest to one of the bedroom doors.
Wordlessly Caleb opened the first one. It was a stark contrast to Jay’s rooms upstairs. The walls were covered in framed pictures and accolades, knickknacks lined the top of a massive dresser and books were stacked on the nightstand. The closet was open and only held hanging clothes.
They went to the next bedroom. It was set up as an office and had nothing of note. It also didn’t have a Delores. Caleb finally spoke.
“Call this in while I call Declan. Something bad happ—”
“Detective Nash?”
The voice was far off but he recognized it.
“Delores?”
“I’m in here!”
They rushed back into the first bedroom. One of the large wardrobe doors opened up. Delores Dearborn spilled out. There was a moment when Caleb and Jazz stared in stunned silence. He knew that fear could give people the power to do things they normally couldn’t but Delores stuffing herself into the cabinet was a bit startling. She winced as she rubbed her neck and then elbows. It shook the two detectives out of their temporary awe.
“What happened?” Jazz asked, crouching down to help the woman sit up.
A cursory look showed no outward signs of physical distress, other than being stiff from her position in a confined space.
“I figured no one would think to look in there so I hid. Thank God for ten years of gymnastics.”
“Why?” Caleb asked as Jazz helped the woman to her feet. “Did Jay attack you?”
Delores’s eyes widened.
“Jay saved me from him.”
Caleb and Jazz shared a look.
“From who?”
A look of acute alarm crossed Delores’s expression. That’s when Caleb realized why nothing had been completely adding up. Why the pieces they had weren’t forming a puzzle that made sense.
There was a third man.
Chapter Eighteen
Nina was in the kitchen at the main house when she heard a car speed up the road and then slam on its brakes. She didn’t recognize the man behind the wheel but it didn’t matter.
She saw the gun in his hand when he stepped
out.
The glass she was holding clattered into the sink. Nina ran into the hallway between the kitchen and living room. She hurried to the front door and threw the deadbolt just as a shadow appeared on the other side. She didn’t wait around to see if he saw her and hurried through to the living room.
The sheriff had been riding on two days with no rest. The glass breaking in the sink hadn’t woken him.
But Nina was going to have to.
There were two large windows in the front of the room. Thankfully the couch Declan was on was facing the opposite direction. Nina hit the floor next to it and hesitated.
She hoped Declan wasn’t one of those people who woke up swinging.
The front door knob shook. Then the sound of footsteps moved across the wraparound porch. Another shadow appeared. This time on the hardwood on the other side of the couch.
Nina placed her arms over Declan’s chest and stomach. Then she whispered his name next to his ear. The tension was almost instant. His eyes flew open, his nostrils flared and he tried to push her off. Nina fastened her grip across him like two seat belts.
“Shh, Declan it’s me,” she whispered quickly. “It’s Nina.”
His eyes swiveled to her, his breathing already fast. Nina bet adrenaline was rocking through him, blasting away the haze of sleep and confusion. He gave her a small nod. She pulled her arms back to her sides.
“There’s a man at the window with a gun,” she said, voice so low she worried he might not have heard her.
Apparently he had. His eyes roved the floor next to her. She assumed he saw the shadow. His eyes widened.
“Hand me my gun,” he said, matching her volume.
Nina did as she was told, gently moving the holstered weapon between the coffee table and the sheriff. She moved back so he had room to crawl to the floor next to her, careful to keep the couch as cover.
“Where’s Mom?”
Nina pointed up.
“The attic.”
Nina was supposed to be with her but had taken a detour to get more water.
Declan checked his gun. The shadow moved, footfalls going in the opposite direction. She guessed he was headed to the next large window. It belonged to the study.
“Use the stairs, grab Mom and hide,” Declan urged her.
Nerves knotted Nina’s stomach but she nodded. They moved at the same time but she lost track of what Declan was doing; her mind had zeroed in on one task and one task only. Keep Dorothy safe.
She took the stairs two at a time and hurried across the second floor landing to the small set of stairs at the opposite end that led to the attic. Somehow she managed to stay quiet, at least, enough that when she ran into the room Dorothy looked none the wiser.
The older woman had braided her hair back and donned a worn apron. In one hand she held a duster, in the other a thick binder. When she turned to Nina her expression was nothing but exasperated.
Then it quickly turned to worry.
“There’s a man outside with a gun.” Nina bowled through. “Declan told me to get you and then hide.”
Bless her, Dorothy didn’t hesitate.
She put down what she was holding and motioned for Nina to follow her.
“I’ve got a gun in my bedroom,” she said as she passed.
Nina felt a small amount of relief at that. At least they wouldn’t be defenseless if anything happened to—
A gunshot and glass shattering imploded the silent urgency around them. Dorothy stumbled backward on the landing. For one terrifying moment Nina thought she’d been the one shot. She wrapped her arms around the woman to steady her.
The second, third and fourth shots went off next. Each one made them both jump where they stood. A loud bang followed, shaking the floor slightly. Nina guessed someone had thrown open the front door. She tried to push Dorothy into moving but was met with surprising resistance.
That’s when she realized what had the woman grounded.
Her son might be hurt. Or worse.
The fact that the shooting had stopped and Declan wasn’t calling for them was more than gut wrenching.
But Nina had to keep Dorothy safe. They couldn’t help Declan any more than they could help themselves if they were targeted next.
“We need your gun,” Nina reminded the woman, whispering next to her ear.
Instead of pushing Dorothy, Nina moved around her and pulled her along, heading for the room she assumed belonged to the matriarch. It wasn’t an easy task but Dorothy seemed to limber up once they had crossed the threshold into a room that Nina would have admired in any other situation.
“It’s in my nightstand.”
Dorothy pointed to the one she meant and turned to face the door. Nina hustled, every second without any sounds from downstairs grating against her skin. The gun was there, like Dorothy said. Nina didn’t know much about them but knew just because it was small and fit easily in her palm didn’t mean it wouldn’t do a good amount of damage.
Nina went and grabbed Dorothy’s hand. She pulled the older woman to the closet. It was a large walk-in. Stacks of luggage along one of the walls made the perfect place to hide. She started to say as much when a man shouting met their ears.
And it wasn’t Declan.
“Nina Drake, if you don’t come down here right now I’ll kill the sheriff.”
Nina froze.
Dorothy didn’t.
She started forward, not even bothering to ask for the gun.
“Wait,” Nina insisted.
“He’s got my baby!”
Dorothy had such a fierce look in her eyes, Nina knew then there was nothing she could say to stop the woman. No matter that he’d asked for Nina and not her. No matter that they didn’t even know if Declan was still alive. No matter that the angry man might just kill anyone who walked down the stairs.
No, Dorothy was going to go save her son no matter what.
So Nina made a decision right then and there.
Her mother had been killed by senseless anger. She wasn’t going to let Caleb’s mother suffer the same fate.
“Let me go first,” she said, fear releasing its hold long enough for her to form a plan. “He asked for me. Here, you can take the gun and watch my back.”
Dorothy’s maternal rage saw sense in that. She took the handgun and let Nina leave the closet first. A choice she was about to regret.
Nina whirled around and shut the closet door in Dorothy’s face. She pushed her hip against the wood while reaching for the nightstand next to it. The piece of furniture was heavy, not cheap. Nina barely managed to pull it close enough to wedge it against the door.
“Nina,” Dorothy warned through it.
“I’ll save Declan,” she said right back. “I need you to be safe.”
Nina didn’t wait around to discuss it any further. She left the room and made it to the stairs.
“You better not be doing anything dumb,” the voice warned from the first floor, close enough that Nina knew he was near the foot of the stairs. From this angle she couldn’t see his face. Or Declan’s. “That includes having a weapon. If I see anything, I’m going to kill both of you and then go hunting for the Nash mother. Got it?”
“I’m unarmed,” she promised. “I’m coming down now.”
Her legs shook but Nina slowly descended, arms raised to prove she wasn’t holding anything. It wasn’t until her shoes hit the hardwood floor that the reasons she hadn’t wanted Dorothy to come down really sank in.
A man she didn’t recognize stepped into view from the living room. Tall, lanky, young. His hair was pulled back in a low ponytail and his dark eyes were blazing with defiance. He had a gun pointed at her.
“Glad to finally meet the infamous Nina Drake,” he said, sounding not at all glad. “I’ve heard so much about you, but I’m afraid we’re going to hav
e skip the talking and leave. You first.”
He motioned to the front door. It was off its hinges, the glass portion now scattered along the floor. Nina took a breath and walked across it to the front porch.
“Who are you and where’s—” she started but then gasped. “Declan!”
On the porch, outside of what had once been the living room window, was the sheriff. He was lying on his side, eyes closed, blood collecting across his shirt.
“He’s not dead, just shot,” the man said at her back. “But I’ll make sure he’s dead right now if you don’t help me get him into the car. We’re kind of on a timeline right now.”
Nina didn’t question him, especially after she confirmed Declan was, in fact, still breathing. He’d been shot in the shoulder and stirred as they struggled to lift and then drag him to the car. A feat in itself, given how large the man was. Nina slid into the back seat with him, refusing to leave his side. The gunman got into the front and started the engine.
“Put pressure on it,” he commanded, voice tight. Nina raised her eyebrow. He saw it in the rearview. “Put pressure on the wound to help stop the bleeding.”
Nina was about to question why the man had given her the advice when he’d been the one who created the wound in the first place, but their attention flew to a second car racing their way. The man cussed something awful and tried to peel out. The other car didn’t want that.
It slammed into them.
Nina didn’t have time to yell. She tried her best to keep Declan from flying out of his seat. A warm wetness pressed against her face as she wedged her body between the sheriff and the front seats. Their captor strung together several not-so-great words again. He stopped the car, flung open his door and then opened the one behind her. Nina couldn’t scramble away from his grip. He grabbed the back of her shirt and pulled.
“Let go,” he ground out when Nina refused to move. “Let go or I’ll shoot him in the head.”
Nina didn’t want to but she believed the man. She let go and was yanked right out of the car. The man kept his grip on the back of her shirt. He didn’t move them, though. Instead, his attention was on the driver of the car that had just hit them.
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