Fire Angel

by Susanne Matthews

  “I realize that,” he answered, wishing he’d kept his mouth shut instead of opening this particular can of worms.

  “Do you honestly think this is the first threat I’ve ever received?” She shook her head. “I could apologize from now until Doomsday for hurting you and anyone else you think might have been concerned about me, but it wouldn’t change anything. I left, and I’m glad I did.” She sighed. “Did I know my uncle was still around? No, I didn’t, not for sure. I’d wished him to Hell so many times that I’d hoped he’d somehow gotten the memo. But it wouldn’t have mattered; I would have come anyway. He isn’t relevant to this assignment unless he’s the arsonist. What happened twenty years ago may have impacted me and changed me, but it doesn’t define me. I do what I do, and I do it well. No one—not some maniac, not my uncle, nor you—will chase me away. Get that through your head. I’m here until the job is over and that killer is behind bars.”

  “I’m sorry. You’re right. I shouldn’t have said anything.” He hung his head. “I guess it’s the shock of seeing you after all these years. Whether you believe it or not, you were important to me then, and now that I see you again, I feel responsible for you, especially since I brought you here. Can we set all this baggage aside and work together?”

  She nodded and held out her hand. “I guess I’m still a little touchy about the subject. We can be partners and friends. I haven’t had someone watching my back in a long time.”

  He wanted to say something else but thought better of it. Bending down, he snapped the leash onto Maya’s collar stood, tied his coat, and reached for his cane.

  “How about we meet for breakfast in the morning, say around seven?” she offered. “I’ll even let you drive me to the station and maybe out to the cabin fire scene since you know the area better than I do now.”

  Jake smiled. If she was holding out an olive branch, he would take it.

  “That makes sense. I’ll see you in the restaurant at seven. Lock up behind me.”

  He turned and started down the sidewalk.

  “Goodnight,” she said before closing the door.

  He waited outside until he heard the night bolt slide home. He’d almost ruined everything. As far as Alexis was concerned, the past was dead. He needed to accept that and focus on the present and finding their man before anyone else died.

  “Come on, Maya. Time we were in bed, too,” he said, letting the dog lead the way.

  He glanced around the parking lot where only a handful of cars remained. Fire Angel had been here, and he’d let him slip away. It wouldn’t happen again.

  Jake waited for Maya to relieve herself and then unlocked the door to the apartment at the back of the inn, the space his mother and father had created for the family when they’d bought the place. He hung his coat on the hook, undid Maya’s leash, and helped himself to a bowl of cereal. Eating before bed was a habit his mother had instilled, one he’d kept up, knowing in his line of work, breakfast might be late coming on some mornings.

  While he ate, he jotted down a few notes for Minette and the staff, making sure no one would turn out all the lights on Alexis again. He asked Min to get some of that organic beer for the apartment, and then as a second thought, asked for the list of reservations they’d had for last night. Alexis was right. That note could’ve come from anyone. Maybe the Fire Angel had a partner, and wasn’t that thought enough to cause nightmares?

  Spending time with Alexis would be a good thing; he just wished the circumstances were different. He regretted his outburst about the past and his skepticism about what she could do. If that reporter called her Fire Psychic, there had to be something to it. He needed all the help he could get and more. Did it really matter if some of it came from a more unorthodox source than he’d expected?

  He padded to the bedroom, removed his shirt and undershirt, unsnapped and lowered his jeans and briefs, and dumped the clothes in the hamper. Sitting down in the wheelchair, he started to remove his prosthesis. The biometric leg would be ready by Christmas. It wouldn’t turn him into The Bionic Man, or anything like that, but it would be a hell of a lot better than the ones he was using. This one hadn’t been comfortable from the get go, no matter how much moleskin and padding he’d used. His older one was slightly better, but since it didn’t have a fully jointed knee, it didn’t give him the mobility he wanted. The last three months had been a struggle. Andrew’s analgesic cream helped, but it was a pain to reapply once the leg was in place.

  He unlaced the cuff. When he’d finished, he rolled it down and yanked sharply on the prosthetic. It made a loud pop as the artificial leg came away in his hand. Suction held it in place; the lacing just kept it aligned.

  Jake placed the leg on the dresser and wheeled himself into the bathroom. Using the metal bar that ran most of the way around the room, he hopped into the sit-down shower and turned it on, letting the water pour over his aching body.

  Phantom pain—that was what the doctor called it when he felt the pain in the part of his leg that no longer existed. Right now, it burned as badly as it had the afternoon it had been blown off and the rest of the security detail he’d been with had been killed. He’d been the lucky one and the missing leg was a permanent reminder of what happened when you placed your trust in the wrong person. It had been a hard lesson to learn.

  Irena. Memories of his Afghani wife washed over him along with the hot water. She’d been exotic, beautiful in her own way, and so very different from Alexis. He’d gone to Afghanistan to help police identify and stop terrorists, to make life better for the women and children. At least that’s what he’d believed. The truth was harder to swallow. How did you help people who didn’t want to be helped?

  Had she ever really cared for him? When she’d lain in his arms, feigning love, what had been going through her mind? Had it bothered her when he’d been injured and the men she’d come to know had been blown to bits thanks to the bomb her brothers had planted? She’d vanished from the base the day of the bombing, but a week later, she’d walked into a restaurant and detonated the bomb strapped to her chest.

  Jake turned off the tap, got out of the shower, and wrapped himself in a terry robe. Using the crutch he kept in the bathroom, he headed into the bedroom and crawled into bed. Thoughts of Alexis seeped into his mind. She was nobody’s pawn. Instead, she’d taken a stand and stood on her own two feet, fighting for what she believed in and her right to do so.

  He put his arms up and laced his fingers behind his head. The note was a threat, one he intended to take seriously even if she didn’t. The twenty years they’d been apart had changed both of them. They each had scars and secrets neither one of them was ready to share. Judging by the way she’d reacted to his question about a husband, she probably had trust issues, too, the same as he did. Better not to put your trust in others than to have them betray you. Would he ever be able to trust a woman again? God alone knew.

  Chapter Ten

  Alexis slipped into her pajamas. The moment she’d slid the night bolt in place, all the fears and concerns she claimed didn’t bother her took hold again. There was no doubt in her mind that Fire Angel was a dangerous man, but there were other equally treacherous ones around who not only knew who she was but where she was.

  She’d used the whirlpool tub to relax her body, but nothing could ease her mind. Offering to join Jake for breakfast and let him drive her around tomorrow made sense. He knew where they needed to go and was probably more reliable than her GPS. Besides, if she were honest, having him with her would serve as a shield in case some of the monsters from her past resurfaced. Could her cousin James be behind this? The note, maybe, but could he be Fire Angel? Doubtful. As she recalled, he didn’t like fire. He’d been burned trying to light a cigarette or had it been a joint? But James had been the exception to the rule. She vaguely recalled hearing about large bonfires, down near Clear Lake, the kind that had made her nervous, reminding her time and again of her parents’ deaths.

  The note she’d received to
night had her spooked, not because of what it said but because of being watched. She hadn’t sensed eyes on her when Jake had left her, but then she hadn’t realized she was being followed on the highway either. She wasn’t stupid. No point in taking chances. Her Ruger P93 was under her pillow, and she’d pushed the recliner against the door with both locks firmly in place.

  When she’d left Paradise that night twenty years ago, she hadn’t thought that her leaving would hurt anyone else. Obviously, she’d been wrong, and had to accept the responsibility for that. She might’ve buried the past, but Jake hadn’t. He had a right to his emotions including the anger he’d shown tonight. Since they had to work together—and that would be hard enough on its own—she probably owed him an apology and something of an explanation as well. Sharing the truth wouldn’t be easy. Could she do it? No one had known what her life had been like after her parents had died. Her uncle had made sure people only saw and heard what he wanted them to.

  It wasn’t Jake’s fault she’d been recognized, and some blabbermouth dispatcher had spread the news that she was back. She would have to contact the captain first thing in the morning—what was the time difference? Three or four hours? Maybe email would be better. She had to stay and complete this assignment. A man who could do what Fire Angel had done had to be stopped. This was her chance to prove herself not only to her colleagues, but to those who’d doubted her years ago. This time, she wasn’t ready to leave Paradise—not by a long shot. Closing her eyes, she settled herself, hoping to get some much-needed sleep. Tomorrow she would meet the chief, hand over the note, examine all the evidence, and then visit the first of the crime scenes. Yawning, she closed her eyes. In the words of Scarlett O’Hara, tomorrow was another day.

  * * *

  “Good morning,” Jake said as soon as she stepped into the restaurant. He wore tight fitting black jeans, hiking boots, a black turtleneck, and a light gray fleece vest. “Did you sleep well?” He reached for her coat and hung it on the hook near the door, above the pink toolbox she’d set down.

  “Well enough,” she answered, considering last night. She’d had a couple of rough patches, but they hadn’t come close to the nightmares she used to have. “I had a cup of coffee in my cabin, but I can definitely use another.” She glanced around. “Where did everyone go? It was so busy in here last night, I thought the inn was packed.”

  He shook his head. “We’ve got a couple of hunters with us and three students staying here and commuting to North Bay for school, but at this time of year, we usually aren’t that busy. Since cabins one through fifteen are in the bush and not winterized, we only have twelve rooms available. I gave you the largest one since I figured you would need the space. It’s not as close to the main building as I would like, but...” He shrugged. “I can move you into a closer one if you prefer, but you’d lose the kitchenette and the whirlpool bath.”

  She shook her head. “No way. This nut job isn’t going to scare me out of my temporary home. I’m staying put.”

  He nodded. “As far as being crowded last night, the restaurant does a booming weekend dinner business year-round. That’s what keeps the lights on. Occasionally, we host corporate retreats, too, which fill us up for a few days. As a matter of fact, we’ve got one booked for tomorrow with the Elders from Bear Island.”

  “Wasn’t one of the fires you dismissed on that island?” she asked.

  “Yeah. One of the cottages burned down, but the investigators put it down to a lightning strike. Why?”

  “Just wondering,” she admitted. “The name sounded familiar.”

  “Bear Island is a First Nations Reserve for the Temagami, that’s an Ojibway tribe. Unlikely that fire would have anything to do with this. I think a couple of buildings burned to the ground. Luckily the owner was away at the time,” he said and indicated a table by the window. “Let’s take that one so we can talk.” He turned to the girl behind the bar, now a buffet for a continental breakfast. “Can you bring a pot of coffee over to table twelve?”

  “Sure thing, Mr. McKenzie,” she said, grinning.

  “Is that the girl who served me last night?” Alexis asked, her brow furrowed. There was something familiar about her and yet...

  “No. That’s her sister, Tawny. Their mother runs Providence House, a shelter and soup kitchen in town. She looks after the restaurant for Minette during the day from Monday to Friday, when things are generally slow. She has part-timers who’ll be in for lunch and dinner. I used to help out with the bar, but now that I’m doing this, I hired a bartender for the weekends. Cyndi’s just finishing high school. She assists her mother during the week and works here in the evenings from Friday to Sunday. She’ll take a couple of extra shifts when the Elders are here. This way.” He placed his hand on the small of her back and directed her to the corner table, well away from the other two diners in the room.

  Whoever this Minette was, she seemed to spend a lot of time here—doing turndown service at night and overseeing the inn. Managers didn’t usually look after the rooms, but since this was a mom and pop business, maybe Jake needed to be creative with the staff, especially during the slow season like this.

  “Did you contact your boss?” he asked, after Tawny had brought the pot of coffee and filled her cup.

  “Yeah, I sent him an email. It’s a little early in San Francisco, so he probably won’t get it until mid-morning our time. I mentioned I grew up in the area but focused more on the note and explained I probably wasn’t in imminent danger—it isn’t as if threats are new in this line of business—but I did promise to carry my gun.” She shook her head and sighed. “I really hate having to do that, but ... Besides if he does come after me, fire is his weapon of choice. How’s my gun going to help?”

  “You never know. He might diversify. He’s been pretty creative with fire from what we’ve seen. I’m not convinced these are his only kills either. You shouldn’t take any chances. By the way, how, given the current state of international security, did you manage to get a gun through customs?”

  “Oh, that was easy. I put it in my suitcase. I have a special international law enforcement permit that allows me to carry my Ruger P93 almost anywhere in the world. Captain Peters won’t let us work cases in countries where our safety might be at risk. I use an ankle holster most of the time, but I have a shoulder one and a thigh band for special occasions. And before you ask, it’s in the ankle holster, and I’m wearing shoe boots this morning.”

  He wiggled his eyebrows. “Tell me, do you use handcuffs, too?”

  Alexis burst out laughing. “You idiot,” she said. “As a matter of fact, I don’t. I use plastic ties—lighter to carry, more flexible, and more efficient. You can’t pick the locks, Houdini.”

  He chuckled. “You’re right.”

  Tawny stepped over to the table. “Are you ready to order?”

  “I’ll have the breakfast special,” Alexis said, her stomach grumbling. “Eggs over easy, bacon, white toast, and hash browns. And can I have a large glass of orange juice, too?”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  Alexis flinched. She hated being called that. “Ma’am” was what she’d called that old battle axe of a Spanish teacher in Tulsa.

  “Make it Alexis since I’m going to be here for a while,” she said, smiling.

  The girl nodded.

  “I’ll have the same,” Jake said.

  As soon as Tawny left them, Alexis refilled her cup and added cream and sugar.

  “The coffee’s excellent.”

  She sipped, hoping Jake wouldn’t be offended by what she was about to say. Some of the profilers she’d worked with didn’t like her stepping on their toes.

  “We got a little off track last night. After you told me about the accelerants he used, I meant to say something since those are often critical for an arsonist. When we got talking about the past, I forgot all about it. I haven’t been to the scene yet, so this is just off the top of my head, but have you considered the choice of accelerant could be par
t of his MO?”

  “What do you mean?” Jake asked, frowning. He reached for his coffee. “He used something different each time, but since his MO is still a mystery to me, whatever ideas you have, please feel free to share them.”

  “Sometimes, an arsonist will vary the accelerant he uses—usually it’s because of availability—but there have been cases where the choice was directly related to the location or victim if there was one. For example, in Austin I investigated a fire at a spa where the perp used nail polish remover. In another case, at a restaurant, the guy used cooking oil.”

  “Okay,” Jake said, leaning forward. “So what do you see here?”

  “It could be part of a pattern, or it could just as easily be my imagination. Think about this. Your first victim was a drug dealer, and the accelerant used was turpentine. Most people use it as paint thinner and to clean paint brushes, but for years, oil of turpentine was considered a suitable remedy for some illnesses. Some people consider it to be a natural medicine, just like they do cannabis. It’s an essential oil, made from pine trees, and it’s still an ingredient found in some cold remedies and decongestive ointments. In its pure state, it’s a poison, but some people consider street drugs to be poisons as well.”

  “You’re saying he used a drug to take out the drug dealer.” Jake set down the cup. “Clever. I hadn’t considered that.”

  “And if you look at the way we found the body, well, aren’t people supposed to stay in bed, get plenty of rest, and take their medication?”

  Jake nodded. “I’m impressed. What else have you got?”

  “Following a similar theme, in the second fire, you said those guys didn’t do the best work. What if that was because they drank on the job? Using alcohol and sitting them across from one another would suit that scenario. Any chance that could work?” she asked, cocking her head to the side.

  Jake grinned. “I wouldn’t be surprised. I’ll go through the complaints filed against them, see if any of them mention alcohol. According to the bartender down at Stumpy’s, they were regulars and left the place three sheets to the wind on more than one occasion, driving themselves home. I’ll look at any unsolved hit and runs, too. If they weren’t drinking on the job, they could’ve been too hung over to do things properly, or they could’ve caused an accident. You could be onto something. If I follow your reasoning, then using gasoline at the garage that inflated its prices fits right in.”