“Is that why your clothes are wrinkled?”
“Yeah, they were on the floor where she tossed them, not hanging in the closet, all pressed, ready to go like yours.” Jonas grinned, wiggling his eyebrows.
“Dress for success... the clothes make the man.”
Jonas snorted again. “Yeah, well, I’d rather be naked with the fine piece I picked up last night. She was not happy with me having to kick her out when the call came through.”
“Bullshit. You always kick ‘em out, so if she hadn’t already left, you had a good reason for her to leave.”
“Whoowee, you boys need some happy powder dumped in your coffee,” Shamika laughed. “Of course, since I work shift work, I always know when I’m going to be working in the middle of the night.”
“Yeah, and you got that husband of yours to keep the bed warm and get up with the kids,” he said.
Throwing her head back, she laughed. “You got that right. What you two need is to find good women to keep your bed warm and give you a reason to want to head back after a brutal case.”
That thought had crossed Sean’s mind a lot lately. At thirty-six, he was ready to find what his parents had but so far had had no luck meeting such a woman with his work schedule… or one who understood his work. Sighing, he simply nodded.
Shamika finished logging the rest of the containers, and he signed the forms before handing them back to her. “I’ll get the results to you just as soon as I can,” she promised.
“Appreciate it.” He turned toward Jonas. “I’m gonna drop this off at fingerprinting and will meet you back at the office.”
He continued down the hall past the lab and went through another door, repeating the process of chin lifts to the lab technicians. “Hey, Jerry, got something for you. I lifted it from the windowsill of the warehouse fire this morning.”
Handing Jerry the bags, he signed the release. Now that he had distributed his collected evidence, he left the lab building and walked the block to another entrance of headquarters. The sun had risen and was just peeking between the alleys of the tall buildings, but with the wind whipping through as well, he hustled inside.
The administration for the Criminal Investigation Division was housed on the third floor, with Homicide, Special Investigations, and Major Crimes taking up most of the floor space. While there were homicide detectives placed in all the district police buildings, the Arson Division detectives were all housed at headquarters.
He walked past the office of Captain Todd Jones, not surprised to see his supervisor already at his desk. Plopping down at his old, green metal desk facing Jonas, his ass had barely hit his chair when the Captain leaned out of his doorway. “McBride. Miller. My office.”
He sighed audibly as he pressed down on the arms of his chair to stand, seeing Jonas do the same. They walked into the office, waited until Todd nodded for them to sit, then filled the two seats in front of his desk. Todd’s demeanor was professional, but Sean knew his Captain was concerned. Todd had seen it all rising through the ranks, starting as a street cop in one of the roughest areas of Hope City. His father had been a firefighter and his brother currently served as a fire chief. As Todd lifted his gaze to Sean’s, he could see worry lines creasing his brow.
“Thanks for giving me a heads up this morning. As you can imagine, Commissioner King has already briefed all of the Chiefs as well as the Division supervisors. I don’t envy the boys in homicide, but then we’ve got our own job to do and have to make sure there are no fuck ups.”
Sean bristled at the idea there would be fuckups, but he kept his mouth shut. Fuckin’ politics of the job. The murder of Samuel Treyson would have the press looking at the arson angle and Todd would have to deal with them.
“What can you tell me so far?” Todd asked. “Does it look like Treyson’s murder is tied to our serial arsonist?”
“We’ll know more when we get the results back from the lab, but the basic site analysis of the fire accelerant used is a mixture of aliphatic hydrocarbons... probably gasoline.”
“And a rock pile?”
“No, Sir. Not at this site.”
Todd let out an audible sigh of relief, his body relaxing back into his chair, causing the wood and fake leather to squeak. Sean had nothing but respect for his Captain but now could see the stress lines had etched themselves deeper into Todd’s face. Of average height, he was a barrel-chested man, but now carried a little bit more weight. He remembered Todd’s father had died of a heart attack a few years ago, and he hoped Todd was not heading for the same.
“So, it looks like Treyson’s murderer tried to cover things up by setting fire to the building?”
“That would be my guess, but with a high-profile case, I would not make that determination until we hear back from the lab,” he said.
“What do we know about the warehouse?” Jonas asked.
Looking back down at the papers on his desk, Todd shook his head. “I don’t have that exact information, but I know the city bought some of the old warehouses in the area at one time hoping to sell them to investors who want to turn them into high-end condos.”
Jonas barked out a laugh. “You’re kidding. The area those are in would have to be completely renovated before somebody would want to plunk down a million dollars for a fancy-ass condo.”
“Do you want us investigating the arson of the warehouse separately from homicide?” Sean asked.
“I talked to the Homicide Supervisor and told him that if our findings were that the warehouse fire was not part of our serial arsonist investigation, we would consider it to be part of his homicide investigation. I’m sure the warehouse’s insurance company will be doing their own fire investigation before they’ll pay out.”
Sean, tired from little sleep and not enough coffee, simply nodded.
“What else is new on our guy?” Todd asked.
“There’s not much to add beyond what you already know, Captain. He’s concentrated in the central, southeast, and southern regions of the city. He started out setting a fire approximately once every four weeks and did that for three months. That’s why we didn’t initially tie them together, until a neat pile of gravel was found at each site. He’s since moved to every other week, and we anticipate he will soon start setting them weekly. So far, that we know of, we’ve got five fires attributed to him. Right now, there’s no rhyme or reason that we can discern to the targets he picks, other than they’re unoccupied, thank fuck.”
Jonas added, “We’ve found carbon disulfide residue at each of the sites and we’re still trying to narrow down where it’s coming from. As you know, it’s not that uncommon in industries, and in a city as big as ours, that’s a lot of ground to cover.”
Todd scrubbed his hand over his face. “Jesus, with six fire battalions, thirty-eight fire stations, and a fire training academy, not to include all the people who were booted out, never-made-it wannabes, or just anyone with a fire grudge, that’s a lot of people to look at.”
Sean agreed. “We started poring through our leads, but it’s a slow go.” One of the arsonist profiles was someone who had a hero-complex but had not made the cut to becoming a firefighter. Of course, there are active firefighters who also have this profile and set fires so they can be the ones to swoop in to save the day. Too fuckin’ many to look at. “Obviously, this is only one avenue of inquiry that we’re looking at.”
“Just keep up what you’re doing, and our guy will make a mistake. I have no doubt that we’ll get him.”
He and Jonas stood, but before they could get to the door, Todd called out, “Oh, one more thing. The IAAI is in the middle of a new round of certifying fire investigators. I’ve let them know that we’ll accept any evidence they find, but they’re to stay out of the way of our investigations.”
With short nods, he and Jonas walked out of Todd’s office, staying quiet until they got to their desks. Jonas threw himself into his seat, saying, “Hell, I don’t mind having private fire investigators, but I sure as f
uck don’t want them messing up any of the sites.”
“They should know the rules. I was a guest speaker there about a year ago and that was one of the things I emphasized.” Todd would have made himself clear to the International Association of Arson Investigators, letting them know they weren’t allowed at an active investigation site. “What about the insurance company for the warehouse?”
“Shit, between the IAAI, insurance companies, homicide, and us, that warehouse is going to see a lot of traffic.” Snorting, he added, “Fuck, that doesn’t even include the press.”
Sean’s phone rang. “McBride.” As he listened, he pinched the bridge of his nose before sliding his hand over his face. “Thanks, Shamika. I’ll head back and see what I can get.”
Seeing Jonas’ curious gaze, he shrugged. “She may have isolated an accelerant but said she’d like another sample from sector seventeen in both a glass jar and a nylon bag.”
“Goddamnit.” Jonas grimaced, slapping his hand on his desk. “I almost used the new nylon bags, but I wasn’t sure. It was my fuck up, I’ll go back.”
“Don’t worry. You almost never screw up. I was going to head over to the Sixth Fire Battalion and talk to a friend of mine. My brother’s also working there, and I thought I’d see if he was around. I can stop by the warehouse and get those samples.”
“I’ll keep slogging through this mess.” Jonas waved his hand over the stack of papers on his desk.
Heading back out of the building, Sean walked to the parking garage, his steps growing more leaden as fatigue pulled at his body. My fuckin’ age is starting to show. His middle-of-the-night coffee had long worn off, and fast food breakfast biscuits would go a long way to making it through the day. Hell, I’ll get several. If Rory and Blayze are there, they’ll appreciate them.
Jonas joked that Sean was a meticulous planner for good reason. Biscuits. Warehouse. Fire station. Lab. Headquarters. Then, finally, home.
He drove to the warehouse after getting the food, anxious to collect the samples. The wind was whistling when he climbed from his SUV, and he jerked the collar up on his jacket. Remnants of the press were still hanging around, but he moved briskly past. Showing the badge that was clipped to his belt, he moved past the patrol cop standing guard at the site. Ducking under the yellow tape that was securely fastened but flapping in the wind, he walked around the back corner of the building.
His feet stuttered to a halt as he spied a woman bent over near the back window of the charred warehouse, her perfect ass pointed in the air. He could not see her face, but a knit cap was pulled down over her head, allowing long strands of auburn hair to whip about her back. She was directly at the sector where he needed to be.
His boots crunched over the concrete rubble as he approached her, and anger that she had slipped past the guard rolled through him. “Hey! What the fuck do you think you’re doing here?”
The woman yelped in surprise as she turned while standing, her feet tangling in some of the debris. As her dark brown eyes widened, she tripped backward. Her arms windmilled as she tried to gain her balance to no avail. Landing hard on her ass and side, her hand took the brunt of her fall.
Unheeding and uncaring, he continued to stomp toward her, ignoring the fact that her gorgeous face morphed from surprise to pain.
3
Harper Walsh focused on the task, never hearing anyone approach. She let out an undignified squeal when a man’s angry voice sounded out just behind her. Whirling around, she landed awkwardly amongst some of the concrete that she had stepped over. A sharp pain shot through her hand and wrist, reverberating up her arm as she stared up in shock.
She blinked for a second, noting that his dark hair and blue eyes, square, stubbled jaw, and tall, obviously fit body combined to create a gorgeous man. But as he towered over her, his eyes snapping and his hands planted on his hips, it was equally obvious that he was furious. Her gaze dropped to where his hands pulled his jacket open, and she saw a badge hanging on his belt.
Damn, I was told the police were finished with the scene. Trained to not get in the way of the police when collecting evidence, she was careful to always follow protocol. She placed her hands on the ground next to her in an attempt to stand. The stabbing pain in her wrist caused her to cry out, plopping back down on her ass, now cradling her injured wrist with her other hand. Shit, shit, shit!
The man dropped to kneel by her side, his large presence seeming to surround her. “Let me see.” No longer scowling, his voice still held an irritated edge.
Fighting the embarrassment of her clumsiness, she started to lose the battle of keeping her tears at bay from the pain. “Why did you have to sneak up on me and then bellow?”
“Sneak? I wasn’t sneaking.”
“Well, you certainly bellowed.” Still cradling her wrist, she looked up, stunned to see him so close. She could now see that his eyes were not just blue but a shade that reminded her of the water in the harbor on a bright, cloudless, sunny day. He did not just have stubble but had a neatly trimmed beard. His hair was dark, almost black, just as neatly trimmed. The breeze blew a few strands, but she wondered if his hair would not dare to mess with the commanding man.
“I don’t bellow,” he refuted, not as confidently as he had sounded a moment earlier. He reached out and took her injured arm in his hands, his touch gentle but causing her to wince. His voice softened. “It might be broken.”
She feared he was right. “Damn it, I don’t have time for this.” Tears sprang to her eyes. The back of the hand he now held was covered in burn scars from long ago, extending from her fingers to several inches above her wrist. Uncertain if he was staring at her new injury or old scars, she pulled her hand from his, wincing again at the pain.
“You need to have that looked at. I’m serious when I said it might be broken.”
Glancing toward her evidence kit on the ground next to her, she gritted her teeth. “My samples. I have to get my samples to the lab.”
Still kneeling, he looked down at the labeled bottles and bags. “Who are you and what are you doing here?”
Breathing through the pain, she gritted her teeth. “I’m a fire investigator.”
His brow lifted as he cocked his head to the side. “And who do you work for?”
“Eastern Mutual Insurance Company.” She met his glare with one of her own.
“Okay, then answer the first question I asked you. Who are you?”
Frustration at her situation stabbed through her, almost as painful as her wrist. “My name is Harper. Harper Walsh. I’m a certified Evidence Collection Technician as well as working on my final certification to become a Fire Investigator. Eastern Mutual sent me here, and I had been given clearance to come to this site. I was told the police were finished with their evidence collection and that’s why I was here. I had no problem with the policeman letting me in.”
With a curt nod, he stood. “Here, let me help you.” He placed his hands underneath her armpits and with little effort lifted her to her feet.
“Oh, now you want to help?” Looking at her wrist, she observed the swelling as well as bruising and felt lightheaded. No, no! Always fainting at the sight of blood, she could not believe she was going to pass out, considering her injury was not bleeding. Her stomach roiled. God, don’t let me throw up on him. She tried to maintain her dignity, breathing deeply, but weaved, and her knees buckled.
Strong arms grabbed her shoulders to keep her from staggering, and she face-planted against his broad chest, her head foggy.
“I’ll take you to the hospital.”
The last thing she wanted was to be indebted to the grumpy detective. She sucked in a deep breath in an attempt to clear her head and pushed away from his support. “I’ll just gather my samples and leave. I can drive myself to have my arm checked out.”
“Nope.” He deftly bent, picked up her evidence bag in one hand, and with his other hand at her elbow guided her carefully toward the front of the warehouse, pointing out the rubble s
he needed to step over.
Ignoring his care, she focused on his one word response. “What do you mean by ‘nope’?” He looked down at her, and she tried not to stare at his lips, which were now very close to hers.
He held her gaze then sighed loudly. “Nope. No. Nix. Negative. Not going to happen. Not going to let you. Any other questions?” She blinked, her mouth opening but no words came forth, and he continued. “I feel responsible for your injury and would like to make sure you arrive at the ER safely to get your arm checked out.”
“I don’t even know who you are.”
He had the grace to look chagrined. “You’re right. I’m sorry I didn’t introduce myself. I’m Detective Sean McBride. Arson Division. HCPD.”
“And are you always so bossy?”
“When I think someone needs help, then yes.”
She glanced over, seeing the policeman by the yellow tape staring narrow-eyed at them. Great, it looks like I’m being arrested. Bypassing her car, he continued toward a large SUV. He opened the door and placed her evidence collection bag onto his backseat, then reached into the front seat to grab a large paper sack, placing it into the back as well.
The scent of greasy sausage met her nostrils, and with the pain in her arm, another wave of nausea moved over her. Blowing out a deep breath, she battled the desire to throw up again.
He assisted her into the seat, his movements gentle. “Do you need help with the buckle?”
She reached over to take the seat belt, but pain shot through her left hand as she attempted to pull it down. He leaned over to buckle her, and she sucked in her stomach in an instinctive response to make herself appear smaller. Her gaze dropped from his eyes to his mouth. God, what would his lips feel like against mine? She tried to block out the idea and blurted, “Your vehicle smells like a diner.”
His lips curved into a grin, and his rugged good looks morphed into just pure handsome. Speaking softly, his breath whispering across her cheeks, he said, “That’s because I’ve got a dozen sausage biscuits in that bag.”
A Hope City Duet Page 25
