by Freya Barker
“What’s your girl doing over there?” Ramirez points out, with all the sensitivity of a bull in a china cabinet.
“Saying hello to a friend.”
I keep a close eye as Evan greets the blonde friend much the same as he did Autumn, making me feel a little less homicidal. Finally he points out our table, and the girls make their way over, Evan mock saluting me from the bar when I stand up. I should probably clear the air with him sometime in the near future.
“Here you are.”
Her smile is a little hesitant—even uncomfortable—as she approaches the table. I hook a hand behind her neck and pull her close enough to land a hard kiss on her lips. Her fingers curl into the front of my shirt and I almost forget where I am, when I notice a change and lift my head.
It’s like a goddamn priest walked into the pub. Conversations are hushed and we seem to be the center of attention. Fuck. Everyone seems to have an unhealthy interest in my goddamn love life. With a sharp glare at the curious looks, I turn resolutely to the blonde behind Autumn.
“Jen, right? Come have a seat. I don’t know if you’ve met Tony Ramirez?” She nods, giving him a little smile when he holds out a chair for her, but then her eyes take in the large, brooding, and mostly silent Benedetti. “And that is Joe Benedetti, a friend from out of town.” She does the nodding thing again, and he glares at her from under his eyebrows.
“Autumn, you know Tony, but I’d like you to meet Joe.”
Her offered hand and warm smile wipe the scowl off his face. “Nice to meet you, Joe. Hope you’re having a good time, and Durango is all you expected.”
“Likewise, and it sure looks to be.”
I give Autumn a squeeze before pulling out a chair for her. Smart girl. Without letting the cat out of the bag, she manages to acknowledge Joe’s purpose for being here.
Drinks are served, food ordered, and the noise level in the pub has returned to its former volume.
Autumn engages Joe in conversation, asking about his children—two boys—which seems to disarm him. It’s clear the man dotes on his kids. Her friend, Jen, seems comfortable chatting with Tony or me, only casting an occasional glance in Joe’s direction, who seems to be ignoring her.
Halfway through dinner, Joe gets a phone call and excuses himself from the table, disappearing into the small hallway by the restrooms. Two minutes later, he’s back at the table, a pleased tilt to his mouth.
“One o’clock tomorrow,” he announces, sitting down.
Tony claps him on the shoulder. “Right on.”
“I’ll be there,” I put in, and Autumn smiles at Joe brightly. The only one looking confused is Jen. “Joe is considering moving here. He’s visiting to check out his options,” I explain, without going into too much detail, but it appears enough for her.
Evan stops by the table on his way back from the men’s room, and the conversation drifts to best areas to look for housing.
“Would love living just outside of town somewhere, but I’ve got young kids, I don’t want to isolate them. Besides, they need to be able to get to and from school.”
“There’s a reasonably new residential subdivision just up from the college,” Jen offers. “Or on the west side of town, along Arroyo Drive. Both those areas have decent-sized family homes on large lots. Good views too.”
“True. Arroyo Drive is just a bit up from where I am,” Tony clarifies to Joe.
“Can I get anyone another drink?” The waitress sidles up to our table.
“Not for me,” Jen says, throwing up her hands. “I have an early shift tomorrow.”
“Your bags are still at my place,” Autumn points out.
“Would you mind bringing them on your next shift? Not like I need that stuff right away. I’ll be wearing scrubs for the next six days in a row.” She gets up and pulls a few bills from her pocket, dropping them on the table.
“But you walked,” Red persists shoving her chair back. “I’ll just—”
“I was heading out too. Same reason, early start. I’ll make sure she gets home,” Evan offers, getting up himself. He doesn’t waste time, blowing off any protests from Jen, and with a hand on her elbow steers her firmly out the door.
“Are they an item or something?” Surprisingly, the question comes from Joe.
“No,” Autumn answers. “Evan’s a firefighter, and Jen works in the burn unit at Mercy Hospital. They bump into each other.”
I’m about to call the night short myself, hoping for some alone time with Red, when a call comes in on my phone. The name on the display brings a smile to my lips.
Luna Roosberg.
I quickly get up and with a mouthed, “Be right back,” already answering the call, I find a quiet area.
Autumn
“Hey, Sweetheart…”
I don’t hear anything else when he walks out of hearing range.
Joe and Tony are oblivious, continuing their earlier discussion around housing. I, on the other hand, am very aware of the warm smile and soft voice whoever is calling Keith evokes from him. The hamburger I just ate suddenly feels like a rock at the bottom of my stomach. My mind is retracing conversations we had. I’m pretty sure he said he had no siblings. This is stupid. I’m a grown up, I can just ask him later.
For the next ten minutes I try to focus on the conversation, but I get more and more restless as time goes by. When he’s not back after twenty, I pull some money from my purse, toss it on the table and get up. “Guys, I’m wiped. Joe,” I turn to him with my hand held out. “Good meeting you and I’m keeping my fingers crossed we’ll see you here permanently soon. Tony, nice to see you again, it was a pleasure.”
“You should wait,” Tony suggests. “I’m sure Keith will see you home.”
“Oh, no need,” I lie waving him off. “I drove, I’ll be fine.”
I can tell both guys are uncomfortable, but I don’t want to sit here waiting any longer. Inviting me to join him and his friends, and then abandoning me at the table for whoever the hell this sweetheart may be, is definitely not cool. With a big fake smile on my face, I give them a little wave and head out the door.
It’s not until I turn the corner that I hear the heavy tread of running footsteps behind me.
“Hold up,” Keith calls out, but I don’t slow my step, having worked up quite the snit. “Jesus, Red,” he pants, grabbing my arm when he catches up. “What the fuck are you thinking, taking off like that?”
His attitude is fuel for my own and I rip my arm free. “I’m thinking I want to go home. Simple as that,” I snap at him.
“You should’ve waited for me,” he growls. “I would’ve walked you home.”
“Really? You were gone for quite a while, Keith. For all I know you could’ve left out the back door.” I don’t turn to look at him but can feel the anger coming off him.
“That was a work call. A colleague. That’s gonna happen, Autumn. I’ll get called away from time to time. It’s my job.”
“Right,” I fire back sarcastically. “Because you call all your colleagues Sweetheart.”
“Fucking hell, woman. Luna is a friend as well. We have a history.”
I snort at that, the rock in my stomach turning into hot churning lava. “I’m sure you do.” I increase my pace and turn onto the path to my porch.
“Jesus, will you wait a goddamn minute?”
At the top of the steps I swing around, not willing to give in to the hot tears that burn my eyes. “I did that already. Twenty minutes is a fucking long time when the person you finally dare letting your guard down for walks off to talk to his Sweetheart. It feels like hours.”
“I’m sorry, but I was waiting for her call. I wasn’t gonna blow her off.”
And so the knife drives home.
“Good to know. Thank you for seeing me to my door.” I turn around and jam my key in the lock.
“And here I thought you were different,” he mutters behind me, twisting it for good measure.
I slam the door behind me, and bee
line it straight for my bedroom, where the smell of Keith lingering on my pillow finally triggers the tears.
Keith
Well, shit.
I’m not sure what the fuck just happened, but I don’t have time to dwell on it. Joe and Tony are settling up the bill, and we’re supposed to meet up with Luna at the FBI field office on Rock Point Drive.
Since I talked to her boss, Special Agent in Charge Damian Gomez—who also happens to be a friend—earlier in the week, Luna has been playing around with the few bits of evidence I shared with them. The FBI resources are vast in comparison to what the Durango PD has available to them. It’s the reason I contacted them in the first place. She called to let me know they have a profile for the arsonist, and some possible leads to explore.
I asked Joe along, it’s a great opportunity to introduce him, and besides that, the more sharp eyes on this case, the better.
“Did you clear things up with Autumn?” Tony asks when I catch up with them by my Tahoe, still parked outside the police station.
“What are you, my therapist?” I bite off, getting in behind the wheel.
“Nope. Just a good friend who’d like you to not fuck up a good thing.” Ramirez climbs in the back seat, leaving the passenger side for Joe.
“How can I fuck anything up when I don’t even know what the hell happened?”
“Not pretending to know anything about anything,” Joe pipes up beside me. “But when you leave your woman’s side to answer your phone with an endearment generally reserved for love interests, it usually doesn’t end well.” Tony snickers from the back seat.
“Fine, but I’ve known Luna since college. She’s like a sister to me.”
“Did you explain that?” Joe asks calmly.
“For fuck’s sake, of course I did. I told her Luna and I have history.”
This time it’s not just fucking Ramirez losing his shit behind me. Joe’s bellowed laugh joins in.
It takes me a minute to get a clue.
Fuck.
Chapter 16
Keith
“Yo, Keith, are you with us?”
Luna’s voice pulls me from my thoughts. Those have doggedly circled around Autumn and her tear-filled eyes as she turned her back on me and disappeared inside. Not a good scene and it gnaws at me. Especially what I said when I lashed out at her.
“Sorry, what was that?” I try not to notice the amused smirk on Ramirez’s face. He’s having way too much fun at my expense.
“I said the ex-husband is out. He’s currently on an Alaskan cruise with his new wife. Also, the hero complex theory doesn’t really fly for a few reasons. First of all, the method of incineration is effective but rudimentary and brings the risk of discovery. The perp has to actually light the accelerant. Most first responders, and especially firefighters, would likely use a more sophisticated method of ignition. Which brings me to the next point: the different accelerants used point to someone who is still experimenting. Finding the right mix for his purposes.”
“You keep saying his,” Joe points out. “Do I take that to mean a woman is out of the question?”
“Not necessarily,” Luna’s boss, Damian Gomez, responds for her. “But a female arsonist is rare, especially a serial one. Also, there was the sighting by one of the Delwood neighbors, she clearly indicated a man.”
“That is if we assume the guy with the backpack wasn’t just a hiker going up the mountain,” I point out.
“Actually, Luna has a theory on that.”
I turn to Luna, who is putting an image on the screen. “I was studying the fire inspector’s report, which kept talking about the even distribution of accelerant. It’s the same at all the scenes except for the shed, but I’ll get back to that one. He describes a wide burn pattern, which would suggest something that can spray a large area evenly. That, combined with the sighting on Delwood, made me think of a sprayer like they use for the application of pesticides or whatever. Like this one, they often come with shoulder straps.”
“But wait a minute,” Tony cuts in. “You were just pointing out even distribution, but these things operate with hand pump. That wouldn’t—”
“Actually—this one is battery operated. A rechargeable lithium battery pack, much like a leaf blower or weed whacker. One hit of the button, and the spray would be continuous and even.”
“So what does that mean?” Tony asks. “We look for someone who works in landscaping? Forestry?”
“Not necessarily. These things are readily available at any supply or home improvement store. Heck, you can even order them off Amazon these days.”
“Not exactly a lead then,” I point out, and Luna shrugs her shoulders.
“Maybe not, unless you know make and model, but it’s one more item to check off suspects against. Although considering the types of accelerant used, combined with the sprayer, I would venture to say this individual does not live in downtown Durango. You can add that to the list.”
The list she refers to is the one she handed me when we walked in: a profile sketch of our firebug. Call it a checklist of attributes and identifiers. According to the profile, the perp has probably been experimenting setting fires long before he hit our radar. It also details his need for attention, right now focused on Autumn, and the caution to watch for escalation. We’ve already seen that with her cat.
“You said you’d get back to the shed fire,” I prompt Luna.
“Yes, that’s the anomaly. I don’t think that one was planned, or at least not planned well. Evidence indicates we’re dealing with the same perp, given the identical composition of starter used, but the method screams impulse. What it indicates to me is not only his desperate need to get Autumn’s attention, but he is watching her.” She pauses a moment, giving me a hard look. “You’re going to want to keep a close eye on her.”
Tony barks out a laugh. “Maybe I should take over that task. Lover boy here is going to have to get back into her good graces first.”
“You have a relationship with this woman?” The question comes from Damian, who’s been mostly quiet, letting Luna take the lead.
“He did, until he fucked it up.” I toss Ramirez a scathing look, my hands clenched to white-knuckled fists on the table in front of me. Something that doesn’t go unnoticed by Luna.
“You do?” she prompts me, and reads the expression on my face, because she continues without waiting for my confirmation. “If he’s been watching her, he’d be aware. It’s going to piss him off.”
I think back to the first time I kissed Autumn. It was on her porch, the Friday night I walked her home after darts at The Irish with Chief and Sophie. Christ, the Delwood fire was the next night. The night I had my head between her legs on the outlook point by the college. In fucking plain view. I kissed her again on the porch when I dropped her off, and barely an hour later her shed was on fire.
Last night, Jesus. This guy was watching and I fucked her against the kitchen counter in front of the goddamn window.
A feeling of dread freezes the blood in my veins and I pull out my phone, checking the monitor feed from the security cameras. The house is quiet, looks like she left a light on in the kitchen, but other than that it’s dark. She must be in bed. A surge of guilt hits me, and I get to my feet, feeling the sudden need to get over there. “We should go,” I announce and the other two follow suit. “Thanks. This helps—a lot.” I lift the paperwork Luna handed me when we came in.
“Keep us in the loop, and if there’s anything else,” Damian offers, shaking my hand.
“And keep her safe,” Luna adds, a smile forming. “Even if it means groveling.”
Oh, I’ll be groveling all right. Red will make sure of it.
“What’s the sudden rush?” Tony wants to know when I pull out of the parking lot.
“Kissed her on her porch Friday night. Next night I got called out to Delwood. Kissed her again on the porch and half an hour later her shed was on fire. Haven’t seen her all week until last night…” I let that th
ought trail, waiting for them to clue in.
“You kissed her on the porch again?”
“Not exactly. It was in the kitchen.”
“Why do I get the feeling we’re not talking about kissing anymore?” Joe weighs in, hitting the nail on the head.
“Let’s just say if what Luna says is true, and our guy is watching, he would’ve gotten an eyeful last night. Enough to send him into a rage.”
I stop at a red light at Camino Del Rio, and pull out my phone again. This time when I check the monitor at the back of the house, I see a faint orange glow at the bottom of the screen.
“Shit!” I toss my phone at Joe and peel through the red light heading north, narrowly avoiding a pickup truck going in the other direction.
“Jesus, are you trying to kill us?” Tony yells from the back seat, but I ignore him.
“Address,” Joe says beside me, already dialing 911.
“945 East 3rd Avenue,” I bite off.
The car is silent as he rattles off the address to the dispatcher. No sooner has he hung up, when I hear Ramirez behind me on the phone. “Send all you’ve got to 945 East 3rd. Right fucking behind the station. Duplex fire. Single woman on the left, old man on the right. Fire is en route.”
“Red on speed dial,” I tell Joe, as I do my best to stay focused on the road.
I’m blowing through backstreets to try and avoid the Saturday night crowds, going as fast as I can get away with.
“No answer,” he reports.
“Keep trying.”
I hit 3rd Avenue from the south, just as a patrol car with flashing lights stops in front of Autumn’s place, two blocks away. The orange glow of fire is visible from here, and smoke billows from the house. I run the Tahoe over the median and half up the sidewalk on the other side.
