Moments later, the little dog was free. Gabby jumped all over Laurie Ann. Laughing, she tried to contain him as he licked everything his tongue could reach. Then Gabby showered Wyatt with doggie licks. Wyatt tucked the jumping bean under one arm like a football and rose. He was surprised at how much the little dog was trembling.
“I’ll carry him,” Laurie Ann offered.
“I’ve got him. You concentrate on getting us out of here.”
She laughed and shined her light on his face. “Lost, are you?”
Heat seared his cheeks. “Completely. I’m at your mercy.”
She shifted her light to a thick wall of vegetation. “We go this way. No, that way. No, wait, I believe home is over there.” She laughed again and struck out the way they’d come. “I’m messing with you. I played in these woods as a kid. Besides, my boss would kill me if anything happened to you.”
“My brother Virgil would get a big kick out of this. Out of you.”
“Sounds like that concerns you.”
It did concern him. Virgil would be all over her. That wasn’t going to happen. Best to change the subject. “I’d rather not talk about Virgil. Why is your boss worried about me?”
“Uh…”
“What?” he asked. Leaves rattled off the trail to the right. He edged to the left and stepped in Laurie Ann’s boot prints. That sense of being watched returned, electrifying the hair on the back of his neck.
“It’s nothing.”
“I’m very curious about your remark. What do you mean?”
She glanced shyly over her shoulder. “I’m trying to get promoted. I’m under a spotlight right now. Folks are watching my every move. My boss made it clear that my job is to make sure you get everything you need.”
Her comment slammed through him like an angry teenager. She’d kissed him because that was her job? “You mean like with reports and things?”
“Anything you need.”
The dog shifted in his arms, and his flashlight beam wobbled. “Christ.” He immediately regretted letting that slip out.
“I can carry my dog. Or put him down. We’re very close to the house.”
He lowered Gabby to the ground, and the dog started barking again as it ran circles around Laurie Ann.
Wyatt understood the dog’s delirium. His brain was running in circles, too. Surely, he’d misinterpreted her words.
“I’m still trying to understand what you said earlier,” he said. “Would you spell it out for me?”
“My job is to give you access to whatever you need. I’m supposed to compile any information we uncover about James Brown’s murder, but I want to solve the case. I want to prove I’m a capable investigator. I want that promotion.”
While he admired her competitive nature, she hadn’t mentioned their personal relationship. Heart on his sleeve, he asked, “Where do I fit in?”
She shone her flashlight under her chin so he could see her smile and sparkling eyes. “I’m to keep you occupied and happy.” Her eyes danced with mischief. “Because you’re so delicate and all.”
Understanding dawned like a fiery rocket. He knew exactly who’d gotten to her boss, and he didn’t like it at all. He wasn’t delicate. Never had been.
“I’m not delicate.”
“I know. That’s the best part. What gives with that?”
“My aunt,” he explained gruffly as they circled her house. “She doesn’t like my job. Says it’s too dangerous. She’s always interfering. When I tell her to back off, she digs in more.”
Laurie Ann nodded with understanding. “Relatives can be frustrating.” She gestured to her steps again. “You’re welcome to come in, if you’d like.”
As much as he wanted to spend time with Laurie Ann, he was ready to call it a night. “Next time. I’m beat. Let’s start fresh in the morning.”
“Sounds good.”
He drove away on the lonely country road, his thoughts whirling. His aunt had told these people he was delicate. Laurie Ann knew that wasn’t true, which was great, but everyone else thought he was a bozo. It seemed like every day he had to prove himself.
He was damned tired of his aunt running an end game on him. He’d prove her wrong the best way he knew how. He’d catch this serial arsonist and silence his aunt’s protests forever.
He wanted to find this guy for Bobby. For himself. And to prove his aunt wrong.
Time to take control over his life.
Again.
Chapter 21
The next morning, Wyatt made a few interview calls to names on his list from his hotel room but he had no luck. So he drove to the burned-out Pirate’s Cove restaurant. Laurie Ann had called him at breakfast saying there was a four-car accident in the north end of the county, and all the cops had been called to secure the scene. She promised to catch up with him as soon as she broke free.
Just as well, he thought. Officer Dinterman confused him. She was capable. She was smart. She had a sense of humor. She was sexy as hell, and he wanted to sleep with her. It didn’t take a brainiac to know the last part didn’t belong in a professional relationship.
She chased bad guys.
He chased fires.
They lived at opposite ends of the state.
He had enough complications and interference in his life as it was. Speaking of interference, he called his brother.
Virgil answered on the first ring. “Hey, big brother.”
Wyatt didn’t waste time on small talk. “Hey, yourself. You been talking to Aunt Barbara?”
“Why would you think that?”
Wyatt didn’t miss how guarded Virgil sounded. “You did. Damn. I can’t believe you’d do that to me.”
“Don’t shoot the messenger. Allie, Virginia, and Mom ganged up on me. They don’t want you driving around the state at all hours of the day and night. They’re worried about you. They think you’re going to crack up again.”
“I don’t want interference in my life or career. Whether I crack up or not, it’s my own business.”
“Call Aunt Barbara and tell her to butt out.”
Wyatt snorted. “You know I can’t do that. Calling her makes it worse. She’ll have the Secret Service down here tailing me.”
“It sucks to be you, bro. If you hadn’t gone all glory-hound on us, none of this would have happened.”
Ten years ago, he’d rescued his cousin from drowning, and Aunt Barbara had taken a special interest in his career, pulling strings here and there. Nothing was too good for the man who saved her daughter, and he’d appreciated her mentorship. He’d received plum assignments as a firefighter, whizzed through arson investigator training. He could have made it on his own, but this way, the route to the top had been a clear shot.
After Bobby died and he’d been in the hospital with third degree burns, Aunt Barbara had flown in the top burn specialists and her husband’s private physician. His family had been grateful for the presidential help, but truthfully, his recovery had been a blur. Then he’d gone a little nuts trying to find the arsonist, and Aunt Barbara insisted on counseling a few months ago.
The counseling helped him cope, but his aunt thought she had to watch him like a hawk. Now he was paying the price for having the wheels greased in his career.
Family interference was a bear.
“Aunt Barbara told the cops about me. My cop said I was delicate. That she was ordered to fulfill all my needs.”
“You slept with her?”
“Hell, no.”
The denial spilled out too fast and too strong. As he feared, Virgil caught the nuance.
“Maybe I better come down there and straighten her out,” his brother drawled. “She can fulfill all my needs, and I won’t mind a bit.”
Wyatt parked his truck at the burned restaurant and rolled down the windows as he wrapped up the call. A whiff of charred wood and salt marsh drifted in the windows. “She’s not like that. And I can get my own dates, thank you very much.”
Virg chuckled. “Understood.
You’ve got dibs. If you don’t want her, I know I will.”
“I want to do my job. Will you stop spying on me for Aunt Barbara? I’m fine.”
“You coming home soon?”
Good question. There wasn’t much more that could be done down here. A day or two of interviews, and he’d be finished. But he wasn’t ready to go anywhere. “I might take some time off,” he admitted. “Might do a little fishing.”
Virgil laughed again. “Keep me posted on the cop. I’ve always been partial to tall brunettes, especially ones that like fishing.”
Wyatt ended the call. Of course, his brother knew he was keeping company with Laurie Ann. His aunt had probably supplied the entire family with tri-color dossiers on Laurie Ann Dinterman. His fingers curled into fists.
When this was over, he’d sit down with Aunt Barbara and thank her. Then he’d make sure she left him and his career alone.
For good.
Shoving those disturbing thoughts aside, he reached for his sketch of the burned restaurant. He’d sited the building and drawn it to scale. The most complete burn was in the center of the wooden structure, which was where he believed the fire had originated. No walls remained standing, only a few thick timbers that were likely support beams.
A host of birds trilled in the trees nearby. He pulled on his firefighter boots and walked through the ashes until he stood in the center. Bathroom was to his left, front door behind him, kitchen directly in front of him. So if the wall between the restaurant and kitchen was where the fire started, why didn’t James Brown have time to get out? He had doors in either direction, not to mention a few windows.
He could have passed out, given his reputation as a drunk. But how’d he get out here? This place was easily seven miles from town. Unless you cut through the woods to the trailer park a mile northwest of here, there was only pine forest and marsh.
What if someone had brought him out here? Perhaps to do some handyman work or landscaping. Or thieving. A lot of buildings around the state were being methodically stripped of copper and steel by thieves. He looked around for pipes. Found some fat galvanized ones in the bathroom and kitchen. No copper pipes.
How’d he miss that the first time through?
No copper pipes were visible in the ashes.
Four toilets remained. Two bathroom sinks, one cracked by the fire. The kitchen sink was stainless. It survived the fire just fine. The drainpipe wasn’t intact, only a one-foot stub. He studied the smooth edge. Looked like it had been cut with a torch. Both supply lines were missing.
His thoughts gelled. Someone had been here stripping this place of metal. Likely Brown had been either an accomplice or he’d showed up at the wrong time and become a casualty. If the appliances had conveyed before the sale, the only metal of value remaining was the copper piping.
More thoughts fell into place. If the arsonist also stole copper pipes from the buildings he torched, someone might have seen something. Or Laurie Ann’s scrap metal task force might be able to track tubing purchases.
He poked around in the debris, feeling confident of his assessment. A bronze object not far from where James Brown was found caught his eye. He brushed aside the ashes and cinders. A key. It looked like a door key.
He held the key up high, studying it. A sixth sense warned him the birds had quieted. Instinct told him to crouch. As he did a shot rang out. Then another in quick succession.
He dove and rolled as if he were avoiding a football tackle.
Shit.
That was close.
Right overhead, in fact.
He had no way to defend himself.
Hadn’t thought he needed a gun.
Staying low, he darted back to his truck and burned rubber all the way to the highway.
Someone had watched him.
They’d seen him poking around in the ashes.
Seen him find the key.
Someone was very worried.
Good.
Worried people made mistakes.
Chapter 22
Laurie Ann threw open the door of her squad car and ran to Wyatt’s truck, squinting in the bright sunlight to study Wyatt. She wasn’t supposed to appear in public in uniform without her hat on but she didn’t care if every citizen in the county reported her.
Wyatt was alive.
That statement looped through her head as she scanned him for injury. Her gaze came to rest on a crimson stain on his sleeve.
“You’re bleeding.” She couldn’t keep the tremor from her voice.
Good God.
She’d left the man alone for an hour, and he’d dodged a bullet. When his “shots fired” call came on the radio, she’d hit lights and sirens and zoomed across the county in record time.
Wyatt glanced at his sleeve and seemed surprised to see blood there. “It’s nothing. A scratch.”
Heart drumming, she lifted his bloody sleeve to see the wound. He was right. The gash and the bleeding were minimal. Definitely not life threatening. But he shouldn’t have been in such danger. People didn’t take potshots from the woods in Tidewater County.
“We’ll run you by the EMS office and have them fix you up. Tell me exactly what happened.”
A silver car stopped at the four-way intersection to the east of their parked location mid-county. It accelerated toward Mossy Bog. Despite Wyatt’s injury, he’d shown good sense at getting away from the trouble and meeting her at the crossroads junction. Between the dry cleaners, pharmacy, grocery store, and bank, plenty of people passed through here.
Safety in numbers worked every time.
“I was checking the rubble at Pirate’s Cove,” he said “I found a key and held it up to look at it. Something alerted me of danger, the birds went quiet, I think, and I crouched down as the shot fired. Thought he’d missed me altogether, but looks like I wasn’t quite fast enough.”
“Did you tell anyone you were headed out there this morning?”
He regarded her steadily. “You. I told you.”
She returned his gaze, her thoughts whirling. “I didn’t tell a soul. You were followed, or they were already at the burn site looking for something.”
“Maybe they wanted the key I found.”
“Let’s see it.”
He scowled. “I lost it when I ran to my truck. It was bronze. Like a door key. I can draw the shape of the head if needed.”
“I’ll look for it. You want to head into town to get that arm tended to?”
“It’ll keep another few minutes. I’ll ride over there with you.”
“Sure? You can walk me through it later.”
“Let’s do it now while everything is fresh in my mind.”
She didn’t fuss because she’d want that if their situations were reversed. “All right. We’ll take my squad car since it has communication equipment. Park your truck in front of the pharmacy.”
She tailed him across the street. While she waited, she saw she’d missed two calls on her cell phone. Both from Chief Tyler. She returned his call. “The situation is under control, Chief.”
“Better be,” he grumbled. “I’m counting on you. Give me the abridged version.”
“I was assisting at the accident scene per your orders, and North drove to the burn site without me. Shots were fired. North fled the scene and called for help. Bullet barely grazed his arm. We’re heading back out there now to recon the area.”
“He’s okay?”
“He’s fine. The wound isn’t bleeding.”
“He wasn’t supposed to come to any harm on our watch.”
She hoped her conciliatory tone would soothe her chief’s ire. “I understand.”
“Notify the sheriff since it happened in his jurisdiction. And take better care of our VIP guest.”
“I won’t let you down, sir.” She ended the call as Wyatt eased into her car.
“You think the arsonist shot you?” she asked.
He nodded, his expression troubled. “I don’t believe it was a random gunshot or a hu
nter with terrible aim. Given the nature of my work, someone didn’t want me poking around the ashes. The person with the most to lose is the arsonist. So, yeah, I think it was him.”
He gripped and regripped his hands. “He’s still here.”
She made a three-point turn and headed to Pirate’s Cove. “What about the profile? Is shooting typical for an arsonist?”
“This firebug follows an atypical pattern. I don’t think he’s experimenting, curious, delinquent, crazy, or disordered. With his wide-ranging territory, this isn’t a kid. We’re talking about a grown man. Whether he starts fires for revenge or thrills, I can’t say.”
“Does it matter why?”
“Motive can help us predict where he might strike next. The idea is to catch him before he does any more damage.”
A few minutes later, Laurie Ann signaled a turn on Spyglass Lane. She needed to catch the shooter before he hurt Wyatt. “I’m getting a better picture of your investigation. What else do you know about him?”
“He likes old buildings. He’s killed twice before, once in Rome, once in Milledgeville. He uses gasoline as an accelerant. Today I had an insight into why he selects the run-down places. Fewer people pay attention to abandoned buildings, so there’s more opportunity to escape detection. Older places hold a wealth of steel and copper. I went looking for copper pipe at Pirate’s Cove and came up empty. We need to check the sales listing to see if the kitchen appliances conveyed with the property.”
Laurie Ann brightened. Finally, a way she could help. “I’ve tracked scrap metal sales in the area for a while. I have a good working relationship with scrap yards in Brunswick and in Richmond Hill.”
“This guy roams the state. We might need to cast a wider net to find salvaged metal.”
“Not to worry. Scrap yards are required to copy the seller’s driver’s license. It’s a red flag when we get Atlanta folks down here selling scrap metal or if our people are selling scrap upstate.”
He shot her a long glance. “Didn’t know that. Let me rethink the scenario. Our arsonist couldn’t take the attention of scrap sales all over the state, but he could pay locals to do it for him. They could share in the proceeds. That would be win-win.”
Hot Water Page 9
