Burn You Twice

by Burton, Mary

  Ann laughed, and some of the tension between them eased. “It will. Do you have much luggage?”

  “Only the backpack. If I need a change of clothes, I have a brand-spanking-new Phillies T-shirt I can wear.”

  “Is there a coat in that backpack?”

  “It was eighty-five degrees in Philadelphia this morning.”

  “It’ll be close to thirty here by tomorrow evening. I have extra jackets.”

  “The daytime highs were in the sixties, but I forgot about the cold nights. Winter comes fast out here.”

  “Yes, it does.”

  They crossed the terminal and stepped outside into the crisp air. Joan drew in a deep breath, her gaze lingering on the puffy white clouds hovering in the blue sky above the mountain chain to the west. “I’d forgotten how good the air smells out here. And the big sky. Philadelphia is currently locked in haze and humidity.”

  “I’ve traveled several times to New York and DC, and I’ve always found the energy of the cities as intoxicating as it is exhausting. I’m always glad to get back home.”

  “No more dreams of living in a big city?”

  “Not anymore. And if that makes me provincial, then so be it.”

  “I’m slated to attend a conference in Orlando in January.” Assuming she did not get canned from her job. “You and Nate should come and do Disney World.”

  “I might take you up on that.” Ann’s acceptance sounded as tentative as the offer. She clicked her key fob, and the lights of a mud-splattered white SUV blinked. “When you called last night, I searched you on the internet. I read about the Newport case.”

  Joan opened the back door and tossed in her bag. They each slid into the front seats, closed the doors, and clicked their seat belts. “Never arrest the daughter of a very powerful judge. And if you do, and you’re warned to back off, do it.”

  “You could always be stubborn.”

  “Doesn’t matter now. I’ve officially erased it from my memory bank.”

  Ann smiled. “You used to do that in college.”

  “What?”

  “Press your ‘Delete’ key. Bad test, date, or movie, you closed your eyes and said, ‘Delete.’”

  “Only way to move on.” The past was far more powerful than a mystical button, but it was easier to pretend otherwise. “Where’s Nate?” Joan asked.

  “It’s Clarke’s weekend to have him.”

  “Clarke’s weekend. Sounds like a divorce.”

  “We separated six months ago.”

  “Wow. Sorry to hear that.”

  Ann’s smile was reassuring as she drove to the parking attendant’s booth, paid him, and headed north, away from town, toward the family ranch. “It’s really going well. We both agreed that a little time apart was a good thing. We married so young, Nate came right away, and neither of us had a chance to be ourselves.”

  Joan leaned back in her seat and crossed her hands over her chest. She had never seen a civil divorce, but if anyone could pull it off, it was Ann, who had earned her PhD in forensic psychology, and then lectured at the university, but also consulted with the police. “You sound very logical, Dr. Bailey.”

  “Clarke and I are okay with it. Nate loves living on my parents’ ranch.”

  She omitted any mention of Gideon, his wife, or son, and Joan did not ask. “Are you seeing anyone?”

  “No,” Ann said, laughing and cringing at once. “There’s not been enough time for that.”

  “There’s no one? As I remember it, every male over the age of twelve had a thing for you.”

  “My best offer so far is from a police sergeant to speak at the Montana Highway Patrol.”

  Joan offered an undeniably sly grin. “Is this guy single?”

  “Yes.”

  “He’s got more in mind than forensics.”

  “He really does have a genuine interest in the psychology of repeat offenders. It’s strictly professional.”

  Joan plucked an imaginary hair from her jeans. “Maybe you’re right.”

  “You’re laughing at me,” Ann said.

  “A little. What would it hurt if he did ask you out?”

  The stress visibly melted from Ann’s shoulders. “If we’re talking about love lives, what’s the status of yours?”

  “Married to the job.”

  “That can’t be much fun.”

  “It has its perks.”

  “It’s the job that brought you here, then?”

  Joan’s vibe shifted from easygoing to brittle. “You know me—I was never good at social calls. Is he really officially out?”

  She knew Ann did not need a detailed reference to understand she was talking about Elijah Weston. “I haven’t seen him since the trial, but my sources in the prison system tell me that the beautiful boy we knew in college has firmed up into an imposing man during the last decade.”

  “Brilliant and now strong.” Elijah Weston could have been the perfect guy. If he did not have a habit of setting fires. “Where is he now?”

  “He moved into a boardinghouse near the university yesterday. He and his lawyer have gone out of their way to keep his release quiet, but you know how that goes. Missoula is a small town in many respects, and people will figure out that he’s been released. The state notified me, because I was his victim. Did they do the same for you?”

  “Yes. My letter arrived yesterday. Nothing like giving me time to prepare.”

  “Do you really think that he would come after you or me?” Ann asked.

  “I’m not going to wait to find out.”

  “They tell me he still denies he had anything to do with the College Fire,” Ann said.

  “Elijah sent a letter to me at my home address.”

  “What? How did he find you?”

  “I don’t know. Did he write you, too?”

  “He sent two letters to my parents’ address years ago, but I never responded. After that, Clarke promised to run interference for me.”

  “I’d think a psychologist would be all over correspondence with a guy like Elijah. How many people get a glimpse into the mind of an arsonist?”

  “Elijah’s mind is one place I have never dreamed of traveling.” Ann drew in a slow, steady breath. “He’s playing a game.”

  “I’m very aware.”

  “What do you think you can accomplish, coming back here?”

  “Other than catching up with my college pal? I don’t know.” Elijah had left an indelible mark on her life that would never be erased, even by her magic “Delete” key.

  Ann regarded Joan. “You’re worried about him, aren’t you?”

  “He’s had ten years to plan his next move.”

  “What makes you think there is a next move?”

  “Gut feeling.”

  Ann slowed at a T intersection and, tapping the brakes, took a left. Shifting gears, she pressed the accelerator. “What makes you think you can stop him, Joan? You can’t watch him twenty-four seven.”

  “Don’t underestimate me. I’m a one-woman wrecking ball.” Joan scrounged up a grin, but Ann’s grim expression echoed her own sense of dread.

  The arsonist stood in the shadows inside the beauty shop. It had closed three hours ago, and the space was now silent. The cleaning crew had just swept up the stray piles of hair, polished the mirrors and chrome-trimmed chairs, and dumped the trash.

  The Beau-T-Shop was doing well by all accounts. It had more customers than the five hairdressers could handle, so the owner should have been making money hand over fist. But success had a way of tricking people into believing the money would always flow.

  He reached for the plastic milk jug of gas siphoned from the borrowed truck’s gas tank. Though it was easier to fill up his containers at a gas station, that was a quick way to get noticed by the cops. So, he’d tanked up the truck and then driven to the mountains and siphoned most of the gas into jugs. A trip to another gas station and his vehicle was refilled, with no one the wiser.

  He poured a trail of gas along
the first salon station. He paused to look at the picture of the stylist and her children, a boy and a girl with white gap-toothed grins standing with their mother in Glacier National Park. He did not know the woman and was a little sorry that she would be out of a job, but if she was any good at what she did, she would quickly find work. It might mean moving to Helena or Bozeman, but no one said life was fair.

  He continued to dribble gasoline over each station, only pausing when he reached the last. He knew the woman who worked at this station. She had been a sweet, humble little thing the day they’d met, and he’d been drawn to her from the outset. Like most women, however, she’d proven herself to be a liar.

  He continued pouring gas, inhaling the fragrant scent. Just as he’d finished off the first jug, a door opened behind him. Carefully, he set his container down and checked his watch. “You’re right on time, darlin’.”

  Keys rattled and heels clicked across the back room as she approached. She had a petite frame, blond hair cut short on top and long on the sides.

  “What are you doing? Why did you call me?” the woman asked.

  “What does it look like I’m doing?”

  Worry knitted her brow. “You said you wanted to talk.” She gripped the keys and took a step toward him. “I smell gas. What are you doing?”

  “What do you think? You said you hated your job, right? You said you dreamed of burning this place to the ground. I aim to please, baby.”

  Her grin faded to horror as the weight of his words settled. “I didn’t literally mean burn it to the ground.”

  He moved toward her, smiling, his gaze dropping to her breasts. Lana always did have a great rack. He reached for her left hand and kissed the diamond he had slipped on her finger yesterday. “You said you wanted to see it reduced to ashes.”

  She searched his face, as if waiting for the punch line. “That was before.”

  “Before what?” he prompted as he reached in his pocket for a packet of matches.

  Her gaze shifted to his hands, as if remembering stolen times when she had guided his hand to her breast as she whispered Fuck me in his ear. “You know.”

  He did know. And that was precisely why they were here now. He removed a match from the packet and struck it. “Yes, I do.”

  “You’re scaring me.” She took a step back.

  “I’m trying to fulfill our fantasy, baby. All you talk about is fire. Now you can see it for yourself.” He lit the match, and some of the fear softened in her gaze. “You like it, don’t you?” The match burned out. He struck another and held it up for her.

  She moistened her lips and touched the burned match.

  “You always get excited when I talk about flames.”

  She pouted her lips, but she stepped closer to him.

  “Come on, baby. Do this with me,” he cajoled.

  “We’re going to get arrested.”

  “Not if we’re careful. And I know how to do it right, don’t I?”

  That coaxed a small, nervous smile. “Yeah, you do.”

  “Then do this with me. I promise it’ll make you horny as hell.”

  She moistened her lips again. “We won’t get caught?”

  “No, we won’t. I promise.”

  “Can I light the fire?” she asked in her baby-doll voice.

  “Sure, darlin’.” He held out the packet.

  The tension vanished from her body as she reached for the packet. When she was inches from him, he grabbed her by the wrist and wrapped a rope around her neck. Her keys dropped to the ground as her hands went to his. Blue eyes stared up at him. For a second, her gaze was questioning and even a little turned on.

  “You like the danger, right?” he asked.

  “Yeah, but . . .”

  He tightened his grip on the rope. The tendons in her neck stiffened, and her nails bit into his gloved hands as she tried to pry his fingers free. He had imagined himself doing this so many times, but as detailed as his fantasies had been, nothing compared to this. She kicked him hard, her foot connecting with his shin. The pain felt good, and the bruise to come would be a reminder of all this.

  He leaned in closer, savoring the quickening beat of her heart as she struggled to draw in a breath and shout. His excitement picked up even as his arm muscles cramped. Strangling was harder, slower than he imagined. Drawing in a breath, he gritted his teeth as he held steady, knowing he would miss those beautiful breasts the most.

  Slowly, her eyes rolled back in her head as her eyelids drifted closed and her lips took on a blue tinge.

  “You’ve never looked so good to me, baby.”

  When her knees buckled, he loosened his grip and slowly lowered her to the puddle of gasoline under them. The pulsing vein in her neck stilled like a snuffed-out candle flame.

  He lingered over her motionless body. He angled her face toward his and kissed her gently on the lips. He removed the diamond ring. “Nothing you didn’t deserve, you lying bitch.”

  Finally, he rose and walked to the back storeroom, where he grabbed two more gasoline jugs. He strategically spread the liquid, careful to douse the back room, filled with chemical dyes and solvents delivered that morning.

  Satisfied that he had properly soaked the place, he dug the book of matches from his pocket. He opened the door and looked down either side of the alley, searching for anyone who might have been watching. His gaze roamed over the brick walls and the clapboard siding of the building across the alley. That building housed a law firm. Tonight, the two windows facing the alley were dark, and he saw no sign of movement in the building. It was the random passersby who could ruin the best of plans.

  Newbies to arson more often screwed up at this point. Many stood too close to the source of ignition, underestimating the swift and devastating power the fire was poised to blow back on them.

  He was no novice.

  He not only understood fire; he respected it.

  Loved it.

  He would use his last reserve jug to trail gasoline down the alley. He tossed the jug back into the beauty shop entrance before running to the end of the trail and striking the match. The flame caught immediately and slithered along the path of gasoline like a fiery snake ready to strike. He had only seconds to wait before a big burst of flames echoed from the building. The fire had reached the large puddle and was headed toward the solvents.

  He started walking quickly, knowing the boom would come in seconds. He hustled to the street, crossed to another alley, and ran up to his car. Carefully, he removed his boots and dumped them in a waiting garbage bag. He stripped off his gloves, jeans, and shirt, leaving him wearing running shorts and a T-shirt. The rest went into a bag that he tossed in the bed of his truck. He grabbed clean clothes from the front seat, sliding on worn jeans and a fresh sweatshirt. He had already draped a towel on the truck’s seat, knowing that the towel, along with the clothes, would be buried later.

  He’d had a lot of time to think about this, and he was not going to let trace evidence trip him up any more than a random witness.

  As he started the engine, he heard an explosion in the beauty shop filled with chemicals. The flames would soon jump up the walls and arch over the ceiling. He calculated it would take less than a minute before the entire building exploded. He hoped the attorneys across the alley were paid up on their fire insurance, because they were going to see some damage.

  He glanced in his rearview mirror and caught the glow of the flames. In the distance, the fire engine sirens were revving up, and he could picture the men at the station jumping up from dinner and running toward their engines. Wheels rolling in less than sixty seconds. Another two minutes to the fire. Hoses out.

  His blaze had enough momentum to gut the building and also eat through the woman’s flesh. The human body melted at fifteen hundred degrees, and if he had maybe ten minutes of solid burning, there would be nothing left of her.

  But five minutes would do enough damage to hide what he had done.

  He grinned.

&nb
sp; “You always wanted to go out with a bang, baby. Got your wish.”

  The blast in the back room startled Lana back to consciousness. She gulped in air saturated with chemicals and smoke as the fire roared and licked at her feet.

  Her throat burned as she screamed and tried to rise up. But her bruised, nearly crushed throat stung as she drew in the acidic air, thickening with chemicals that she used every day.

  She rolled onto her belly, wincing as she crawled toward the front window and away from the unleashed fire dragon consuming the storeroom and the salon. Her escape route was vanishing, and in seconds, this entire building would collapse on her.

  Panicking, she rose up on her hands and knees, but another lungful of lethal smoke sent her back to her belly.

  She had been so damn obsessed with fire. Setting them had been a game.

  The fire, as if it had heard her, jumped up the west wall and rolled over and consumed the posters featuring the newest hairstyles. Long amber fingers crept over the ceiling above her, and she wondered if she were already dead and in hell.

  A police car’s red and blue lights flashed outside less than twenty feet away.

  “Save me!” she screamed.

  Timber above her head cracked. Several ceiling tiles fell and hit the floor, releasing a swarm of firefly embers that burned her skin. Flames licked over her feet and spread to her jeans. She howled in pain as her flesh melted.

  Confessions of an Arsonist

  I burned myself today on the arm, and the pain sent a rush of pleasure through me as potent as sex. Both pleasures create an intimate bond that cannot be duplicated.

  CHAPTER THREE

  Missoula, Montana

  Saturday, September 5, 2020

  6:55 p.m.

  Detective Gideon Bailey had hoped his first day back on the job would be peaceful. He had expected a call or two. With the students back for the fall semester, trouble was inevitable. And so far, so good. Since his shift had started that morning, he had responded to an overdose and an attempted rape. He had stayed with the victim in the emergency room until the sexual-assault nurse had arrived. Now it looked like his plan to reenter the job after three months of leave was coming off without a hitch.