Down Deep

by Kimberly Kincaid

  At her exasperated exhale, he tugged off his sunglasses, leveling her with the full strength of his nearly black stare. “Look, Kennedy, I get that you two were close, but you can’t ignore the facts, here. Xander was at the bar last night when that fire broke out, and he came in again today, looking guilty as sin. So, you can either throw me a freaking bone and be completely straight with me, or I can call the cops and let them shake this out. What’s it going to be?”

  God, she hated the big oaf right now. Even if he was right to challenge her. “Okay,” she bit out. “We’ve texted here and there, but it’s been eight months since I’ve seen him. Nothing seemed out of the ordinary then, but—like you—he’s not exactly a Chatty Cathy.”

  A smile flashed over Gamble’s face, as fast as it was devastating, and even though he’d gone right back to that stern look he wore like a badge of honor, the back of Kennedy’s neck still heated in response to his original gesture.

  Focus. Right now, she commanded herself as she turned onto a side street she knew as well as her own signature. She navigated a few more in silence before continuing. “Xander and I always meet up on neutral ground, usually at a diner on the outskirts of downtown. He’s never been to my place in the city, and I’ve never been to his. He knows where I work, but this morning was the first time he’s ever set foot in The Crooked Angel, and it was the first time he’s ever done anything like run from me. I’m telling you, this is something other than a textbook case of vandalism.”

  Gamble paused. “What if it isn’t?”

  Kennedy’s pulse knocked at her throat. As much as she believed her brother would never intentionally set a fire, she also wasn’t a dolt. Of course, she’d considered all the possibilities—even the ones she fucking hated. But he was her brother. The same guy who would feed the neighborhood strays on his way to middle school even if it meant he’d go hungry. The same guy who had helped their across-the-hall neighbor, Mrs. Abromowitz, with her groceries every Tuesday despite the fact that the nasty old crone hated everyone with a pulse.

  Xander wasn’t a saint, either—he’d also done his fair share of cutting classes and drinking too much and, in one unfortunate instance Kennedy had found out about after the fact, gotten arrested for participating in a bar fight. Still, in the end, he was far better than worse, and he was her brother. She owed it to him to at least give him the benefit of the doubt until he proved he didn’t deserve it.

  “If I’m wrong, and Xander knowingly did something that stupid, then I’ll call Officer Boldin to come get him myself. But I’m telling you, that’s not what’s going on, here.”

  “You really believe he’s innocent, don’t you?” Gamble asked, and she pulled over to park between a laundromat and a pawn shop before turning to look him directly in his handsome, unreadable face.

  “Yes. I really do. And I’m going to find him to prove it.”

  8

  As soon as Gamble saw the determination on Kennedy’s face, he knew he was screwed, and not even in a way that would leave him satiated and smiling. He knew, damn it, he knew that not only was it a complete dumbshit move to withhold information about a crime from the cops, but it was illegal to boot. But every time he’d been tempted to reach for his phone and do the right thing by making the goddamned call, he’d run into the same roadblock.

  Kennedy kept swearing her brother would never do anything truly shady, and fuckall if Gamble wasn’t starting to believe her.

  “Okay,” he said, surveying the city block on either side of them from beneath his aviator glasses. They’d have answers either way tonight. He wasn’t going to wait any longer, not when someone was out there, playing with matches in very public parts of the city. “Where do you want to start?”

  She drew back as if surprised, and ah hell, he couldn’t help but let one corner of his mouth drift up into a half-smile. “What? You thought I didn’t hear you when you said we were going to do this your way?”

  “I didn’t think you’d listen,” Kennedy corrected. Whether it was the assumption she’d made that he’d strong-arm her into having his way or the fact that she’d doubted his honesty, Gamble couldn’t be sure, but something made him lean toward her, cutting the space between them in half.

  “Before we do this, let’s get one thing straight. I’m a man of my word. I told you we’d do this your way, and so we will. But I also told you that if anything goes sideways, or seems dangerous in the least, you can bet I’m not keeping quiet. All of those things still apply. Got it?”

  Kennedy’s lips parted. Her exhale slipped out, fanning over his cheek in a warm puff of air, and Gamble was hit hard by the unexpected urge to destroy the space between them and cover her mouth with his.

  But then she pulled back, leaving him to mentally bitch slap himself for thinking so impulsively. “Got it,” she said. “I texted Xander earlier to ask if he’s okay. After this morning, I’m sure he knows I know something’s going on.”

  “Makes sense that he would,” Gamble agreed, his brain kicking into go mode. “Did he answer you?”

  Kennedy shook her head and looked out the driver’s side window, her gaze focused on the stretch of run-down row homes across the narrow city street. “No, but I wasn’t expecting him to. Just like he’s not expecting for me to come down here looking for him.”

  The fact that she and her brother always met on neutral ground had grabbed at Gamble’s curiosity, for sure. But he’d have to put a pin in those questions for now. “You don’t think he’ll feel blindsided once we find him and start asking a bunch of questions about last night?”

  “He might,” Kennedy allowed. “But you’re not the only one who wants answers. Blindsided or not, I’m not letting Xander run from me twice.”

  Christ, her determination shouldn’t have been so hot, yet there it was, giving Gamble a bigger hard-on than if she’d lifted her shirt and flashed him her tits.

  He swallowed roughly, then did it again for grins before blocking all thoughts of her determination—and her flawlessly pretty tits—from his mind. “So, what’s your play, then?”

  “I’m not one hundred percent sure where Xander’s living right now,” Kennedy said, frowning as if the fact bothered her more than a little bit. “He told me he’d left his apartment last year after the landlord refused to call an exterminator, but all he said was that he was crashing with friends in a row home on Collins Street.”

  “Okay, but this is Franklin.” Gamble jutted his chin at the faded green and white street sign gracing the post at the intersection a half a block up. Damn, what he wouldn’t give for Shae’s freakishly accurate mental map of the city right now. After (wo)manning the wheel of Engine Seventeen for the past three years of her nearly six as a firefighter, she knew every street, side street, and alley in Remington.

  Kennedy, it seemed, didn’t need the same assist. “Collins Street isn’t far from here. But it’s Saturday evening, and chances are, Xander won’t be home, anyway.”

  “I take it you have an idea of where to find him, then.”

  “I have some guesses, but they might be a little dated. Since neither you nor I feel the urge to waste time trying a bunch of maybes until we get lucky, we’re going to cut through the chase to narrow down the list.” She turned to face Gamble more fully, her expression heart-attack serious. “You’re going to have to follow my lead, though. No matter what.”

  “You’re not the only one who can take care of herself, you know.” He’d gotten out of more shit-box situations than he could count, for Chrissake. Not that he’d ever brag about them, but still.

  A huff of frustration rose from Kennedy’s throat. “I don’t doubt that. For God’s sake, you’re like a wrecking ball with legs. But it’s bad enough that I’ve been gone from this neighborhood for five years. You’re a complete stranger to these people, and let’s just say that around here, goodwill doesn’t grow on trees. If we want to find Xander, you’re going to have to let me do the talking. All of it.”

  “Fine,” Gambl
e said. She had a point. Hostile territory was way easier to navigate when you had intel from a local. “Where do you want to start?”

  “With the person who’s our best shot at getting good answers. Come on.”

  Kennedy got out of the car and walked around to the curb, and he met her on the crumbling sidewalk. A wall of summer air greeted them like a smack in the face, but between his day job and his multiple deployments to the Middle East, a little North Carolina humidity wasn’t even enough to make him blink. He fell into step beside Kennedy, assessing their surroundings with a quick yet meticulous visual sweep, and even though he couldn’t see her eyes past those oversized sunglasses of hers, her body language told him she was doing the same.

  They walked in silence for a minute, passing first the laundromat and pawn shop they’d parked in front of, then a convenience store and a handful of row homes in various states of disrepair. A handful of people dotted the sidewalk, and a handful more sat on the steps leading up to a couple of the homes. He and Kennedy drew a few stares as they passed, him probably for his size, and her, more for her looks. But Gamble had to give her credit. If she noticed the lifted brows and turned heads—and he couldn’t imagine she didn’t—she didn’t show it. In fact, she carried herself with an inherent toughness that said she was perfectly at home on an urban street, in a neighborhood with a worse reputation than most professional cage fighters, yet her fortitude wasn’t aggressive or showy.

  And here he’d just gotten rid of that goddamned hard-on.

  “Okay, here we go,” Kennedy murmured, slowing her pace as they neared the street corner. A woman with bright orange hair—who appeared to be at least fifty, although the heavy layers of makeup spackled to her face, coupled with the leathery skin of someone who had spent far too much time in the sun made it tough to gauge—strutted over from the spot where she’d been loitering close to the curb, squinting her eyes at Gamble and Kennedy as they approached.

  “Kennedy fucking Matthews! Is that you?”

  Kennedy’s smile was genuine, arrowing into all sorts of places Gamble didn’t want to contemplate. “Hey, Darlene. How’s it going?”

  “This is The Hill, baby. Same shit, different day.” Darlene’s gaze slid over Gamble, her darkly penciled brows shooting sky high. “See you’ve been busy. Damn, girl.”

  Kennedy didn’t confirm or deny, or so much as flush at the obvious innuendo, although she did keep that easy smile of hers hooked firmly over her lips. “Busy isn’t a bad thing. You know what they say about idle hands. You still with Tommy DeLorenzo?”

  Darlene let go of a snort, pulling a small, bright purple vape from the back pocket of her jeans, which were as painted on as her eyebrows. “Mmm hmm. Ain’t no other game in town for a lady of a certain age.” She took a drag from her vape, exhaling in a thick, cotton candy-scented cloud before shrugging. “Plus, Tommy treats me pretty good. Doesn’t make me work as hard as some of the other girls. Just lets me stick to my regulars, mostly, and he even paid my bills at the clinic when I had pneumonia last winter.”

  Kennedy’s smile lost its luster by half, and damn it, Gamble hated putting two and two together to come up with a sum of what Darlene probably did for a living. “I’m glad to hear I don’t have to knock his teeth in, then,” Kennedy said.

  “No doubt that you could if you set your head to it, although I doubt he’d fight back. It ain’t Tommy’s speed to throw a lady a beating. Bruises don’t sell nothin’,” Darlene said with a raspy laugh. “Anyway, it’s been a long-ass time since we seen you in this neighborhood, baby. What are you doin’ all the way down here on my street corner?”

  “Quick visit for old times’ sake,” Kennedy said, and Darlene’s laugh grew louder.

  “Girl, please. You ain’t never been the type to come slumming.” Her stare traveled over Gamble again as if to say see? “You got out. Which means you must have a hell of a reason for comin’ back.”

  Kennedy lifted her hands in concession. “Okay, okay. I’m actually looking for Xander. Nothing major,” she added with a demi-shrug and a roll of her eyes that was obvious even with her sunglasses in place. “Just a family thing. I’d have called him, but his phone got turned off. You know how it goes.”

  The lie slid out of Kennedy’s mouth without even the tiniest hitch. Granted, it wasn’t exactly a whopper, but still. Her game face was a thing of beauty. And something to keep a goddamned eye on.

  Darlene nodded. “Had mine turned off twice this summer. Greedy bastards charge an arm and a leg for those damned plans. Anyway, Xander hasn’t been around lately, at least not in this part of the neighborhood. Last time I saw him was at Houlihan’s, down on the pier. Maybe a week ago?”

  As luck would have it, Darlene’s poker face was a lot less bulletproof than Kennedy’s. The older woman winced, shifting her weight from one patent leather stiletto to the other as she continued, “Yeah, it was last Friday. I remember, because I was working that whole stretch on the south end of the docks, and I went into Houlihan’s to use the ladies’ room and cool off a little. Xander was in a booth, with some shifty-looking dude with red hair. You know who I’m talking about?”

  “Patrick O’Doul?”

  “Nah.” Darlene shook her head. “Paddy’s a hoodlum, but he’s harmless. This guy is…different. He’s only been in Remington for like, a year. Maybe two? I don’t know his name, but Xander’s been hanging with him lately. He’s got some kind of scar on his face.”

  Kennedy stilled, and yeah, that made two of them. “What kind of scar?” she asked. “Like he was cut, or something?”

  “No. He keeps it kind of hidden, but it’s not like he had stitches. It’s almost shiny.”

  “Like a burn.”

  Both women turned toward Gamble as he spoke, and after a beat, Darlene replied. “Yeah, I guess. Yeah. Anyway, I don’t know the guy, but I can’t say I wanna.”

  Fuck. Fuck. Every last one of Gamble’s senses tripped to high alert. He knew he’d promised Kennedy he’d let her take the lead here, but come on. The whole shady-guy, burn-scar, brother-at-the-scene-of-a-fire thing couldn’t possibly be a coincidence.

  Screw it. Gamble opened his mouth to start launching all the questions flying around in his head. But then Kennedy’s fingers were on his forearm, the soft brush far more plea than protest, and his interrogation faded in his throat.

  “Hey, Darlene, you got your cell on you?” she asked.

  “Mmm hmm,” the woman said, fishing it out of her purse.

  Kennedy reached for the thing with an unspoken may I? and Darlene passed it over. “Here’s my number,” Kennedy said, her dark red nails clacking softly over the phone screen as she thumb-typed. “If you put eyes on Xander, can you text me?”

  “Sure. You want me to tell him you’re looking for him if I see him?”

  Kennedy’s slight pause was her only tell, one Darlene probably hadn’t caught, but Gamble definitely had. “Nah. Just hit me up when he comes around, yeah?”

  “You got it.” Darlene replaced her phone in her purse, pressing her shellacked lips together. “Hey, between us, that redheaded guy gives me the creeps. I hope Xander’s not jammed up with him, you know?”

  “Yeah,” Kennedy said softly. “I know.”

  Rusty flicked the lighter in his hand, letting the flame grow hot enough to sting his thumb and forefinger before releasing the tiny red button with a grin. His smile was fueled by several things—not just the dance of the orange flame against the dead-dark of the midnight shadows around him, although there was no denying the thrill that sent through his blood. But not only had his remote incendiary device worked just as efficiently as the design had promised, but he and Xander had officially slipped the notice of both the RFD and the RPD while testing it in that dumpster—thank you, Tiffany Chase from KLN News, for that little nugget—which meant the bigger plan was going to go forward exactly as scheduled.

  But first, he got to treat himself by lighting up something a whole lot bigger than a campfire.
r />   Flicking the Bic back to life again, Rusty peered at the Camry through the dim light of the single flame. He scanned the gravel lot where he stood, then the rest of the industrial park stretching beyond the reach of the soft firelight, taking in the inky black water of the river and the far-off lights of the pier beyond. From a tactical standpoint, torching things at night was smarter. Yeah, there was always the chance someone would see the flames and call nine-one-one, but he ran that risk no matter when he started a blaze. At least at night, the smoke was harder to spot from a distance, and with how far this industrial park was from civilization, let alone anyone who would give a shit enough to call in a crime, the Camry would likely be halfway back to room temperature before any upstanding individual set eyes on it.

  Plus—he let go of the button on the lighter, but only long enough to repeat the ignition process, the soft tsch like a symphony in his head—fire at night was a masterpiece. The way the flames snapped and danced and licked and moved, taking control over everything they touched until there was nothing left but dead, gray ash—fuck, it made Rusty’s adrenaline skip harder in his veins just thinking about it.

  But he wasn’t going to hold back like a pussy and just think about it. He didn’t have to control himself like usual, or hold back on what he wanted. What he needed. Craved.

  Tonight, he was going to set a fire and watch it burn.

  And he’d have an audience from start to finish.

  “Are you sure that’s such a good idea with all this accelerant around?” Xander asked, his eyes fixed on the open flame of the lighter. Even in the nighttime shadows, the wariness on his face was as clear as a beacon, and for fuck’s sake, it wasn’t as if this was the kid’s first rodeo. Seriously, hadn’t Xander learned anything in the last few months?

  Rusty would just have to keep schooling the guy. “Why are you so worried? I’m about to set the damned thing on fire, anyway,” he pointed out.