by Mina Khan
An uneasy tingling spread through Lynn and grew to a burning point as Annie stopped and took a drink of water. “Finally, we discovered him at the back of the hall playing with matches. Drunk as a skunk that had fallen into a barrel of moonshine!”
Laughter roared out of Annie, filled Lynn’s head, crashing over her mind, drowning out sanity. “I just find it funny that he went from nearly burning down my wedding hall to this heroic firefighter,” she said, wiping tears from her eyes. “Miracles do happen.”
The others at the table also laughed, some snickered, but Lynn’s guts knotted. Parts of what she’d researched about serial arsonists, warnings she’d known about dragons and shape-shifters, crowded in to roost in her mind.
Hernandez was right. A lot of arsonists, or people who are attracted to fire, did join fire departments, especially the volunteer ones. Many of them had childhood stories that involved them starting fires or playing with matches. The motive in many instances involved being a hero.
Lynn excused herself and pushed away from the table. She tossed her half-eaten cake into the garbage. A chill seeped into her, spread inside her veins contaminating cell after cell. She’d lived through the quick-trigger temper and all the trouble that came with it, before Obaa-chan had taken her in hand and trained control into her.
She stumbled through the crowd. Her eyes searched for Jack, passing from face to face. Finally, she found him. He was dancing with the tall, blonde Kate Harrington. Again.
The dragon churned inside. Her thoughts gathered in her head in a large, screeching, pulsing cloud of darkness. Jack liked historical things. Maybe all that talk about history was a cover? He wouldn’t burn the hotel. But they caught him playing with matches. He wouldn’t let a man die. Or would he? Did she know Jack Callaghan at all?
Chapter 17
Lynn sat still at her desk, surrounded by open files and books on arson. Phrases and words tumbled and collided inside her head. She shoved her fingers in her hair, grabbed a handful and tugged. The sharp bite of pain silenced the crazy thoughts and doubts for a moment. As her fingers loosened their hold, the whirlwind started again. She had to find some answers.
She snatched up the phone to call Anderson, but stopped halfway through punching in his number. The man wasn’t exactly media-savvy or friendly. Maybe she’d have better luck getting information if she cornered the investigator in his office.
A brisk walk in the nice, crisp morning could also help clear her mind. Lynn grabbed her notebook and a couple of pens and set off for Tom Green County Sheriff’s Department, where Anderson’s office was located.
The repeated trill of a bicycle bell caught her attention, drew her eyes. The homeless man in the black, tattered coat wove his bicycle back and forth on the other side of Harris Avenue, almost parallel to her. He gave her a gap-toothed smile and a lazy wave.
The dragon growled deep inside, wanting to lunge across the four lanes of flowing traffic. Lynn fought the urge, eyeing the man. Bulging plastic bags tied to the back of his bike swayed as he slowly pedaled forward. For an instant their eyes met and held. Then he passed her, sped up and turned the corner. Breath petered out of her as she resumed walking. Dragons and ghosts. She really needed to end this.
Taking a last gulp of the smoke-scented fall air, Lynn climbed the three steps of the drab, flat-roofed, one-story building that housed the Sheriff’s Department. As she pushed through the door, three pairs of eyes turned toward her.
Two deputies and a clerk hovered behind a Formica countertop. The scratchy tones of the police monitor bounced off the metal desks and file cabinets, and added to the chaos in Lynn’s mind. She parked herself at the front counter and asked for Anderson.
The clerk made a discreet phone call. “He’ll be out to get you in a minute.”
The soft whir of overhead cameras tempted her to wave and make funny faces. If they were going to record her every move, might as well give them something to talk about. Then again, maybe not the best plan.
Finally, Anderson emerged and led her deeper into the belly of the building, to his office. Her nose twitched at the sweet scent of tobacco lacing the air and she fought back a sneeze as she settled into a plastic and metal chair with no padding. Anderson obviously didn’t want visitors to hang around and chitchat. He pinned her with a cool stare. “So what can I help you with?”
Lynn flipped open her notebook and clicked her pen. “I have a few questions about the fires in Paradise Valley,” she said. “I’m collecting information for an overview story I’m working on.”
Eyes fixed on her pen, Anderson leaned back in his chair and crossed his arms. “Shoot.”
“Are these fires related?”
Anderson’s cold blue eyes returned to her face. “Why would you think that?”
Nerves danced a jig in her stomach. She mustn’t lose control of the interview. Lynn squared her shoulders. “Well, you’ve been at all the recent fires,” she said.
He nodded. “I like to be present at every fire scene, just to check things out.”
“Do you think these recent fires are related?”
Silence. Lynn willed herself not to break it. Anderson and she calmly gazed at each other across his desk littered with files and stacks of paper. Finally, Anderson sighed. “We’re investigating that possibility,” he said.
“Have you found anything suspicious at any of the fires?” For it to be on the record and her able to report it, he’d have to mention the footprints and the cigarette butts.
Anderson steepled his fingers under his chin. “This is an open investigation, so I can’t talk specifics,” he said. “Let’s just say the frequency of the fires is disturbing.”
Lynn took a deep breath. She racked her brains to glean something helpful from all the research she’d done.
“Experts say there are generally two types of arsonists— the amateur firebugs and the organized serial arsonists. What do you think we have here?”
Anderson sat up straight. His eyebrows rose in surprise. For a moment, he chewed at his lower lip, making his mustache jog. “Off the record?” he asked.
“Sure,” she said. “But we might have to revisit the issue later for the record.”
“We think we might have an amateur whose habits are escalating,” he said.
“What do you mean?”
He mentioned a series of grass fires and abandoned building fires had preceded Lynn’s arrival. Then there was Jen’s fire, an occupied home. “He seems to need bigger and bigger thrills as time passes.”
He pulled out a cigar and lighter from a desk drawer. The flame drew Lynn’s gaze like a magnet.
“It could also be that the person is trying to keep down the danger but his fascination grows and his willpower fails,” Anderson said, then paused to chuff out a couple of puffs of sweet scented smoke. “Fire is dangerous. And now we have a dead body.”
Dread scrabbled down her spine and crouched in her stomach at his words. “Do you think there could be more? Are people in danger?”
Anderson held up a finger. “Let’s not cause a panic,” he said. “But catching this person is a priority and the department is working on it.”
Lynn’s writing hand shook. She slid lower in her chair to keep her notebook out of Anderson’s view. The rogue needed to be stopped and time seemed to be running out. Would she be able to handle it? She didn’t have a choice. Lynn said a silent prayer. An unbidden thought blipped into her mind— and at the end of it all, she’d have a heck of a story. Front page, top half. A different kind of excitement flushed through her. My hunt, my story, and I will handle it.
“I need something on the record,” she said. “Do you have a suspect?”
“Yes.”
When Anderson didn’t add anything else, Lynn tried another angle. “A lot of times the amateur fire bugs turn out to be part of volunteer fire departments.”
Anderson leaned forward and fixed her with a glare. “Part of that impression is created by the media,” he said. “
More stories are written about firefighters who turn out to be fire-starters because of the irony of the situation.”
Without missing a beat, Lynn countered, “So, you are saying there isn’t an issue of arsonists joining fire departments?”
Anderson shifted around in his chair. “No, that’s something we do have to watch out for,” he said. “All new trainees and volunteers are carefully screened.”
She asked him to elaborate on the red flags.
“You know, fascination with fires or a disregard of rules and safety,” he said. “If somebody is over-eager or keeps showing up first on the scene.”
Fear squeezed her lungs until it hurt to breathe. Jack. Images of him standing in front of the burning hotel rolled through her mind. She forced herself to ask the next question. “Do you suspect anyone in the Paradise Valley Volunteer Fire Department?”
“No comment.”
She asked her standard, “Anything else you want to add?” and ended the interview. Lynn quickly explained that she was still in the information-gathering stage and would call Anderson again when she was closer to writing the story.
“That’s fine,” Anderson said, handing her a business card. “If anything else comes up, I’ll let you know.”
Cannon barked hard and furious, startling Jack out of his Tom Clancy novel. Seconds later the doorbell rang. Excitement sprinted through him. Jack jumped up. Lynn? No reason for her to come calling. Just get over the girl.
He trudged across the room, grabbed Cannon’s collar with one hand, and opened the door with the other. Henry Chase stood on the porch, leaning casually against a post in the universal pose of studied idleness. An image of him dancing with Lynn pushed into Jack’s mind and made his grip tighten.
Henry broke into a big smile, stuck his hand out and stepped forward.
Cannon lunged for him and Henry skipped back.
“Down boy!” Jack wondered why the usually friendly dog was acting up. “I’ll be with you in a second. Let me put him in the bedroom.”
He returned to find Henry strolling around staring at the deer heads in the family room. Jack gritted his teeth. Why hadn’t the man waited on the porch? He let out a breath and willed himself to relax. After all, he had left the door open. “So what brings you here?”
“Just wanted to talk some business with you.”
Jack knew Henry was the San Antone developer’s representative and that he was in town wheeling and dealing for land. But he couldn’t imagine what business the man could have with him since he wasn’t interested in selling.
“Why don’t you come into the office?” He turned and led the way.
Jack had run into Henry hanging out with some of the off-duty volunteer firefighters at local bars. His talents included buying drinks and telling funny stories. Seemed like a nice guy. Yet, Jack’s hands itched with the urge to punch him. Jack flexed his fingers. How much of his dislike of the guy had to do with Lynn? Jealousy? That was a new one.
Henry let out a low whistle as he entered the library. “Nice.”
Jack glanced around. “Thanks. It’s the family homestead.”
Henry caressed the top of one of the armchairs. “Family heirlooms. Treasures.” He peered into the display case.
Jack eased into the seat behind the desk. Surely the man hadn’t dropped in on him to talk furniture and knick-knacks. “So, what did you want to discuss?”
“Wow, you’re all business, aren’t you?” Henry flopped into a chair.
Jack leaned forward, not saying anything, and stared at his guest.
“Okay, okay,” Henry held up his hands. “I am here to make you an offer.”
“I’m listening.”
Henry reached into his satchel and pulled out a neatly bound Hope Builders’ concept plan for the Paradise Valley area and laid it on the desk. “We are looking for land and you have a lot of it. I think we could work together for mutual benefit.”
“Sorry, you wasted a trip. I’m not interested in selling.”
“How come? We’re open to price negotiations.”
“It’s nothing to do with money, I’m just not selling.”
Henry threw him a puzzled frown and scratched his chin. “I don’t get it,” he said. “From what I hear, you aren’t exactly a popular person in these parts. Why don’t you just take the money and make yourself a better life elsewhere?”
Jack’s temper flared. How dare this —stranger— listen to gossip and draw assumptions about his life? Would Paradise Valley never accept him for who he was? He looked down at his nails and stayed silent for a long while until he felt the anger tamp down. Then he looked Henry in the eye. “Because this is my land, my family’s land, and I will not be run off it by anybody.”
Now Henry leaned forward. “Some people would contest that claim.” He shrugged. “From what I hear.”
Jack clutched the arms of the chair, to keep himself from leaping across the desk. He needed to control his temper.
“Also, heard the Callaghans before you didn’t hesitate to sell and make a quick buck.” The other man laughed.
The sound grated on Jack’s nerves like the whine of a dentist’s drill. He pulled his pen knife from his jean pocket and flicked it open, counting to ten as he cleaned his fingernails with the blade. He’d been working on his temper, and wasn’t about to be goaded into losing it. “Well, I guess I am different from the other Callaghan men.”
Henry looked around the room again. “Come on, man, everyone has a price. We just have to find the right one for you.” He fingered the carved grooves in the arm rest. “Tell you what, I like some of this old furniture you have. How about I come up with a handsome figure to relieve you of the land, the ranch house and the furniture?”
Jack squinted at Henry. “Not interested.”
“Think about it,” Henry tried again. “You’ll be free as a bird, with cash to burn.”
Jack rose out of the chair until he towered over Henry. “Since you’ve been prying into my life, I am surprised you haven’t heard how stubborn I am,” he grated out. “Me and the rest of the Callaghans are legendary. You are wasting your time, Mr. Chase.”
Henry flashed him a switchblade of a smile. “Family,” he said. “Don’t worry, I’ve studied the Callaghan family history rather well. I’m going to find your price sooner or later. You’re a Callaghan, after all.”
It took a shitload of control not to punch the guy. Jack prided himself on being a gentleman, but he was about to throw Henry out. He shook with barely suppressed rage. I am not my father or my grandfather or my great-grandfather, he repeated silently. He took a few deep breaths and felt the calm return.
“Mr. Chase, you’ve run out your welcome. Leave.”
Henry rose from his chair and tipped his hat to Jack. “Until we meet again.”
Jack had just slammed the door shut, when his cell phone rang. Damn, he was popular today. He snatched the phone out of his pocket like it burned him. “Callaghan.”
“Hi there, sweet thang,” Annie said. “You alright?”
“Yeah, just peachy,” Jack bit out. “Why?”
“I just had a feeling you were upset.”
Damn. Annie had an uncanny sense of knowing when things were off with him.
She interrupted the silence. “You were in demand at the picnic last night, dancing with all those single gals.”
The feel of Lynn in his arms shot through him. He gritted his teeth and stalked back to the library. “Well, you’re always after me to be social, that’s what I was doing.”
“I think Lynn Alexander might have a crush on you,” Annie said. Once his sister set off, it was hard to derail or distract her. “She made you out to be quite the hero.”
Jack barked out a harsh laugh. “She was just doing her job,” he said. “Writing up a story good enough to sell papers.”
“She is a good writer, but I still think there’s some personal interest.”
“Whatever. I’m not interested.” Liar, liar pants on fir
e. He huffed out an impatient breath.
“Well,” his sister paused for a too-brief moment. “I have to tell you about this other really interesting conversation I had at the picnic.”
“Who with?”
“Kate Harrington.”
He slumped into a chair. “Should I guess what was said or are you going to tell me?”
“Well, she had a lot of questions about you,” Annie giggled. “Like if you were seeing anyone. She’s definitely interested.”
Jack laughed at his sister’s silliness and shook his head. “Maybe she was just making conversation.”
“Yeah right, she said you’d make a good couple. Both from old ranching background, both mature, both single.”
“What did you say?”
“I agreed.” She paused. “I hate seeing you waste away all by your lonesome.”
“Don’t worry about me,” he said. “I have better things to do.”
“Like what?” she retorted. “You’re both single. She’s attractive, classy, intelligent and interested. You could do a lot worse, especially since this area isn’t exactly hopping with eligible women.”
Jack hesitated. Kate wouldn’t quite fit fun and meaningless either. And, his heart ranted, she wasn’t Lynn. The memory of their dance broke to the surface of his thoughts. Jack had felt a shiver of pleasure as soon as he’d held Lynn in his arms. He recalled the sweet apple aroma of her scent, the softness of her body, the warmth of her breath.
His jeans tightened. Again. He needed to stop acting like a hormone-crazed teenager. Get a grip. But how could he stand being in Lynn’s vicinity without going stark raving mad? Maybe Kate would be a good distraction. “You have a point.”
“So you’ll ask her out?”
“I’ll think about it,” he said, ending the call.
Chapter 18
Pounding on her door jarred Lynn from a deep sleep. She burrowed deeper under the warm covers. The noise continued. “Jen?” she called out in the dark.
