The Arsonist

by Burton, Mary

His laugh was deep and rich. “Oh, that’s right. I keep forgetting.” He glanced toward the clerk, then back at her. “I’m getting some coffee. Can I join you? I’m waiting on a friend but could use the company until he arrives.”

  “That would be great. I’ll get us a table.”

  He winked. “Be right there.”

  Charmed, Darcy selected a small round table in the corner. A few minutes later, Nathan joined her with his steaming latte. “I stop in here every day. They’ve got the best coffee outside of New York.”

  “Are you from New York?” Idle chat suited her just fine for the moment.

  “It was one stop along the way.” He sipped his coffee. “I’ve lived all over.”

  “And you were born and raised in the heart of Virginia?”

  “Guilty. Even went to college twenty miles away in Roanoke.” He sipped his coffee. “Did I see you running this morning?”

  “I run just about every day.” It felt good to talk about regular things.

  Nathan looked like a man who was comfortable in his own skin. “How far do you run?”

  “Four miles.”

  “Fair distance.”

  “Normally, it’s farther. My run got cut a little short today by the fire.”

  His face hardened a fraction. “I just heard about the fire. Terrible.”

  “Did you see it?”

  “No. I was up early this morning on a conference call with my boss. We’ll be putting up steel at the site starting this week and there were figures to discuss.” He sipped his coffee. “I hear the restaurant was a complete loss.”

  “I didn’t think a building could be destroyed so fast.” She bit into her cookie, savoring the buttery taste.

  “Do you know if the owner had insurance?”

  “I don’t.” The bells on the café door jingled and, on reflex, she looked up. Whatever else she’d planned to say to Nathan vanished from her head. Michael Gannon strode into the café.

  Gannon glanced in her direction. His intense gaze captured hers and for a moment she felt a deep connection to him. She remembered the way he’d looked at her at the fire and the fantasies she’d had about him in the shower.

  Then his gaze shifted to Nathan and all traces of emotion vanished before he turned toward the counter and placed his order.

  “Coffee. Black.” His rusty voice sent tingles down her spine.

  A hint of warmth rose in her cheeks. She took a bite of her cookie. How was she supposed to not only act cool but also find a way to pick his brain about Nero?

  “So you know Gannon?” Nathan said following her line of sight.

  “What? Oh no, not really. I’ve just seen him around town.”

  Nathan stood up as Gannon approached with his coffee. “What took you so long?”

  Darcy glanced between Nathan and Gannon. This was the friend he’d been expecting. Great. Just great. Setting down her cookie, she brushed the crumbs from her lap and summoned her best interview smile. This chance meeting could work to her advantage if she kept it together.

  Nathan placed his hand gently on her shoulder. “Darcy Sampson, I’d like you to meet my friend, Michael Gannon. We met in D.C. last year when I was doing a project out in Loudoun County. He moved to Preston Springs about eleven months ago and now owns the motorcycle shop across the street from the Varsity.”

  “Oh,” she said, standing. “Right.”

  “Gannon, this is Darcy Sampson. Her family owns the Varsity and she is native to Preston Springs.”

  Gannon nodded. “Darcy.”

  Her name sounded different when Gannon said it. It sounded smoky—seductive.

  “Gannon would stay holed up in that bike shop of his for days if I didn’t drag him out for coffee occasionally,” Nathan said.

  “Right.” A half smile tipped the edge of Gannon’s lips.

  She suspected he accepted these coffee breaks more out of kindness than any need to be around people. Born in another time, Gannon would have been a mountain man.

  She still couldn’t get over the fact that this guy was Michael Gannon. He didn’t look anything like he had a year ago. The hair was no longer military short but swept the top of his shoulders. He’d swapped suits for a biker T-shirt and jeans. His entire aura had changed.

  Darcy struggled to speak coherently. “I almost didn’t recognize you without the motorcycle and helmet.”

  The corner of Gannon’s mouth rose further. “I almost didn’t recognize you without the trash can.”

  “Did I miss something here?” Nathan asked. He pulled out her seat and the trio sat down.

  Darcy cleared her throat. “Mr. Gannon and I met accidentally in the alley yesterday.”

  Gannon sipped his coffee. “I nearly ran her over with my bike and she shot me the bird.”

  Darcy’s face flushed with heat. “Sorry. Not one of my better days.”

  Nathan chuckled. “I’ve known Gannon a couple of years. He always did bring out the best in women.”

  Gannon’s eyes flashed with amusement. “It’s a talent.”

  Darcy cleared her throat. “What brought you to Preston Springs, Mr. Gannon?”

  “It’s just Gannon. And I liked the scenery,” he said.

  “It’s beautiful country here,” she said.

  Inwardly she groaned. What did she want to talk about next—the weather? She sat here with the man who knew Nero better than anyone and she couldn’t think of an intelligent thing to say. She was grateful when Nathan started talking to Gannon about interest rates and property values.

  Her mind drifted back to that time when the fires had gripped Washington. She, like everyone else in town, had been so relieved when Stephen reported that Nero had died in his last fire. The whole city had been thrilled. Gannon had disappeared from the scene altogether after the fires ended.

  And now Gannon was in Preston Springs and the fires had started here.

  She sipped her coffee. It tasted bitter.

  The image of Gannon standing at today’s fire flashed in her head. When his gaze had shifted to her, she’d assumed the raw, sexual intensity had been directed at her. But what if his passion hadn’t been for her? What if it was the fire that had turned him on?

  Gannon had been pegged a hero in D.C. but what if he was no hero at all?

  What if he was Nero?

  Damn.

  The idea was stunning—shattering. If she could prove one of the nation’s top arson investigators was in fact a serial arsonist who had killed twelve people, she could write her own ticket.

  Her heart was pounding so loudly in her ears, she feared the whole café could hear it.

  To calm her racing heart, she reviewed the facts.

  One. Gannon had been at the fire today.

  Two. He’d been watching with a fanatic intensity.

  Three. Arsonists loved to watch their fires burn.

  “Darcy?” Nathan said. “Where’d you go?”

  Her attention snapped back. “Sorry. Just drifted for a moment.”

  “Did we bore you with our talk of buildings and mortgages?” Nathan said.

  “No, it was fascinating,” she said.

  Gannon chuckled. “Right.”

  Nathan adjusted his glasses. “I was wondering if you’d like to come out and see the condos.”

  “Oh, yeah, sure. That would be great.” She didn’t care about the development but accepting the offer seemed the right thing to do.

  Gannon tapped his finger on the side of his coffee cup. “So what brings you to Preston Springs, Darcy?”

  She hesitated. “I’m in between jobs so I figured I’d drive back and take it easy for a while. My family owns the Varsity and since they were short-handed, they offered me a job.”

  “They were working you pretty hard last night in the tavern,” Nathan said.

  She could feel Gannon’s gaze on her. “I don’t mind the work. Keeps me off the streets,” she joked.

  Nathan laughed.

  Gannon didn’t.

  �
��So you own the garage, Gannon?” she said scrambling for more questions. “When I was a kid, the guy who owned it specialized in fixing Ford trucks. He called it American Parts.”

  “I figured as much by the stacks of old Ford manuals,” Gannon said.

  Nervous she tried not to squirm in her seat. If Gannon was Nero, this would be the biggest story of the decade. Pulitzer. Pulitzer. Pulitzer. “That was some fire.” Brilliant transition. Hitting Gannon over the head would have been less subtle.

  Gannon didn’t respond. He tapped his long finger on the side of his coffee cup.

  However, Nathan was eager to pick up the thread of the conversation. “Sounds like I missed a real show.”

  It surprised her that Gannon didn’t want to talk about the fire. She figured a true arsonist savored the damage he created. “I spoke to the chief after it was all over,” she said, trying not to look at Gannon too much. “He’s been a regular at the tavern for years. Anyway, he said the fire was one of the most intense he’d ever seen.” She hesitated. “You were there weren’t you, Gannon?”

  Gannon traced the rim of his cup with a calloused finger. “Yeah, I saw the smoke and came running.”

  “What did you think?” she said, trying to keep her voice neutral.

  “A helluva mess, like you said.” Gannon didn’t elaborate.

  “Was anyone hurt?” Nathan asked.

  “No,” Gannon replied.

  “Thank God,” Nathan muttered as he sipped his coffee.

  Getting information out of Gannon was like squeezing blood from a stone. “I heard the guys in the bar talking about another fire,” Darcy said. “What was it that burned down?”

  “A Super 8,” Nathan said.

  “You think they are related?” she asked.

  Nathan shrugged. “Who’s to say? But I wouldn’t be surprised. Maybe Larry is right. Could be teen gangs.”

  “What do you think, Gannon?” A small white scar ran along the edge of his jaw from his ear to his mouth. She wondered where he’d gotten it.

  Gannon looked down at his cup. He took a sip. He clearly didn’t like talking about the fires. “Can’t say.”

  “I’ll bet it’s the talk of the tavern tonight,” she added, hoping he’d snag the bait.

  Instead, Gannon rose. “Nathan, Darcy, I’ve got to run. I just remembered I’ve got a supplier stopping by the shop in a couple of minutes.”

  Nathan smiled easily. “Oh yeah, sure. We’ll catch up soon.”

  Darcy stood, trying to hide her disappointment. “It was nice to meet you—officially.”

  Gannon nodded. “Yeah.”

  After Gannon had left she and Nathan made small talk, though she found it hard to concentrate on anything but Nero. While she drank her coffee and ate the cookies, she itched to follow Gannon and ask him a hundred other questions on her mind.

  The thought of breaking the Nero story made her giddy.

  Some days, life could be so sweet.

  Chapter 6

  Gannon spent most of that night dreaming about Nero. The flames, the crazy puzzles, the victims—they all haunted him. At 5:00 a.m., he finally gave up on sleep and rose. He was exhausted and in a foul mood.

  After he showered and drank a pot of coffee, he got into his car and drove to the fire department’s main offices. He needed to talk with the fire chief. He wasn’t expecting a warm reception. Not only was he an outsider, but he was also retired from a department far from this jurisdiction. Technically, the fires were none of his business.

  But as he’d watched the fire burn yesterday, the speed and the intensity of the blaze had all screamed Nero—or at least someone who thought he was Nero. Preston Springs—his town—had a serial arsonist in its midst.

  He parked his car and strode through the glass front doors. He stopped at the receptionist’s desk and asked to speak to the chief.

  “He’s in meetings,” the older woman said, cupping her hand over a phone cradled on her shoulder.

  “Chief Wheeler and I are friends,” he lied. He knew the chief loved motorcycles because he had stopped by his shop a couple of times to check out his inventory. He’d never bought anything, but he liked dreaming. “We’ve been trying to hook up for days now. I’ve got a new motorcycle in I thought he might like to see. When will he be available?”

  The woman’s frown deepened as her gaze traveled over Gannon’s faded jeans and worn T-shirt. “Sorry, but he really is tied up. I can have him give you a call.”

  He forced a smile. “Don’t worry. I’ll catch up with him.”

  Gannon started to leave and the receptionist returned to her call. But instead of heading outside, he turned and made a beeline around her desk toward the chief’s office. The receptionist shouted for him to stop, but he didn’t listen. He barged into the chief’s office.

  The chief sat at his desk, studying a thick file. He glanced up clearly annoyed and surprised by the interruption. Recognition softened his glare. “Gannon?”

  “We need to talk.”

  “About? I’m up to my eyeballs in paperwork today.”

  The receptionist stumbled to a stop behind Gannon. “I tried to stop him, sir, but he just barged right past my desk.”

  Unapologetic, Gannon held his ground. “This is important, Chief. It’s about the fires.”

  Chief Wheeler glanced at the receptionist. “Thanks, Sue. I’ll take it from here.” He waited until she’d left and closed the door before he motioned for Gannon to sit. “What about the fires?”

  Gannon’s body jumped with adrenaline. He wanted to pace but made himself sit. “I think you’ve got a serial arsonist in town.”

  The chief rubbed the back of his neck. “What makes you think that? We’ve had two fires in the last week, one of which can be explained away by faulty construction.”

  This bit of information surprised him. “You know the motel fire was construction related for certain?”

  “Preliminary reports suggest it.”

  “The reports are wrong.”

  Chief Wheeler’s eyes narrowed. “I’ll admit we’re not a big city department, but we’re not rookies fresh from the academy either, Gannon.”

  Frustration rose in his throat. “I don’t want this to turn into an ego thing, Chief. This is about stopping the fires.”

  Annoyance tightened the chief’s jaw. “What makes you think there are going to be more fires?”

  Gannon dug in his pocket for the packs of matches. “Someone sent me these.”

  The chief took the Rome matches and studied them. “Okay, matches.”

  “Open the flap.”

  The chief read the inscription. Day One.

  “I got those yesterday. If Nero holds to his pattern, I’ll get more matches today.”

  The chief lifted a brow. “Nero? Gannon, he’s dead.”

  Gannon was certain now that the body found in that last D.C. fire was not Nero’s. He had no facts—just a sick feeling in the pit of his stomach.

  But convincing the chief and everyone else that Nero was alive was a different matter.

  He decided for now to downplay Nero. “What I meant to say was I think you’ve got a Nero copycat on your hands.”

  “Why the devil would a copycat land in Preston Springs?”

  “Because I’m here.”

  Chief Wheeler leaned back in his chair and folded his arms over his chest. “Seems a bit farfetched.”

  “I was Nero’s target for seven months. It stands to reason a copycat would do the same.”

  “Look, I know life can seem pretty dull here compared to D.C.”

  “Look, I’m not some has-been investigator looking for trouble when there isn’t any.”

  The chief raised an eyebrow. “Didn’t say that you were. But I can tell you that two fires and one pack of matches doesn’t mean we got anything other than two unrelated fires. Maybe someone sent those matches to you as a joke.”

  Gannon flexed the tension from his fingers. “It’s not a damn bit funny.”

>   The chief was losing patience. “Didn’t say it was.”

  “There’s more to this, Chief, I can feel it.”

  “Feelings don’t do much for me.” The chief rose. “Tell you what. You go back to building those motorcycles, and I’ll take care of the fire fighting.”

  Gannon stood so quickly his chair skidded back on the carpeted floor. “I don’t need your condescending attitude, Chief. I came here to warn you that there could be more fires.”

  Anger flashed in the chief’s gray eyes. “And I don’t need you barging in my office when I got work to do. You get hard evidence and we’ll talk.”

  Gannon was so mad he could hardly see straight. No one would blame him if he walked away. He’d more than paid his dues. Instead, he heard himself saying, “Watch the schools.”

  The comment caught the chief off guard. “Why?”

  “If the pattern holds true, the Nero wannabe is going to torch a school next.”

  Chief Wheeler’s lips flattened. “Don’t jerk my chain, son.”

  “I’m not,” he ground out. “Believe me, this is the last kind of situation I want to be in.”

  Gannon left the office angry and irritated. There were going to be more fires. Fires were a game to Nero and he’d clearly enjoyed the cat and mouse game they’d played in D.C.

  He drove back to his garage and parked in the back alley. He tossed his keys on the workbench by the back door and headed straight to his tools. On the lift sat the bike he was supposed to finish and send to the paint shop next week. He’d spent most of yesterday fabricating the custom handlebars and now he needed to attach them to the bike.

  Aggravated, he put on his welding mask and fired up his torch. The chief was a fool. He stared at the blue-white flame and found himself transported back to the fires that had ravaged the D.C. area last year. He thought about the lives lost. The destruction. The fear.

  Gannon forced his focus back to the bike. He started to weld metal to metal.

  Nero, or some nut who thought he was, was out there just waiting to set more fires. Gannon had done his part and tried to warn the chief. It wasn’t his fault that the guy wouldn’t listen.

  Watch the schools.

  Gannon’s own words haunted him. No matter how much he wanted to let this go, he couldn’t. He shut off the torch. When he turned, he saw Darcy standing by the door.