The Arsonist

by Burton, Mary

  “Thanks, I’m fine. Besides I’m sweaty.”

  “Put the jacket on.”

  Grateful for the warmth, she shrugged it on. The jacket smelled of Gannon. Masculine. She almost felt as if his arms were wrapped around her. “So why the school?” she asked hoping the knot in her stomach would release.

  “First, we strike a deal. I don’t want any secrets. You lie to me and I’ll cut you off.”

  “Information is a two-way street. You cut me out and I walk, too.”

  He stared at her a long moment. “Agreed. I also don’t want you going public with anything unless I give the okay. You start leaking information before I say so and I’ll cut the flow of information off immediately.”

  “I don’t like having my stories controlled by anyone but me.”

  The glint in his eyes told her this was non-negotiable. “Decide now, Darcy. That’s the condition of my help.” He leaned toward her. “What I have to say will put you back on the map.”

  She had no doubt his information was good. What worried her was his true motive. Did he want to stop Nero or was he Nero?

  “Deal,” she said. They had shared nothing as formal as a handshake. Each knew where the other stood.

  He nodded. “You are right about Raymond Mason. I think he was set up.”

  Darcy’s heart rate accelerated. “Can you prove it?”

  “Not yet.”

  She tamped town her frustration. “Then how do you know he wasn’t Nero?”

  “My gut. Nero was just too damn smart to make a stupid mistake such as not knowing the back door to the warehouse was bolted. His attention to detail was superb. Add in the fact that I was getting too close to Nero. I think he panicked and pulled out of the game.”

  “Do you know who he is?”

  Frustration deepened his frown. “No. But I feel like I know him. And I know he is close.”

  Her skin tingled. “Tell me about him.”

  “He is in his mid-thirties or forties. There’s a certain air of maturity about his letters and messages, yet, his handwriting isn’t that of an old man. He loves control.”

  “Education?”

  “I’d say very educated, college, graduate school even. The games, the puzzles, he loves them all.” He turned and faced her. She noted the small scar on his chin and was tempted to trace it with her fingertip. She didn’t. “He dresses well, very neat. All his fires were very organized, the accelerants lined up in straight rows.”

  “He loved the attention.”

  “He is addicted to it.”

  “What if you left town? Would he stop?”

  “For a while. Then he’d follow and the fires would start up again.” His gaze held hers. “It’s not just about the fires. It’s about the hunt.”

  “It sounds like you crawled in his head.”

  “I did.”

  “You keep saying he. You are certain Nero is a man.”

  “Yes.”

  She wished she had her pad and pencil. “Have you called the arson team in D.C.?”

  “Yeah. They won’t touch this one because if Nero is alive, then that means they were all wrong a year ago. Too many careers were built after Nero’s death.”

  Disgust ate at her. “So why the school?” she said refocusing.

  He stared at the sunny brick building with the brightly colored pictures taped in the classroom windows. “If Nero’s pattern holds true, this school—or one like it—will be the next target.”

  A sick feeling tightened her gut. “There’s two weeks of school left. Hundreds of children go to this school.”

  “The last school he torched went up at lunchtime. The school had a quick-thinking principal and he had his kids out of the school in record time. No one was killed but if he’d delayed even three minutes, the children in the west wing would have been killed when the roof collapsed.”

  “My God.”

  “Nero is one sick bastard, Darcy. And I need you to understand that this is more than just a story. It’s about stopping someone who is very evil.”

  A cold chill snaked down her spine. “Have you alerted the chief?”

  “I have. He thinks I’m either a nut, a burnout or someone poaching on his territory. I’m going to stop by the police after I drop you off, but I’m not holding out much hope for them either.”

  “Do you have any proof?”

  Gannon reached in his pocket and pulled out the two books of Rome matches. He opened the flaps and showed her the inscription.

  She studied the thick bold lettering. “Everyone in D.C. knew about the matches.”

  “Look at the ink.”

  “It’s green.”

  “A green fine-tipped marker. That is a detail that never made it to the papers.”

  “You’re basing all this on green ink. That could be a lucky coincidence.” Great. Maybe Gannon was a nut. Maybe this was a setup.

  He sighed. “There’s more to it than ink. It’s the shape of the a’s. The way he presses down when he writes. It’s him. I’d bet my life on it.”

  She rubbed her fingers over the gold embossed letters of Rome. “We’re going to need more evidence than matches and Raymond’s sister to prove Nero is alive. D.C. has a lot of hard evidence that proves Raymond was Nero. You tell me what’s more credible.”

  “I’ve thought a lot about the hard evidence over the last year. All of it could have been staged.”

  “Why would Nero come back after all this time? It can’t just be boredom.”

  “Nero can’t walk away from the fires any more than Trevor can walk away from the booze. Like I said, he’s addicted to the rush.”

  Addiction. Compulsion. Disease. How many times had she heard those terms growing up? “I know what a tight hold the demons can have on a man.”

  His shoulders relaxed a fraction. “Let’s go back to my apartment. My old case files are there.”

  Darcy hesitated. Gannon fit his own description of Nero. And here she was ready to follow him to his apartment.

  When he noticed she wasn’t following, he stopped and said, “Are you coming?”

  Now or never, Sampson. “Yeah, I’m coming.”

  Two hours later, Darcy sat in the corner of Gannon’s apartment with a half-dozen folders spread out around her.

  Sunlight streamed through the apartment’s tall windows. The apartment was furnished simply with a couch and a large eating table with a couple of chairs around it. There was no TV in sight but stacks of books lined the walls as if expecting Gannon to build bookshelves for them. In the far left corner of the room was his bed, rumpled and twisted sheets testifying to a restless night’s sleep. To her right, a galley kitchen with a small stove and refrigerator, which she suspected was empty.

  Since she’d arrived, she’d done nothing but read Gannon’s case folders as he paced. Finally, when she could take his pacing no more, she told him to sit and be still. He’d sat at his dining table and started to work on designs for another bike. Though he said nothing, she knew his thoughts weren’t far from her.

  Gannon’s notes were meticulous. He had explored every aspect of Nero, including the man’s background, possible professions, his reasons for setting the fires, and even a physical description. According to Gannon’s notes, Nero likely had a steady job. Raymond Mason had gotten his degree but had not held a steady job since he’d left the army.

  The muscles in her shoulders ached as she picked up an article from last year—one that Barbara Rogers had written.

  What interested her was not the article but the picture of Gannon standing at the podium during a statement to the press.

  Dressed in a coat and tie, his eyes were dark and angry. Deep lines in his forehead had faded somewhat. He looked so worried and concerned. This wasn’t the face of a man who was setting fires. This was the face of a man frustrated that he couldn’t stop a killer.

  She glanced up at Gannon. He studied the paper in front of him, but he wasn’t drawing. Those same lines had returned to his face. He was d
esperate to catch Nero.

  In that moment, she knew.

  Gannon was not Nero.

  Darcy sat back in her chair. Unreasonable relief flooded through her body.

  “You look ten years younger now,” she said laying another article aside.

  He glanced up from the sketch and set his pencil down. Seemingly relieved to have the silence broken, he rose and moved toward her. “I felt two hundred when that picture was taken. Nero was torching the city and my wife had just left me.”

  He’d been married. She glanced at his naked ring finger. Whatever tan lines his wedding band might have left were completely gone. “I’m sorry.”

  He flexed the fingers on his left hand. “About the fires or my divorce?”

  “Both. The divorce. I’ve been left. I know how it hurts.”

  He studied her as if he were trying to read her thoughts. “Looks like you’ve moved on.”

  The last thing she wanted to do was talk about Stephen. “And you, too.”

  A grim smile tipped the edge of his lips. “We’re a couple of survivors.”

  “Yeah.” Uncomfortable with the personal line of conversation she said, “I see similarities to the fires here. It’s not just the locations. They have the same feel.”

  He nodded thoughtfully. “Nero has a specific style and burn pattern.”

  “So what do we do?”

  “I’m going to set up cameras in places where I think he’ll strike. Then I’m going to start talking about Nero and let it be known I think he’s a coward.”

  “How do you know he’ll hear what you’re saying about him?”

  He didn’t look the least bit worried. “He’s close. I can feel it.”

  She kept her voice even, but her nerves jumped. “What do I do?”

  “I don’t think he has been completely dormant this last year. I think there’ve been other fires. Smaller, likely not more than one or two in a city, but fires nonetheless. I need for you to start searching databases to see what pops up.”

  “I’ll call my editor at the paper. He’ll do a search for me if I give him the guidelines.” Then before he could say anything, she said, “He knows I’m down here investigating Nero. And he is expecting to hear from me.”

  He shoved out a breath as if willing his body to relax. “All right. Call him. Tell him we are looking for school, restaurant, church and hotel fires. Those are Nero’s favorite targets.”

  Nodding, she pulled her cell phone off her waistband and dialed her editor. The phone rang three times and for a moment she feared Paul wasn’t in his office. Finally, he picked up. “Paul Tyler.”

  “Paul, it’s me, Darcy.” She could feel Gannon’s gaze on her.

  “Darcy? It’s about time you called. What have you found out so far?” Paul asked.

  “I made contact with Gannon.” From the corner of her eye, she could see his frown deepen.

  “Good. Have you learned anything?”

  She quickly explained about the new set of fires in Preston Springs and their similarity to the Nero fires in Washington.

  Paul listened without comment but she could almost hear him frowning through the phone.

  “Darcy, I want you to be careful. Gannon is a suspect as far as I’m concerned.”

  She lowered her voice. “Let’s not get into that right now.”

  “Is Gannon with you now?”

  “Yes.” She glanced at Gannon. He leaned against the exposed brick wall, his arms folded over his chest.

  Darcy could picture Paul peering over his black half-glasses and staring out his small window that overlooked the street. “I don’t want you getting hurt.”

  “Everything is under control.”

  “Famous last words.”

  She ignored that comment. “Paul, I need you to do a search for me. I’m specifically looking for arson fires in the last year—schools, restaurants, churches and hotels. Chances are these fires won’t be huge, but they’ll match Nero’s MO.”

  Papers rustled in the background. Darcy could imagine Paul shuffling through the mountain of papers on his desk as he searched for a pen. “Consider it done. Anything else?”

  “No, that’s it for now.”

  Paul’s chair squeaked as she leaned forward. “Has he given you any good information?”

  “I’ve studied his case files. They’re very detailed and helpful. And Paul, for now, keep this to yourself.”

  “No problem. I’ll get on this search. I’ll call you soon.”

  Gannon moved beside Darcy. He stared at her, blue eyes penetrating. She felt skittish when he was close—it was hard to breathe evenly.

  “Thanks.” Darcy put the receiver down. “He’s going to do the search in a couple of hours.”

  “Good.”

  Gannon walked to the window. He stared out at the clouds drifting by, the azure sky. “There are going to be more fires and soon.”

  Nervous, she moved to his kitchen where she’d seen a coffeepot earlier. The pot was half full. She poured a cup. It tasted like mud. “Who taught you how to make coffee?”

  The light in the window slashed across his face. “I learned from an old fireman. He liked it strong.”

  She poured the cup down the sink. “Drinking battery acid has more appeal. Where do you keep your coffee grinds?”

  “Above the sink. You don’t have to do that. I’ll make another pot.”

  “No, no,” she said holding up her hand. “Let the professional handle this. I’ve been making coffee in the tavern since I was six.”

  She found the grinds, dumped out the old. Soon, she was brewing a fresh pot.

  He sat on the stool on the other side of the counter and stared at her. “So how did you get from here to D.C.?”

  “A long story. And Nero is more important.”

  “We’ve got a few spare minutes. Spill it, Sampson. Why’d you run away from home?”

  His comment struck a nerve. “Not much to tell. Dad was a drinker. Mom was always in denial. Trevor was the golden child. I never fit. For as long as I can remember I wanted out. I earned a scholarship to Hollins University. I got my degree while working in the tavern. The day I graduated I packed up and left.” She pulled two fresh cups from the cabinet and set them on the counter. “I’m boring.”

  “No, you’re not.” A half smile tugged the edge of his lips, but there was no mirth attached to it. “You’re remarkable.” She saw raw sexual desire in his eyes.

  Uncomfortable, she said. “So why the switch to bikes?”

  He didn’t question her need to shift the spotlight off her life. “Always loved ‘em. My old man used to build them. My brother Rafe and I would sit for hours and watch him work. But my kid sister Darla is the genius when it comes to machines. ‘Fact, she’s crewing on the NASCAR circuit now as a mechanic.”

  “Impressive.” The coffee finished brewing and she filled both the cups.

  “No sugar in the house but there is milk in the refrigerator.”

  “Great.”

  She got the milk and poured what few drops were left in the carton into her cup. “What is it with guys? Two drops left in the milk carton and they still stick it back in the fridge?”

  He laughed.

  Smiling, she handed him his cup. As he reached for it, his fingers brushed hers.

  The sexual chemistry between them snapped. The laughter in his eyes vanished. She knew he’d take her right here in the kitchen if she said the word. Her pulse throbbed in the base of her throat. Her mouth felt dry and her stomach tightened.

  In that instant, Darcy knew it wasn’t a matter if they landed in bed, but when.

  Chapter 10

  Gannon’s body went hard as he stared at Darcy. He’d been doing his best to ignore the tension between them since she climbed on his bike today and hugged her body close to his. He’d felt her breasts pressing against his back and her bare thighs brushing his hips. Throughout the ride, he kept imagining those long legs of hers wrapped around him as he drove into her.
>
  A sane man would have sent her away and taken a cold shower. Distance. Perspective. That’s what he needed.

  But he didn’t give a damn about distance or perspective right now. He wanted to taste Darcy.

  Setting his cup down, he moved around the counter and before either could analyze too much, he took her face in his hands and kissed her on the lips.

  The kiss was gentle at first. Strictly exploratory. And he half expected her to belt him and tell him to get lost.

  But she didn’t.

  Her lips parted slightly and she relaxed into him. Needing no more encouragement, he teased her lips open wider with his tongue. She accepted him without hesitation.

  Darcy wrapped her long bare arms around him and deepened the kiss. God, but she tasted so good.

  Her rapid pulse beat through the sleek fabric of her tank top and tapped against his chest. Her excitement matched his own.

  Gannon pressed his erection against her thin jogging pants. She moaned softly.

  He allowed his hand to drop to her shoulders and then down her spine to her backside. He squeezed her buttocks gently and pushed her against him. Still kissing her, he guided her toward the bed. When the back of her legs bumped into the edge of the bed, he eased her back toward the soft mattress.

  He cupped her breast and through the fabric of her jogging top, teased her nipple into a hard peak. “I want to be inside you.”

  Darcy froze at the sound of Gannon’s voice. Thick with desire and passion, it broke the spell. Reality crashed through the haze of desire. Losing control wasn’t her style, especially in the bedroom. And she was on the verge of throwing caution to the wind.

  She moved her face from his, breaking the kiss. “No, Gannon.”

  He was already reaching for his belt buckle when she spoke. His hand stilled. His face was only inches from hers. “What’s wrong?” The words sounded torn from his throat.

  “This is not smart, Gannon.”

  He kept his hand on her shoulder, as if she were a skittish mare, not a woman who knew when she was crossing the line. “I know.”

  She moistened her lips with her tongue. “And as much as I’d like your hands on me, there are practical reasons why we can’t do this. And I’m not just talking about condoms.”