by G. K. Parks
I tried to think about the possibilities. Given everything that happened recently, it was next to impossible to separate Bisset and Strader’s threats from the fire, but I swore to Cross they were unrelated. Though the timing royally fucked up that theory. “What about Asher York?”
“He’s MIA. After he made bail, he vanished. No one at Delicious has seen him. He didn’t even bother to call in.” Renner quirked an eyebrow. “It looks suspicious, but I don’t like him for this. He attacked Bisset with a knife in front of a witness. Arson isn’t beyond the scope of possibility, but York has a short fuse. I don’t think he’d execute a sneak attack. I think he’d walk right up to Easton and light him on fire.”
“Didn’t Easton say Bridget would do the same thing?”
“Yeah, he did. Easton obviously has a knack for pissing people off.”
York’s sudden disappearance didn’t help matters. “What do the police think about York?”
“They don’t know what to think, but locating him is a priority.”
“And Bisset’s and Strader’s alibis?”
“They check out. Bisset spent the night at his aunt’s. Dozens of witnesses saw him calling out bingo numbers until almost midnight. Even if he snuck out afterward, he couldn’t have made it from Shady Groves to Easton’s house in time. And Strader was at Bouillon. Kasey, Isla, and Max were with him. On top of that, the security cameras from the kitchen show him working on a new recipe until three a.m. He’s not our guy.”
“He could have altered the footage and threatened his staff if they didn’t cover for him.”
“That’s what Lucien thinks,” Renner said.
Cross believed Strader’s alibi was bullshit since the chef was a technology nut, but I didn’t think his coworkers would lie for him. Sure, they probably worried about their job security, but from the social media posts Renner and I had read, I had a feeling they would have gotten a cheap thrill from putting the boss behind bars, even if it was just for one more night.
“That brings us back to the beginning.” I put my head in my hands, peering out between my splayed fingers. “Who would want to burn down Chef Easton’s restaurant and home?”
“Isn’t it more about the fire than the target for serial arsonists?” Renner asked. I didn’t know. My research and profile didn’t elaborate because anyone could do anything for any reason. Serial arsonists didn’t fit into a nice, neat mold. Neither did serial killers. “As far as we know, the fires never hurt anyone.”
“We need to flesh out the rest of our firebug’s victims. It’s the only way we’re going to track him down.” Oh, god. How did this end up turning into a citywide manhunt? I cringed, my skin crawling. “How long do you think this has been going on without anyone noticing?”
“Assuming Dil’s questionable cases all link to the same arsonist, at least,” Renner flipped to the back of the stack, “five years.”
“How many fires?”
“Seventeen, but there could be more. Or less. We won’t know unless we find traces of that substance, and not all these sites still exist. Most have been demolished. Some have been rebuilt.” He swallowed. “You realize what’ll happen if we’re wrong. Our reputation, our livelihood, it’ll go up in a puff of smoke. We can’t unring this bell, Parker.” He stared at me from the screen. “Are you sure about this?”
“Yes. I’m just not sure why an arsonist fixated on Chef Easton.” Another chilling thought shot through my mind. “Why would the arsonist suddenly change his MO?” It was the same question I asked Cross, but just like our boss, Renner didn’t have an answer. “The cause of the suspicious fires was electrical. Am I remembering that correctly?”
“Yeah, the point of origin was always near an outlet, though the cause varied. Frayed cord. Defective appliance. Improper connection. Overheated wiring.”
“And no one was ever hurt?”
“Nope.”
“Give me the case numbers. I’ll run everything by Lt. Payne and double-check with the police department and hospitals just to make sure, but we have a big problem, Bennett. Until now, our arsonist hasn’t been violent, but he tried to barbeque Easton twice. I don’t want to know what will happen if he tries again.”
“Don’t worry about that. Easton’s safe. Lucien has several safe houses. We’ll get round-the-clock guards. We’ll maintain complete radio silence. No one will know where he is. He’ll be safe until we get it figured out.”
I hated being so far away. Renner needed my help, and I made a promise to Easton. “I can catch a flight tomorrow.” Even though I swore I wouldn’t do it, the words exited my mouth without permission.
“I appreciate that, but you said you needed the time off. I got this. Plus, Lucien will be back Sunday, and with Bridget’s money covering expenses, everyone’s getting involved. If you’re wrong, we’re all going down together.” Renner chuckled. “I would tell you to enjoy the rest of your time off, but from the looks of you, I’m not sure you’ve taken any time off. Go drop twenty bucks on red eighteen for me, and I’ll see you next week.” Before I could say a word, Renner disconnected.
I crumpled in the chair. Too many theories and ideas crashed into one another, misfiring my synapses and leaving me motionless while I tried to determine my next course of action. I couldn’t let this go. I had to help. No one else could die because I screwed up. I couldn’t go through that again, but when the suite door opened and I saw the tension radiating off Martin in waves that he did his best to hide, I made my decision and prayed I wouldn’t spend the rest of my life regretting it.
* * *
The breeze picked up, and I tucked myself further into Martin’s open shirt. He ran his hand up and down my back, the platinum band on his ring finger clinking against the beading at the side of my bikini bottom. He tapped it again. The sound unfamiliar, even though he hadn’t taken it off since the ceremony.
The event was a blur. I remembered the orange and pinks in the sky, the gentle crash of the nearby waves, and the promises we made. Mine to always find my way back and his to spend every day making sure I knew he loved me. We couldn’t promise much, at least I couldn’t. But it felt like everything.
Martin hadn’t had a detectable nightmare since. His eyes were bright, his complexion healthy, and the dark around his eyes and broken veins surrounding his irises had disappeared. He was at peace or as close to it as a person could get when picking me as his life partner.
Honestly, I didn’t think it had anything to do with the words we exchanged at sunset outside Martin’s beach house on Saturday night. He was at ease because he knew I chose him over a case, and I had never done that before. I didn’t make that decision lightly. But things were different now.
He was my priority. We were my priority. In the course of our relationship, everything between us had changed. Recently, he proved his love and conviction. It was only fair I return the favor. At this point, neither of us had any doubts about the other. I just feared the timing couldn’t be worse.
I shifted, adjusting my top. The stitching around the cups had been driving me crazy ever since we got out of the water. I had a feeling I’d gotten sand in my top. Most people got sand in their bottoms. I got it in my top.
Martin’s other hand combed my wet hair out of the way, and his fingers went to the double-knot holding my bikini in place. He tugged on one of the strings, sinking a finger into the center of the knot and separating the two.
“Don’t you dare,” I warned, suddenly much more alert. “This isn’t a topless beach.”
Martin didn’t let go of the strings. “You’re right. It’s a private beach. That means it’s topless, nude, or whatever we want it to be.”
I looked around, but Martin was right. There wasn’t a soul in sight. Frankly, I suspected he owned the entire tiny island. When I asked him about it earlier, he didn’t deny it. A one lane bridge connected the island to the mainland, which was easily within swimming distance, but we hadn’t spent a lot of time away from the property. And no one els
e had ventured onto the private beach while we had been here.
“I’ll take off my top if you do,” Martin said.
The white linen shirt he wore was already splayed open around his chest. However, since I found the breeze cold against my damp skin, I had insinuated myself into his shirt. “No.” I slipped my hands beneath his back to keep them warm. He squirmed, unprepared for the sudden assault of cold against his hot skin.
He reached for the remote and turned the heat up on the hearth. The simulated fire burned brighter, and warmer air surrounded us. It was late summer. It wasn’t cold, but compared to the three digit temperatures we left in Vegas, anything below one hundred degrees felt chilly, especially since my swimsuit was still wet from our dip in the ocean.
“Better?”
“Much.” I kissed his chest until I felt another tug at my top. “Do it, and I’m getting an annulment.”
He laughed. “I’d like to see you try. There’s nothing to annul. We’re committed. You can’t annul that.”
“You should be committed.”
He gave the knot a final tug, and the taut sides went limp. He slid his hand to the strap around my back, and I pressed my chest against his.
“I’m going to kill you.”
“I’m helping.” He grinned, undeterred by my anger. “You’ve adjusted the top a dozen times in the last twenty minutes. It’s driving you crazy.”
“It’s not the only thing.”
He undid the bottom tie and tugged on the fabric until I lifted up just enough for him to pull it free. “Plus, you don’t want tan lines.”
“Neither do you.” I stared down at his hand resting against my arm. “You should take off the ring.”
“Never.” He pulled out my ponytail holder, ran both hands through my hair, and tied my hair back up before kissing me. “I love you.” He reached between us, fishing for the chain around my neck. He held the two bound rings and heart-shaped charm in his palm. “See, that’s what it says right here in case you ever forget.”
“I won’t, just like I won’t forget you took off my top for the entire world to see.”
Martin smirked, sitting up while I clung to his chest to keep myself covered. He slipped his shirt off and wrapped it around me. “Better?”
“You could have done that first.”
“True, but it wouldn’t have been as much fun.”
Thirty-three
Leaving Martin’s beach house was hard. For those five days, we were untouchable. Life was perfect. At least, I pretended it was.
Renner sent daily e-mail updates. Easton was safe. The BFI and PD were reopening old cases. The chemical compound popped up at several other fires. We no longer referred to it as sealant. It was an oxidizing agent. Only trace amounts remained, but we knew it was custom made by the arsonist. If we could track the substance, we’d find him.
Chef York remained MIA. Strader and Bisset were under constant police surveillance, though Strader claimed it was harassment and threatened to sue the city. But, given the circumstances, the police didn’t back down.
No additional attempts had been made on Easton’s life since he remained in utter seclusion at one of Cross Security’s safe houses. However, tomorrow, he planned a second soft launch of Easton’s Eats. It would be his first public appearance since the fire at his house, and given the social media shoutouts and posts, people knew the food truck’s second voyage would be happening tomorrow. The police and Cross Security would be on high alert. The fire department knew to standby. Maybe this would flush out the arsonist, but I had my doubts.
Martin’s jet touched down, my fingers leaving permanent indentions in the armrest. The relaxed, vacation vibe of his beach house and our perfect romantic getaway already a distant memory. I’d been a ball of nerves since we packed last night. I hadn’t slept. I couldn’t eat. The familiar unsettling feeling had crept into my psyche, warning me of impending danger. I tried to write it off as pre-flight jitters, but I knew better.
“Can we stop by my apartment before we go home to make sure the movers didn’t miss anything,” I asked. I knew they didn’t, but so much had changed. I needed a minute to say goodbye to my old life.
“You heard the lady,” Martin said to Marcal who helped load our luggage into the trunk. Martin opened the back door and waited for me to get inside before shutting the door and going around to the other side. “I’ve been meaning to ask, what are we calling one another?”
I gave him a confused look. “Most of the things I call you aren’t very nice to say in front of other people.”
“Alex, I’m serious. Girlfriend doesn’t fit anymore. And given our professions, partner has other connotations. Life partner just sounds–”
“Cringe-worthy?”
“Yeah.” He licked his lips, his eyes darting to the glistening diamond hanging around my neck and the plain silver-colored band. “I’m not a fool. I know our little private beach ceremony didn’t mean much to you, but it meant the world to me. I loved every second of it. I’m hoping this means you’ll give me the chance to prove to you we can handle more. I do want to marry you one day. So,” he fidgeted, “can we go with fiancée since you’re wearing my ring?”
“You just want to see how far you can push me before I jump out of a moving vehicle.”
“No, I …”
“It’s okay,” I smiled, “but the first person who asks me when the wedding is might get shot.”
He laughed uneasily, probably unsure if I was joking. Marcal watched us from the rearview mirror; I saw the words form in his mind. Martin’s valet was ballsy enough to ask. Though, my firearm was safely out of reach in the trunk. The laughter that followed calmed my nerves, temporarily erasing my fears of the days to come.
Giving in to the exhaustion and adrenaline crash, I sunk onto the back seat. My head rested against Martin’s shoulder as we rode toward home. Technically, the apartment was no longer mine. It was after the first of the month, but since I’d had it for so long, the landlord gave me a two week grace period to move out. He probably just wanted to make sure I had plenty of time to pack my things and go. The only place I wanted to go more desperately than my apartment was the office, but it was late. Everyone would be at home or with Easton at the safe house, and I didn’t know the location. Work would have to wait until the morning.
Martin’s phone let out a nonstop string of beeps as soon as he flipped it off airplane mode. Obviously, one of us needed to get a jump on things. He sighed, clicking as he replied to messages. Our five day break from the real world meant we had to face the consequences. Fortunately, with work and Martin’s sleep patterns back to normal, I’d have plenty of time to dedicate to Easton’s case.
The car slowed, and I looked out the window. We were three blocks from my apartment building. Traffic inched forward, and when the city bus turned at the next intersection, I saw the flashing lights ahead. Three fire trucks and several ambulances were parked in front of my apartment. Not my apartment, my internal voice muttered. Police cars blocked off the street, and traffic cops in neon yellow vests armed with flashlights redirected traffic.
Without thinking, I opened the car door and stepped onto the sidewalk. I didn’t see the smoke at first, but I smelled it. My legs moved on autopilot, slowly at first, and then faster. I ran toward my home, my apartment, watching in horror as two firefighters carried one of my neighbors out the front door.
“Alex,” Martin yelled after me.
I looked up, seeing the smoke for the first time. The ladder extended up the side of the building, and I watched men in full turnout gear climb the rungs and enter through a window. Others remained on the ground and the stairs, helping people down the fire escape. A few moments later, they pulled someone out. I couldn’t see who.
“Stay back,” a cop said when I pushed against the barrier.
“What happened?”
“There’s a fire.”
“No shit. What caused it? What…when?”
“Do you live
here?”
I nodded. “Sixth floor.”
“Is anyone else at home?” the officer asked, one hand already on his radio.
“No. The apartment should be empty. I was moving out. I moved out.” I gave him my apartment number, and he relayed the information to the fire chief standing behind him. “Is it arson?”
“Alex,” Martin jogged up beside me, the flashing lights painting his skin in strange hues, “is everyone okay?” He looked at the cop. “Has anyone been hurt?”
“Sir, the fire department is doing the best they can. Do you live here?”
“No.” Martin brushed the back of his hand against mine, letting me know he was here.
“Then I need you to move along.” The cop zeroed in on me. “The fire department may have some more questions about your apartment and neighbors. Wait over here.” He moved one side of the barrier back so I could slip through.
“Alex, I’m not leaving you,” Martin said.
The cop gave him another glance. “Who are you?”
“James Martin, this is my fiancée, Alex. We just got back from vacation and wanted to make sure the movers didn’t miss anything.”
“All right, Mr. Martin,” he jerked his chin at the opening, “you too.”
I waited in the designated area, dialing as I bounced from foot to foot. This wasn’t an accident. First, I called Lt. Payne. He didn’t answer. Next, I called Renner. Again, nothing. My third call connected.
“Voletek,” I said, my voice breathy as I watched a chunk of the roof collapse, “my apartment’s on fire.”
“What?”
I gave him the address. I didn’t have any facts or details, but he needed to know. This was his case, or it had been before I flew across the country and pretended everything would be in one piece when I came home. Now, I didn’t know whose case it was or what was going on.
