“What did you sign on for?”
Gamble’s voice was low and shockingly soft, and Xander blinked in the harsh fluorescent light spilling down from overhead before answering.
“Like I said, it’s a job. There’s money in it. Among other things. But this guy told me no one would get hurt, either last night or when we set the bigger fires. He said it was going to look like negligence and there would only be property damage, and that all I had to do was help him set things up. Only now, that’s not how it’s turning out.”
“Does this guy have a name?” Gamble asked, but Xander shook his head almost immediately.
“I’m not talking names. Believe me, you don’t want to know him.”
Although Kennedy’s mind spun in no less than six different directions, one thing stood out as wildly clear. “We might not, but the police sure will. You need to tell them about this, Xander. Before whoever this guy is does damage to something far bigger than a dumpster.”
“Are you out of your mind?” Xander asked, the look on his face suggesting the question was rhetorical. “I can’t go to the cops with any of this.”
“Of course you can. They might offer you a deal. Or—”
“No.” He stepped back to stare at her, his hands jammed over his hips. “First of all, this guy is one fry short of a fucking Happy Meal, and secondly, he’s cagey as shit. I don’t know any details like the whens and wheres, and I don’t have access to anything that would count as hard physical evidence, like the materials or the ignition devices or the plans. He makes all that stuff somewhere other than his apartment.”
Kennedy’s brows winged up. “Then how do you know what to do and where to go?”
“He gives me the plan verbally from a burner phone, and only when things are about to go down. I’d have nothing concrete to give the cops, even if I wanted to go to them—which I don’t. Plus…”
“What?” Kennedy asked. Seriously, how much worse could this get?
Xander’s shoulders slumped. “He’s got enough on me to make it look like I’m the one who started the dumpster fire and is planning everything else. I’m not,” he emphasized. “But I’m not a choir boy, either, okay? He sent me to buy a lot of the stuff he’s using to make the remote ignition devices, and he set up fake accounts on the Internet using my name to buy even more. He’s even got surveillance footage of me buying the gasoline he used to torch the Camry last night, which—oh, by the way, I stole.”
Oh, my God, she was going to kill him. “You stole a car?”
“I told you, not a choir boy,” he said with a frown. “It’s not like I can just waltz right in to some precinct and start pointing fingers. You know how far the word of a career Northie goes with downtown cops. They’re gonna trust me about as far as they can shotput a baby grand. If I go to them now, I might as well be signing my own death warrant.”
Kennedy opened her mouth to argue, but God damn it, she couldn’t. If this guy, whoever he was, had evidence that pointed to Xander starting the dumpster fire and burning up that stolen car, as soon as the cops picked him up on a knock and talk, he’d throw Xander under the bus.
Still… “Okay, I know it looks bad—”
“Bad? Shit, Kennedy. You really have been downtown for a long time. A D&D outside of Houlihan’s looks bad. This? Looks like prison, straight-up.”
“So, what?” she asked, her frustration seeping into her shoulders and her voice. “You’re just going to go along with it and burn down some freaking buildings in the middle of the city and hope no one gets hurt?”
“I don’t have any other choice,” Xander snapped, taking a step back from her and Gamble. “I was stupid to come here. I’ve got to go.”
He turned on the heels of his sneakers, but Kennedy had anticipated the movement, reaching out to grab his arm at the same time he pulled away.
“Xander, wait, just—”
His entire body went bowstring tight as her fingers tightened around his forearm, and he yanked back from her with a pained grunt. Her adrenaline, which had already started chugging away when he’d turned to run, sent her heart surging halfway up her windpipe.
“Ah.” The sound slipped through Xander’s teeth, and he staggered, cradling his arm with his opposite hand. For a split second, Kennedy’s fear froze her to her spot, but then Gamble was there, moving in seamlessly to steady her brother’s feet.
“It’s all good, dude. I’ve got you. I’m going to roll up your sleeve and take a look at your arm.”
His tone brooked no argument, although Xander still looked like he wanted to cough one up. In a move that was shockingly gentle despite how huge his hands were, Gamble lifted the loose cotton to Xander’s elbow, revealing a flimsy, bloodstained bandage that had torn away from a horrific three-inch burn mark on the underside of his forearm.
Kennedy’s pulse lunged for her breastbone. “Oh, my God,” she spat. “Did he do this to you? This guy?” She was going to rip this asshole limb from fucking limb.
“I told you,” Xander said shakily, a sheen of sweat covering his forehead. “You don’t know who you’re dealing with. He’s a complete psycho.”
“I don’t care! He needs to go down for this!” she cried, her hands cranking into fists. Steeling herself, she dropped her stare to his arm again, trying not to shudder. “We need to get you to urgent care, or maybe even Remington Memorial.”
Xander shook his head. “It’s fine.”
“I’m not kidding.” Her gut panged hard before twisting into knots. “That already looks infected, and—”
“I said it’s fine. Jesus, I’m not a goddamn kid anymore, Kennedy. Anyway, urgent care costs money. In case you forgot that little nugget.”
“Okay, you two,” Gamble ground out, splitting a glance between the two of them. “Let’s focus on what’s right in front of us, first. Kennedy, do you have a first aid kit in your car?”
She blinked until her brain caught up to the question. “I—yes.”
“Good. Go grab it.”
By the time she’d done what Gamble had asked and returned, he’d walked Xander back to the bench and tossed the ratty old bandage that had slipped off the burn. He popped the first aid kit open, taking out some antibiotic ointment along with some tape and gauze.
“This is a really nasty second-degree burn,” Gamble said, rubbing some antibacterial hand gel onto his fingers before slipping the pair of nitrile gloves from the first aid kit and tugging them over his hands. "I can put some of this ointment on it and bandage it back up, but your sister is right. You really need for a doc to debride the wound and assess the extent of the tissue damage, otherwise it’s going to get infected. If it isn’t already.”
“Oh, so now you’re a medic, too?” Xander asked, and Gamble’s jaw clenched.
“I don’t have to do this, you know.”
Xander dipped his chin to his chest and slumped back against the bench. “Yeah, I know. Sorry.”
Kennedy watched carefully as Gamble tended to her brother’s wound. She couldn’t help but flinch a couple of times when Xander was clearly in pain, but finally, the clean gauze and tape were in place.
“Thanks,” he mumbled, and Kennedy sat down next to him as Gamble stood to ditch the gloves and trash in a nearby garbage can.
“Look, Xander, I’m not trying to baby you or bail you out,” she said. “But this situation is clearly dangerous in a lot of ways.” She would not let her voice hitch. She would be strong, here. “But you can’t just sit back while this guy sets fires all over downtown Remington.”
“No, you really can’t,” Gamble said, holding up his cell phone as he walked back over to the bench. “I just got a message from a buddy of mine over at the fire marshal’s office. They recovered enough of the ignition device from the dumpster fire to know that this is arson, and they’re opening an active investigation. So, either you go to the cops, or chances are, they’ll come to you. Which one is it gonna be?”
12
Gamble never thought he’d feel uncomfortab
le in the Thirty-Third District’s police headquarters. He was certainly tight with enough of the cops in the intelligence unit to know they’d welcome him with a friendly hey-how-are-ya and a smile every time he walked into the place. Yet, as he signed the top spot on the Monday morning visitor’s log and went through the metal detectors at the desk sergeant’s station, his stomach filled with dread.
He and Kennedy had withheld information from officers during an active investigation into a fire, a fire that was now officially listed as an arson and being investigated by the RFD. The punishment, he could handle; hell, he’d earned whatever the department decided to throw at him, fair and fucking square.
But having Sergeant Sam Sinclair of the intelligence unit chew his ass out wasn’t going to be a picnic. Especially since Gamble’s captain, Tanner Bridges, would be next in line once Sinclair was done.
And yet, Kennedy had been right. Not only had her brother shown up at that park, but he was in way over his head with an arsonist who had plans to burn down half the damned city.
“Hey,” came a throaty, familiar voice from beside him, and Jesus, this woman could put his composure through a shredder. Last night’s kiss had been case in point.
Hot. Reckless. Needy. And not at all smart considering where they’d been and what they’d gone there to do. Still, he’d still wanted nothing more in that moment than to strip her bare and kiss a whole lot more than her mouth, right there in the front seat of her car, and wasn’t that just all the more reason he needed to get his shit together, ASAP.
Losing focus was dangerous. But giving in to impulse, and one that strong, to boot?
That was downright deadly.
Gamble snuffed out all thoughts of the kiss, blanking his expression and lifting his chin at Kennedy in greeting. “Hey.” His gut tilted as he looked beside her and came up with nothing but empty space. “Where’s Xander?”
“Over there,” she said, hooking her thumb at a small cluster of chairs about a dozen paces away, where her brother clearly sat, stock-still. “He said he needed a second. I think he’s nervous.”
Gamble nodded. “Understandable. How was last night?”
He’d been hesitant to wait the twelve hours to come in, at first, and even more hesitant to agree to let Xander go with Kennedy to her place for the night with only the guy’s word that he’d come to the precinct this morning, as planned. But Xander had sworn no fires, practice or otherwise, were going down last night, so Kennedy had suggested they get a decent night’s sleep and meet here this morning. Under any other circumstances, Gamble might’ve balked. But she’d been unable to mask the concern on her face for her brother’s well-being, and to be honest, the kid had looked like he’d been through the wringer—twice. Gamble had trusted her this far, and she’d been clear from the get that if Xander was involved in something sketchy and didn’t cooperate, she’d be the first to turn him in. So Gamble had gone with his gut and trusted her again.
Which would be nine kinds of fucked up, except it felt too right in his gut to be wrong.
And, hey, wasn’t that just nine kinds of fucked up, all on its own?
Kennedy blew out a breath, and the soft sound dropped Gamble right back to reality. “Last night was awkward and tense, but at least Xander didn’t backpedal or try to bolt. Not even when I texted Isabella and told her I needed to stop by first thing this morning for a talk.”
“So, he didn’t tell you anything else about this arsonist?” Gamble asked.
She shook her head, her dark hair brushing the shoulders of her T-shirt. “No, but I didn’t really think he would. I took him to urgent care and got that burn taken care of. He told the doc it was a bonfire accident.” She paused to wince, and after having seen the wound up-close and personal last night, Gamble didn’t blame her. “After that, we went to The Fork in the Road for something to eat, and then back to my place to crash. Xander wasn’t happy about not going home, or about calling in sick to work today, but at least he’s got a note from the doctor at urgent care to back it up. And I knew he was safe, so…”
“It was smart that he stayed with you and got a good meal and some sleep.”
At that, Kennedy’s stare slid to the linoleum beneath her boots. “Yeah, well. I guess we should do this, huh? I told Isabella we’d be here at nine.”
“I’m ready when you are,” Gamble said. Kennedy sent one last fleeting look at Xander before walking over to murmur in his ear. Although he didn’t look thrilled, he stood, following her back over to the spot where Gamble waited.
“Hey,” Xander said, lifting his chin in greeting. “So, uh, before we do this, I just wanted to say…thanks…for looking at my arm last night.”
Surprise rippled a path through Gamble’s chest, and Kennedy’s eyebrows lifted to match the sentiment as Xander continued.
“You were right about the wound needing to be cleaned out. The doc said if I hadn’t come in, it would’ve definitely gotten infected and made me really sick, so, you know. That was cool.”
“Don’t worry about it, man,” Gamble said, meeting Xander’s light green stare for a nod before shifting to look at Kennedy. “You ready to do this?”
“Yeah.”
She locked her shoulders around her spine, turning toward the door leading to the intelligence office. Gamble knew she must have no less than a hundred emotions winging around in her system right now—dread and fear being the two headliners—yet, still, she walked through that door without hesitation, and a strange sensation unfolded in his gut. On the surface, it felt like attraction.
Under the surface, he didn’t want to contemplate how much better it felt than run-of-the-mill want.
Gamble tamped down the thought, following Kennedy and Xander into the intelligence office. Rather than being boxed off into a bunch of isolated cubicles, the room was open, with the detectives’ desks clustered to form several work stations within the larger space. Windows lined the wall to the left, taking away any air of stuffiness or sterility. The opposite wall was mostly covered in a half-dozen computer monitors that formed an array, the kind that could make either one large digital image or several different ones all at once. Capelli sat at the oversized desk in front of that work area—not exactly a shocker considering his status as the intelligence unit’s tech guru—clacking rapidly on his keyboard with one hand and eating an apple with the other. Isabella sat at a paper-strewn desk in the center of the room, cradling a cup of tea and laughing at something her partner, Detective Liam Hollister, had said from the work station next to hers. Detective Matteo Garza, the intelligence unit’s newest member and a recent transfer from the RPD’s gang unit, sat nearby and joined in on the laughter. Isabella straightened as she caught sight of Gamble, Kennedy, and Xander, although her smile didn’t slip.
“Hey, you two made it in.” She stood, and despite her cheerful greeting and slender frame, she gave off a definite air of someone not to be messed with—one that the Glock on her belt and the badge around her neck had nothing to do with.
“Yeah.” Kennedy leaned in to return the hug Isabella had offered, pulling back a second later to add, “Isabella, Liam, Matteo. This is my brother, Xander Matthews. Xander, these are detectives Moreno, Hollister, and Garza.”
All three detectives wore matching expressions of shock at the whole brother-revelation thing, even Garza, who had only been part of the fold for a couple of months.
Hollister recovered first. “Xander, it’s great to meet you.” He leaned forward to extend his hand, which Xander took with not a little hesitation.
“Thanks,” he mumbled, nodding a hello at Isabella and Matteo. Isabella’s brows tugged downward. She was perceptive as hell—took one to know one, and all that—but she kept her questions to herself as she turned toward Gamble with another smile.
“Hey, Lieutenant. You keeping my fiancé in line over there at the fire house?”
“Always,” Gamble said, and Isabella nodded.
“Well, as nice as it is to see you two, something te
lls me this isn’t a social call.”
Kennedy shook her head and exhaled slowly. “No, it’s…definitely not. We need to, um, talk to you guys about something. It’s important.”
In an instant, Isabella’s demeanor changed, and she exchanged a loaded glance with Hollister. “Why don’t you three come on back this way? We can get comfortable in one of the private rooms. Garza, you good out here?”
“Sure,” he replied. Gamble’s heart tapped a little faster behind his T-shirt as he followed the two detectives, Kennedy, and Xander to the back of the room. They moved down a narrow hallway and into a much smaller space, where the only option was to sit at the rectangular table in the center of the room. Instinctively, Gamble angled his chair so his back was to the far wall and he could see not only the exit, but everyone in the room regardless of where they chose to sit or stand, and it didn’t escape his notice that Kennedy did the same.
“I know this isn’t intelligence’s area of expertise,” Kennedy started, opting to cut through all the pleasantries and just dive right in. “But I didn’t know where else to turn.”
Isabella shook her head, the concern in her eyes genuine. “We’ve got your back, girlfriend, and you can always come to us. You know that. So, what’s up?”
Kennedy flashed Gamble one quick look before beginning to recount everything that had happened from the night of the fire forward. He remained mostly quiet, only adding details when Isabella or Hollister asked for them. Both detectives tried to keep their expressions passive, although neither one of them looked particularly thrilled (or, okay, even remotely close to happy) when Kennedy admitted they’d kept Xander’s identity and possible involvement under wraps. After the first run-through of the story, Isabella excused herself and came back with Sinclair, who listened silently as Kennedy ran through the whole chain of events again.
“So, let me get this straight,” Sinclair said, sitting back in his chair to pin first Kennedy, then Gamble, then Xander with a set of frost-covered stares. “The dumpster fire at The Crooked Angel the other night was a test-run done by a serial arsonist to make sure his design for a remote incendiary device worked before he uses the device to set fires in multiple, potentially well-populated locations around the city. A plan which you”—he pointed at Xander—“are privy to, and you two”—Gamble’s chest tightened as the sergeant sent the same gesture at him and Kennedy—“looked into on your own instead of calling officers Boldin and Lynch like you should’ve.”
Down Deep_A Station Seventeen Engine Novel Page 13
