Dylan frowned as he heard someone talking to Emma. "Is that Max?"
"Yes," Emma said, only to be cut off by her husband.
"Dylan, Tori," Max said. "Why did you bring up Lundgren to Emma?"
"His name is mentioned in my dad's notes, along with another man, John Litton," Tori replied. "We believe my dad was investigating a serial arsonist right before he died. We don't know how Lundgren and Litton would be tied to that, but their names are on the same piece of paper as information relating to several fires."
"That's interesting," Max said. "We've been digging into Robert Walker's background. He was the victim of the hotel fire. He worked for Neil Lundgren as a super at one of his apartment buildings until he was laid off about a year ago."
Dylan exchanged a quick glance with Tori, then said, "So there's a tie between the possible fire starter and the Lundgrens?"
"Yes. But there's also a tie to Litton Capital. One of their subsidiary companies is called Galaxy Ventures, and they hold the deed to the residential hotel. The owner of Galaxy, Vince Davenport, filed an insurance claim yesterday. Galaxy and Davenport are located in Los Angeles, so we've only been able to speak to Mr. Davenport by phone. He's been friendly and helpful but has been unable to provide any leads to who might have wanted to burn the building down. He suggested it was squatters using space heaters, but, of course, that's not what happened."
"We responded to the scene of a similar fire last night," he put in. "It was a pawn shop. Looked like a similar explosive start to the fire. Gary Kruger is investigating. I asked him to keep me in the loop, but he made it clear the loop was closed to me. Do you think you could talk to him, Emma?"
"He already told me to stay out of his investigation into the hotel fire, so I'm not sure I'll get anywhere," she replied. "But I can try. Gary's father Wallace was one of the best investigators who ever worked for the department. I think Gary is working hard to live up to his father's name. He wants to make sure any achievement is purely his own." She paused. "But I should be able to dig into the older files without causing him any discomfort. I can do that tomorrow."
"That would be great," he said.
"You two have been busy," Emma added.
"Mostly asking questions instead of finding answers," Tori said. "We really appreciate your help in all this."
"No problem," Max said. "I'm also still looking into Mr. Hedden's whereabouts. He hasn't used his cell phone or his credit card since Saturday night. That might not be unusual if he is on a boat at sea, or it could be that he's laying low. At any rate, let's all stay in touch. And don't do too much on your own. You're pulling up a lot of rocks, and who knows what's coming out from underneath?"
"We're being careful," Dylan said. "Thanks again." He ended the call and let out a breath. "Lots more to think about."
Tori nodded. "We're circling around something important, but I still don't know how close we are. I'm really glad we have Max and Emma working on this from different angles. It helps to have their expertise and their resources."
"Big families come in handy for resources," he said.
"And Callaways are very helpful to each other."
"We're a tight group," he admitted. "My grandparents always made sure we understood that family is everything."
Her expression turned more somber. "It is everything," she said heavily. She got to her feet and walked over to the window.
She did that a lot, as if she were looking for some answer on the streets below.
He stood up and moved in behind her, wrapping his arms around her waist. She leaned back against him.
After a moment, she said. "What am I doing right now, Dylan?"
"That feels like a loaded question," he said lightly.
"Am I trying to prove my father was killed? Or am I trying to find a miracle scenario where my dad turns out to be alive?"
"Does it have to be one or the other?"
"Doesn't it?" she asked, turning to face him. "I'm having a hard time believing the original story—that my dad went fishing with friends and ran into an unexpected storm."
"And yet that could still be the truth."
"Then why would Mitch and Jim suddenly go missing? Why would Jim be talking to Neil Hawkins?"
"I don't know. But we'll figure it out."
"I'd like to believe that."
"You can. We're getting new leads all the time."
"I guess. By the way, I got my mom out of town. I called her this morning and told her I'd booked her and Ray into a Napa spa for three nights, my treat. I wanted them to have a chance to reconnect after the last few months. I told her that I'd already talked to Ray and he was thrilled. Then I called Ray and told him about the plan and that I'd already spoken to my mom and she was thrilled."
He smiled. "Quite the manipulator."
"Neither one wanted to disappoint the other, so they're out of town until Friday. I don't know if we'll be able to figure anything out before then, but I feel better knowing she's tucked away somewhere safe."
"It's a good plan."
She slid her arms around his waist. "I hope so. My head is spinning right now."
"You need to take a break and let some information settle in."
"I think you're right. I'm feeling a little scattered and not sure which of my ideas are good ones and which are bad."
"I can help you with that."
She smiled. "You tend to think most of my ideas are bad, Dylan."
"Not all the time. You had a lot of good ideas the other night."
Her gaze darkened. "You're veering into dangerous territory."
He knew he was, but he couldn't stop himself. "So what if I am?"
"You'll be pushing back our end date…"
"So what if I do?" he murmured.
"You said you only wanted one night. We already had that."
"I didn't actually say that; you just made that assumption."
"And I was wrong?"
"Let's just say that it's up for negotiation."
She gave him a sexy smile. "How do you want to negotiate?"
"Well, I think we should start in the bedroom."
"By getting naked?"
"Yes. And that's a good idea, by the way, in case you were wondering." He put his arms around her and gave her a kiss, then another and another. He wondered if he would ever get enough of her. One night, two nights, three nights…would any number of days actually be enough?
The question went unanswered, because desire was driving away all conscious thought. He didn't want to think anymore; he only wanted to feel. And what he wanted to feel was her naked, soft, sexy body under his.
They stripped off their clothes on the way to the bedroom and then he got her exactly the way he wanted her.
Eighteen
It was after midnight, and she should be asleep. She was certainly tired. Making love to Dylan had left her happy and exhausted. But she didn't want to close her eyes, didn't want to drift away, didn't want to lose the connection between them.
"What are you thinking about?" he asked, as they lay on their sides facing each other.
She tucked her hands under her face as she looked at him. His face was lit up by the moonlight streaming through her windows, and she had the feeling she could look at him forever and never tire of the sight of his handsome, well-defined, masculine face and light-blue eyes that shimmered and changed colors when he was excited or angry—two emotions she seemed able to bring up in him quite often—sometimes at the same time.
"Tori?" he quizzed.
"Nothing much," she said. "I like looking at you. I was kind of hoping you'd fall asleep, so you wouldn't see me watching you."
"I was hoping the same thing."
"You were not."
"Do you know that you're amazing?" he asked.
"Actually, I do. It just takes some people a long time to realize that about me," she said pointedly.
"It wouldn't have taken me this long if you hadn't left town for ten years."
"Oh, I don't know about that," she said.
"I do. You were a teenager the last time I saw you. It was Christmas, I think. You were home from college."
"Yes. I'm surprised you remember that. I was nineteen, so you were about twenty-three. You came over on Christmas Eve to see Scott, and you brought Jenny with you."
He grimaced at the reminder. "Yes, I did. She wasn't happy about it. She wanted to go to a party with her friends, but I hadn't seen Scott in a while, and I wanted to catch up." He paused. "You were already changing then, but I wasn't quite ready to see it."
"Well, compared to your bombshell girlfriend, I hadn't changed that much. I had gotten rid of the glasses and the braces, but I still didn't know what to say to you."
"I intimidated you?" he asked, surprise in his voice. "I never knew that. You always seemed happy to talk back to me."
"When we were in a group or with Scott, but sometimes, when it was just the two of us, which wasn't that often, I felt tongue-tied. Most of the time I could hide my crush on you, because you were with Scott, and usually you guys were annoyed with me for some reason or another. Or you were both acting all big brotherly because you thought I was doing something I shouldn't be doing. Never mind the fact that you two were way worse than me."
"We probably were doing much worse things. But Scott and I were both older brothers. We had sisters. We didn't want them to run into guys like us." He paused. "Which is why Scott is not going to be thrilled when he finds out about us."
"He'll get over it. And it's not his business."
"He's very protective of you."
"I know. He watched over me even before my dad died, but after that he was very concerned about every move I made. It got to be a little much at times. I remember my mom telling him once that she was the parent, not him, and that she was the one who could tell me what to do." She smiled to herself. "He didn't like that at all. I think he needed to take care of me and my mom, because it filled the empty space in his heart."
"What about you?" Dylan asked, running his fingers down her arm. "How did you handle all that pain?"
"I ate a lot of ice cream."
"So you weren't just coming to the ice cream shop to stalk me?"
She made a face at him. "No, well, maybe, but seeing you and getting a cone at the same time always gave me a lift."
"I wish I'd been more sensitive back then."
"You were a teenage boy; they're not generally known for their sensitivity."
"True."
"I turned my grief into a determination to be just like my dad. That's why I got so caught up in the reporting. Now, I wonder if…"
"If what?" he asked curiously.
"If I did it for the wrong reasons."
"Why would you say that? You love being a reporter. Whether you started out following in your father's footsteps or not doesn't change that."
"But what if he wasn't the man I thought he was?"
Dylan considered her question for a long moment. "Then you'll figure out how to deal with it."
"You make it sound easy."
"I don't think it would be easy at all, but ultimately you have to find a way to break your father down into the different roles that he played. He was a dad—and a good one, right?"
"He was great. He was busy, but he always made time for us. He was a sounding board. He was wise and warm and funny. He had the greatest laugh, too. It was loud and contagious. You just couldn't not laugh with him."
"I remember that laugh. Your relationship with him is true, Tori. You lived it. Whatever was happening in his work life, with his friends, with your mom—that was separate. Whatever he was doing or not doing on the job doesn't change the connection you had with him."
"You're far more insightful than I ever realized."
He grinned. "That sounds like an insult masked as a compliment."
"I didn't mean it that way. I guess we both judged each other a little harshly in the past."
"And we both probably deserved it."
"Maybe. I like talking to you, Dylan."
"I like talking to you." He ran his hand down to her bare hip. "I like other things, too."
"Are we ever going to go to sleep?" she asked with a smile.
"Not just yet," he said with a warm, husky laugh, and then his breath washed over her face as he kissed her lips in a tender assault that quickly grew more passionate.
She sighed with pleasure. She liked doing other things with him, too.
* * *
Tori spent most of Wednesday working on her homeless article. She was still trying to find the new angles Stacey had requested, but she wasn't getting too far. And when Jeff came by around four to ask her if she had a draft done yet, she didn't have a good answer.
"Still working on it," she told him.
"Are you?" he asked. "You seem distracted, Tori. Are you still looking into that hotel fire?"
"Not really," she lied. "I just don't think the information I've collected on the homeless article is good enough yet. Stacey wants something groundbreaking, and I don't have it."
"What do you have?" he asked, sitting down by her desk.
"A lot of corporate-speak from developers, spin from local politicians, and idealistic hope without practical ideas from nonprofits. The truth is no one knows what to do, and there's so much red tape that even some decent ideas just don't get executed."
"You're working too far on the outside. You need to make this personal. Your story will resonate better if people care."
"I know that, but I haven't found too many homeless people willing to talk, either."
"Keep trying. Your story is out in the streets. It's not in public housing meetings."
"You're right. I will get back out there."
"Good." He stood up. "Is there anything else going on? Did you ever talk to Lindsay about your father's last story?"
"I did, and I managed to track down Hal Thatcher, too."
"Good old Hal. What's he up to?"
"He's living on a houseboat and enjoying being retired. He's written some books."
"Not a bad life. Were they able to help you?"
"A little. They said my dad was working on a series of suspicious fires."
"Oh, right," he said, a light coming into his eyes. "I forgot about that. He was looking for a serial arsonist, I think."
"Yes, but he died before he could find him."
"The arsonist must have moved on. It seemed like the fires died away." Jeff paused, a new gleam in his eyes. "You think they're starting up again, don't you? That's why you're so interested in the hotel fire."
"Maybe. But honestly, I have no idea."
"Have you talked to the fire investigator again?"
"No, he's not being forthcoming at all. He just says it's an ongoing investigation."
"That kind of answer never stopped your father."
"You're right. I need to keep pushing."
"Let me know if I can help—on either story."
"You already have helped me on the homeless article. You reminded me that the best stories are personal. I need to get back out on the street."
"I think that's where you'll find your answers."
As Jeff left, she turned back to her computer and read through her notes on her article. She definitely did not have a good angle. Maybe she would stop by a homeless shelter on her way home or on her way in to work tomorrow. Talking to more people who were living the life she needed to write about might give her some fresh ideas.
In the meantime…
She saved her file notes, then opened up her search engine, turning her attention back to her personal mystery. She'd researched St. John's Manor the night before, but what about the other names on the list? She hadn't heard back from Emma yet, so she'd see what she could find online.
Pulling her dad's chart out of her bag, she set it on her desk and typed in Castleborough. She soon discovered that there was a low-income housing development named Castleborough that was located in the south of Marke
t area and had been built in the sixties. Late one night in 1999, a fire broke out in the basement and the building burned down. Twenty-three people were displaced, and two people died in the fire.
She skimmed through several more news reports on the incident. There were mentions of suspicious persons and arson, but she couldn't find any information on whether or not anyone had been charged with starting the fire.
She moved on to the next words on her father's chart, Henderson and Randolph. Adding the word fire to that search brought more good results. An apartment building on Henderson Avenue had burned down two months after Castleborough. The Randolph Street fire took down a convenience store, also under suspicious circumstances, and had occurred six weeks before Castleborough. So all four fires had occurred within five months. And the dates correlated with the months right before her father died. These had to be the fires he was looking into.
For the next hour, she read through more articles on fire and arson, looking for something that connected the fires and finally found it.
Neil Lundgren was the owner of the Henderson Avenue apartment building. He'd received insurance money for the fire and hired a construction firm, JL Design, to build a new structure. But that's when things got interesting, because JL Design was a subsidiary of Litton Capital.
Lundgren and Litton had been mentioned together in her dad's notes. And now they were tied to at least one fire. Actually, they were tied to more than one fire, because Max had told her that the owner of the residential hotel was Galaxy Ventures, a subsidiary of Litton Capital.
She tapped her fingers on her desk as she considered what she'd learned.
What if people were making money two different ways for the same problem?
They could be responsible for torching a building, but keeping their hands clean enough to get the insurance money, and then one or the other would get awarded the contract to build a new structure. Was the money going around in a circle?
Could they possibly be burning down each other's buildings so the crime couldn't be traced to them, but then making money on the back side?
If that were true, how did they decide which building to burn? The condemned residential hotel probably hadn't had much insurance on it. And what about the pawn shop? The neighborhood of the last two fires was run-down, begging to be redeveloped. In fact, there had been discussion at the housing meeting she'd attended about whether that neighborhood could be targeted for a new low-income housing development.
Once You're Mine Page 21
