He leaned forward, no reaction to my flirting. “Why the sudden urge to track him down?”
The words came naturally, flowing from a heretofore-untapped lying wellspring in the right side of my brain. “My fiancée and I want to get married, start a family. It seemed like the right time to get back in contact with my relatives.”
Jackson sat back. “Okay.”
I figured I’d convinced him of my harmlessness for the time being, so I pressed my advantage. “Do you think he was injured in the fire?”
“Miz Wilson.” He cleared his throat. “That doesn’t seem to be the case from what the witnesses are saying.”
“What are they saying?”
“Um. There’s conflicting information, as is usual in this type of situation. I don’t mean to upset you, but indications are that your brother may have been responsible for the fire.”
“No! You must be joking.” I didn’t have to fake my disbelief. For all Eric’s weaknesses, I found it hard to believe he would burn anyone alive.
The detective remained quiet, watching me.
I gave voice to my thoughts. “Eric would never hurt anyone. Not deliberately, anyway. There must have been an accident.”
“Miz Wilson, his drinking buddies saw him start it. One of them wasn’t too badly burned and has survived.”
I shook my head. “It’s hard to believe.”
“Indeed.”
I paused, thinking what other information I could try and pry out of the cop. “Do you know where he was living? Maybe he’s gone back there.”
“Ma’am, I can’t give out that information.”
“Not even to his own family?”
“I’m sorry, but this is a critical investigation.” He closed his notebook. “If we find him, I can call you. I’d ask that you do the same.”
“Sure,” I said. Like hell, I thought. The law was one thing. Blood was another.
The detective gave me his card and wrote down the number of my anonymous cell phone.
“I hope we find him soon, Miz Wilson. Don’t forget to call me if you hear anything.”
He walked me out, a hand on my elbow. It felt like only one step away from being in cuffs. Cold sweat trickled down between my shoulder blades. The whole conversation had given me a bad vibe. Jackson hadn’t said or done anything to cause it, but I sensed he was suspicious of what I’d said.
I emerged into the white-hot day, my clothes instantly sticking to my skin as I shoved the cop’s card in my pocket and hurried across the street to Starbucks. Jamie slouched in an armchair with his feet up on a puny coffee table. I was surprised it didn’t fall to pieces under the weight of those boots.
“I got you coffee,” he murmured without looking up from the newspaper he flicked through, and sipped at his own cup.
“Thanks.” I stayed standing, and his gaze eventually wandered up to meet me. About time.
“How did it go?”
“I didn’t learn anything.”
“Really? Nothing?”
I relayed my conversation with the detective, giving up my distance from him halfway through and easing down into the other chair, not sure why it had seemed important to stand. Easier to run away, maybe, but I had no intention of running anymore.
“Good job, Cat, good job.” He folded the paper and sat forward in his chair, beaming.
“What? It was a waste of time.”
Jamie tossed back the last of his coffee and stood. “Let’s go track down some leads.”
“What leads?”
“Two things.” He marked them off on his fingers as he spoke. “First, his buddy was burned but survived. We should see if we can find him. Chances are he’s at one of the closest hospitals’ burn units. Second, if he was a regular, then I suspect he lived close to the bar. We’ll look at weekly rentals and cheap motels within walking distance.”
Surprised, I looked Jamie over again. I’d underestimated the sharp mind he hid behind his cocky, good-looking façade. It occurred to me that he no doubt used that to his advantage frequently.
He caught me staring at him and I looked away, embarrassed, blood warming my cheeks.
“What?”
“Nothing.”
“I’m good at finding things, remember? It’s not only a Talent. It’s an obsession. I love getting to the bottom of things.” He grinned. “I love puzzles.”
“This is more than a crossword puzzle. People died. Eric is on the run.”
The grin faded. “Don’t be disappointed in me, Cat. The thrill of the chase is what keeps me going.”
I nodded. “Then let’s follow up on your leads.”
We checked four hospitals before we found Eric’s drinking buddy at Saint Catherine’s. Jamie continued to surprise me with his ingenuity. We’d stopped at a florist near the first hospital to pick up a bunch of bright pink tulips.
“If we look like we belong we’re less likely to be asked anything,” he said.
By the time we reached Saint Catherine’s, the tulips had seen better days, and so had I. Jamie wandered casually through the wards, finding men who were within a couple of decades of Eric’s age and not too badly burned, and telling them who we were looking for. I noted that for all his Talent, finding people still involved a good deal of legwork.
Mark Tennant turned out to be our man. Enormous in the tiny hospital bed, he had the body of an ex-football player who’d given up running and taken up beer. His reddened nose and cheeks clashed with his bright orange hair. Both hands were bandaged into blunt fists, but he sat up in bed watching a hospital-based soap opera on the tiny television.
Jamie started with his usual, “Hi! I’m looking for Eric Wilson.” He managed to sound friendly and enthusiastic. I sagged back against the wall, waiting.
“He’s not here, obviously.” The patient gave us the once over. “You don’t look like cops.”
At last. Someone that had seen Eric, and might be able to tell us something. Anything.
“This is his sister, Cat. We were already trying to find him before the fire went down.”
The big dude nodded, looking me up and down. “I see the resemblance. I don’t have much to tell. But if you’ll change the damn channel off this crap, you can sit down.” He held up his hands. “I can’t press the buttons.”
Jamie swore. “That’s like the fifth circle of hell.” He picked up the remote and flicked through the channels until the screen showed basketball. “Better?”
“Thanks, man. I couldn’t take much more of that. I’m Mark, by the way.”
“Jamie.” He gave Mark a casual salute but didn’t offer to shake hands.
Watching male bonding in action, I perched myself on the edge of the rock-hard visitors’ chair. Jamie leaned back against the wall, one motorcycle boot kicked up behind him, and folded his arms.
My cue to take over. I started simple. “You know my brother?”
Mark sighed. “Right now I wish I’d never met him. But yeah, I knew Eric.”
“Why do you say ‘knew’?” Jamie’s tone was casual but he had that sharp look in his eye.
“Don’t reckon I’ll see him again. If he’s got any sense, he’ll have left town.”
“What happened?” I blurted, abandoning any vague plans I had to approach the subject carefully. My feet hurt and my brain felt foggy. It had been a long day.
“We were drinking, watching some kind of pageant full of hot chicks—sorry, women”—and here he ducked his head at me, blushing—“in bikinis on the television. I bet Tony the Venezuelan girl would win. Eric was down the other end of the bar, talking to some ch—woman. I wasn’t paying much attention.” Mark looked up at the ceiling. “Then everything went to hell.”
Chapter Six
“The best way I can describe it is like someone threw a lighter in a pool of gasoline. The flames went whoompf! Whoa. Whoompf.” He shook his head. “I didn’t see anybody bring gasoline into the bar. I still can’t figure out what happened.”
I sank back in
the chair, feeling lightheaded. I’d heard that sound in my dreams.
“Where did the fire come from?” Jamie’s voice broke in, low, focused.
Mark swallowed. “You’re gonna think this is crazy, but when I looked down the bar it looked kind of like the flames were coming out of Eric’s hands. Like a flamethrower. But man, he was screaming. I don’t think he meant to start such a big fire. Best I can figure it, he was trying to impress the girl with a stunt and things got out of hand.”
God. Through the nausea, I had to admit it sounded more like the Eric I knew, grandstanding for the girls and screwing up. The idiot. It was much more believable than him losing his temper and killing someone. Five someones.
I glanced over at Jamie, surprised by his calm expression. He listened intently, but didn’t react. I suppose I kept my emotions on the inside, as well. One thing we had in common, but I’d bet Jamie didn’t want to stick his fingers in his ears and pretend he’d never heard any of this.
My mouth was as dry as the desert, and I had to lick my lips before I could speak. “Is that what you told the police?”
“Yeah. Eric’s a good guy, everybody loves him. He doesn’t deserve to go to jail for this. I’m sure it was an accident.”
Jamie said, casually, “Ever see him do anything like that before?”
“Sure, he was always playing with matches and shit like that. Plenty of guys do that kind of stuff. I never thought anything of it.” Mark hesitated. “He must have been pretty badly burned himself, the way the flames were around his hands. He’s not in here though, I checked.” He lifted his hands. “These hurt like a son of a bitch. I hope he got some help.”
Jamie glanced at me and raised an eyebrow. I shrugged. I didn’t think Eric would have burned himself, but it didn’t sound like he meant to burn anyone else, either.
“Do you know the girl he was with?” Jamie said. Interesting. I hadn’t really registered that part, but he zoomed straight in on it. Guess that was the advantage of no emotional involvement.
“Nah. She turned up to the bar on her own. I don’t think she was a hooker, but she did have a mighty big tramp stamp. Redhead. Big…” Mark paused, suddenly looking in my direction. “Sorry. I forgot you were there.”
“It’s okay,” I said. If I’d been horribly burned, I wouldn’t be as composed as he was, and I’d heard a lot worse, anyhow. “Do you remember anything else about the girl?”
Mark shook his head. “I didn’t catch her name and I wasn’t looking at her face.” He didn’t blush this time.
“Do you know where Eric was staying?” Jamie asked.
“Yeah. There’s a long-stay motel across from the bar—the Tropic of Capricorn. He had a real short walk.”
I sat up from my slump. A lead, a real lead. Maybe Eric was still there. What were the chances? For the first time since we’d started on this trek, we were getting closer.
We left Mark shortly after that, Jamie dropping the flowers on the counter at the nurses’ station.
“You don’t think he would have appreciated those?”
“I didn’t want him to get any ideas about a second date.”
I nearly tripped, rushing to keep up with Jamie as he strode through the corridors. My tired legs turned to rubber beneath me.
“We’re on his trail now, Cat.” Jamie turned to me, grinning as he hurried along. “We’ll find him.”
“Tonight?” I wanted to see Eric, even as I struggled to put one foot in front of the other.
Jamie’s energy pulsed through his aura. “We need to get to that motel, and see if we can find out any more about this girl.”
“Don’t you ever eat? Or sleep?”
He paused, laughed. “When I’m on the hunt, I have to make myself remember. But I’m sorry, I wasn’t thinking about you. And now you mention it, I could kill for a steak and a couple of beers. Maybe we can check out the motel after dinner.”
“Sure,” I said, not sure at all. My feet were killing me and I carried a thin layer of grime from the desert heat. A bath and about ten hours sleep would probably fix it. Dinner was optional. But we had to get to the motel.
Jamie stopped, and looked at me. “You’re really tired, huh?”
I nodded.
“Okay. Let’s eat, and then we can work out what to do from here.”
Tired as I was, I barely caught the sag of his shoulders. I sighed. I wasn’t going to rain on his parade when he was working for my brother’s benefit. “No, let’s go to the motel.”
“Are you sure?” His eyes lit up.
“Yeah, it’s fine. But after that I might sleep for about a hundred years.”
“Thanks, Cat. I’ve got the itch that says we’re getting closer.” I could see it for myself—he could barely stand still. His hand in his pocket gave him away, jangling his keys, while one foot drummed a rhythm on the ground. “I really feel like we should go now.”
“This is what it’s like to be a Finder?” I started walking out to the parking lot and he fell into step beside me.
“Yep. Sometimes it’s like this, an itch that gets worse and worse, like I’ve got insects all over my body. Other times I can almost see the path to follow, it’s so clear, like the yellow brick road. And sometimes it’s like a voice in my head saying, ‘Go. Look there.’ It’s always pulling me along. Sometimes I don’t even know what I’m looking for.”
His strides were getting bigger and bigger. I could barely keep up.
“And right now, it’s urgent?”
He scratched irritably at his sprouting two-day growth. “Yes, and getting more so. Let’s hurry.”
The Tropic of Capricorn was your standard sixties-built, beige concrete motel, palm trees out front, and a large sign proclaiming, “ESPN is now free!” It actually looked slightly nicer than I had expected, but the working girls loitering around the corner told a different tale.
We parked and headed into the office, passing a girl in a sun hat and her beefy john on their way out. Or maybe he was her pimp. The guy was huge, looked like some kind of Pacific Islander. No telling where muscle ended and fat began, all squeezed into a wife beater. I tried not to stare at him as we passed. I didn’t want him staring at me, that was for sure.
Jamie stalked straight to the desk and rang the bell. The clerk sauntered out of the back room. He wore a little goatee and a T-shirt that read, “I listen to bands that haven’t been invented yet”.
I figured it was my turn to talk. “Hi, I’m Eric Wilson’s sister. We’re trying to find him and I hoped you could help us.”
The dude stroked his beard. “I think you missed the boat.”
“What?”
“His girl checked them out of the room a couple minutes ago.”
I struggled to make sense of his words.
“What girl?” said Jamie urgently, matching my thoughts.
“Little redhead, with a big ole scary dude.”
Shit. The girl from the bar. So where was Eric?
Jamie swore and bolted from the office. I followed behind and caught him at curbside, looking both ways up and down the street. The odd couple appeared long gone.
“I didn’t even look at the girl,” he said. “And now we’re not close anymore. The itch is gone. I can’t believe she walked right by us.”
I had little to offer. “I didn’t even notice if she had an aura. We may as well go back inside and talk to the clerk.”
We went back to the hipster behind the desk. A brief interrogation and a hundred bucks later, we knew little more, except that the girl’s tattoo was of a phoenix, and that she’d paid cash. The clerk had made a living out of not noticing what went on in the motel. He had agreed to let us look around inside the room for an extra fifty.
The motel was U-shaped, with a pool inside the U. Eric’s room was in one of the back corners, in a closed hallway without a pool view. We let ourselves in through the chipped door and I surveyed the room. Typical cheap motel: pink and green curtains, bedcovers from the eighties, dark car
pet. One of the two beds sported rumpled, unmade sheets, but no luggage sat on the little stand. They hadn’t left a tip for the maid.
Jamie headed straight to the wastebasket. I sat down on the unused bed, exhaustion weighing me down more and more by the minute. We’d raced here for nothing. They were gone.
“It’s full of empty packets from a first aid kit,” he said after a moment. “Gauze, tape—I guess he was injured after all.”
“I wonder where he is now,” I said, my voice sounding a long way away. Jamie headed into the bathroom, and I laid my head down for a second. Something tugged at my senses, but I couldn’t identify it.
“Jamie,” I said slowly, “What’s that smell?”
He stuck his head back out and breathed in. “I don’t know—kerosene maybe? Something oily, but not gasoline. It’s not strong.”
“Do you think it’s left over from the fire?” My brain moved slowly through the facts.
“You think that could be why it got out of hand?” He paused, looking up, thinking. “Seems like a good possibility. I didn’t understand why or how Eric would burn himself, but an accelerant being involved makes more sense.”
Jamie came out of the bathroom and shook out the bedcovers on the unmade bed, wafting stale air over me. There was a chink of something hitting the floor, and he muttered, “Score,” under his breath, scooping up something shiny.
“What is it?” I said, sitting up again in a Herculean effort.
He held the object up and I could see it was a small gold medal on a chain. “I assumed it was a Saint Christopher medal. But it says Jude.”
“Saint Jude? I thought he was a traitor.”
“Jude, not Judas. Patron saint of hopeless cases.” Jamie snapped the medal into his hand, grinned at me. “Former altar boy, me.”
Now that was hard to imagine. I shrugged. “I don’t know much about saints, but I don’t see how it helps.”
“I know people who might be able to read this.”
I looked up, confused. “We already read what’s on it.” Oh. “You mean Talents?”
“Technically, psychometrists.” Jamie pulled out a crisp white pocket-handkerchief and wrapped the medal in it. He caught me giving him a look. “What?”
Talent to Burn (Hidden Talent #1) Page 4
