Blue Smoke (28 page)

It could have been worse, Bo decided. He could have humiliated himself and squeaked like a girl. As it was he walked back home with his dignity fairly intact, sucking on the cherry lollipop Xander had handed him after the ordeal was over.

Most of the crowd had dispersed, with a few lingering in clutches to watch the sort of thing he imagined they only saw on TV.

Reena, O'Donnell and Steve, along with a couple of guys he figured were crime-scene people, were still swarming over the wreckage.

He wondered if his insurance had to cover the damage to the cars caused by the flying parts of his truck. Man, his rates were going to soar like a frigging eagle.

Reena broke away, crossed to him.

“How's the arm?”

“Apparently I get to keep it. And I got a lollipop.”

“It made him stop crying,” Xander told her. “As for the truck, that looks DOA.”

“It's bad,” she agreed. “Collateral damage on cars parked front and back—which includes mine. We're about done with what we can do here. You can sign off on it, Bo, so we can take it into evidence.”

“What about my tools? Any of my tools make it?”

“Once we're done, I'll get what we've collected back to you. Mama's inside.” She looked at her father. “She wanted to wait for you, to check on Bo.”

“Fine. I'll go wait with her.”

“I'm going to be a little while longer here. It's late, you should go on home.”

“We'll wait.”

She frowned after Gib as he walked toward her house. “What's going on?”

“Come on, Jack, I'll walk you home.” Xander slung an arm around his brother-in-law's shoulders, looked at Bo. “Keep that dressing dry, use the ointment as prescribed. I'll check on you tomorrow.” He caught Reena's chin in his hand, kissed her on the cheek. “Your butt's cooked. 'Night.”

Jack kissed her forehead. “You take care of yourself. See you, Bo.”

Reena's gaze ticked back to Bo. “What's going on?”

“You didn't tell them.”

She opened her mouth, hissed out a breath. “And you did.”

“You should've told them, and you put me in a spot where I had to be the bearer.”

“Great.” Stewing, she stared at her house. “Just great. You couldn't just keep it zipped, wait for me to deal with this.”

“You know what?” he said after a moment. “It's been a crappy night, and I don't feel like going another round. Do what you do. I'm going to bed.”

“Bo—” He held up a hand as he walked away, and she was left with a good mad on, and no place to put it.

By the time she dragged herself through her own front door, it was after four in the morning. She wanted a long, cool shower and her own soft bed.

Her parents were on the sofa, snuggled up like a couple of sleeping kids. Considering that a blessing, she eased back, intending to tiptoe upstairs.

“Don't even think about it.”

Her father's voice stopped her, had her closing her eyes. Not once, not
once
had any of them been able to sneak into the house after curfew. The man had instincts like a snake.

“It's late. I want to catch a couple hours' sleep.”

“You're old enough so your wants won't hurt you.”

“Oh, I hate when you say that.”

“You should be careful with your tone, Catarina.” Bianca spoke without opening her eyes. “We're still your parents, and we'll be your parents a hundred years after you're dead.”

“Look, I'm really tired. If we can just table this until tomorrow.”

“Someone's threatening you, and you don't tell us?”

Okay, no chance for a respite. Reena dragged out the band holding her hair back as her father rose from the couch. “It's work, Dad. I don't, can't, won't tell you everything about the job.”

“It's personal. He's calling you. He knows your name. He knows where you live. And tonight, he tried to kill you.”

“Do I look dead?” she shot back. “Do I look hurt?”

“And what would you be if Bo hadn't acted quickly?”

“Oh, great.” She threw up her hands, stormed around the room. “So he's the white knight and I'm the helpless damsel. Do you see this?” She yanked her badge out, shoved it in her father's face. “They don't give these out to helpless damsels.”

“But they give them out to stubborn, selfish women who can't admit when they're wrong?”

“Selfish?”

They were shouting now, their faces inches apart. “Where do you get that? It's my job, it's my business. Do I tell you how to run your business?”

“You're my child. Your business is always my business. Somebody tried to hurt you, and now he's going to have to deal with me.”

“This is just what I was trying to avoid. Why didn't I tell you all this? Play this conversation back. You are not getting into this. You are not getting into my work, into this part of my life.”

“Don't you tell me what I'm going to do!”

“Back at you.”

“Basta! Basta!
Enough!” Bianca sprang off the couch. “Don't you raise your voice to your father, Catarina. Don't you yell at your daughter, Gibson. I'll yell at both of you. Imbeciles.
Stupidi!
You're both right, but that won't stop me from knocking your empty heads together to hear the crack. You—” She jabbed a finger into her husband's chest. “You go round and round and don't get to the meat. Our daughter isn't selfish, and you'll apologize. And you—” The finger stabbed out at Reena. “You have your work, and we're proud of what you do, who you are. But this is different, and you know it. This is not about someone else. This is
you.
Do we ever say, ‘No, no, Catarina' when you go into a building that may fall on your head? Did we say, ‘No, you can't become a police officer, and worry us every day, every night'?”

“Mama—”

“I'm not finished. You'll know when I'm finished. Who stood the tallest, who was the proudest when you became what you always wanted? And you'd stand here and tell us this isn't our business when someone wants to hurt you?”

“I just . . . I just didn't see the point in worrying everyone.”

“Hah! That's our job. We're
family.
”

“Okay, I should've told you, and I would have after tonight—and if Bo hadn't—”

“You're going to blame him now?” Gib broke in.

She hunched her shoulders. “He's the only one left, and since he's not here to object, sure. I like hanging this on him. And what, suddenly he's your new best friend?”

“He got hurt making sure you didn't.” Gib took her face in his hands. “Xander could have been sewing you up tonight. Or worse.”

“Apologize,” Bianca reminded him, and had Gib casting his eyes to the ceiling.

“I'm sorry I said you were selfish. You're not. I was mad.”

“It's okay. I am selfish when it comes to you. I love you. I love you,” she repeated, sliding into his arms, reaching for her mother's hand. “I don't
know who's doing this, or why, but I'm afraid now. At both scenes he's left something from Sirico's.”

“Sirico's?” Gib repeated.

“One of the matchboxes at the school, a dinner napkin tonight. He's telling me he can walk in there, get to you. He's telling me . . .” Her voice wavered. “I'm afraid that he might try to hurt one of you. I couldn't stand it.”

“Then you know how we feel about you. Go, get a little sleep. We'll lock up on our way out.”

“But—”

Bianca squeezed Gib's hand before he could speak. “Get some rest,” Bianca continued. “Don't worry any more tonight.”

When they were alone, Gib whispered to his wife, “You're not thinking about leaving her alone.”

“We're going to leave her alone. We have to believe in her, and she has to know we believe in her. It's so hard.” She pressed her lips tight for a moment, steadied her voice. “It never stops being hard to step back from your babies. But you do it. Come on, let's lock up. We'll go home and worry about her.”

T
he phone woke her at five forty-five. Reena clawed her way through the sticky syrup of exhaustion, fumbled on the light, then the recorder.

“What?” she mumbled into the receiver.

“Just weren't quick enough, were you? Not as smart as you think you are.”

“But you're smart, aren't you?” She chained back her temper. “Except, you know, that was a lot of trouble, a lot of bang to take out a truck. Plenty more where that came from.”

“Bet he's pissed.” There was a low laugh. “Wish I'd seen his face when it blew.”

“You should've stuck around. If you had balls, you'd have stuck around for the show.”

“I've got balls, bitch. You'll be licking them before we're done.”

“If that's all you want, tell me where and when.”

“My time, my place. You don't get it, do you? Even after tonight you don't get it. You're supposed to be the smart one, but you're just a dumb whore.”

Her eyes narrowed. “If that's the case, why don't you give me a couple hints. The game's no fun if I'm lagging behind. Come on,” she coaxed, “let's play.”

“My game, my rules. Next time.”

When he hung up, she sat back. Her mind was working now, cleared of sleep and working fast.

Don't get it, do you, even after tonight?

What came out of tonight? she asked herself. He uses different methods, different types of targets. He doesn't stick with the same MO, the same targets as a more typical serial arsonist would.

He leaves something from Sirico's as a signature. As a message to her.

Someone she'd taken there in the past? O'Donnell was looking at Luke, and Luke hadn't had any love for the shop. But Luke was in New York. It was possible, of course, that he drove down to Baltimore, but why would he? Why would he harass her after all these years?

And the syntax was wrong, the pattern of it. Luke could do that deliberately, to throw her off. But again, why?

Added to it, he didn't know anything about fire, about explosives. Other than having his Mercedes torched, he . . .

She sat straight up.

“Oh God!”

It wasn't the same—not exactly. Bo's truck hadn't been broken into, the interior fired, the alarm disengaged. But . . .

Gas poured on the engine, on the tires, under the chassis, the device in the gas tank.

All those years ago. Could this be the same person? Not someone who'd wanted to attack Luke, not someone with a grudge against Luke.

But her. All this time.

But so much damn time, she thought, getting up to pace herself through it. Six years? Had there been incidents between she hadn't clicked into? Fires she'd investigated that were his work?

She'd have to go through the open files, the cold cases. Anything that had come through the unit and hadn't been closed.

How far back had it started? How long had he been gearing himself up to make personal contact with her?

A cold chill squeezed her heart, had her stopping. She could feel the blood draining out of her face even before she turned and ran down the stairs.

Her hands shook as she grabbed the notes she'd brought home from Bo's kitchen. The notes of her conversation with the arsonist.

Just think abt it,
she'd written in the bastard shorthand she used during interviews.
thk abt all the men you let fk you rgt bk to the 1st.

“The first,” she murmured, and sank slowly to the floor. “Josh. Oh, Mother of God. Josh.”

At five minutes to eight, Reena banged on Bo's front door and kept banging until he answered.

His eyes were heavy, his hair pancaked on one side of his head, spiked on the other. He wore nothing but a pair of blue boxers and a sleepy scowl.

“I need to talk to you.”

“Sure, sure, come on in,” he muttered when she breezed right by him. “Have a seat. Want some breakfast? I'm here to serve.”

“I'm sorry I had to wake you, and I know you had a bad night, but this is important.”

He jerked a shoulder, cursed when his injured arm objected to the movement. Then he turned his back on her and shuffled toward his kitchen.

He got a can of Coke from the fridge, popped it. Guzzled it where he stood.

“I also know you're irritated with me,” she continued. She heard her tone—prim as her first-grade teacher's—and wasn't entirely displeased. “But this isn't the time to be childish.”

His bleary eyes narrowed over the can. He flicked up his middle finger. “That,” he told her, “was childish.”

“You want to fight, I'll pencil you in for later. This is official, and I need you to pay attention.”

He dropped into a chair, gave her a careless, get-on-with-it wave.

She could see the resentment, the fatigue and, she noted, some pain lurking in his eyes. But coddling wasn't on the agenda.

“I have reason to believe the connection I have with the arsonist goes back much further than we initially thought.”

He downed more Coke. “So?”

“I'm pursuing the theory based on some of the conversations I've had with him, including the one early this morning.”

His hand tightened on the can enough to leave impressions. “So, he gave you a wake-up call and you decided to spread the wealth and get me out of bed.”

“Bo.”

“Fuck it.” He said it wearily, without heat, as he pushed himself out of the chair and went to a cabinet. He pulled out a bottle of Motrin, poured a few in his palm, tossed them into his mouth like candy.

“It's hurting.”

He gave her a steely stare as he washed down pills with Coke. “No, I just like Motrin and Classic Coke. Breakfast of frigging champions.”

Something sank in her stomach. “You really are angry with me.”

“I'm angry with you, with men and women, small children and all manner of flora and fauna on the planet Earth, possibly in the universe, where I believe other life exists, because I got about five minutes' sleep and my entire body hurts like a mother.”

She'd noted the bruises, in addition to the bandaged arm. Bruises, scrapes, nicks—she'd found a number on herself as well. His were worse, no doubt. His were worse because he'd taken the brunt to shield her.

She'd intended to be quick, brisk, give him the gist without going into detail. Now, looking at his sulky eyes, his bed hair, his poor battered body, she changed her mind.

Even her strict first-grade teacher had kissed it better when she scraped her knee on the playground.

“Why don't you sit down? I'll get you something to eat, an ice pack. That knee's pretty banged up.”

“I'm not hungry. There's a bag of frozen peas in there.”

Having suffered through her share of sprains and bruises, she understood what the peas were for. Retrieving them from the freezer, she walked over to lay them over his knee herself.

“I'm sorry you were hurt. I'm sorry about your truck. I'm even sorry I swiped at you for telling my father something I wasn't ready to tell him myself.”

She sat, propped her elbows on the table, pressed the heels of her hands to her eyes. “Bo, I'm so damn sorry.”

“Don't do that. If you cry you're going to ruin a perfectly good mad.”

“I'm not going to cry.” But it was a nasty internal war to keep her word. “It's bad to worse, Bo. And you're in this because of me.”

“How much worse?”

“I have to make a call.” She drew out her phone. “This is going to take a little longer than I planned. Is it okay if I get one of those?” she asked, nodding toward his Coke.

“Go ahead.”

“O'Donnell?” She rose as she spoke. “I'm going to be another half hour. Running a little behind.” She opened the fridge. There were Diet Pepsis mixed in with his Classic Cokes. Ones she knew Bo had bought for her.

Tears stung again, made her feel ridiculous.

“No, I won't. See you in thirty.”

She disconnected, sat again. Opening the can, she looked at Bo. “A few years ago, I was seeing someone. We'd been seeing each other, exclusively, for a few months. Closer to four, I guess. He wasn't my usual type. A little slick, a lot demanding. I wanted a change, and he was it. Status type, drove a Mercedes, wore Italian suits, drank the right wines. We saw a lot of movies with subtitles that I'm dead sure he didn't enjoy any more than I did. I liked being with him because I got to be a girl.”

“And other times you're what? A poodle?”

“Girly,” she corrected. “Fussy female, accommodating.” She shrugged a little, and still felt silly about it. “Change of pace for me. I let him pick the restaurants, make the plans. It was a brief relief. In my line you've got to be on your toes, and you can't be girly. You've got to see a lot of things, do a lot of things . . . Well. Maybe I wanted the contrast.”

“Can we pause it here? You think this guy's the one who's been calling you?”

“No. It's not impossible, but no, I don't. He's a financial planner who got a manicure twice a month. He lives in New York now. In any case, he was beginning to get under my skin some. I let it slide because . . . I'm not entirely sure, and it doesn't matter. The night I caught my first case as a detective with the unit we had a little argument. He hit me.”

“Whoa.” Bo set his can on the table. “What?”

“Wait.” Get it all out, she told herself. The whole humiliating ball of it. “I thought it was an accident, which is what he claimed. It was one of those dramatic moving around, gesturing, and I moved toward him from behind, his hand came back. It could've been an accident, and I accepted it as such. Until the next time.”

There were no sleepy mists in his eyes now. They were pure, hard green. “He hit you again.”

“This was different. He made these elaborate dinner plans, and I was clueless. Fancy French place, champagne, flowers, the works. He tells me he's been promoted. And transferring to New York. I'm happy for him—it's kind of a jolt, but what are you going to do? Plus . . .”

She paused, sighed out a breath. “Plus, some part of me was thinking, Boy, this sure makes it easy on me. No dramatic breakup scene.”

“And you say that with guilt because?”

“It seems cold, I guess. Hey, the boyfriend I'm getting a little tired of is moving out of state. Lucky me! But while I'm trying to pretend I'm not a little relieved, he says he wants me to go to New York with him, and even then it takes me a few minutes to get he means move there. That's not going to happen, and I'm trying to tell him why I can't. Won't.”

“Okay, the guy you've been seeing a few months wants you to pull up stakes, leave your home, your family, your job because he gets a transfer.” He drank with one hand, jabbed a finger at her with the other. “See, I told you there was life beyond our big blue ball. Obviously this guy was spawned on Planet No Way In Hell.”

It made her laugh a little. “Well, it gets worse. Suddenly he's flashing
this meteor-sized diamond ring, telling me we're getting married, moving to New York.”

She closed her eyes because the sensations she'd experienced then came right back. “I'm sucker punched, I swear. This came out of nowhere for me, and while I'm trying to tell him thanks but no thanks, the waiter's bringing champagne over, people are applauding, and the damn ring's on my finger.”

“Ambush.”

“Yeah.” She blew out a breath, grateful he understood. “I couldn't get into it there, in front of the whole damn restaurant, so I waited until we got back to my place. Let's say he didn't take it well. He blasted me good. I'd humiliated him, lying bitch, stupid and blah blah. I stopped feeling sorry for him and blasted back. And he nailed me. Said he was going to teach me who was in charge, and when he came up for the follow-through, I took him down, bruised his balls and kicked him out.”

“I'm going to say congratulations, and add that from what you've just told me, he's a top contender for what's going on now.”

He wasn't going to make her feel guilty, Reena realized. Or stupid or weak. It was an interesting experience to share a nasty and humiliating experience with a man who wouldn't let her feel soiled or humiliated.

The race going on inside her heart kicked into another gear.

“I don't think so, but I think he's connected. The next morning, early, my captain and O'Donnell are at the door. Turns out that somebody torched Luke's Mercedes, a few hours after he crawled out my door. He was pointing the finger at me for it. It didn't stick. For one thing Gina had come over, stayed the night, and was still there. For another, they believed me.”

She could see by his face he was keeping pace with her, but she filled in the last details anyway. “The method used wasn't
exactly
like last night, Bo, but there are strong similarities. And when the fire-starter called me this morning, he alluded to it.”

“This Luke asshole could have torched his own car to take another jab at you. He could be doing this now for more payback.”

“Possible, except . . . Last night, when he called, he said something else. Didn't click in, not completely. Everything happened pretty quick after, and it didn't gel for me until this morning. He said I should think back over the men I've been with, right back to the first.”

“And?”

“The first was Josh. Josh was killed in a fire, long before I met Luke.”

“Smoking in bed.”

“I never believed it.” Even now, her voice caught. “I had to accept it, but I never believed it. Three men now, three I've been involved with, that I know of, have been connected to serious fires. One of them's dead. I'm not going to consider it a coincidence. Not now.”

He rose, limped to the fridge, got out another Coke. “Because now you're thinking Josh was murdered.”

“Yes, I do. And I think the use of fire's been deliberate all along, because anyone who knew me knew I was studying and working toward becoming an arson investigator. Ever since . . .”

“Ever since the fire at your restaurant,” he finished.

“Jesus. Pastorelli.” It made her stomach cramp. “It all started that day. Everything started that day.” She let out a breath. “All right, I'm going to check this out. Meanwhile, can you take some time off?”

“What for?”

“Bo, Josh is dead. Luke moved to New York, and I broke things off with him in any case. You're right next door. He could try for your house next, or for you.”

“Or you.”

“Take a couple of weeks, take a vacation, give us time to shut this down.”

“Sure. Where do you want to go?”

Her hands balled into fists on the table. “I'm the fuse. I go, he stops, waits for me to come back.”

“The way I see it, we're both the fuse. Unless you plan on taking up with some other guy while I'm off somewhere water-skiing. I value my skin, Reena, what's left of it. But I'm not running off and waiting for you to send me an all clear. I don't work that way.”

“This isn't the time to be such a damn man.”

“Until I grow breasts, I'm stuck being a man.”

“You'll distract me. Worrying about you will distract me. If something happened to you—” She broke off as her throat slammed shut.

“If I said that to you, you'd tell me you can take care of yourself, that you're not stupid or reckless.” He raised his eyebrows when she said nothing. “Why don't we skip the part where I say it back to you, we both toss around the same arguments.”

The good nature faded from his eyes, turned them that chilly green. “The son of a bitch came at me, Reena. He blew up my goddamn truck. You think I'm walking away?”

“Please. Just a few days then. Three days. Give me three days to . . .” Her voice began to hitch.

“No. Don't cry. It's hitting below the belt, and it won't work.”

“I don't use tears to get my way, you stupid ass.” She dashed at them with the backs of her hands. “I can put you in protective custody.”

“Maybe.”

“Don't you see, I can't handle this.” She pushed away from the table, stalked to the window over the sink, stared out.

“I can see you're not handling something.”

“I don't know what to do.” She pressed her fist between her breasts as her heart shuddered. “I don't know how to be. I don't know how to deal with this.”

“We'll figure it out.”

“No, no! Are you blind, are you stupid?” she demanded as she whirled around to him. “I can handle the case. You work it, you just work it. It's a puzzle and all the pieces are there. It's just finding them and putting them in the right place. But this? I can't . . . I can't handle this.” She thumped her fist between her breasts. “I'm . . . I'm . . . ”

“Asthmatic?” he said when she just stood there wheezing.

She stunned them both by grabbing a mug off the counter and hurling it against the wall. “You
blithering
idiot, I'm in love with you.”

He held up a hand as if to ward off another mug, though hers were empty. “Minute, okay. Just a minute.”

“Oh, screw this.” She started to charge out, but he grabbed her hand, locked her down.

“I said wait a damn minute.”

“I hope you have a seizure, and it makes you stumble all around the room so you cut your feet to ribbons on broken glass.”