Blue Smoke (36 page)

“Well, the timing's odd, but if that's a proposal—”

“Uh-uh. You proposed, I'm just giving you an answer.”

“I see.”

“Don't see a ring though. It's not official until you buy me a ring.”

She stopped, just braked in the middle of the street, laid her head on the steering wheel. And wept.

“Oh hey, oh God, don't cry.” He yanked at his seat belt, swiveled over to try to take her in his arms.

“I have to, just for a minute. I thought I would lose it in the house, first in that bedroom. Seeing what he did to them. He shot them, then sat them up in bed like puppets.”

“What?”

“Carla and Don Dimarco. I didn't know them well. They only bought the house a few months ago. Young couple, first house. Her mother and Gina's mom went to school together.” She sat up, wiped at tears. “He didn't fire the bed. I could see them. I could see the pillows he used to muffle the shots. I was standing there, the fire's all around and I could see how he came in while they slept, put the pillows over their faces . . . low caliber. Little hole. Just a little hole.”

Bo said nothing, only took her hand.

“It's all around. The fire. The heat, the smoke, the light. It talks. You can hear it mutter, sing, roar. It has speech. It fascinates me. It pulls at me.
It always has, since the night I stood on the sidewalk with a glass of ginger ale and watched it dance behind the glass at Sirico's. I understand his . . . attachment to it,” she said and turned to look at Bo.

“I understand why he chooses it, or it chooses him. I can see the steps that brought us here, all of us. But now, after O'Donnell, I feel as though I'm standing on the edge of them. I lost my balance up in that room, looking at people who did nothing except buy a nice house in a nice neighborhood. Looking at them and feeling the fire, I lost it, then my partner's standing in the doorway, pulling me back from that edge, reminding me we had a job to do. And dying for it.”

She shuddered out a breath. “I can see what he's doing, why. More, why he
has
to do it. The fire fascinates him, too.”

“Have you got some screwy idea that you and this crazy bastard have something in common?”

“We do, more than one thing in common. But I've got that granite base, and thank God for it. And now I have you. I said you level me out, Bo. If I lose my balance, you're going to steady me again. Why else would you sit here on this hellish night and talk about marriage and children?”

“You want to know?” He hitched up a hip, pulled out a bandanna and used it to mop at her wet cheeks himself. “I've spent a good part of tonight sitting, standing, pacing in your parents' house. Watching your family sit, stand, pace. And I realized if you love someone, when it's the most real, the most important thing in your life, it's not enough to coast. You need to dig in those footers, start building on that base. You want something to last, you put your back into it.” He kissed her hand. “I've got a strong back.”

“Me, too.” She kissed his hand in turn, then, pushing back her hair, started the car again. “What kind of ring do you want?”

“Something gaudy that I can show off to my friends to their envy and avarice.”

Her laugh felt rusty in her throat.

She pulled up behind the police unit in front of her house. “I'm going to talk to these guys a minute, then run in and get some things. Why don't you wait here and start planning your dream wedding? You're going to look amazing in a long white dress.”

“That may be going a little too far. It's not really appropriate for me to wear white.”

She had her badge out, then recognized the officer who stepped out of the radio car. “Officer Derrick.”

“Detective. Bastard killed O'Donnell.”

“Yeah.” She steadied herself again. “How long have you been on?”

“Since two. Another unit was doing circular patrols, but since it looked like he might be working his way here, we pulled off the clinic fire to do the sit and watch. Two officers are covering the back. Check-in's every fifteen.”

“Status?”

“Quiet. Some people came out when they heard sirens. Had some milling on the sidewalk. We dispersed.”

“I'm going in to get some fresh clothes. My—” She started to say “friend,” then gave herself a lift. “My fiancé's in the car. Appreciate the duty, Officer.”

“No problem. Want me to walk you in, stand by?”

“It's okay. I'll be quick. Alert the rear team that I'm entering the premises.”

“Will do.”

Jingling her keys, she crossed the sidewalk, started up the steps.

Four fires set in under six hours, she thought. Was he going for the record book, looking for fame as well as revenge?

He knew the neighborhood, so that was to his advantage, but still it was fast work. Damn fast.

She unlocked the door, flipped on the lights as she stepped in. She set her keys down as she brought the map back into her head.

From Fells Point, entering around six-thirty. Exiting between nine-fifteen and nine-thirty. Plenty of time to get to John's, set the fire. Had to leave that location after midnight. Cutting it close there, barely enough time to get to the other locations. Fire was hot, fully involved when they'd arrived at the clinic, minutes after he'd called her.

Minutes, she thought on her way upstairs. And only minutes after that—five?—she and O'Donnell had raced to the old Pastorelli house.

Not just one step ahead. Nobody was that good, nobody was that fast. An accomplice? Didn't fit, just didn't fit. This was his mission, his obsession. He wouldn't share.

But he'd fired the clinic, gone two blocks, broken into his old house, shot two people, planted the rigged extinguisher and set another fire. One that had been fully involved before she'd gotten there.

Because he'd killed Carla and Don first. Before the clinic. Because he'd set both fires, used timers. Very likely set the clinic to burn before he'd gone to John's. That's the pattern, she thought. Xander then John.

She'd missed it. Missed it because she'd been running around, just as he'd wanted. Because he'd had everyone scrambling to put out blazes that were as much distraction as they were points on his scoreboard.

Missed more, she realized, because she'd been grieving.

Since two
. That's what Derrick had said. They'd been on since two.

Her palms went damp. She spun, reaching for her weapon, poised to run down and out.

He stepped out of the doorway in front of her, wearing a Sirico's T-shirt. And holding a .22.

“Time for the big surprise. You're going to want to take that gun out slow, Reena. Drop it on the floor.”

She raised both hands. Don't surrender your weapon, she thought. Never give up your weapon. “There are cops all around the house, Joey.”

“Yeah, I've seen them. Two front, two back. Got here about ten minutes after me. Had a busy night, haven't you? You got soot on your face. You went into my house, didn't you? I knew you would. I've done quite a study on you. Did you get to them before the fire did?”

“Yeah.”

He grinned hugely. “Hey, where's your partner?”

Gleeful, that's what he was. And she would see him in hell for it, whatever the cost. “You've killed a cop now, Joey. You're done. Every cop in Baltimore will come after you. You're not going to get out of this.”

“I think I will. But if I don't, I'll have finished what the hell I started. The gun, Reena.”

“You use yours, the cops'll be in here before I drop. That's not the way you want to finish this. That's not the point, is it? Fire's the point. There's no satisfaction unless I burn.”

“And you will. Bet your partner burned good.”

The image flash backed, and she suppressed it. But it left a sparking wire in her blood.

Oh, she could feel, and she could think. And he'd misjudged her. “I know about your father, the cancer.”

Fury flamed into his face. “You don't talk about my father. You don't say his name.”

“Maybe you think you have it, too. That it came into you from him. But that's a small chance, Joey. Single digits.”

“What the fuck do you know about it? It's eating him from the inside. You can watch it eating him, smell it. I'm not going that way, and neither's he. I'm going to take care of him before it finishes him. Fire purifies.”

Fresh horror struck her. He meant to burn his own father to death. “You can't help him, can't purify him if you die here.”

“Maybe not. But he taught me to look out for number one. And I think I'll get out. You'll burn, they'll come running, and I'll slip out. Like smoke.”

He stepped forward; she stepped back. “Belly shot probably won't kill you—at least not right away. But it'll hurt like hell. They might hear it. Little gun like this doesn't make much of a bang, so maybe not. Either way, I'll have just enough time. I got everything set up for you.”

He shoved her back, into the bedroom, hit the lights.

Trailers and chimneys were set over the floor, over the bed.

He grabbed her hair, yanked her down to her knees with the gun pressed to her temple. “One sound, one move, I put it in your brain, then burn what's left of you.”

Stay alive, she ordered herself. She couldn't shut him down if she was dead. “You'll burn, too.”

“That happens, I can't think of a better way to go out. I've been waiting to find out what it's like since I was twelve.” He wrenched her police
issue out of her holster, tossed it aside. “Too big a bang,” he told her. “You've wondered what it was like, too. To go into it, to let the fire take you. You're going to find out. Here's what we're going to do. You're going to call your old man, tell him to come on down. You want to talk to him, in private.”

Doesn't know I just came in for clothes. Doesn't know they're waiting for me. “Why?”

“He burns, you burn, and that ends it. Circle closes.”

“Do you think I'd bring my father to you?”

“He killed mine. He's got a price to pay. You got a choice. You call him, you sacrifice him, or I take them all. Your whole family.” He wrapped her hair around his fist, yanked until stars exploded in front of her eyes. “Mother, brother, sisters. All those little brats. Every single one. So you choose. Your father, or all of them.”

“All he did was defend me, the way fathers are supposed to.”

“He humiliated mine. He had him dragged off, locked in a cell.”

“Your father did that to himself the minute he lit the match inside Sirico's.”

“He didn't do it alone. Didn't know that, did you?” His grin spread until his whole face was alight with it. “He took me with him that night. He showed me the fire, how to create it. He showed me what you do to people who
get in your face
!” He backhanded her, straddled her.

“You're shaking.” His voice trembled with laughter now. “You're shaking, just like you did that day. When your father gets here, I'm going to do you in front of him. I'm going to show him what a whore his precious daughter is.” He tore her shirt open, pressed the gun under her jaw.

She heard herself whimper, fought the need to struggle.

“Remember when I did that on the playground? You got tits now though.” He squeezed her breast with his hand, pursed his lips in mock approval. “Nice ones. You don't cooperate, I'm going to do the same to your mother, to your sisters, even that Asian tramp your brother married. Then there's that slutty little niece of yours. The young ones are the tastiest.”

“I'll kill you.” She was cold and hard as stone inside. She hadn't had to find her anger. It had been there, waiting, all along. “I'll kill you first.”

“Who's holding the gun, Reena?” He traced the barrel down her throat. “Who's got the power?” Rammed the barrel hard under her jaw. “Who's in fucking
charge
?”

“You are.” She kept her eyes on his, built her courage on that rock of anger. Do the job. “You are, Joey.”

“Goddamn right. Your father for mine, bitch. Lose him, I let the rest of them live.”

“I'll call him.” She let the tears come, let herself shake—let him see what he expected to see. Weakness and fear. “He'd rather die than have you touch any of them.”

“Good for him.”

He shifted his weight. She counted her own breaths. Slowly sat up, keeping her teary eyes on his, hoping he saw only pleas and defeat.

With tears dripping, she lifted a hand as if to draw her ripped shirt together. She swung out with her forearm, slapping away his gun hand, punched out with her other fist toward his face. She heard the gun clatter on the floor, then saw more stars as he fell on her.

I
n the car, Bo drummed his fingers. What the hell was taking her so long? He rechecked her bedroom window, saw the light burning. Checked his watch—again.

She took much longer, he thought, the relief, the inactivity, the fact that it was four in the morning was going to put him to sleep.

He got out, walked over to the cop on the passenger side. “I'm going to go in, okay? She must be packing a trunk instead of grabbing a clean shirt.”

“Women.”

“Whatcha gonna do?”

He fished out his keys. They were going to have to think about the houses, he thought, studying the look of them as he walked to the steps.
Sell one—which? Keep both and combine them? Might be an interesting job, but they'd end up with some big-ass house.

He stifled a yawn, unlocked the door. “Hey, Reene, did you decide we should elope so you're packing a trousseau? What exactly is a trousseau anyway?”

He'd shut the door behind him, had gotten to the base of the stairs, when he heard her shout his name.

Her nose was bleeding. She could taste blood in her mouth as she fought viciously. He'd kicked her—she thought he'd kicked her—but she couldn't feel anything but rage and terror. She'd raked his face, gone for his eyes.