Fan the Flames (11 page)

“It's okay if you do.”

Since someone on the other end answered, she only shook her head at him. He frowned, but turned and headed toward the back room. “Hi, Libby. It's Rory Sorenson.” The dispatcher had been in the shop two months before, looking for a muzzle loader for her brother's birthday. She had a squeaky voice that was easy to recognize. “Could you send some deputies this way? My shop was burglarized.”

“Oh my goodness, Rory!” She could hear the rapid tap-tap of keyboard strokes as Libby typed. “Are you okay?”

“I'm fine.” Letting out a shaky breath, she closed her eyes. She
was
fine—well, she would be eventually.

“Is there a possibility that they're still in the building?”

“They are, but I'm pretty sure two are dead, and one's tied up.”

There was a pause. Not even typing broke the silence for a long moment. “Oh my goodness.” The keystrokes resumed with a vengeance. “Deputies are on their way, and I've paged the sheriff. Medical is en route, as well, although they'll just stage nearby until they get the all clear from law enforcement that it's safe to come on scene.”

“Thanks, Libby.” Ian returned and gave a grim shake of his head. She felt the bile creep up her throat again.

“No problem, hon. Stay on the line with me until the deputies arrive, okay?”

Rory remembered something. “I need to run out and unlock the gate, and I'm on a landline. Can I call you back in five minutes?”

Ian held out his hand for the keys, but she shook her head. It might be wimpy of her, but Rory did not want to be left alone in the shop with a trussed-up Duke and two dead bodies.

“I'd rather you didn't go outside until the deputies clear your property and make sure there isn't anyone else nearby,” Libby said with worry evident in her voice.

“There is, but he's tied up, too. With his bootlaces.” It was probably just a stress reaction, but Rory suddenly wanted to laugh.

“Oh my goodness.”

* * *

After a short discussion, both Rory and Ian ended up going out to unlock the gate. When they returned to the shop, Rory reached for the phone to call Libby again but hesitated, looking at the back-room door.

“What?” Ian asked, following her gaze.

“I should probably check that they didn't…um, disturb anything.” She gave the listening Duke a wary look.

“I can do that.” Ian started to move toward the door, but she hurried after him.

“No,” she said, catching his arm. “I'll be able to tell if anything's not right.”

Watching her carefully, he didn't move from his position blocking the door.

“It's fine,” she said, wondering how many more times she would use the word “fine” that night. “I'll just do a quick check and then get out of there.”

After another hesitation, he stepped back. Straightening her spine, she forced her legs to walk forward. At the threshold, she paused. The smell was already terrible. She didn't remember her parents' bodies smelling so strongly, although shock had messed up her memory of that event.

There was a lot of blood. It was pooled around the bodies and even sprayed over the walls and her worktable. She wouldn't have guessed that two bodies could hold so much blood. A strangely detached portion of her brain thought of how much cleaning was going to be required before her back room was usable once again.

Forcing her gaze from the bodies and blood, she focused on walking over to the cabinets lining the far wall, carefully placing her feet in spots clear of blood and other matter she didn't want to think about. The cabinet doors had been opened, but the secret drawers had not been disturbed. After checking each one, she picked her way back to the front room.

“Okay?” Ian asked.

Unsure if he meant the state of the cabinets or of her mind—one of which appeared to be fine while the other was still up for debate—Rory just answered, “Yes.”

* * *

Ten minutes later, the first sheriff's department squad flew through the gate. As Rory opened the front door to let Deputy Chris Jennings inside, she noticed that the mountains in the east were edged with pink. The sun was starting to rise.

Since Chris had bought a couple of hunting rifles from her, she was on friendly terms with the cheerful deputy. Despite that, he had both her and Ian handcuffed and weaponless within minutes. He sat the two of them on the floor, their backs to the shop wall. Once they were secured, he grimly ventured into the back, pulling on blue latex gloves as he went.

The deputy quickly returned to the front area, looking a little pale. Although his voice was low, she heard him speaking into his shoulder mic.

“Neither victim has a pulse, and there are signs of lividity in both bodies, so I did not begin CPR. I have two people in custody, and there is a third who was restrained with duct tape before I arrived on scene. None are complaining of any injuries.” He paused and then continued in an urgent tone that contrasted to the calm, objective way he'd delivered the previous information, “Please tell Rob to hurry his ass up.”

Chris eyed Duke. “As soon as another unit arrives, I'll get you out of that duct tape.”

“That's okay,” Duke said. “This tape's actually more comfortable than cuffs, anyway.”

Although Chris gave him an odd look, the deputy just said, “That's…good, I suppose.”

While Jennings's focus was on Duke, Rory caught Ian's attention and mouthed, “Zup?”

“Hey, Chris.” The deputy turned toward him. “There's a fourth guy. He's on the southwest side of the property. He was tied up, but he might've managed to get loose by now.”

Chris's gaze shot to the door, as if Zup was going to be charging inside at any second, and his hand reflexively touched the butt of his holstered gun. “Shit, Ian,” he groaned. “Could this be any more of a cluster?”

Ian just shrugged, the motion abbreviated by his cuffed hands.

“Um…I know it's not a priority right now,” Rory said, glancing across the room to the countertop where Chris had placed her beloved revolver after clearing it, “but do you think I'll ever get my Colt back? It was my sixteenth birthday present from my parents.”

“You should, eventually, if you're not charged with anything.” After a pause, Chris added, “I'm not sure if that's the best sweet-sixteen gift ever, or if it's completely messed up.”

Rory huffed a laugh, but her amusement didn't last long. “Me neither.” She realized Ian was watching her closely. “What?”

“You okay?”

“Yes. Quit asking.” There was a tremor in her voice that made her flush with shame. She wasn't dying, wasn't even hurt, so there was no reason for her to be shaking.

“I will when you quit lying.”

“I'm not lying.” She bit out the words, glaring at him. “I'm not injured. Therefore, I am okay.”

Ian made a frustrated sound. “That isn't—” Whatever he was going to say was interrupted by the arrival of the sheriff. Rob looked around the room, his sharp gaze taking in everything within a few seconds.

“Bodies are in the back.”

With a nod, the sheriff moved to the door leading to the back room and looked inside. When he turned back to Chris, his face showed grim resignation before it returned to his usual implacable expression.

“I'll call the state investigators again. Damn it.”

Before the BCA investigators made it to the scene, a lot of other people did. Once several more deputies arrived, the sheriff sent a group to collect Zup. They returned in short order with the shivering and furious man, the bootlaces around his wrists having been replaced with handcuffs.

After turning Zup over to the sheriff's care, the deputies swept the property, looking for any other suspects. When their search turned up only Jack and the chickens, the scene was declared secure, and the coroner was allowed into the shop.

Belly was in a cranky mood. “So you two are the reason for my being yanked out of bed at the ass-crack of dawn. Why am I not surprised?”

Too tired to think of a clever comeback, Rory just gave the coroner a poor attempt at a smile. Ian offered Belly a silent lift of his chin in greeting. After eyeing the two of them balefully for another moment, Belly turned and stalked toward the back room.

“Rory.” Rob crouched down next to her. “I need to get your statement.”

She'd figured this was coming. He'd already talked to a de-taped and newly handcuffed Duke, as well as Zup, who'd gone from raging to sullen. He was currently cuffed and sitting against the opposite wall, glaring across the room at Rory and Ian.

With her hands behind her back, she struggled a little to get her feet underneath her. Rob held her upper arm to help her stand. Once she was upright, Rory swayed, lack of sleep mixed with the shock of the night's events making her light-headed. She must've looked pretty pale, since Rob didn't let her go once she was standing. Instead, he kept his fingers latched around her arm as he escorted her across the room to the makeshift interview area.

Since outside was freezing cold, and the back room still contained bodies, the sheriff had quietly questioned Duke and Zup in the front corner of the shop, as far as he could get from the other witnesses and suspects. After helping her take a seat on a stool, Rob pulled out a pen and small notepad, and turned on the digital recorder hooked to his duty belt.

“Why don't you tell me what happened?” he said.

The idea of going through the whole story made exhaustion flood over her, but Rory forced her shoulders to square.
Not dying
, she reminded herself.
Not even bleeding, so there's no reason to whine.
Taking a deep breath, she told the entire tale, from the first night the alarm was triggered to her call to Libby.

When she finished, Rob glanced around the shop and gave a puzzled frown. “Where are your living quarters?”

This subject made her even more uncomfortable than talking about shooting Rave. “Uh, downstairs.”

“Where's the entrance?”

First Ian found out how to get into her home, and now the sheriff wanted the details. Rory didn't like it. “In the back.”

“I didn't see it.”

“You were probably distracted. By the bodies and blood and stuff.”

“No, I would've—”

“Shouldn't we talk about last night?” She knew it was probably stupid to interrupt the sheriff to demand a change in the direction of his questioning, but Rory was tired and not up to revealing her secrets to a stranger. It was hard enough with Ian, and he was… Her brain refused to define exactly what Ian was to her. He was not a stranger. She decided to leave it at that.

Rob was eyeing her curiously.

“Sorry, did I miss a question?” she asked, flustered. “My brain shut off for a minute.”

“It's fine.” He gave her a small, encouraging smile. “I asked what your relationship was with Erwin Banks.”

“Who?” Rory stared at him blankly.

“Also known as Rave.”

“His name was Erwin?” He so did not look like an Erwin. Hiding a wince, she mentally corrected herself. He
hadn't
looked like an Erwin. Thanks to her, Rave was in the past tense now.

“Yes. Answer the question, please.”

Rory had to think back to remember what the question had been. “Oh! Um…we didn't have a relationship. He was kind of a jerk.”

“But you knew him.”

“Yes. He used to come into the shop with Billy.”

“William Wysocki?”

She lifted one shoulder in a shrug, dropping it when it tugged the handcuff against her wrist bone. “Uh, I suppose. I never knew his last name. He was just Billy.”

“So, Billy and Rave were customers?” His expression attempted to be casual, but there was a sharp edge to his look, and she knew to tread carefully, despite her exhaustion.

“Billy liked to stop in and look at the guns.”

“Did he buy any?”

Although she tried for an innocent look, she wasn't sure how well she pulled it off. “I doubt he'd pass the background check.”

“Uh-huh.” Apparently, her guileless expression needed some work. “What about the guns in the back room? The ones not requiring a background check. Did he buy any of those?”

Big-mouthed Zup.
“Guns in the back room?” Shaking her head, she let her eyebrows draw together in confusion. “I have a couple back there that are in for cleaning or repairs, but they're not for sale.”

“Come on, Rory,” he said, almost gently. “It's the worst-kept secret in Field County. Everyone knows about the guns you keep in the back.”

“Sorry.” She forgot about the cuffs and shrugged again, then held back a wince. “I don't know what you're talking about. Shouldn't we be focusing on the burglary?”

Rob looked tired, but he didn't push any further. “Why do you think Rave and the others targeted your shop?”

It seemed like such a stupid question that she paused to think how it could lead to a possible verbal trap. She couldn't think of any, so she answered, tipping her chin at the front room and all its contents. “The guns.”

“These guns?” He glanced around at the display cases.

“Yes.”

“Hmm.” After studying her for a long minute, he moved to a different question. “How many times did Rave visit your shop?”

The questioning continued for what felt like hours. The sheriff would ask one thing, and then ask it in a different way a few minutes later. He went over what happened and then over it again, until she started swaying in her chair. Rob brought up the back room several times, but she kept up her protestations of confusion and innocence.

“Rob,” Ian finally called from his spot across the room. “Enough.”

Rob sent him a reproving look. “We're almost done, Ian.”

“Look at her. She's about to fall off her chair.”

Rob directed his gaze back at Rory and frowned, then reached down to turn off the recorder. “Okay. We can finish later.” To her relief, he helped her off her stool, since she found she needed the support to stand and then walk in a semistraight line. Once back in her original spot, she slid into a sitting position and watched as Ian shrugged off the sheriff's helping hand.

“I've got it, thanks.” Ian stood and walked with Rob to the interview corner.

Although she was hoping to strain her ears and overhear parts of Ian's statement, her eyelids were not cooperating. With a sigh, she rested her head back against the wall and gave in to sleep.

* * *

Someone was shaking her shoulder. Rory had the distinct urge to punch this person for pulling her out of wonderful unconsciousness and back into the reality of dead people and exhaustion and sore wrists. Reluctantly opening her eyes, she saw Ian's face come into focus. He looked pissed.

Sitting up abruptly, she shook the last tendrils of sleep out of her brain. “What's wrong?”

“Nothing.” When she didn't say anything, he shook his head. “Rob just has some fu—uh, messed-up theories, that's all.”

Glancing down at the hand that had been shaking her shoulder, she said, “You got the cuffs off, at least. That's a good sign.”

“You're next.” Ian tipped his head toward Chris, who smiled at her.

“Come on, Sleeping Beauty,” the deputy said. “Let's turn you loose.”

“Does this mean we're cleared, then?” With Ian's help, she scrambled to her feet and turned her back toward Chris.

“It means you're not getting arrested right now,” he hedged while easing the cuffs from first one wrist and then the other. “I'll let Rob talk to you about the rest of it.”

“Thanks.” Rory rubbed her wrists, although her flinch came more from the pulling ache in her shoulders than from any bruising from the cuffs.

With another smile, Chris headed for the door, and Rob moved toward them. Rory didn't miss the way Ian stiffened at his approach. Once she'd gotten some sleep and was thinking rationally again, she needed to ask Ian what was going on between him and the sheriff. Until recently, Rory had been under the impression that the two men got along well. The memory of Ian's cryptic mention of the murder investigation rang in her head.

“Your shop is going to be off-limits for several days while the crime-lab people do their stuff,” Rob warned, breaking into her thoughts.

Although she should have expected the news, the realization hit her like a physical blow. She barely caught herself before taking a step back. If she couldn't be in the shop, then that meant her home was inaccessible, too. Rory wondered if she could sneak down to the bunker and hole up like a mole until the invasion was over.

“Can I stay downstairs?” The question popped out before she could reconsider it. She restrained a cringe.

Rob jumped right on that. “Depends on where the entrance is. I'm not really clear on how you get down there. Why don't you show me?”

“That's okay.” It really, really wasn't okay, but it was a better option than revealing her home to anyone. “I'll stay at the Black Bear Inn.”

“No.” Ian's hard, implacable tone brought her gaze to him. “You'll stay with me.”

She blinked, holding back the arguments that immediately rushed to her lips.

“You still at Julius's place in Liverton?” Rob asked.

Ian shook his head. “I'm checking in on him several times a day, but I've moved back into my house.”

“How's he doing?”

“Not great.” A muscle twitched in his cheek, but his tone was even when he asked the sheriff, “Can we go now?”

After a slight hesitation, Rob said, “Sure. Go get some sleep. I'll need to talk to both of you again over the next few days, though.”

A small smirk curled Ian's lips. “So we shouldn't leave town?”

Rob didn't smile. “Exactly.”

* * *

So many people trailing about the place meant that Rory couldn't get downstairs to grab any basic necessities. That meant she was going to her first-ever sleepover unarmed. She didn't even have a toothbrush.

Ian had turned his Bronco into the driveway of a small Victorian house on the southeast side of Simpson. After parking her pickup next to his vehicle, she turned off the truck but didn't move. Jack, riding shotgun, waited patiently on the seat next to her.

A knock on her window made her jump. She rolled down the window with the hand crank.

“You getting out?”

“Yes,” she said a little defensively, but she didn't make any move to open the door.

“Today?”

That didn't even deserve an answer, so she changed the subject. “Why do you live here if the Riders are based in Liverton?”

“I'm close to Station One.” He seemed to take the switch in topics in stride. “Sometimes I'll spend my days off at my mom's—well, at Julius's house in Liverton. I was staying there up until a few days ago, but I don't think it was helping Julius. It made it too easy for him to…check out.”

Since she couldn't think of a response to that, she changed the subject again. “Is Billy pissed?” Rory had heard Ian's phone buzzing in his pocket like a swarm of angry bees when they'd been sitting, handcuffed, on her shop floor.

“Yeah.” His shrug was nonchalant, as if Billy's anger was nothing to cause concern. Rory knew better. “He thought I should've called him before the sheriff, so he could've cleaned up first.”

“Gotten rid of the bodies, you mean?”

“Maybe.” He folded his arms and rested them on the top of the open window. “He definitely would've gotten Zup out of there.”

“Will this cause problems for you? With the Riders, I mean.”

“Nothing I can't handle. I'm used to being the odd man out.”

“Really?” She cocked her head as she eyed him. “Because you're with the fire department?”

“Yeah.”

Rory opened her mouth to ask him another question, but he took a step back and opened her door. Apparently, he was done sharing.

“Out.”

Reluctantly sliding out of the truck, she moved aside so Jack could jump to the ground. She cranked the window closed and locked the door. The old beast of a truck was stiff, and she had to use both hands to slam the door hard enough to get it to latch. When she turned around, Ian was eyeing her with amusement.

“You lock that thing?”

She stared at him. “Of course. Don't you lock the Bronco?”

“Why? There's nothing in there to steal.” He ushered her toward the side door of his house with a hand on her lower back. Jack trotted around the front yard, exploring. He was obviously dealing with their temporary relocation better than she was. “Besides, this is Simpson. If someone broke into my truck, I'd know exactly who it was, and then I'd go to Benny's trailer and kick his ass.”

She smiled a little at that, although the thought of leaving her truck open and vulnerable to anyone who wanted to crawl around in the cab made her truly uncomfortable. Ian held open the door for her. Before she went inside, she glanced around at the few neighboring homes within view. There was a flash of movement from the upstairs window of a cedar-sided house.

“Your neighbor is watching,” Rory said in a low voice, tilting her head toward the offender.