The Arsonist (7 page)

She had a moment of panic when she realized all she had was her Visa. Slick, Sampson, real slick. Invite a man to a business lunch and then hit him up for a loan.

Gannon parked the bike and shut off the engine. She glanced toward the small door. To her great relief she spotted the credit card stickers.

As Darcy swung her leg over the side and pulled off her helmet, she found she missed the thrill of the ride and the closeness of Gannon’s body.

Keep it professional, Sampson. This is strictly business.

“Great ride,” she said, sounding as excited as she felt.

He took her helmet and attached them both to the seat of the bike. “I thought you were going to bail on me at first. You were as tense as a wound rubber band.”

Grinning, she brushed her bangs back into place. “I had my doubts at first. I was certain I was hurtling to my death.”

He laughed, flashing even white teeth. “And you didn’t bail? Takes guts.”

“Not guts. Fear of humiliation.”

He escorted her through the narrow front door into the dimly lit restaurant. It was just as she remembered. Twenty booths covered in red fake leather, walls painted a muddy white and a faded chrome jukebox in the corner. The place was packed. Only a couple of tables remained open.

“The place hasn’t changed a bit,” she said. “I wonder if they still serve the Mammoth burger.”

Surprise flashed in his eyes. “So much for trying to impress you with my knowledge of
The Best Off-the-Road Eats.
”

“Oh, I am impressed. Usually only the natives and truckers know about Gully’s.”

A waitress motioned them toward an empty table. “Menus are on the table.”

“Thanks,” Gannon said. He guided her to an empty booth and they took their seats. “I stumbled onto the place by accident about six months ago.”

She picked up a laminated menu from the table and glanced down at it. As she searched for their salads, she reminded herself that even psychopaths could be charming. “So how long have you been in town?”

He studied his menu. “About a year.”

The third degree would not be cool, but she itched to ask him a million different questions. Instead, she backed off. “As I remember, the cheeseburgers are this side of heaven.”

“I go for the dogs.”

“Excellent choice.”

A waitress wearing jeans and a red T-shirt gave them each a glass of ice water, took their order and menus. “Be back in a few minutes with your drinks.”

Darcy sipped her water, trying her best to look relaxed and confident. And confident she should be. Interviewing people was her thing. She’d grilled council members, the mayor and business leaders. A retired fire fighter/possible arsonist should be a piece of cake.

Then again, who was she kidding? There was nothing simple about Michael Gannon. She’d bet the guy had more layers than an onion. “So, where are you from, Gannon?” The question stumbled out of her mouth as if she were a rookie reporter. She sipped more water to cover.

“Washington, D.C.”

“Hey, that’s my old stomping grounds. What brings you this far afield?”

His steady gaze remained on her and didn’t waver. “Change of pace. Got tired of the traffic.”

“The traffic is a nightmare up there.” Okay, we’ve covered hometown and traffic. Now, how was she going to transition that into
Hey, I’m a reporter trying to dig up dirt on Nero. Do you think he is alive and well? Or better, are you Nero?
Instead, she said, “It always takes me a few days to decompress when I head outside the Beltway.”

“It took me about three months before I stopped waking at 5:00 a.m., and dreading the commute in to work.”

She noticed his strong wrists and long fingers. No grease under the nails. “You live close to work now?”

“Right above the garage.”

“Sounds like my setup. I’m living above the tavern.”

The waitress arrived with their drinks and promised to have their order up in a few minutes.

“So what brings you to Preston Springs? You said that you were between jobs,” Gannon said.

“I was in PR,” she said. She didn’t like lying to him. “Long story short, I got canned. So I’m working at the family diner until I can land another job.”

“I was fired from a job once. I was sixteen and bagging groceries for the local supermarket.”

She was grateful he wasn’t grilling her about why she’d been fired. “So what happened?”

A dimple creased his cheek when he smiled. “A customer asked me to go in the back and search the hundred plus cartons of milk in stock for the freshest. My brother had just died and my temper was short.”

She remembered how terse he’d been on the news reports and what little patience he’d had for public demands for information. “I’m sorry about your brother. What happened?”

“He was a fireman. Died in a house fire when the second floor collapsed on him. The guy who owned the house decided to torch it when his wife won it in the divorce settlement.”

A heavy silence settled between them. “I’m very sorry.”

“It was a long time ago.” But the spark in his eyes had dulled.

Gannon didn’t know how the conversation had turned so dark. He’d not talked about Rafe in years. And the last thing he wanted to do was dig up the past. He wanted to be in this moment and only with Darcy.

For some reason talking to Darcy was easy. She had a dry wit and though she’d taken some kind of hit up in D.C., she didn’t seem to be wallowing in self-pity.

He still believed she had an agenda, but for now he wasn’t going to worry about it. It was good to be in the company of a woman. He’d spent too much time alone this last year. His mother would be so relieved he wasn’t turning into a hermit. She still called him weekly and asked if he’d made any friends.

“What’s so funny?” Darcy asked.

He hadn’t realized he was grinning. “I was thinking about my mother.”

She raised her glass to her lips. “Is this a Freudian thing?”

He laughed out loud. It had been so long since he’d laughed. It felt good, damn good. “No. I promise you it’s nothing like that. My mother called last week. She was reading me the riot act about spending too much time alone.”

“Glad to hear I could help relieve Mom’s worries.”

“Believe me, when she calls—and she will call—I’ll be sure to report our date. The woman will rest easy.”

“If you need me to write a note to prove we had a date, just let me know.”

He traced the rim of his glass with his finger. “Will do.”

Their meals arrived. She’d ordered the salad, he the hotdog and fries.

“So where is Mom?” she asked popping a cucumber into her mouth.

“Montana.”

“Wow, that’s a good ways away. I thought you were from D.C.”

“The last fifteen years was in D.C. I grew up near Bozeman.”

“So how does a Montana boy end up in D.C.?”

“The job.”

“And that job would have been…?”

He hesitated. Once someone got wind that he’d worked on the Nero case, they were full of questions he was no longer interested in answering. Especially right now, when it felt like the past was repeating itself. “Worked for the city. Routine stuff.”

Her brows lifted with curiosity and he sensed there were more questions rattling around in that pretty head of hers. But she had sense enough to know when not to push. Another point in her column. If he wasn’t careful, he could fall for someone like Darcy Sampson.

They spent the next hour talking about the town, laughing about some of the local customs and generally avoiding each other’s pasts. Despite her protests, he picked up the check.

When Gannon dropped Darcy off at the Varsity, he was genuinely sorry to see their date end. He’d had a surprisingly pleasant afternoon. For the first time in a long time, he’d forgotten about Nero. He thought back to his meeting with the chief this morning. Maybe he had been looking for trouble where there wasn’t any.

She slid her long leg over the side of the bike and hooked her helmet to the seat. “I’ve got to say this is one fine bike you’ve got here, Gannon.”

He kept his hand on the accelerator so he wouldn’t be tempted to touch her. He felt sixteen—awkward and tongue-tied. “Want to go for a ride tomorrow? We could head up into the Shenandoah Valley.”

She pushed her tousle of black curls off her face, unmindful of the effect she was having on him. He imagined those curls spread over the pillows on his bed as he made love to her.

She slid her long fingers into her jeans pockets. “Another ride sounds great. I just have to be back by two so I can help prep for the dinner crowd. We had another good sized crowd last night, and it takes all hands on deck to keep up.”

Gannon wanted to touch her, see if her skin was as soft as it looked. “No problem. How does ten o’clock sound?”

When she nodded, her curls brushed her high cheekbones. “Great.”

On impulse, he reached up and pushed the curl from her face. Silk. “I’ll pick you up then.”

She moistened her lips. She looked nervous but didn’t back away. “Great.”

He sensed he would be making love to her soon. “Have a good afternoon.”

“You, too.” Her voice sounded rusty. “If you get hungry tonight, come by for dinner. I have an in with the owner and can get you a seat no matter how busy it is.”

Food was the last thing on his mind right now. “Thanks.”

Gannon watched her walk into the tavern, enjoying the way her snug jeans hugged her fanny. He was already wishing away today as he started the bike up again and drove into his shop. When he parked the bike in the garage and shut off the motor, he realized he was whistling.

He’d forgotten what feeling
good
felt like. And he couldn’t remember the last time that he’d looked forward to tomorrow.

Casually, he sauntered over to the mailbox outside his shop and grabbed the handful of letters.

An image of Darcy wiping ranch dressing from her lip flashed in his brain. He laughed as he absently started to flip through the envelopes.

When he spotted the plain white envelope, he froze. It didn’t have a return address, but it had a Preston Springs postmark.

“Damn.”

He opened the envelope.

Inside was a pack of Rome matches.

He flipped open the top of the book. Inside the flap was the message.
The game has begun again.

Chapter 7

D
arcy’s good mood vanished when she walked into the bar and saw the dirty floor. She marched directly into the kitchen, past George who was working at the stove, to Trevor’s office. She was anxious to give him an earful. He wasn’t there.

“George, where is Trevor?”

The black man didn’t look up from his pot of stew. “Do I look like a nursemaid?”

“No, do I?”

He studied her a moment. “Yep.”

“Well, I’m not.” Frustrated, she went into the dining room and called out to her mother. “Mom!”

“What is it, Darcy?” Mrs. Sampson asked, coming down the back staircase. Her mother looked like she’d had one of her headaches again.

“Where is Trevor?”

“He’ll be here,” she said wearily.

She checked her watch. Two-ten. “Wasn’t he supposed to be here by now?”

Her mother moved into the dining room and behind the bar. She picked up an already clean glass and started to clean it with a cloth. “He’s running late.”

Darcy dug her fingers through her hair. Showing up on time was common sense. It amazed her they were even having this conversation. “He’s not much of a restaurant manager.”

Mrs. Sampson set the glass tumbler down hard on the bar. “He does just fine.”

“No, he doesn’t.” Before her mother could argue, she held up her hand. “I’m not arguing with you, Mom. This issue is between Trevor and me. Does he still live on Fifth Street?

“Yes, why?”

Darcy snatched up her keys and her purse which she’d left under the bar. “I’m going to his apartment.”

Her mother sighed. “Leave the boy alone. He’ll be here soon enough.”

“I’m not holding my breath.” She started toward the front door.

“You were always jealous of him,” Mrs. Sampson said.

Darcy stopped. A surge of anger rolled through her. “Why should I be, Mom?” Sarcasm dripped from each word. “
Maybe
because I became invisible the day he was born.
Maybe
because his sports pictures and trophies decorate the walls of the Varsity and, who knows where mine are.
Maybe
because you never cut me any slack, but you’ve always made excuses for him.”

Mrs. Sampson raised her chin. “You never needed me. You were always strong. Trevor is not strong.”

A sad grin tipped the edge of Darcy’s mouth. “Oh, I needed you, Mom. I needed you.”

Sadness deepened the wrinkles around her mother’s eyes. “I can’t do this right now.”

Guilt stabbed Darcy. “Look, this isn’t about who you and Dad loved more. It’s business. I need my money or I’m screwed.”

“Trevor will get you your money.”

“You’re damn right he will. And he’s going to do it now.” She started toward the door.

“You can’t leave me. If you’re both gone, I can’t run this place with just George.”

She heard the panic in her mother’s voice. “Don’t worry, I’ll be back within a half hour.”

Darcy left the bar and got in her black Corolla. She turned on the ignition. She had less than a quarter of a tank of gas left. Damn. Her life was on vapors.

She put the car in gear and headed over to Trevor’s. It took her less than ten minutes to get to the tall, nondescript wooden Victorian house that had long ago been converted into apartments. She took the stairs down to Trevor’s basement apartment. She knocked on the door.

No answer.

Darcy pounded on the door. “Trevor!” she shouted. She checked her watch. “It’s two-thirty in the afternoon. Open up.”

Seconds passed before she heard the shuffle of feet and the scrape of the chain on the door. Trevor cracked the door and looked out. His eyes were bloodshot. “Dee, what are you doing here?”

He smelled of beer and cigarettes. “I need my money, Trevor.”

Sleep clung to the corners of his eyes. “I said I’d get it for you.”

“You said you’d pay me yesterday. I need my money now.” She peered past him into his darkened apartment filled with cigarette smoke. In the small galley kitchen to his right she saw at least twenty empty pizza boxes piled high.

She didn’t like having this conversation in the hallway. “Can I come in?”

“The place is a wreck.”

Pushing past him, she stepped into the small apartment. The place
was
a wreck. Dirty clothes, bags of garbage and stacks of newspapers littered the floor. The coffee table in front of the black futon couch had three ashtrays on it. All were overflowing with butts.

This went beyond sloppy. “What’s going on here, Trevor?”

He pushed a shaking hand through his hair. “What? It’s just a little messy.”

She faced him. Even in the dim light she could see the dark circles under his eyes. A sick feeling settled in the pit of her stomach. Trevor, like her father, was an alcoholic. And her mother knew it. She was making excuses for Trevor just as she had for their father.

Overwhelming sadness seeped through her body. She’d lived with an alcoholic most of her life, and there’d been times when she didn’t think she’d get out with her sanity. But she had gotten out, and until her return home, had thrived.

She knew enough about the disease to know that no amount of talking or pleading would make him stop. The desire to quit drinking had to come from him. “Just give me my money, Trevor.”

He shoved a shaking hand through his hair. “I don’t think I have my checkbook here.”

“Then let’s drive over to the tavern and get it now. I’m not kidding. That check I wrote to cover your ass wiped me out. I’m broke.”

He rubbed the dark stubble on his chin. “Hey, I’m sorry about that. I’ll get your money.”

She grabbed his arm. “Let’s go.”

Trevor jerked his arm away. “I can’t go out. I’ve got to shower first.”

Excuses. Her father had been full of them. “I don’t care if you look like a bum. We’re going now.”

He shook his head. “I can’t. I’ve got a UPS delivery coming.”

“Leave a note. The rental office can get it.”

“No.”

“Why not?” His face looked stricken and in that moment she knew. “You don’t have the money, do you?”

“I can get it.” He sounded like he meant it.

She pressed her fingertips to her temple. “But you don’t have it now.”

“In a couple of days, I’ll have it. I won’t stiff you, Dee.”

“Man, you sound just like Dad. He always had an excuse for everything.”

Trevor’s eyes hardened. “I’m not like Dad.”

“You are just like him. You are an alcoholic.”

“How the hell would you know?”

“I grew up with it.”

“Grew up with it,” he mocked. “Hell, you haven’t been around for six years. You came home for Dad’s funeral and left right after the service.
I
was the one that was here during Dad’s illness.
I
was the one that took Mom to the hospital every day.
I
stayed behind and kept the Varsity running so Mom wouldn’t be left alone.”

“That’s not fair.” Guilt ate through Darcy’s anger, like the cancer that had killed their father. She had ditched her family. But it had been about her survival. She took a step back.

“Yeah, I owe you money, but I’ll pay back every stinking dime. You ditched this family when we could have used your help. So you can suck up waiting for your money for a couple of days.”

Guilt welled inside her, choking her throat. She almost apologized.

Almost.

Darcy caught herself. Her father and mother had been masters of using guilt to control her. They could squash her anger with a single glance.

“That’s good, Trevor, that’s real good.”

His eyes narrowed. “What is that supposed to mean?”

She saw the empty whiskey bottle by the stove. “You are more like our old man than I ever thought. Guilt and booze. A lethal combination.”

His gaze flickered to the bottle then back to her. The bravado dimmed.

“There is no money, is there?” He started to argue, but she held up her hand to silence him. “No more lies or excuses, Trevor. I just dumped my last penny into the Varsity, and I’m never going to see it again.”

“Yes, you will.”

Without responding, she turned and stepped into the hallway. The fresh air smelled sweet and she couldn’t wait to get out of there.

“Dee,” Trevor said. His voice was little more than a whisper. “I will get the money.”

“Sure.”

Woodenly, Darcy crossed the hall and started up the stairs.

“Dee. Darcy,” Trevor said.

She glanced back at him. His shoulders slumped, and he looked a decade older than his twenty-five years. “No more lies, Trevor.” She climbed the stairs to the ground floor.

Darcy leaned against the wall by the front door and closed her eyes. For a moment she was overwhelmed by the mess her life had become.

“Life is not going to beat you,” she whispered. “It is not.”

She drew in a deep breath. The Nero story was critical to her. Gannon knew more than he was saying. He was the key.

Darcy hated lying to Gannon. She really liked him. But now, more than ever, she needed his help.

With little choice, Darcy returned to the diner and started to prep for dinner.

Trevor showed up at work at six o’clock—early by his standards. To Darcy’s great surprise, he was clean-shaven and ready to work. He seemed like his old self.

Neither mentioned the money because the tavern quickly started to fill with customers. Trevor worked the bar, handling his customers with his usual grace. And as the hours wore on, Darcy started to feel that maybe, just maybe, it wasn’t as bad as she thought.

The Sampsons fell into a groove very quickly. Her mother worked the cash register and Trevor stood behind the bar while Darcy waited tables.

At a quarter past seven, Nathan and Larry came into the tavern. Both were in good spirits laughing at a shared joke.

They arrived in time to grab the last booth. Nathan grinned as she handed him his menu. “How are you doing today?”

“Just great,” she said grinning.

“You’re looking prettier than ever,” Larry said as he pulled out a cigarette.

“Thanks, darling,” she said. “Heineken and coffee?” she said to Larry and Nathan.

Nathan smiled. “Good memory.”

“Glad to see I haven’t lost my touch,” she said, pleased.

A cigarette dangling from his lips, Larry patted his pockets as he searched for a match. “Hey, you got a match, Darcy?”

“No, but I bet we got some at the bar. Let me get them for you.”

Nathan dug a book of matches from his jacket pocket. “Here.”

“Thanks,” Larry said. “I’m always out of matches. No matter how many I buy.” He opened the pack and lit one and held it to the tip of the cigarette. Puffing, he handed back the matches.

“Keep it,” Nathan said. “I’ve got plenty.”

Larry pocketed the matches as Darcy turned toward the bar. She gave Trevor the drink order and filled a bowl of pretzels. She loaded the drinks and pretzels on the tray and headed back to Larry and Nathan’s table. “So how go the condos?” she said easily.

“Great,” Nathan said as he sipped his coffee. “We are ahead of schedule.”

She’d no sooner set the drinks down than the front door opened and Gannon walked in. For a minute, Darcy’s mind went blank.

Sexual desire sizzled through her as she watched him stride into the room. He walked with the grace of a lion, each move deliberate and full of power. For reasons she couldn’t name, her throat felt dry as she moved toward him.

When did she develop a thing for dangerous men?

Gannon’s lips curled into a smile when he saw her. “Working hard?”

“Hardly working,” she said in a voice that had thickened.

His gaze didn’t leave her. “Looks like you’ve got a crowd tonight.”

She scanned the room for an empty seat. There was none. “I can seat you at the bar in a couple of minutes.”

“Don’t worry about it. I’ll crash their party.” Gannon glanced over at the table where Nathan and Larry sat. He walked over to the table. “There room for me?”

Larry ground his cigarette out in the ashtray. “You never come in here.”

“Tonight, I am,” Gannon said as he shook hands with Nathan. “Mixing up the routine.”

“Glad you did,” Nathan said.

Larry scooted over to make room for him. “We could use some new blood tonight.”

“What can I get you to drink?” Darcy asked.

“Ice water with lemon.”

She would have liked to linger but table number six wanted another draft beer and number four wanted ketchup.

She hurried over to the bar where Trevor was mixing a Tom Collins. “Draft. And ice water with lemon.”

“Coming right up,” Trevor said.

She refilled the peanut bowl for Gannon’s table, collected the draft and water, and grabbed a fresh bottle of ketchup. She crossed the room, making her stops at tables four and six.

When she set the water down in front of Gannon, she could see immediately that the tone of the conversation had shifted to serious.

“That fire was no accident,” Gannon said. “And the two fires are linked.”

Darcy’s jaw nearly dropped open. She slowed her pace, hoping to catch a few more snippets of information before she reached the table.

“Well, who would set fires like that?” Larry asked. He’d pulled out another cigarette, but then as if remembering that Gannon didn’t smoke, put it away.

“I don’t know,” Gannon said.

Darcy’s gaze was drawn to Gannon’s hands. Hands she’d imagined on her body could have set fires that had killed people. The sobering thought sent a chill down her spine.

Managing a smile, she said, “You fellows ready to order dinner?”

Gannon liked Darcy’s perfume. It was like her. Spicy, unpredictable and sensual. He’d noticed it before she’d reached the table. He’d also noticed that she’d hesitated. She’d been listening to their conversation about the fire.

Why would she care so much about the fires?

He watched her moving around the room from table to table. She wore well-worn hiking boots, jeans and a T-shirt. But the legs. Long, lean and very feminine. Shifting his gaze higher, he lingered on her gently rounded hips and then traveled up the red T-shirt that covered nice round firm breasts.

She moved like a pro. Smiling at the customers, careful to use their names if she knew them, calling them
honey
when she didn’t. But he could tell she didn’t belong here. She might have grown up working in the tavern, but he guessed she’d not done this kind of work in a long time.