The Arsonist (8 page)

She’d said public relations. It seemed a natural fit, but there was more to the story.

He deliberately avoided talking about the fires again until he noticed that Darcy was within earshot. He’d give her some information but there’d be a payback later. He wanted to know what the hell she was up to.

“I spoke to the chief yesterday about the fires,” Gannon said as Darcy approached.

If he hadn’t been watching, he’d have missed her slight hesitation.

She set their orders down. “Here you go, boys.”

“And?” Nathan said.

“He thinks they’re unrelated,” Gannon said.

“But you don’t,” Darcy said.

He half expected her to pull up a stool and sit down. “I only have a gut feeling to go on.”

“He’s the man that should know,” Nathan said. “He investigated fires in his former life.”

Darcy didn’t seem surprised by the bit of information. But then if she’d been living in D.C., she’d have read about him in the papers. So why not bring it up at lunch?

“Former life is the operative word,” Gannon said pulling the tomato off his burger. “Let’s not ruin this good meal with talk about fires.”

As their chatter settled onto more mundane topics, Darcy drifted away. Over the next hour Gannon lingered, enjoying a hot meal, the company and watching Darcy from the corner of his eye.

He noticed her at the bar with the bartender. He learned from Larry the bartender was her brother. The guy didn’t possess her intensity. Relaxed and easygoing, he smiled too much for Gannon’s taste.

Darcy’s brother was also a heavy drinker. He was careful to drink from a mug, but when Darcy wasn’t looking, he filled the cup with coffee and then topped it off with whiskey. At the rate he was going, he’d be hammered by closing time.

At eight-thirty, he said his goodbyes to Larry and Nathan and waved to Darcy who was across the room taking an order.

She’d said earlier she got off at midnight.

Restless, he knew sleep wouldn’t come for many hours—if at all tonight. He’d wait until Darcy got off her shift.

And then they’d have a chat about what she was really up to.

Chapter 8

W
hen Darcy dumped the two trash bags into the Dumpster, it was nearly midnight. The customers had cleared out of the tavern and she was cleaning up for the night. Her feet felt as if they’d grown seven sizes over the last few hours. Her body ached.

Not only was she tired but also frustrated. She’d been so busy tonight, there’d been no time to linger near Gannon’s table and listen to see if the discussion turned to the fires.

Tomorrow, they had a bike ride planned. She could certainly question him then. But the fact that her professional and personal lines were blurring bothered her. She’d never dated anyone just to get information.

The back door of the tavern banged closed as Trevor came out carrying another bag of trash. He swerved and swayed, and she realized he was drunk.

Without a word to her, he tossed the bag into the Dumpster. He tipped out of balance and would have fallen if she’d not steadied him.

“Man, you are drunk,” she said in a voice filled with disgust. “I was stupid to think you were just drinking coffee.”

“Where the hell is the money from the register, Darcy?”

“I cleaned out the register a half hour ago and locked the money in the trunk of my car.” She’d done this when he’d gone to the men’s room. “Tomorrow, I’ll deposit it in the bank.”

His expression turned savage so quickly it took her breath away. “You did what? That’s my money!”

The booze had drowned the natural charmer. “You want me to repeat it?”

“I need that money to pay bills.”

“Don’t worry, that’s exactly what it’s going to be used for.”

He grabbed her arm. His fingers bit into her arm. “Give me my damn money.”

“Why? So you can go buy more booze or maybe you’re also into drugs now?”

Trevor wrenched her arm and she let out a painful moan. “Don’t play games with me.”

“This is no game, Trevor.” Like it or not, she couldn’t walk away from her brother’s problems. She tried to jerk free but couldn’t.

“Let go of her.” Gannon’s deep voice echoed out from the street.

She glanced over Trevor’s shoulder as Gannon stepped out of the darkness into the light. He had a brawler’s stance, his fists clenched at his sides.

“Butt out!” Trevor shouted.

In three quick strides Gannon crossed the alley and hauled Trevor back with such force he released Darcy and nearly toppled over.

Darcy rubbed the red marks on her wrist. “Go home, Trevor, and sober up.”

Trevor straightened his shoulders. He glanced at Gannon. Even as drunk as he was, he had enough sense to know this was a fight he could not win.

“This isn’t over, Darcy,” Trevor said.

She watched him stumble down the alley and turn onto the street. “You’re right, Trevor, it’s far from over,” she said more to herself.

Gannon took her wrist in his hand, inspecting the red marks in the streetlight. “Are you all right?”

She pulled away. She didn’t deserve his kindness right now. “I’m fine. I’m sorry about my brother.”

“He’s an alcoholic.”

“I know. We already had one knock-down, drag-out earlier today.” She pinched the bridge of her nose. “I thought he was doing better tonight. I hoped I’d been wrong.”

“He was putting whiskey in his coffee.”

She nodded. “Naive to think one good conversation would solve his problem just like that.”

“It’s not wrong to be hopeful.”

“But I was stupid. I should know better.” She caught herself. “Look, I’m sorry. You don’t need to know the Sampson family problems.”

His stance was casual—his hand in his pocket. However, there was an energy about him that was anything but easygoing.

Tread carefully, she warned herself. “I’d invite you in but Mom is cleaning up.”

He pulled his hand out of his pocket and took hers in his. The touch was casual enough but it sent rockets of energy shooting up her arm. “I can make us a pot of coffee at my place.”

Alone in his room. Not a good idea. “Thanks. I’ll take a pass on the coffee. I’ll never sleep if I drink coffee this late.”

“I’ve got decaf.” He drew circles on her palm with his fingertip.

If she leaned just a fraction closer, she could kiss him. Taste him. What was wrong with her? “Another time.”

“You can ask me about the fires.”

She snatched her hand away. “What are you talking about?”

“I knew you were eavesdropping tonight.” His voice had an edge to it now.

She could feel the color drain from her face. “It’s a hazard of the job. I hear a lot of conversations I’m not supposed to.”

The streetlight cast shadows on his face, making him look all the more menacing. “Do you often join in?”

How had he figured her out? “Well, no.”

“Let’s cut the crap, Darcy. Why do you care about the fires?”

Major backpedaling was in order, but she feared it wasn’t going to be good enough. “Everyone in town cares about them.”

He stood only inches from her. “There’s something more here, Darcy.”

Best-case scenario Gannon was going to shut her down when she told him she was a reporter. Worst-case scenario, Gannon was Nero and she’d be admitting to a psycho that she was on to him.

She clenched and unclenched her fingers. “How about we go inside the tavern?”

He didn’t budge. “How about you spill it?”

Now or never. And Pulitzers didn’t come without sacrifice. “I am a reporter.”

“A reporter.” He leaned so close she could feel his breath on her face. “Why are you here? Doing a follow-up on a has-been arson investigator? Or a new angle on Nero?”

“A new angle on Nero.”

He tightened his jaw. Anger radiated from him. If he was crazy, this could be it for her.

She glanced toward the back door. If she ran, could he catch her before she got inside? Probably. “I need to talk to you about Nero.”

For a moment he didn’t say anything. He simply stared at her. Headlines flashed in her head: Post Reporter Missing.

Finally, he shook his head, his disgust evident. “You know what? I don’t have time for games. Stay the hell away from me, Darcy. We’re done.” He started to walk away.

Shocked, she stood there a moment. A psycho arsonist wouldn’t just walk away, would he? He’d want to know more about why she was here. However, a tired former investigator wouldn’t care.

Damn. She didn’t know what to think about him now. But either way, if he got away, she’d never have another chance.

She ran in front of him and blocked his path just as he reached the sidewalk. The streetlight above them glowed, giving her some courage. “I’m on a special assignment.”

He didn’t stop walking. “I don’t care.”

She hurried to match his pace. “I got a call from a woman about two weeks ago. Sara Highland. Her brother was Raymond Mason—the man everyone said was Nero.”

Gannon stopped. “You’ve got my attention.”

“Sara doesn’t believe her brother was Nero.” She held her breath, ready to run or scream bloody murder if he did anything that seemed remotely dangerous.

He muttered an oath, but didn’t leave or approach her.

“At first I figured she was just grieving for her brother and wanted someone to talk to. But the more she talked, the more I started to think she was right. She’s been investigating the case on her own. She gave me the name of a man who also believed Raymond wasn’t Nero.” She sucked in a fresh breath. “The man is homeless and no one seemed much interested in him. I had nothing to lose so I interviewed him. This man believes Raymond was murdered.”

Gannon tightened his jaw.

She swiped away a stray curl from her face. “I agree with Sara. The real Nero lured Raymond to the warehouse so he could fake his own death. And the real Nero didn’t die in that last fire in D.C.”

It took a moment for her words to sink in. It felt good to know he wasn’t the only one who believed Nero was alive. “So you came looking for me?”

“No one knew Nero better than you.”

He stared at her a long moment before he said, “Go find another case to solve, Nancy Drew. I don’t work with reporters.” He started to walk away.

“But if Nero is alive, people are going to die,” she said loudly. “Two fires in the last week. Something isn’t right.”

He kept walking. “Let’s face it, you are in this for the headlines, not to save lives.”

“Does it matter why I’m in this? What matters is that Nero is stopped.”

“I don’t trust reporters.”

Trust.
He could still be an arsonist and he was talking about trust. “Look, it wouldn’t be a big deal for you to take time and share your theories with me. I’m not asking for a long-term commitment here.”

His gaze sharpened. “I have no theories.”

She refused to let him off that easy. “I saw you at that fire this morning. It was weird watching you. It was almost like the fire was talking to you.”

He stared at her an extra beat. “I’m not going to help you.” He started to walk away.

“We’d make a great team,” she shouted.

Gannon didn’t even bother to turn around. “I don’t like being used.”

Gannon was so pissed by the time he got home that he slammed his keys on the desk by the front door of his apartment. To think he’d actually liked Darcy. That he’d had the sense that there was more between them. Something he’d not felt in a very long time.

And she was a damn reporter using him.

He went to the kitchen. He poured fresh water into his coffeemaker and dumped fresh grinds into the filter. The machine started to hiss and spit. Coffee seeped into the pot.

Gannon walked over to his desk by the window and turned on his computer. Darcy was right. When he’d been at the fire today, he had been communicating with it. Fires had their own signature. And if you paid close attention, they could tell you so much.

The fire had been no accident. The blue flames had indicated tremendous heat. A fast-acting accelerant. It had started in the basement—one of the deadliest kinds of fires and a Nero trademark.

When the computer came on, he started to search the Net for recent fires. There weren’t many. Brush fires in the Pacific Northwest. Warehouses in New York. But nothing that indicated Nero.

Frustrated, he rose and poured himself a cup of coffee before returning to the computer. The chances of him getting any sleep were slim to none and he’d never be able to concentrate on the bike tonight.

Nero was all he could think about.

He dug the red Rome matches out of his pocket. He flipped them open.

The game has begun again.

Nero was out here.

He could feel it.

Somewhere that bastard was waiting and watching, planning his next fire. Darcy was right about one thing. If he didn’t catch Nero, people were going to die.

Darcy believed Nero was alive.

She was the first to speak his deepest fears out loud. For the first time in almost a year, he felt vindicated.

Likely they were the only two people who did believe Nero was alive. And believing didn’t mean proving.

Darcy was his only ally.

Gannon slammed the matches on the table. But he’d be damned if he’d work with a reporter. He didn’t need her.

He spent most of the night searching the Internet. When that didn’t produce anything, he went to his old case files. Slowly, he went over every detail, studying the crime scene photos, the lab reports and the pictures of Nero’s victims.

Now he knew he’d been wrong.

The profilers had said Nero had ego. He was intelligent and he liked to game with opponents who would give him a run for his money.

The game has begun again.
Nero hadn’t set fires this last year because it hadn’t been fun. He’d obliterated his identity. Though he was safe, there was no fun anymore.

And now Nero wanted back in the game.

Gannon checked his watch. Eight-fifteen. He picked up the phone and dialed his former boss in D.C. When the secretary answered and he gave his name, she put him right through.

“Well, talk about a voice from the past,” Chief Jackson McCray said. The Nero case had been a big boost to McCray’s career.

Gannon cradled the phone under his chin. “It’s been a long time.”

“Too long. It’s damn good to hear your voice.”

“Same here.”

“So how goes it down there in the sticks?”

Preston Springs was hardly the sticks but to Washingtonians anything outside of the metro area was no-man’s-land. “It’s going well.”

“You ever open that garage?”

Small talk had never suited him but he knew he needed to break the ice. “Sure did. In fact, I have a sweet ride that I’ll be showing at the Sturgis, South Dakota bike show in August.”

“Man, what I wouldn’t give to get away from this desk and get back on a bike.” Bikes had been a passion for them both for years. It was one of the few things they’d had in common off the job.

“Come down sometime and I’ll lend you a bike. We can ride through the Blue Ridge Mountains.”

“I’d love to. But they got me chained to this desk up here.” He sighed. “So what can I do for you?”

Gannon knew he’d have to play this just right. “We’ve had a couple of fires down here.”

“Are you helping out the local guys?” His tone wasn’t overly serious.

“Tried to, but I think I pissed them off.”

Jackson laughed. “Same old Gannon.”

He swallowed a surge of resentment. “I think we’ve got a serial arsonist on our hands.” He wished he could ease into the next bit of news, but there was no easy way to say it. “His fires are a lot like Nero’s.”

“Well, we know it’s not that bastard. Some copycat most likely. The press reported most of the details in the paper.”

Gannon remembered how he’d argued with McCray last year. That couldn’t be Nero. Nero was too smart. But the evidence had continued to support the fact that Nero was dead. And Gannon was so damn tired. So in the end, he’d let himself believe.

Gannon hesitated. “That’s the thing. I think Nero is alive.”

McCray laughed. “You are crazy, my friend. Nero was bagged and tagged a year ago.”

“I’m not so sure.”

His tone turned serious. “Gannon, we had forensics work that body—or what was left of it—over from head to toe. The guy left his bag near the scene and it was filled with Nero newspaper clippings.”