The Arsonist Page 7

  The long-legged brunette was holding a stack of mail. A smile tipped the edge of her full lips.

  She wore shorts and a white T-shirt. The one bright spot about last night had been the dream he’d had about her. She’d been naked. Willing. Hot. He’d taken her on this very workbench.

  He set down the torch. “Can I help you?”

  He fantasized about taking her upstairs right now and spending the better part of the day in bed with her. No love. No promises. Just hot sex.

  “Look, I’m new in town,” she said. “I mean I am from Preston Springs, but I haven’t been back in a year. Long story short, I don’t know many people under the age of sixty anymore. I was thinking you’d like to have lunch with me.”

  That was about the last thing he expected. “Why?”

  His question made her laugh. “I don’t know, I thought it could be fun.”

  “Fun. It’s been my experience that everybody does something for a reason.”

  She arched an eyebrow. “Fun isn’t reason enough?”

  “Not generally.”

  She didn’t look offended. “Look, I’m just asking for a lunch date, not a trip down the aisle, sport. If you don’t want to go out with me then just say so. I’m a big girl and can take it.”

  She had a spine. He liked that. That didn’t mean that he didn’t think she was up to something. She was. But what better way to find out her agenda than over lunch. “Lunch sounds good.”

  The slight tension in her face softened. She checked her watch. “It’s just ten-thirty now. How about I pick you up at twelve?”

  “Twelve is good. But I’ll pick you up. And wear jeans. We’ll go for a ride on my motorcycle. That is, if you aren’t afraid of bikes.”

  She grinned. “There’s little that frightens me.”

  This was going to be fun. “See you at twelve.”

  Darcy was terrified of motorcycles.

  There was something about hurtling down the road—exposed—on a piece of metal that defied common sense.

  But she’d be damned if a motorcycle ride was going to scare her off this date. So, she spent the next hour going over the questions she wanted to ask Gannon.

  She had to be very careful. If Gannon was Nero, he was dangerous. And even if he was just the burned-out investigator, she still needed his help.

  She settled on wearing a pink T-shirt, jeans and boots. And though she’d have denied it, she did spend extra time with her makeup and hair. In the end, she pulled her long curls into a high ponytail. The style was neat, efficient and didn’t look like she’d tried as hard as she had. She hurried down the back stairs through the kitchen.

  Her mother was at the stove, cutting onions for a pot of chili. “So where are you headed?”

  “Lunch.”

  “A date?”

  “Not exactly.”

  Her mother frowned. “The tavern hasn’t been swept.”

  “Trevor said he’d do it.”

  “He’s not here.”

  She refused to be drawn into an argument. “I’ll be back by two. Time enough to sweep and get prepped for the dinner crowd.” She opened the screened door. “Where is Trevor anyway?”

  Her mother’s shoulders stiffened. “I’m sure he’ll be here any minute.”

  “Right. Well, when you see him, tell him I need to be paid back.”

  Her mother’s jaw tightened. “He’ll make good on your check.”

  “Let’s hope so.” She’d invited Gannon to lunch so by her way of thinking, she was on the hook for the bill. Her credit card, tucked in her back pocket, was almost maxed out but she could charge the meal if Gannon didn’t go nuts when he ordered.

  She crossed the room and kissed her mother on the cheek.

  Her mother looked at her, surprise in her tired eyes. “What was that for?”

  “Sorry about the fight earlier.”

  Her mother nodded stiffly. “Have a good lunch.”

  It was the closest her mother had ever come to an endearment. “See you in a couple of hours.”

  Darcy headed out the back door and walked to the front of the tavern. At exactly twelve noon, she heard the roar of a motorcycle engine as Gannon rounded the corner on his bike.

  Her insides fluttered. God, but he looked so fine in his leather jacket and black helmet. Be cool, Sampson. Don’t act like a blithering idiot just because the man wears leather.

  He stopped in front of her and flipped open his visor. Again, his gaze traveled up and down her body. Heat rose through her body into her cheeks.

  “Ready to go?” he asked.

  “Absolutely.”

  He reached behind him and unhooked a spare helmet fastened to the seat. “Put this on.”

  Darcy tried to put her helmet on but realized her high ponytail got in the way. Refusing to see this as a sign from above, she handed him back the helmet. “Sorry, too much hair. I’ll need to readjust.”

  His grin reached his eyes this time. “Take your time.”

  She felt awkward as she pulled out the ponytail she’d spent fifteen minutes smoothing out. With him watching, her fingers trembled slightly. Quickly, she repositioned her ponytail to the base of her neck and took the helmet back from him. This time it fit perfectly.

  Hesitating just an instant, she swung her leg over the back of the bike. “What do I hold on to?”

  He flipped his visor down. “Me. Just wrap your arms around my waist.”

  She scooted up behind him and wrapped her arms around his waist. Her breasts flattened against his hard back, all sinew and muscle. He didn’t wear any cologne like Stephen had. He had a musky clean scent that she really liked.

  “Have you ever been on a bike before?” he asked.

  “No. This is my first time.”

  “I promise to be gentle.”

  Her laugh was deep and genuine. “Thanks.”

  Once she’d snapped her helmet strap, he revved the engine, checked for traffic and pulled out onto Main Street.

  As he rounded his first turn and opened the bike up, Darcy immediately tensed. She felt vulnerable riding on the back of the bike with nothing to hold on to but Gannon. He seemed comfortable enough and he seemed to know what he was doing, but images of crashing into the pavement nagged her. She squeezed her eyes shut.

  She wanted him to slow down but her pride balked. She’d hang on to him and enjoy this ride, or at least pretend to, even if it killed her.

  Gannon, however, seemed unfazed by it all. His body was relaxed, yet she had the sense that he was firmly in control.

  As the minutes clicked by, she started to relax and loosen the death grip she had on Gannon’s waist. Cracking one lid open, she saw that they’d turned onto Route 250 and were heading west, higher into the mountains.

  The trees were beautiful and the sky a vivid blue. The air rushing past them should have left her chilled, but the hot sun combined with the heat of Gannon’s body left her feeling very comfortable.

  Before she realized it, she was really enjoying herself.

  Gannon drove another fifteen minutes. When he started to gear down, she looked up and saw a small roadside restaurant called Gully’s. Darcy remembered Gully’s from her high school days. A hangout for locals, the classic greasy spoon had the best burgers in the county. Just one story, the brick building had tiny windows and a small white front door. Most tourists didn’t know of its reputation and drove right by, assuming it was an abandoned dive. Darcy remembered it also only took cash.

  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.
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br />   “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

  Darcy’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.