The Arsonist Read online

  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.”

  “They weren’t original articles. They were copies.”

  It was a detail that had always bothered him. “I think Nero copied the articles and planted them.”

  “What are you smoking? Nero is dead, end of story.” He sounded angry.

  “I’d still like to follow up. I’d like some help with these fires.”

  “Look, I know things might get a little dull down in Hooterville. You might be missing the old action. The adrenaline rush. Then along come a couple of fires and you see Nero.”

  Gannon clenched the phone with his hand so tightly his knuckles turned white. “Believe me, McCray, I don’t need this in my life again. No one more than me wanted to see Nero dead. But my gut is telling me he’s not.”

  “Look buddy, I’d like to help you.” McCray wanted off the phone. “But I got to get back to work. I’m up to my ass in alligators here.”

  “I just need the use of your computers for a couple of days. I can be up there by one.”

  “No way, man. No way. If anyone here got even a whiff that you thought Nero was alive, it would hit the fan. No. Nero is dead and that’s final. Hey, my other line is blinking. I’ve got to go. Good talking to you.” He hung up.

  Gannon slammed down the phone. Solving the Nero case had boosted McCray’s career. And he knew if Nero was found to be alive, his reputation would be tarnished.

  Gannon was the only one who believed Nero was alive.

  Except Darcy.

  She believed.

  And she was a reporter with her own agenda. She’d already proved she was a user.

  He moved to the window. Darcy passed in front of the tavern window. Her black curls were swept up in a ponytail: she was dressed in a white jog tank, blue shorts and running shoes.

  Immediately, his body hardened. She was no good for him. Yet there were parts of his anatomy that had the intelligence of a tree stump. Always would.

  Like it or not, Darcy was his only ally.

  This time around he’d be the one using the press, not the other way around.

  Chapter 9

  Darcy was a half mile into her run when she heard the roar of the motorcycle engine. Gannon. Darcy didn’t need to look behind her to know it was him. She kept running. If he wanted to talk to her, he was going to have to work for it.

  She picked up her pace. The engine grew louder and she wished she’d brought her iPod so she could drown out the sounds with music.

  Suddenly, she saw the flash of metal as Gannon’s motorcycle s
kidded to a stop in front of her, blocking her path.

  Wiping the sweat from her eyes, she stopped. Her heart hammered in her chest. “What do you want?”

  He flipped up his visor. “Get on.”

  “Why?” The idea of a lecture didn’t appeal to her right now.

  His tone was angry, frustrated. “You want to find Nero or not?”

  That had her attention. “Why the change of heart?”

  “You’ve got contacts that can help?”

  She suspected this alliance cost him. “Yes.”

  His jaw tensed and released. “I can’t catch him alone. I’m going to need your help.”

  Darcy wanted to shout a whoop at her good fortune. The pessimist in her had her asking, “Again, why the change?”

  He muttered an oath. “Get on or work alone. I’m not having this conversation with you in public when anyone could be watching.”

  Tension in his voice slashed through her bravado. She tried not to glance around. “Do you think Nero could be watching?”

  Gannon flipped down his visor and revved his engine as if he were going to leave.

  “All right!” She hurried toward the bike and unhooked the helmet from the back seat. “I’m kinda sweaty.”

  “I’ve smelled worse.” He waited while she put on the helmet, climbed on the back and grabbed ahold of his waist. He could feel his racing heartbeat in his chest under her arms.

  He checked for traffic and pulled out onto the street. Though the sun was warm, the wind blasting against her sweaty body left her freezing.

  They drove through town south on Route 29. He weaved in and out of traffic easily, as if he and the bike were one. Darcy was amazed how quickly her body relaxed against his.

  When they reached an elementary school in the center of town, he pulled over to the side. Reluctantly, she released him, already missing his heat. But she wasn’t about to start complaining.

  Gannon climbed off and pulled off his helmet. He took Darcy’s from her and hooked them to the bike. “There’s a table over here where we can sit.”

  They sat at a small picnic table under the shade of an oak tree. Though the day was warm, she felt chilled to the bone. Gannon shrugged off his jacket and handed it to her.