Authors: Barbara Freethy
"What has Tony done now?"
"I think he's lying about something that involves you."
Jarod glanced over his shoulder. She could see two workers down the hall. Jarod motioned for them to follow him outside.
As they stepped out of the house, Jarod said, "Okay, what is this about?"
"It's about fire," she replied. "In this case, a fire set in a dumpster at St. Andrew's when you were in the eighth grade. Do you remember?"
His eyes widened in surprise. "That's what you came to ask me? You want to know about a fire from what—fifteen years ago?"
"Nineteen years ago, to be precise. And you haven't answered my question."
"Why are you looking into that old incident? Don't you have enough current fires to worry about?"
"There could be a link between the past and the present. According to the school records, you set the fire in the dumpster, and you were suspended for it. But the other day Tony told me that Christian Brady was the one who did it. Tony didn't mention you at all, which seems strange since he would have noticed you weren't going to school for a week. You walked there together every day."
"Yeah, I set the fire," Jarod admitted. "I was playing around with matches one day, and I tossed one into the dumpster. It was a stupid, impulsive decision, and I regretted it immediately. I was glad it didn't do any damage. So you think I burned down Brady's because I was once an idiot thirteen-year-old?" Anger filled his eyes. "Come on, Emma. I thought you were a good investigator, but you're just making shit up."
"Most arsonists start with small fires at an early age," she said, refusing to let his attitude intimidate her.
"Now I'm an arsonist?" he asked in amazement. "Seriously?"
"I didn't say that, Jarod. But I have a difficult time believing you were the one who set the fire. Tony was always the troublemaker, and you were always the one who tried to keep him out of trouble. Are you sure it wasn't Tony who set the fire and you who took the blame?" she asked, fairly certain that that's what had happened.
"No, it was me, so if you want to make a link between that old fire and these new ones, then the connection is me," he said.
She frowned, wondering why he was so eager to take the fall. "Do you want me to make that connection?"
"Can I stop you?" he countered.
"The truth will come out, Jarod. If you're trying to protect Tony—"
"I answered your question, Emma. That's all I have to say."
She felt frustrated by his antagonistic attitude. In her experience, people who had nothing to hide were a lot more receptive to questions. "You're not telling me something, Jarod. And I am a good investigator. I will figure it out."
"I can't believe you think I'd burn down a bar or kill someone, because isn't that why he's here?" Jarod asked, waving his hand in Max's direction.
"That's exactly why I'm here," Max said, entering the conversation for the first time. "Where did you go after you left Brady's Sunday night?"
"I went home."
"Can anyone verify that?"
"I met my girlfriend there around midnight."
"I'm going to need her name and phone number as well as your address and hers," Max added, pulling out a small spiral notebook and a pen.
Jarod blew out an irritated breath but gave Max the information. "Is that it?" Jarod asked.
Where did your brother, Tony, go after the party?" Max queried. "You don't live together, right?"
"No, Tony lives at my dad's house. Emma knows his address. I dropped Tony off before I went home. He'd had a few drinks, so he wasn't going anywhere."
"What kind of relationship did you have with Sister Margaret?" Max asked.
"The usual student/teacher relationship. I wouldn't say I loved her, but I haven't had any contact with her in years. I certainly didn't kill her." Jarod ran a hand through his hair, his gaze bewildered. "I can't believe you're coming after me, Emma. I don't have anything to do with this."
"We're not coming after you. We're just asking questions. And frankly, your uncooperative attitude only raises more suspicion."
"How would you like it if someone was accusing you of murder?" he challenged.
"If you are covering for Tony in any way—"
"I'm not," he said, cutting her off. "You can ask Tony the same questions, and he'll give you the same answers."
"But that's the thing. He didn't give me your name when I questioned him; he gave me Christian's. Why?"
"He probably forgot. It was a long time ago. And Christian was always talking about fire. He wanted to be a firefighter from the time he was ten years old. I'm sure that's why Tony thought of him. But Christian is a great guy, and he would never burn something down. He spends his life fighting fires. Plus, he'd never burn down his father's bar. That doesn't make sense."
"Do you have any idea who might have had a reason to pick Brady's and St. Andrew's as targets?" Max interjected.
"I can't think of anyone," Jarod said. "I just know it wasn't me or my brother. Tony is getting his life together. He's working a lot, and he's being responsible. We're not your guys, Emma. I'm not an arsonist. I just set one stupid fire. And there's no link between that one and the ones happening now. I hope you can believe that. Can I go back to work?"
She saw nothing but sincerity in his eyes, and she found herself wanting to believe him. "Yes, we're done for now. Thanks for talking to me."
As Jarod walked back into the house, Emma turned to Max. "What do you think?"
"I don't think he's our arsonist, but he could be protecting his brother."
"You don't really have any evidence on which to base that opinion, besides the fact that you don't like Tony."
"It's instinct. I don't trust him. I think he's worth checking out a little further." Max paused. "I was impressed by your persistence. You grilled Jarod. Never mind that you grew up with him. However, he didn't help his case by calling into question your investigative skills. That was like waving a red flag in front of a bull."
"You're not seriously comparing me to a bull, are you? Because that's not really what a man says to a woman he recently slept with."
Immediately, Emma wished the words back. She'd been trying to keep things professional, but she'd just turned them personal—very personal. "Forget I said that," she said quickly. She glanced at her watch. "I need to go. I have to meet Aiden at my new apartment. He's going to take some measurements for me. I'd like to have some shelves put up in the closet before I move all my stuff in. I can drop you at your office on the way."
"I'll go with you," Max said. "I want to talk to you about Ruth Harbough's son, Jeffrey."
"What have you learned about him?" she asked, as they got back into her car.
"He has a lot of bitterness towards his mother. He told me that she shipped him off to live with his father when he was twelve, because she wanted to have a personal life. For a long time he wouldn't even talk to her. But they reconnected a few years ago and were getting closer. Then Sister Margaret moved in, and suddenly Ruth no longer had time for him."
She gave Max a quick look. "Did Jeffrey think his mother was involved with Margaret romantically?"
"He said he suspected that she was, but she's never admitted it."
"Where are you going with this?" she asked.
"Not sure, but you might find it interesting to know that Jeffrey is a mechanic at a gas station."
"Which would make it pretty easy for him to get gallons of gas," she murmured. "You like him for a suspect?"
"He fits better with a motive for wanting to see Margaret dead than for setting fires to the schools. Although, his mother works at St. Andrew's, and he did say she chose her job over him."
She thought about that for a moment. "I keep going back to the fact that no one actually killed Margaret. She died after what we assume was a kidnapping. I just don't think her disappearance or her death was planned. Do you?"
"No, I don't. But I'm trying to cover all the bases." He paused. "What did you do today?"
"Well, I didn't find any new leads, but I did have an interesting conversation with your brother. It wasn't about you this time. It was about Stephanie. He was ringing up my order, and he suddenly dashed out to the street. He thought he saw her outside. But it wasn't her. When he came back in, he told me about his love for her."
Max shook his head. "Do I want to hear this?"
"Probably not. Your brother is very eloquent when it comes to his feelings."
"That he is," Max agreed. "Am I foolish to think Spencer will ever forget about Stephanie?"
"He said he'd like to have one more conversation with her, so I don't think he's planning to forget about her soon."
"If he tracks her down, it could be bad, Emma. She could call the cops. He could end up in trouble all over again."
She stopped at a red light and looked at his hard profile. She could hear the frustration in his voice. "I understand, Max, and you're right, Spencer should stay away from her, but I don't think he will. You can't control his actions. He's an adult. I know how it is with siblings. We want to protect them, but we can't. They have to make their own mistakes—just as we have to make ours."
He glanced at her. "Do you think last night was a mistake?"
"I don't have regrets, but I'm not sure what you want, Max."
"Do you know what you want?" he countered.
Some very dangerous words hovered on her lips—
I want you.
Somehow, she managed not to speak them.
The car behind her beeped its horn, and she realized the light was green. She really shouldn't be having this conversation while she was driving.
As she drew closer to the Marina, she noticed black smoke billowing into the sky.
"Fire," Max said.
"Yeah," she said, her body tensing.
"It looks like it's close to your place."
Her heart began to race and she pressed down on the gas. Sirens rang through the air. She saw engines racing through the next intersection.
She began to think the unthinkable.
She drove two more blocks, then turned on to her street and slammed on the brakes.
There was a line of fire engines down the block and a traffic control officer was already waving traffic toward a side street.
Emma pulled in front of a driveway and double parked, then jumped out of the car, silently praying that she was wrong, that it was the building next to hers, but as she came around the first fire engine, she saw the flames shooting out of a third story apartment.
"Oh, my God!" She turned to Max. "My apartment is on fire."
Chapter Nineteen
Max was stunned. He couldn't believe what he was seeing. He put his arm around Emma's shoulders, and felt tremors of shock running through her. She was used to dealing with fire. That was her job. But this—this was personal. He felt that with every fiber of his being. It was not a coincidence that it was Emma's apartment that was on fire. Someone had known she'd rented it. Someone had wanted to make a point to her.
Anger tore through him. He looked around the gathering crowd, wondering if the perpetrator was out there somewhere, hiding in the shadows, watching them even now.
Emma drew in a breath and lifted her chin. He gazed down at her and saw the light of battle in her eyes. Her momentary paralysis was over. She was ready to fight.
"Let's go," she said, striding forward.
They flashed their badges to get to the center of the action where they found Emma's brother, Burke, directing the crews on site.
He glanced at Emma, a tense expression in his eyes. "I was just about to call you. How did you know?"
"I was coming to meet Aiden. That's my new apartment, Burke."
Surprise widened his gaze. "No way."
"I picked up the keys yesterday. If you didn't know that, why were you calling me?" she asked in confusion.
"Because it's definitely arson, and there was a spray-painted message on the front door that might refer to you. Hamilton took a photo of it."
"What did it say?"
"It said—
You're never going to catch me, bitch
.
I'm better than you
."
She blew out a ragged breath. "Okay then. He didn't choose this building by accident, but by design." Emma glanced back at Max. "He's taunting me. He left me a calling card."
"Let's hope he left some other clues, too," he said grimly, knowing that the arsonist had probably been tailing Emma all week. It infuriated him to know that they'd been watched the last few days, and he hadn't noticed a damn thing. What the hell kind of detective was he?
"I need to get inside," Emma said.
"Hold on," Burke said. "You're not going in until this is under control."
"The second it is, you tell me," she ordered her brother. "I am going to catch this son of a bitch if it's the last thing I do."
"Well, I don't want it to be the
last
thing you do," Burke retorted. "So get a hold of yourself."
"Don't talk to me like that. I'm not here as your little sister. I'm a fire investigator, and this is what I do."
Burke shook his head and turned his attention to the radio. He moved a few steps away from them as he relayed information to the men on the roof.
"How dare he tell me to calm down?" Emma grumbled. "This is my case. This is my fire."
Max let her rant. He knew her anger was also a cover for her pain. The arsonist had gone after Emma's home, after the place that already meant something to her, if only in a symbolic way. She had been planning to start over here, on her own, independent, free…
His thoughts turned to her ex-boyfriend, Jon. The last thing Jon wanted was for Emma to start over. Was it possible they'd been on the wrong track? That the fires had nothing to do with the schools or Sister Margaret or the Morettis?"
"Damn," he muttered.
Emma shot him a sharp look. "What?"
"All the fires are connected to you—your elementary school, your high school, the bar where you helped your father celebrate his promotion, and this apartment. It's you, Emma. You're the common denominator. I said it before, and I let you talk me out of it. But it's you."