Hot Water (4 page)

From the destruction of the structure, the lack of artifacts in the ashes, the smoke inhalation victim, the candles and dryer sheets for fire starters, and the isolated location, this felt very much like his arsonist. Since Wyatt had arrived three days after the fire, chances were slim the man was still in the area.

But by God, if he was, Wyatt would nail him, no matter what it took.

Chapter 6

After walking through the ashes with the arson investigator, Laurie Ann felt confined in his midsize pickup. Her heart beat a little too fast, and she was very aware of the man beside her. He smelled like wood smoke, ocean breeze, and testosterone. The perfect trifecta for her tastes, which was a crying shame, given her policy of not dating her colleagues.

No one should smell that good.

It didn’t help that he met her height criteria either. At six-two, he was neither bone thin nor packing forty extra pounds. He looked … just right. Better yet, he was all business. No teasing. No flirting.

No sad puppy dog eyes because she didn’t fall all over him.

His commanding attitude, which had seemed abrasive over the phone, still chafed, but she understood he had a job to do. She was merely the tour guide. Focused and forthright, he’d complete his investigation in short order.

The surprise was that Wyatt had opened up to her about his family. With his many siblings, he had a gaggle of relatives. They came from different worlds.

When he cranked the motor, she turned to him. “Where to next?”

“I’ll drop you at the station. I need to mail my samples for analysis immediately. Do you have the contact information for the owners?”

Erlene at the Tax Commissioner’s office had given her the Foxworths’ phone number. “It’s in my report. Ellie and Glen Foxworth live in Jacksonville. Investigator Rusty Rawson spoke with them after the fire. They have a solid alibi.”

“How do you explain the body in the fire?” he asked.

Good question. Brown’s gaunt face flitted through her memory and stirred her emotions. “James Brown did odd jobs around town, but he had no fixed address and spent every penny he came across on booze. Most of his life he was a quiet drunk, but lately, we received plenty of drunk and disorderly calls on him.”

“Lately, as in the last week?”

“More like the last three months. Seemed like he was angry about something, so we locked him up, he slept it off, and he’d be back out on the street the next day.” A memory flickered at the edge of her mind. “At one time...oh, never mind.”

He glanced her way before halting at the four-way stop. “What?”

She waited until he cleared the intersection before answering. “We had some break-ins a while back, and we could never pin them on a single suspect. James Brown was seen in the vicinity of each burglary, but he never had stolen property or flashed a lot of money, so we had no proof of his involvement.”

“Did he have a firebug history?”

“Not that I know of. Brown lived from one bottle to the next. He didn’t expend any extra effort, just the minimal amount to get by. I’ve never seen him at any fires until this one.”

“Could he have been staying in the building?”

“It’s possible, but not too probable, not unless he had laid in a supply of booze. Pirate’s Cove is too far from town and people who might line his pockets with cash to get rid of him.”

“Smoke inhalation killed him, even though he had a bump on his head. He wasn’t murdered elsewhere and dumped here. He was alive until the smoke got him. He was either a willing accomplice to the arsonist or collateral damage.”

Air whistled between her clenched teeth. “You’re certain about the arson part?”

“My samples will provide the proof, but yeah, I’m certain. Your uncle’s analysis of the fire was spot-on.”

His words boosted her pride. He didn’t think they were a bunch of uneducated hicks. “Do you catch many arsonists?”

He appeared to be studying something in the sky. “Not as many as I’d like. Sooner or later they get sloppy, though, and that’s when I make my move.”

She ducked forward to follow his gaze. Everything looked ordinary: the two-lane county road, the tidy houses with wheeled trashcans by the mailboxes. She glanced over at him. No doubt about it, the man saw something.

He rolled down his window and sniffed in a lungful of air. “Fire.”

She studied the sky again. Nothing. But she smelled smoke. “Where?”

“West of us. Is there a road nearby?” He flipped on his red and white flashing lights.

“Evinrude Drive is the closest route. It’s the next right.” She pulled out her cell phone and called it in. “You think this fire’s a coincidence?”

“I don’t believe in coincidences. Any homes in that direction?”

“The paper company owns that tract. Their pines are a valuable timber crop. With the drought we’ve had for the last five years, a woods fire would be catastrophic.”

She directed him to turn right on Evinrude. The smell of smoke thickened. “We’re close.”

“You good with a fire extinguisher?”

“I’ve used a few.”

“I’ve got two in the back. Call in the coordinates when we stop. I’ll grab one extinguisher and try to quench the flames. Then I’ll use the backup. You stay put.”

The warning her boss gave rang in her ears. Fires were dangerous. “Maybe we should both wait in the truck. The chief gave me strict orders to make sure nothing happened to you.”

He laughed. “I’ve done this before.”

Misgivings crowded her thoughts, but he was out of the truck before she could think of a way to dissuade him. She reported the small wildfire and carried the twenty-pound extinguisher out to North. He handed her the spent one.

What she wouldn’t give for a broom right now to beat the fire. But maybe the cloth tarp in his truck would smother the flames.

The fire had spread in a line about twenty feet across, and it was still burning grass and weeds. That extinguisher wouldn’t last for very long. Manually beating the flames was the only way she could help Wyatt.

Sweat beaded in her hairline. She found it hard to take a full breath. At least she could see the total involvement of the fire.

No chance of a body turning up out here.

The only bodies here were hers and Wyatt’s, and she’d make damn sure nothing happened to him.

Chapter 7

Wyatt didn’t question his need to fight the fire. He went at it with the fury of a man scorned. He dispatched the pin from the ABC extinguisher and made sweeping motions over the small ground fire. Heat from the flames seared his face, ears, neck, and hands, triggering unwanted memories of the first fire he’d ever fought with Bobby.

The small kitchen fire was hotter than they’d thought. They were making a final sweep when his buddy stopped moving. Bobby’s gear gapped, and he couldn’t breathe. Wyatt had sealed the opening, and Bobby had performed the same service for him.

Rookies.

Hard to believe he’d been that young and green. From that day forward, he’d double-checked his equipment. A few skin grafts for each of them, some time off, and they were back in business.

He’d vowed never to get burned so badly.

Wyatt shook off the memories and paid attention to the fire before him. His extinguisher sputtered and there was Dinterman with the spare. He pulled the pin and kept going, pushing in from the tip of the fire into the black, that demarcation where the fire had already burned, knowing it was dangerous, but wanting to contain the fire.

The foaming spray sputtered and stopped.

He started stamping out the edges of the fire with his boots. He saw a movement out of the corner of his eyes. Dinterman. To his horror, he saw she had followed him into the fire. She’d folded his tarp and was beating flames in a very hot section.

“Drop it,” he shouted over the crackling flames. “Step back!”

She didn’t respond. He’d seen guys act like that before. So absorbed they couldn’t hear a spoken word. They didn’t last long as firefighters. If you weren’t aware, you were a liability.

With her hearing offline, Dinterman crossed into the liability category. Flames separated them. That smoldering blanket could flash any second now and she’d be a goner. God, what he’d give to have a full set of turnout gear on. But by the time he went back to the truck, it would be too late.

The ground near his feet flashed again.

Fool. You know better. Move. Save the girl.

Feeling the heat everywhere, he backed up and hurried toward Dinterman.

“Dinterman!” he yelled.

Still no response.

Only a few more steps.

He grabbed her and tugged the cloth tarp from her hand. The fabric ignited, and he rolled them both on the ground away from the roaring flames.

Adrenaline rifled through his veins, and he felt alive in a way he hadn’t in a long time. God, he’d missed the rush of fighting fires. In the distance, he heard the wail of approaching sirens. Help was on the way.

The woman beneath him trembled. Probably shock. “It’s okay,” he murmured with sympathy. “I’ve got you.”

“Yes, you do, and I don’t want to be on the ground when the fire guys get here.” She shoved hard at his chest. “Get off me.”

“I saved your life. Cut me a little slack, here.”

Her face paled. “At least show me the courtesy of not crushing the breath out of me and not ruining my reputation in front of the guys.”

The look of panic in her eyes got to him. Immediately, he levered himself up and reached for her. She tried to bat his hand away, but he hauled her to her feet and guided her back to the safety of his truck.

“Thought I told you to stay put,” he said.

“I’m not a sit-on-the-sidelines kind of person.”

Dried grass poked out of her hair. He suspected he sported grass in his hair, too. Anyone coming on the scene would think the worst, but he couldn’t bring himself to brush the grass off either of them. He knew it was childish, but if she had a beef with the local guys, let them think they had some competition.

The engine rolled up, laid out the hose, and doused the flames like clockwork. He told himself he’d kept the fire manageable. Soon, even the fiery heat had dissipated.

Chief Pratt nodded as he approached. “North. Laurie Ann.”

“Chief.” Wyatt returned the man’s stiff nod. Should he apologize for dragging the chief away from his cemetery visit?

The chief turned to his niece, ignoring Wyatt. “What happened here?”

While Dinterman narrated the story of their actions, Wyatt realized the double-edged nature of the chief’s question. He wanted to know why they’d gotten dirty together.

“We haven’t had a small brush fire like this in months,” the chief said. “Thanks to your eagle eye and quick action, the fire stayed small. Without your intervention, it would have burned for days.”

“It wasn’t me,” Dinterman said. “North spotted the smoke as we drove back to town. We detoured to check it out. You know the rest.”

Pratt offered his hand. “Thanks. I owe ya.”

Wyatt shook the man’s hand, knowing he’d made a friend. “Glad to help out.” And he was. For the first time in a very long time, he felt like himself again. The fire, the woman, the rush of adrenaline had hit him like a speeding train. And Lord, he’d missed the thrill.

“Looks like you’ll need some new trousers,” the chief said to Wyatt. “I hope you have an expense account.”

Wyatt shrugged. “I’m glad it turned out so well.”

Chief Pratt reached for Dinterman’s chin and held it, staring into her dark brown eyes. “You sure you’re all right?”

“I’m fine, Uncle Buford.”

“Wait here,” Pratt said.

As the fire chief hurried off, Dinterman leaned over and spoke in a soft voice. “What’s he up to?”

“Not a clue.”

Laurie Ann held his gaze. “I didn’t mean to sound ungrateful back there. I’m glad you pulled me back when you did. I thought I’d see the flames before it caught.”

“Firefighting isn’t for amateurs. Didn’t you hear me calling your name?”

“All I heard was the fire crackling.”

“You need to listen more carefully around a fire. I don’t recommend you charging into brushfires.”

“I wouldn’t approach a fire ordinarily. I would’ve called it in and waited, but you were out there. You were my responsibility.”

“Stay in the vehicle next time. Stay away from fires.”

“You don’t have to tell me twice.” She shivered. “I’ve had my fill of fires for the year. Give me a domestic violence call or a fender bender any day.”

Chief Pratt returned with two replacement fire extinguishers. “Might as well have the tools of the trade while you’re here.”

Wyatt accepted the red canisters. “Good thinking. Thanks.” With an arsonist running around, it paid to be ready.

The brushfire seemed suspicious. He stared down the embankment toward the blackened brush. If a cigarette butt or the like had started the blaze, it had to be a helluva throw to get it down there. Most fires near a road started at the road and fanned outward. This one started deep in the shoulder, in what looked like an arc, possibly from poured gasoline.

Which indicated a purposeful start.

Reading further into that line of reasoning, the arsonist knew he was here, knew he’d be traveling nearby, and knew he’d see the smoke. If that was so, he feared for the community. Vigilance had stopped this fire, but the firebug would want more glory.

He’d set another fire soon.

And Wyatt would have him.

Chapter 8

“I’m changing your name from Cinderella to Calamity Jane,” Officer Tom Harlow said to Laurie Ann back at the station. “Every time you come in here, you’re a hot mess.”

“Just doing my job.” Laurie Ann slid into her chair with a heavy heart. Didn’t the jerk ever tire of giving her a hard time?

“Looks like you were trying to impress the arson investigator. Lucky the pair of you didn’t get burned.”

How did he know what happened? Sure, she’d called in the fire, but the flaming tarp wasn’t common knowledge. Not even her uncle knew about the burnt tarp. Was Harlow connected to the fires?

The thought chilled her.

Harlow had access to her files. He knew where she would be when she was on-duty. Was he the arsonist Wyatt North was tracking?