Cutting Edge

CHAPTER TWO

Duke Rogan had watched friends die during his tour in the Marines; he had seen and touched the dying, moved and buried the dead. But he’d never felt so damn helpless. At least, not since his parents were killed in a plane crash more than a decade ago. Worse, guilt nipped at the edges of his mind, gaining traction. His security system had failed, and a good man had paid the ultimate price.

“Are you certain the victim is Jonah Payne?” he asked Sheriff Lance Sanger. They stood near the front entrance of the burned-out research lab in the unnatural illumination of spotlights attached to the fire trucks. Fire trucks and police cars littered the small parking lot like a child’s forgotten game; the fire was out and aftermath activities were methodical, without the controlled urgency necessary while the fire raged.

“Near one-hundred-percent positive,” Sanger said. “His car is in the lot-”

“Where?” Duke hadn’t seen Jonah’s red four-wheel-drive Jeep when he’d driven up a few minutes before.

“Behind the building.”

“Is that usual?”

“I wouldn’t know. I called Jim Butcher, his partner, then you. Jim’s in L.A. He’s flying back on the first available flight.”

Duke wished Jim hadn’t heard about Jonah’s death over the phone. Jim and Jonah had been friends since college, starting Butcher-Payne Biotech right after graduate school. They’d been deemed by some as young upstarts not putting in their time or paying their dues, but they nevertheless managed to grow their business into a successful enterprise, moving into these larger facilities five years ago after selling a popular patent. Duke had known Jim even longer, since they had lived on the same street growing up, gone to the same high school, even played football together, though Jim was a couple years older.

“Did you check his house?” Duke asked.

“As soon as we discovered the body and his vehicle, we called Jonah’s house. No answer. I did a well-being check. No obvious disturbance.”

Jonah often worked late at Butcher-Payne, especially after Trevor, his son, had enlisted in the military when he turned eighteen last year.

Trevor. He was going to be devastated. “Have you contacted Jonah’s son in Iraq?”

“Not yet. I needed to confirm the victim’s identity before notifying any next of kin.”

Duke jerked his head toward the reporter standing only a few feet away not so discreetly eavesdropping. “Trevor may hear about it sooner in the news. I’ll call him.”

When Sanger glanced at the reporter, the journalist took it as a sign to approach.

“Hello, Rich,” Sanger said.

“I saw the M.E.’s car here. Is there a body?”

“I’ll be issuing a formal statement after I notify the next of kin.”

“I heard it’s Jonah Payne.”

Duke took a step toward the tall, skinny reporter, straightening his spine to reach his full six feet two inches. Through a tight jaw, he said, “I wouldn’t repeat that until it’s publicly announced.”

Rich took a step back, his hands up, a digital minirecorder in one hand. “Hey, I’m not an asshole.”

Sanger coughed into his hand. Duke grabbed the minirecorder, verified it was off, and took out the batteries before handing them back to the reporter. “I don’t give you permission to record me or quote me. Understand?”

“It’s cool, dude.” Rich put the recorder in one pocket and took a small spiral notepad from the other. “Lance, come on, give me something. I already saw the graffiti, I know it’s the same group that hit Langlier and Sac State. Is this ELF? ALF? Someone else? What’s going on?”

“When I know, you’ll know.”

“I spotted the arson investigator and a couple government cars. Is the FBI here? Have the feds taken over the case?”

Sanger bristled. A sore spot? Duke had contacts in the local FBI, he’d make inquiries about the other arsons, find out who was running the case. He could help since he had security and background information on all Butcher-Payne employees and vendors.

“The fire was extinguished less than two hours ago,” Sanger said. “We have a lot of work to do, and until I get answers, I’m not going on record with anything.”

Rich sighed, shoving his notebook into his jacket pocket. “Okay, okay, off-record. Is it Jonah Payne? Did he die in the fire?”

Sanger relented. “We have every reason to believe the victim is Jonah Payne, but we do not have confirmation and until we do, if I hear this in public I will make sure you are banned from every crime scene in Placer County as long as I’m sheriff.”

“I’m not going to say anything. I swear, Lance, trust me.”

Sanger simply shook his head.

Rich looked at Duke and tilted his chin up. “I know you.”

“I don’t know you.”

“Rich Belham, from the Bee.”

He was waiting for an introduction, but Duke didn’t respond.

“Rogan!” Rich snapped his fingers when the name came to him. “Rogan-Caruso! Private security, right? You take care of the rich and famous.”

Duke tensed. Rogan-Caruso Protective Services handled a wide range of personal and corporate security issues, but inevitably the few high-profile clients they managed became the news. But he wasn’t about to get in a discussion about his company with a nosy reporter.

“Are you in charge of security here? How did the arsonists get in? Did they hack into your system?”

The silence was palpable. The reporter had hit the target dead center, and he knew it. Duke said, “I will be investigating the matter thoroughly and reporting my findings to law enforcement. What they do with the information is up to them.”

Rich turned to Sanger. “I heard the FBI was talking to Professor Cole at the college.”

Sanger’s hands twitched, his jaw tightening so hard Duke heard the joints click. “No comment.”

“Come on, you’ve been talking about Cole since the first arson. That he was instigating a riot. You arrested him for breaking into the courthouse three years ago and stealing the confidential settlement between the county and EnviroTech Supply.”

Duke remembered that controversy. The county was going after EnviroTech for illegal dumping, but before the trial there was a confidential agreement between the parties. It had been alleged that EnviroTech bribed high-ranking county officials to dump the lawsuit, and that the lawsuit was the county’s way of leveraging money from private business. It had been nasty, then seemed to disappear overnight.

“Leif Cole and I go way back,” Sanger said. “But you know that, Belham. Don’t go fishing in that lake.”

Sanger jerked his head toward Duke and said, “I want to show you something.” He held up the crime-scene tape for Duke to walk under. They walked just out of Rich Belham’s earshot.

“Damn, I hate that reporter,” said the sheriff.

“Who’s Professor Cole?” Duke asked quietly.

“Leif Cole, head of the social sciences department at Rose College.”

“You know him?”

“We went to school together. We used to be friends, but I don’t condone civil disobedience, and he’s gone too far too many times. Our dads worked for the lumber company and the four of us used to go hunting and camping together every summer. We were responsible out there, my dad wouldn’t have it any other way. When Leif went off to college, he changed. His big cause is genetic engineering. Thinks the entire world is going to crash and burn because of it, it’s practically a religion to him. His classes at the university are just brewing with trouble. I’ve talked to him about inciting these kids, and he thinks it’s a good thing if they can change the world.” He gestured toward Butcher-Payne. “I fear his rants have gone too far. This shouldn’t have happened.”

No shit. “What’s with the initials?” Duke gestured toward the main entrance, where “BLF” was spray-painted in large, bold block letters. “Who’s BLF? Is that Professor Cole’s group?” He had a million questions, but Sanger interrupted.

“The feds think BLF stands for Biotech Liberation Front, an anarchist group formed specifically against biotechnology, like the Animal Liberation Front, who release research animals and often destroy equipment. Most anarchist groups are loosely formed and there’s no obvious connection between the BLF and the ALF As far as I’m concerned, they’re all culpable. A few years ago, a group of teens burned down several houses that were under construction in Rocklin-a firefighter was seriously injured in the last one and is still on disability.”

“You think the ALF may have been involved with this fire? How many arsons are we talking about?” Duke was trying to be reasonable, he understood police investigations, but his friend Jonah was dead. How long was it going to take the FBI and police to get their act together? If they knew who was responsible, why hadn’t there been an arrest?

“The idiots in the ALF have all been arrested and are in prison. The soonest any of them will be released is late next year. Their ringleader has another decade.”

That would have been too easy, Duke thought. “And BLF?”

“This is the fourth arson that they have taken credit for.”

Duke didn’t miss that Sanger raised his voice a fraction as he continued. “The feds have talked to Cole several times, since he’s publicly advocated for the end of the biotech industry, but they don’t have anything solid.”

It was clear Sanger wanted the information out there. Belham, who stood just on the other side of the crime-scene tape, was writing as fast as Sanger spoke.

Sanger continued, “The feds are really mucking this up. The lead agent is this mightier-than-thou bitch. I’m on the regional domestic terrorism task force with her, and she’s so focused on the fucking procedures and rules that she makes bureaucrats look like party animals.”

Domestic terrorism? Duke almost smiled. If this was domestic terrorism there was only one agent who could elicit such passionate anger.

Sanger glanced left, looking beyond Duke, a tight sneer on his face. “Oh, hello, Agent English.” Sarcasm dripped from his voice.

Nora. If there was even a faint silver lining on this tragedy, it was that Duke would be seeing a lot more of Nora English.

He turned around, watched as Nora realized it was him standing with the sheriff. It was instantaneous. Her confident stride slowed a fraction, her dark eyes widened in surprise. Then Nora plastered on that impassive expression she’d perfected.

But Duke knew better.

No matter how rigid Nora English tried to pretend she was, under that icy shield was a woman rippling with energy and passion. Besides, a woman who looked like Nora, with perfect curves and athletic prowess, couldn’t be all hardened cop. That she could deny for the four years Duke had known her that she was as attracted to him as he was to her showed a stubborn streak that Duke had been slowly wearing down the half-dozen times they’d worked together. The last case he’d consulted with her on, only a year ago, he’d been this close in getting her to agree to a date, but she’d clammed up and avoided his calls. He’d left the ball in her court, but now all bets were off. He liked puzzles, and Agent English was an extremely complex and sexy puzzle he couldn’t wait to put together.

“Duke Rogan,” Nora said, unable to keep the surprise out of her voice. “Security?”

She was playing the professional cop, but Duke smiled. “Good to see you, Nora. You’re looking terrific, as usual.” And other than her tired eyes, she looked even better than the last time he’d seen her.

Her eyes narrowed and she bit her lower lip. “Do you know the principals?”

He nodded somberly. “Jim Butcher and I went to school together, I’ve known Jonah almost since they started the business, when Jim hired me to run background checks on employees.”

“Did you design the security here?”

“Yes.” He glanced at the building, knowing that he’d screwed up somewhere. He just couldn’t see where. He’d have to go through the logs line by line.

“I didn’t know you knew each other,” Sanger said.

Nora’s chin jutted forward and she said, “Mr. Rogan has consulted for the FBI before.”

Mr. Rogan? Duke was bemused. “I’ve worked with Agent English a few times.”

She glanced slyly at him, her eyes narrowed as if wondering what he was up to, then turned to the sheriff. “As sheriff, you know that criminals will walk if law enforcement doesn’t play by the rules.”

“But sometimes you need to push the envelope. I’m not talking about breaking the law, I’m talking about putting pressure on the bastards we know are involved even if we can’t prove it.”

Duke realized he was in the middle of a long-running debate between Nora and the sheriff. He’d put his money on Nora.

“Agent English!” Rich Belham called, waving his arms to get her attention.

Her voice was as cold as her expression. “Let’s take it inside.”

Lance Sanger agreed, though he wasn’t giving up the argument. Duke followed them. Nora glanced at him, then looked skyward as if asking God: Why her?

Because we are good together.

Duke met Nora when a local congressman, a friend of Duke’s partner J. T. Caruso, had received death threats. Duke was attracted immediately upon laying eyes on the woman. But as soon as they had actually started working the case, he’d also known there was something more than physical lust between them. Nora knew it, too. She just denied it. Too vehemently.

“With all due respect, Nora,” Sanger said, “I knew Jonah Payne. He was a local-boy-done-good story, born right here in Auburn, left for college and came back to build his business. Brought jobs, good jobs, to town.”

The undercurrent of accusation in Sanger’s tone was clear: If you’d put them in prison already, Jonah would be alive.

Her words were laced with ice. “We’ve followed every lead, Lance. This case isn’t being ignored. And you damn well know that.”

Sanger grunted. “People are talking, Nora. They want to know why we-why I-haven’t arrested Leif Cole.”

Nora softened a fraction. “I understand your position, and I’m doing everything I can. I know something about the rules-and which ones I can bend, and which ones are only suggestions. I don’t want this group out any more than you do. But you know very well that Professor Cole isn’t setting these fires.”

“But he may know who is.”

They stepped into the lobby, the stone floor slick with an inch of water. Two firemen, coats off, took an ax to the wall between the research offices and the lobby.

Nora tilted her head to the side. “I’ve interviewed Cole half a dozen times. You know him personally. Would he keep quiet if he knew who had set these fires?”

“I don’t know.” Sanger ran a hand over his buzz cut.

“And neither do I.”

“Do we have confirmation that the victim is Jonah Payne?”

“Not yet, but we’re almost positive. Visually, even with the second- and third-degree burns, the victim resembles Dr. Payne. Same height and build, discovered in his office, his vehicle is parked in the rear of the building, registered to him. He wore glasses like Dr. Payne. We will identify personal artifacts, and when we move the body we’ll check for a wallet and any identification, and if possible, the coroner will print him.”

“I’d like to see him,” Duke said.

Nora looked at him, unable to hide her compassion and empathy. “You don’t need to-”

“I do.”

Her chin quivered, just for a second, and she took his hand. She understood; he didn’t have to explain. “I’m really sorry.”

Duke squeezed her fingers. He’d take her sympathy, but what he really wanted was justice.

“You were about to say something else,” he said, watching her dark gray eyes. Duke had always been drawn to Nora’s eyes-she was the only woman he knew who had truly gray eyes, and they were gorgeous, especially with her long lashes and red lips.

She waited a beat.

“You know I have clearance,” he said.

“I know.” She pulled her hand from his. He didn’t let it go without a tug. “My instincts tell me that Cole is not directly involved, but he either knows or suspects who is. He supports legitimate civil disobedience, but he’s never advocated murder, nor is he a dyed-in-the-wool anarchist. I’ve read all his writings, even went to his big speech two months ago. He wants a stop to all biotech research. There is no middle ground with him. But you can’t arrest someone for expressing an opinion.”

“You can arrest someone for inciting a riot,” the sheriff interupted.

“He didn’t.”

“He’s pushing those kids to burn down private property!”

“He’s not telling them to.”

“Not in so many words-”

“I don’t have to tell you how the First Amendment works, Lance. We’ve had this conversation too many times before. I’ll be talking to Professor Cole again. You have to stay out of this.”

Nora sounded extremely confident, but Duke also knew that it was extremely difficult to build a case for domestic terrorism. It usually took years before the FBI had enough evidence to get a warrant, and Duke was not that patient.

Sanger fumed. “This fire is in my jurisdiction!”

“And my unit is in charge of all cases of domestic terrorism. I don’t want to pull rank. I need your help-”

“Doesn’t sound like you want any help.”

“You know that’s not true.”

Sanger grunted. “You don’t know these people like I do.”

Nora’s expression darkened, and her hands clenched so tight that her knuckles turned white, though she tried to hide them behind her back. Nora always tried to conceal her tells. It worked with other people, but not Duke.

“On the contrary, Sheriff, I know these people a hell of a lot better than you or anyone.” She turned to Duke. “If you want to view the body, Rogan, come with me. Then I’d like you to walk me through the security system.”

Duke watched Nora stride purposefully down the wide hall toward Jonah’s office, not looking back. She was upset and angry, out of character for her about something so small as Sheriff Sanger’s tit-for-tat argument. Duke had intentionally avoided using his resources to look into her background, though he’d been tempted more than once because few women had intrigued him like Nora English. He’d always suspected Nora had depth of character and experience that outweighed her thirtysome years.

He’d dated so many women in law enforcement and the military that they’d begun to blend together, the many chips on their shoulders weighing down any chance of true joy. But the society women who’d filled his dance card these last few years also held no lasting attraction-Duke had grown bored with fancy dinners, charity balls, and falseness. It was only Nora he thought about time and time again, and the need to find out everything he could about her … from her lips.

“Icy bitch,” Sanger mumbled. “I’m getting some coffee. Good luck with her.”

Good luck with her.

He needed good luck with Nora in more ways than Sheriff Sanger even suspected.

Nora didn’t care whether either of the men followed her. She was so angry right now they’d better just stand down for two minutes. Why had she let Sanger get to her? She knew him, knew his type, had been able to manage the sticky relationship for years. The sheriff was more than willing to do anything she asked related to the case, and his two decades’ experience in the sheriff’s department was immensely valuable to the task force. But his personal connection to Professor Leif Cole, and the animosity he felt toward his old friend, was clouding his judgment. They’d been friendly up until Cole’s name had been mentioned during the course of the investigation into the first arson. Now she and Sanger barely tolerated each other.

Of course he didn’t know her or her past. In fact, aside from a few people she worked with and Quin, no one knew she’d put her mother in prison. They could find out without looking too hard-the records weren’t sealed-but it wasn’t something she talked about.

And then Duke Rogan-of all people! — showed up. He drove her absolutely crazy with his arrogant conviction that eventually she’d go out with him. Just because he was attractive, with that black Irish charm, that dark wavy hair, those blue eyes, and that dimple. And he was smart. And confident. And yes, dammit, she was attracted to him, but she didn’t have time for too-smart, too-sexy men who distracted her from her job. She didn’t want to make the time for Duke Rogan or anyone else. She’d avoided any personal involvement for four years of on-again, off-again working projects. The problem was that it was harder each time to withstand his appeal. And he knew it, which irritated her immensely.

Focus on the case.

The work always grounded her.

She hadn’t noticed Duke following her until he said, “I know Leif Cole is a professor at Rose College, but what’s his story? Why is the sheriff so gung-ho certain he’s involved?”

Nora stopped inside the threshold of the research wing and turned to face him.

“Cole is a social science professor and has been involved in several high-profile demonstrations and speeches against biogenetic research specifically, and biotechnology as a whole. He has several arrests for civil disobedience and trespassing, spent a few months in jail, but has never been arrested for violence or arson.”

“But Sanger thinks he’s involved.”

“Look, Cole’s a prick, but he’s hardly the raving lunatic Lance Sanger makes him out to be. The First Amendment protects his speech, and we have no proof that his vitriol intentionally incited violence.”

It would help if Cole had been more forthcoming with their investigation, but in the absence of proof, Nora couldn’t do a damn thing except keep digging. If they overreacted and brought Cole in-or, worse, arrested him-he would be a martyr. She was not letting Cole-if he was involved-or anyone else get off on a technicality. Cases like this were painstakingly built to insure that a conviction held up. Without proof, she’d never get a warrant past her superiors. Without evidence, she couldn’t build a case. If she tossed aside the rules, a killer could walk free.

She’d seen it happen more than once. It would not happen to her.

“Do you have someone undercover? Someone in his classes? Talking to his students?”

Nora didn’t like the direction the conversation was taking, especially when it involved Duke Rogan.

“Don’t even think about it, Duke.”

He looked at her wide-eyed, but hardly innocent. “I was just asking.”

“Right.”

“It’s always good to see you, Nora. I’m sorry it’s here.”

She shook her head. “Just stop.”

“Stop what?”

“Save it.”

“For later?” he asked, hopeful.

He was playing her. She wasn’t going to bite.

“You can consult, but that’s it.”

“You’re the boss.”

He glanced over her shoulder at the doorway to Payne’s office and sobered immediately. Her heart went out to him, against her better judgment. The victim was Duke’s friend, after all, and even after everything she’d seen and done in her life, Nora still retained compassion. It was human empathy that separated the cops from criminals. “Are you sure-”

“Yes,” he interrupted, all humor gone. “Let’s do it.”

She touched his arm and squeezed. “It’s pretty bad, Duke.”

Duke braced himself for the worst. He pulled together his reserves, but was barely prepared for the sight of Jonah Payne’s burned body when Nora moved away from the door.

Jonah was laid out on a white sheet, in the process of being transported. The last time Duke had seen his friend was a month ago, at an end-of-summer party at Jim’s house. Once the security system went online five years ago, Duke wasn’t needed any longer, just came by a couple times for diagnostic testing, ran background checks, hired I.T. staff as necessary. Most of the system’s maintenance was done by the I.T. team, not Rogan-Caruso. Why was it that life, careers, commitments interfered with friendship? With the advances that Rogan-Caruso had been making over the years, the last full day off he had was a friend’s wedding more than two months ago. Even Sundays, when he tried to ignore business and take the boat on the river during the summer or go skiing in the winter, inevitably ended as working days.

A blonder, shorter, younger, and spunkier woman than Nora trekked over from the far corner. She gave him a full-body graze before turning to the FBI agent and saying, “It’s the same accelerant. I’ll take the samples back to the lab, but I know. But get this-the victim had no shirt on.”

“Wasn’t it burned off?” Nora asked.

“Nope, no shirt. His back has no burns. There’d be remnants of a shirt beneath him had he been wearing one, but the fire didn’t burn long enough to incinerate clothing. There’s nothing.”

Nora frowned. She was about to ask a question, then glanced at Duke. “Quin Teagan, Duke Rogan. Quin is a state arson investigator on the DOMFOR task force. Duke Rogan is with Rogan-Caruso, Butcher-Payne’s security company.”

Quin smiled in surprise. “You’re Duke Rogan?” She glanced at Nora. Duke had the distinct impression that Nora had discussed him with this woman. Somehow, that made him both hopeful and apprehensive.

Nora asked Quin, “Is it okay for Duke to get a closer look at the body for a positive ID?”

“Sure. Look, don’t touch.” She smiled again at Duke, and he didn’t miss the double entendre. “Sis, can I talk to you a sec?”

Sis? Quin Teagan was Nora’s sister? Curious. He wanted to know what they were saying when the women walked to the far corner of the room-it obviously had something to do with the arson-but he was drawn to the doorway.

“You can come under the tape,” the M.E. said, “if you need a closer look. But walk only on that path.” He pointed to a white sheet that had been spread from the doorway to the body. “We’re trying to minimize contamination of evidence.”

Duke lifted the tape to stoop under. He took three steps toward the body and stopped.

The corpse was red and black, much of the skin completely gone. Little hair, no shirt, barely looking human. Duke didn’t want to contemplate the smells that mingled with smoke and smoldering metals.

“He didn’t suffer,” the M.E. said with compassion.

“How do you know?”

“He was found on his back. He was at least unconscious when the fire started.”

“You can tell how he died from the autopsy, right?”

“It depends; fire fatalities are among the trickiest to pin down a cause of death.”

Duke focused on identifying the body, but one look and he was certain it was Jonah. Even with the burns, it was him. If there were any doubt, seeing his wedding band, covered in soot, on the left ring finger, even though his childhood sweetheart was twelve years in the grave, would have convinced him. But he didn’t need the ring, or the glasses, or the other evidence. It was Jonah.

“Rest in peace, my friend,” he whispered.

He walked back to the doorway, a deep sadness battling with a driving need to know the truth. He glanced at Nora and her sister the arson investigator, who were huddled in the corner. Nora looked at him. He nodded, glanced back at Jonah, then left the building. As soon as he stepped out into the fresh dawn air, he breathed easier.

He pulled out his iPhone and called his little brother. Sean had been wanting to be more involved with Rogan-Caruso business, and this was the perfect time to give him an assignment.

Sean answered with a groan. “It’s six-fifteen in the morning, Duke.”

“You’re going back to school.”

“Hell no.”

“Hell yes. Shower and dress, I’m picking you up in one hour.”