Silent Scream

Chapter Four

Monday, September 20, 8:55 a.m.

Eric could recite the thirty-minute newscast from memory. What am I going to do?

You’re going to sit here and wait, just like he told you to. Just as he had for the past five hours. The news wasn’t new since disclosing the second victim had died of gunshot wounds. So he’d sat, listening to the same report again and again and watching his cell phone. Waiting for it to buzz, waiting for the next text from his “master.” Sonofabitch.

And if he makes me wait days? Eventually he’d have to leave his apartment, go to class. Maybe even eat. Although the very thought of food made him want to gag.

We killed that girl. But they had not shot that guard. Which meant somebody else did. The only other person was the damn blackmailer. He did it. He shot the guard.

But who would believe them? The texter had them on video. Video, goddamn it.

How could we have been so stupid? How did he know we’d even be there? He’d racked his brain all night, trying to think of where, when they’d been together, discussing their plan. But so far he’d come up blank. Unless one of them had told.

He closed his eyes. It was top of the hour. Time for another identical report on the condo arson, word for word. He started to murmur the words along with the anchor, then bolted upright in his chair when the mouth on the tube said, “This just in.”

The television screen had split. The anchor was on the right, but on the left was a picture of the guard. In a cop’s uniform. Eric’s mouth went bone dry and he stared at the man’s badge as the talking head on the right began to speak.

“ Minneapolis police have confirmed the identity of the guard killed in last night’s arson. The victim is Henry Weems, who retired last year after a twenty-five-year career with the Minneapolis police. His daughter, Brenda Weems, gave this statement.”

The screen switched to Brenda Weems who stood on the steps of a modest house in a modest suburb, arms tightly crossed over her chest, her face tearstained.

“My father was a good cop, a good husband and father. He was murdered last night, along with another victim. I know the police will not rest until his killer is brought to justice-not because my father was a cop, but because he was a member of this community. My mother and I ask for privacy so that we may grieve. Thank you.”

The screen switched back to the anchor and Eric felt numb.

A cop was dead. So are we. The police wouldn’t rest until they’d hunted them down.

Joel had said as much last night, when they’d still thought their worst problem was the dead girl. Eric stood abruptly. He had to get to Joel before he found out about this. There was no telling how Joel would respond. He might break, crack, tell everyone.

And we all go to prison. Not going to happen.

He’d turned to wash up when his phone buzzed on the table. For a moment he just looked at it, then carefully picked it up, as if it were poisonous. His shoulders sagged. Not a text. It was an incoming call from Albert.

“Did you see the news? I didn’t kill him. I only hit him. Somebody shot him. Who?”

“I… I don’t know,” Eric said numbly.

“He was a cop. If that pussy Joel tells, we’re dead.”

He thought of the video. The texts. You have no idea how dead we are. “I know.” Eric made a decision. “We have to stop Joel from talking.” And he had to keep the texter from showing the video that would damn them all. “Just don’t hurt him, okay?”

Albert said, very quietly, “We will not speak of this again.”

Eric drew a breath, knowing he was sentencing Joel to death. “No, we will not.” He closed his phone, completely unsurprised when a text popped up immediately.

go to 11 ^th and nicollet. sit on bench at bus stop. find envelope taped to seat. come alone. tell no one. yes or no?

Suddenly, coolly calm, Eric texted back, yes. He went to his bedroom and grabbed the plastic bag in which he’d stuffed his smoky-smelling clothes. He couldn’t let the maid find them. He’d throw them in a dumpster.

Then he slid his hand behind the stacks of video games on his closet shelf, finding his gun. He checked the magazine, found it full. He smacked it back into place with the heel of his hand. Just in case the texter actually showed his face, he’d be ready.

He chuckled on the inside as he closed the disposable phone. Then lifted his gaze to the television mounted on the wall, his pose appropriately somber. The report was ending with old news, but the first few minutes had made his day.

The guard had been a fucking cop. It just got better. Or worse if you were Eric and the gang. A murdered guard was one thing, but a murdered retired cop? Pure gold.

He wondered if Eric had told the others. Wondered what Eric’s attempt at countering him would be. It didn’t matter. I hold all the cards. I always do.

“Excuse me.”

He dropped his eyes from the television to the slightly impatient face of the next customer. “I’m sorry,” he said soberly. “It’s just the fire. Those poor people. That officer.”

The customer sighed, her impatience gone. “I know. It’s so disturbing. You take your life in your hands every time you leave your house these days.”

“Ain’t that the truth?” he said sympathetically. “So, how can I help you today?”

Monday, September 20, 9:20 a.m.

Olivia tidily folded the paper wrapper as she swallowed the last bit of her breakfast sandwich. Not saying a word, Kane took his hand off the steering wheel long enough to hand her the large coffee in the cup holder between them.

“Thanks,” she said. “You know I could have driven. It was my day.”

He slanted her his “bullshit” look. “I slept. You didn’t.”

“I tried,” she said quietly. “I really did. I went and worked my ass off at the gym so that I’d be tired. Took my dog for a run, took a hot shower, even drank some of that herbal tea you’re so keen on, which is totally nasty, by the way. Nothing worked. So I dropped Mojo off at Brie’s and came in. And you would have done the same.”

“Well, maybe,” he said grudgingly. “All except taking my dog to doggy day care.”

Olivia’s friend, Brie Franconi, ran a canine training kennel but had begun letting cops drop off their dogs when they knew they’d be working a long shift. Olivia didn’t care what Brie called the service, she was just grateful for it.

“Mojo gets to play with the other dogs while I’m working, and I don’t feel so guilty. He keeps me company,” she added a little wistfully. She’d gotten the dog shortly after her fiancé, Doug, left her. “The house gets too quiet sometimes.”

Kane shot her a look. “Seeing Barlow can’t be easy for you.”

She shrugged. Seeing David was somehow a hell of a lot worse. “Micah made his choice a long time ago, but I suppose his siding with Doug was for the best. If Doug didn’t want me, I guess it’s better I found out before I tied the knot.” She sipped at her coffee, glad it was strong. “I’ve been thinking about the girl. If she was in business with the arsonists, her purpose for being in the building is straightforward.”

“I agree. But if she wasn’t,” Kane said, “and if her being there was just very bad timing, we have to wonder what drove her there. To that building.”

“If she’s not local, how would she know about it? You can’t see it from the road.”

“But you can see it from different points around the lake,” Kane said.

“Right again.” She took a sheet of paper from the briefcase at her feet. “I printed a map of the lake, which is primarily residential. Small houses, a lot of vacation cabins.”

“Good. We can take her photo around, see if anyone’s seen her and ask if anyone noticed any unusual activity last night. It would have been hard to see through the fence, but we might get lucky. We can’t ignore the possibility that it was an inside job.”

“I did a search on Rankin and Sons this morning. I was hoping to find they were on the verge of bankruptcy or something that would make the motive for the arson clear.”

“But Rankin’s solid?”

“Well, they were before last night. A good percentage of the shoreline property has been bought up by a company named KRB, which planned to build six condos in total. It’s supposed to be a planned community and Rankin was hired to build phase one, which were the luxury condos. Phase two will be two more buildings, targeted to upper-middle-class families. Construction is scheduled to begin in the spring.” She studied the map. “A lot of these cabins will be leveled.”

“Homeowners might be angry about that,” Kane said.

“Angry enough to set a fire, though?”

“Maybe. We should see if any of the homeowners have protested the construction project. Is Rankin the builder of the next phase?” Kane asked.

“Maybe, maybe not,” Olivia replied. “The newspaper article I read said that KRB would evaluate Rankin after phase one, to see how well they managed budget.”

“Barlow said they’d fired a security guard because they were running over budget.”

“Yeah, he did. So Rankin may have been in a spot. Depending on how badly they were screwing up, arson may have seemed a good idea to somebody at the time. Anyway, phase three would be two buildings for retirees and an assisted-living facility. Future plans show shopping, a medical center, an entire planned community. Last night’s fire took out the first building, so I’m betting the whole schedule is up in the air.”

“Who owns this KRB company?”

“I was just getting into that when the morgue called. I forwarded what I had so far to Faye and asked her to finish the search.” Abbott’s clerk was a research whiz. “I did run the construction manager through the system. Squeaky clean.”

“Does the construction manager own a gun?”

“He doesn’t have a permit. Micki did a residue test on his hands last night. He didn’t fire a gun, or if he did, he was smart enough to wear gloves.”

“We’ll need to check his finances and those of KRB. When we’re done here, we should start warrants.”

“Unless SPOT claims responsibility and then we have to bring in the Feds.”

Kane shrugged. “I’ve worked task forces with the Feds before. It’s not so bad, so stop worrying. You’ll give yourself wrinkles.”

“I’ve already got wrinkles,” Olivia muttered. Thirty-one and she was falling apart.

He stuck out his hand. “Give me another sandwich.”

Frowning, she dug into the bag on the seat between them. “You’re not leaving any for the firefighters.” She slapped one into his hand. “No more for you after this.”

They’d hit the Deli on their way out of the city, the coffee/sandwich shop that catered to cops, students, and professors, and anyone else who liked a good meal. It had been her turn to get breakfast, so she’d ordered Kane’s favorite-egg and pastrami on rye-then on impulse, added a dozen breakfast sandwiches for the firefighters, who wouldn’t have any trouble wolfing them down. When the Deli’s manager had found out who the food was for, he’d thrown in a thermos of coffee for free.

“There are still ten left,” Kane said. “How many can one pretty-boy firefighter eat?”

Olivia’s face flushed hot. “Kane,” she said warningly.

He looked unapologetic. “We’re almost there. You should do something with those bags under your eyes. Powder or something.”

She drew a breath. “Kane,” she said, the warning gone ominous.

They’d stopped at a red light, so he leaned over and pulled her purse from the glove box and dropped it in her lap. “Little lipstick wouldn’t hurt either.”

The light turned green and he started through the intersection without another word. Fuming, she flipped the visor down and checked the mirror. And winced. “Ye gods.”

“Indeed,” Kane said gravely.

She gave him a dirty look. “At least my hair’s okay.”

Kane shrugged. “If it makes you feel better to think that.”

Her long hair was pulled back in a tidy bun at the base of her neck. Which made her tired eyes look even more haggard. She sighed. “I really hate you sometimes.”

“No, you don’t.” He glanced over at her. “Any more than you hate him. You didn’t see your face, Liv,” he added when she opened her mouth to protest. “When Barlow said Hunter had nearly fallen four stories, you went white as a ghost.”

“I’m always white as a ghost. I never tan.” But she snapped her compact open and powdered her face with hurried strokes. Worse than driving up to the scene all haggard would be driving up while doing her face. She did have some pride, after all.

Kane handed her his comb. “Lose the bun, girlfriend. Braid it if you have to, but lose the bun. It makes you look”-he gave a mock shudder-“like a librarian.”

She laughed as he’d wanted her to and he grinned. Kane’s wife was a retired librarian and Olivia knew he loved her dearly. “Jennie would kick your ass for that.”

“Not if she knew it made you laugh. Hurry, now. We’re almost there.”

Monday, September 20, 9:45 a.m.

Eric found the bench and the padded envelope taped underneath. He leaned forward as if to tie his shoe and grabbed the envelope, slipping it inside his jacket, his fingertips brushing the cold steel of his gun as he did so. Heart pounding, he sat back, sure everyone on the street was watching him, sure they all knew he had the gun.

But no one glanced his way. Everyone was busy going about their own lives while he sat on a bench in plain sight, a fucking gun tucked into the waistband of his jeans and picking up packages like he was some James Bond wannabe.

I am an engineering student. I’m on the dean’s list. I’m one of the good guys. This cannot be happening. But it was. He walked the six blocks back to his car and got in.

He stared at the envelope, then ripped it open and shook out a cell phone and an MP3 player with a two-inch video screen and earbuds. A brittle laugh broke free. Soon that guy from Mission Impossible would be telling him the tape would self-destruct.

But it wasn’t funny. This was a nightmare. Whoever this guy was, he had video that could bury them all. Eric found the texter had painted a “1” on the back of the MP3 player and a “2” on the back of the cell phone with red nail polish.

Feeling like a fool, he put the buds in his ears and turned the MP3 player on. He hit PLAY and instantly the Mission Impossible theme blared in his ears. He gritted his teeth, then felt his stomach lurch when the video of the fire began to play on the tiny screen. Fury boiled up within him and he wanted to throw the MP3 player out the window. But he didn’t, and seconds later the music quieted and a computer-altered voice began to speak. It was impossible to tell if it was a man or a woman.

“You followed my directions. Very good. It is now time for your first test. If you pass, you remain in my good favor. If you refuse or if you fail, this video will be released to the police and the media and you will live the rest of your life in a very small jail cell surrounded by ape-sized men who will find you most entertaining.”

A prison filled the screen, followed by a photo of a man being sodomized. A pain shot up Eric’s neck and he realized he’d clenched his teeth almost to the breaking point.

“This is your target.” The photo changed and Eric let out a breath, swallowing the bile that had risen in his throat. The new picture appeared to be a factory. “The address has been sent to your phone as a text. You are to take your three pals and set fire to his place of business tonight. Make sure not a timber is left standing.”

And then Eric understood. The texter’s price was not money. It was far worse. Numbly he continued to watch the screen, but no new photos appeared.

“The proprietor has a guard dog,” the voice continued. “Deal with it, however you wish. If you wish to tell your compatriots the truth, feel free. If you fear they will not comply with your direction, tell them anything you choose, but know if even one of you chooses not to participate, the video will be distributed and all of you will go to prison.”

The voice had not faltered once, had not shown a hint of emotion.

“If anyone stands in your way, kill them. If for any reason your target appears to have been warned, or if any inventory in his place of business is removed unexpectedly, your video will be revealed. When you are finished, use the camera in the cell phone to document your activity and text the photos to the number provided. More directions will be provided at that time. Good luck, Eric, and if you should be caught”-now the voice laughed, a cruel, brutal, smug sound-“the world will know what you’ve done.”

The factory faded, replaced by a single frame from the video of last night. The very image that haunted him. The girl, her hands on the glass, her mouth yawning open in that horrible scream that, even in his mind, had no sound at all.

The file ended and the tiny screen went black. Eric opened the cell phone, clicked on the single text message it held. It was, as expected, an address. He wondered what the “proprietor” of this business had done to earn the wrath of the texter.

And he wondered what the hell he was going to do.

For now, he’d go to his ten a.m. calculus class. Maintain his normal schedule. And he’d think. Hard. There had to be a way out of this. There had to be.

He started his car and had put it in gear when the disposable cell chirped, startling him. He took a second to gather his thoughts. And his courage.

He flipped the phone open. Another text. yes or no?

Wildly Eric looked around, wondering if the texter had followed him, was watching him. His eyes searched windows and cars and people standing idly on street corners. It could be anyone. Panic clawed up, grabbed his throat. It could be anyone.

Who r u? he typed.

the invisible man.

A few seconds passed and the phone chirped again. yes or no? Next to the words was a link and before Eric even clicked on it he knew what he would see. The face in the window. His chest was so tight he could barely breathe. Yes, he typed back. “You sonofabitch,” he muttered. Again the phone chirped.

wise choice. i look forward to seeing your pictures tonight.

Eric closed the phone and stared at it. How had the SOB known he’d listened to the MP3 file and read the text? Either he was standing nearby, watching, or he had the cell phone rigged. Eric looked around the interior of his car. Or he’s wired my car and is watching me on a PC somewhere.

There had to be a way to track this guy. And if I can’t? Or if I can’t before tonight?

Then you’ll have to do what he says. “No,” Eric said firmly.

But when he pulled onto the street, his mind was already working the logistics of a factory arson. Just in case.

Monday, September 20, 9:55 a.m.

She’s here. David’s hands stilled on the line he was reeling in. He watched Kane’s Ford pull through the construction gate, his heart pounding and stomach jumping like he was thirteen and just about to ask a girl to his first school dance.

A pang of regret pushed through his sudden nerves. And we all know how well that ended, he thought bitterly. Nearly twenty years of service hadn’t been enough to atone. He was pretty sure a lifetime wouldn’t be enough. He could only do what he could do. And make sure this time, with this woman, it ended differently.

“She’s here,” Jeff said, dragging the last few feet of line to the truck. They’d spent the last hour walking the five-inch line, squeezing every drop of water from the hose. Every few minutes David had glanced toward the front gate, waiting. Now she was here.

Jeff’s grin told him that any attempt at nonchalance would be folly. “I see her,” he said, half expecting his voice to crack as it would have at thirteen. Gratefully it did not.

He watched as Olivia got out of the passenger side, the morning sun making her hair gleam gold. Then she bent over to get something from the front seat, giving him a perfect view of her very round rear end and he couldn’t control the sudden breath that hissed between his teeth. Vague recollections taunted him once again and he jerked his eyes away, staring instead at his hands.

He knew how she felt. How those smooth round curves fit in his hands. Perfectly. He shouldn’t know, but he did. And he needed to know again. Quelling a shudder, he exhaled, willing the need away. As if.

“I have to agree,” Jeff murmured in approval. “Very nice.”

David gritted his teeth against the urge to tell Jeff to keep his damn eyes to his damn self, making his voice deceptively mild. “Kayla would gouge your eyes out.”

Jeff’s grin broadened. “She can’t say anything. I’ve caught her eyeing your ass.”

David rolled his eyes. “Barlow called to say they wanted to see the fourth floor,” he made himself say reasonably. “Give me a hand with this line so we can leave.”

But Jeff continued to stare at the detectives’ car. “Hey, your lady brought food. From the Deli. That’s the good stuff. Take a break, Dave. You know you want to.”

Jeff walked off and David slowly stood, watching her kick the car door closed with her foot. Your lady. She wasn’t, of course. She might have been, if things had gone differently. If I hadn’t done… whatever. But she was here. Because it’s her job, idiot.

But she’d brought food, so that was a good sign. This is the opportunity you’ve waited for. Don’t blow it like you blew it the last time.

Which he obviously had, but that recollection was more vague than the others. Squaring his shoulders, he started to walk, knowing the exact instant she saw him coming. She went still, gripping a bag in one hand and a thermos in the other, and she looked right at him. He didn’t breathe for the space of three hard beats of his heart.

And then she looked away when Jeff reached her first, taking the bag from her hands. “There’s coffee in the thermos,” he heard her say when he got close.

Jeff was already stuffing his face. “Bacon, egg, and cheese,” he mumbled. “God, I thought I was going to drop. Thank you. There’s plenty, Dave. Have some.”

“There is plenty,” she said quietly, her eyes flickering everywhere but at his face, and David felt the frustration of being an adult trapped at a junior high party.

“Any news on the girl?” he asked and she finally met his eyes. Hers were round, blue as the sky, and very serious.

“Not yet. The hearing aid should help us narrow it down, so thank you.”

“Barlow said you wanted to see the fourth floor. I can take you up from the outside, but getting around on the inside still isn’t safe, especially without boots.”

She nodded. “Got it. Is there room for both Kane and me in the bucket?”

Kane walked up, a small black bag in one hand. “Me, go up in the bucket? I don’t think so. You go up. Here’s the camera. And my field glasses.”

She took the items he shoved into her hands. “You’re not going? Why the hell not?”

Kane’s expression was one of mild embarrassment. “Heights and me… a big no.”

She gave her partner a dirty look. “Wuss,” she muttered, then looked back up at David resolutely. “Then let’s go up. You want to eat something first?”

He didn’t think he could. “No, thanks. Zell, let’s go. I need you to man the truck.”

“I could go up with her. Or not,” Jeff added when David’s eyes narrowed. With a jovial grin, Jeff wiped his hands on the bandana he kept in his pocket and passed the bag of sandwiches to the captain, who’d just joined them. “Save me one.”

Casey smiled at Olivia. “Thanks, Detective. This was really nice of you,” he said.

“Our pleasure. I figured you’d all be hungry, staying here all night. We won’t keep you here any longer than we have to.” She looked around. “Where is Sergeant Barlow?”

“He said he had some reports to write,” Casey said, “and he’d be back after noon. Two guys from Arson are in there now, gridding off each floor so they can search.”

They’d search carefully, David knew, sifting the ash, looking for anything that could lead them to the arsonist. “Barlow said we should show you what we showed him. You can see the first floor through that window.”

David led Olivia and Kane to the first-floor window. “This window was regular glass and probably blew out in the first minutes of the fire. We found the backpack and the hearing aid on the other side of that hole.” Standing behind her, he leaned so that his cheek was inches from her temple and pointed. “There, where CSU left the markers.”

“I see,” she murmured. Her shoulders stiffened, but she didn’t shrink away and he took that as a good sign. “CSU took the items already?”

“About an hour ago.” He should move. He really should. He knew he reeked from smoke and sweat. But her hair smelled like honeysuckle, just as he remembered, and he took another second to fill his head with her scent before backing away.

Kane had leaned around her other side to stick his head through the window and whistled softly. “That is one hell of a hole, Hunter.”

“Tell me about it,” David said grimly.

Olivia’s brows crunched as she strained to see around the interior walls that remained. “The gel that covered the ball,” she said. “Did you find any down here?”

“No,” David said. “And I looked. But this area is a mess. If there was any gel, it’d be mixed with ash by now. The water pushes everything together. If it’s there, the arson guys will find it while they’re sifting. It’s thicker than kindergarten paste.”

She glanced up at him then. “We need you to keep the gel and the ball to yourself. It’s important. Who else knows about it?”

“Just me and Zell,” he said. “And Barlow. And the captain.”

“And Carrie and Gabe,” Jeff added from behind them, then shrugged when Olivia turned a mild glare on him. “I didn’t know, and Dave’s catch was too good not to tell.”

“Carrie and Gabe are on our team,” David told her when she turned the mild glare from Jeff to him. “They can keep a secret.”

“So can I,” Jeff said, aggrieved. “When I know I have to.”

“Can we talk to Carrie and Gabe?” Kane asked. “We need to keep it under wraps.”

“Certainly,” Casey said. “They’re walking line. I’ll call them back to the truck.”

“I’ll talk to the other firefighters,” Kane told Olivia, “while you go up. Have fun.”

The glare she flashed Kane was a lot less mild, David thought. She was clearly annoyed and once again seemed none too happy to see him. That did not bode well.

David climbed to where the platform rested on the front end of the truck and lowered the bucket until it was two feet from the ground where she waited. There was no expression on her face, but her foot tapped impatiently. He extended his hand and after the briefest hesitation she grabbed it, not looking at him.

He hauled her up and held on until she’d steadied herself. “You have to belt in,” he said. Silently she raised her arms and he looped the ladder belt around her slim waist, trying hard not to fumble the hooks. Or lift his eyes to stare at her breasts which were throwing a shadow on his hands. He tugged to test the connection, then rose, keeping his eyes to himself, very aware of Jeff’s smirk and Kane’s watchful gaze. “You’re good.”

“Okay,” she said, her voice slightly breathless. “Take me up.”

Oh, I will, he thought. He wasn’t sure when it would be or how he would manage it, but those recollections of his were just clear enough that he knew he had to have her again. “Are you bothered by heights?”

“No.” Her attention was on the condo wall as he toggled switches, lifting them in the air. After rising ten feet, she looked up at him, surprised. “I thought it would be jumpy.”

“No, it’s pretty smooth.” They were alone now, the two of them rising in a three-by-four space. He briefly fantasized standing behind her, grabbing the rails on either side of her, caging her in. Pressing against her. Feeling her against him. But of course he couldn’t do that, so he stood at her side, contenting himself with breathing honeysuckle.

There were so many things he wanted to ask. What’s between you and Barlow? Is there someone else? And the million-dollar question-why did you leave my bed?

But this wasn’t the time for any of that, so he asked the one question in his mind that wasn’t personal. “What’s the significance of the ball I found?”

For a moment he thought she wouldn’t answer. Then she sighed. “You’ll probably just Google it when you get home.”

“Before I get home,” he said. “Left my laptop back at the firehouse.”

“You can’t speak of this, not even to your partner.”

“Zell?” David found his lips curving. “He’s a good guy, but he does have trouble keeping a secret. I won’t tell him. Cross my heart.” And he did.

Her eyes had dropped to his bare hand and lingered a beat too long before lifting again to his face. Her cheeks were a shade pinker than they had been. “Environmental arson,” she said, throwing cold water on his thoughts. “It’s a glass globe. A radical activist group left similar etched glass globes at their fires more than ten years ago.”

“Shit,” he breathed quietly. “But they shot that guard. Right in the heart. Those groups don’t normally target people.”

“Not normally, although this group had an accidental death, twelve years ago.”

He thought of the girl, her waxen face. Her fight to escape. “Like last night.”

“Maybe. The girl held the ball. For now we have to include her with the suspects.”

He shook his head. “She wasn’t dressed for arson. She wasn’t even wearing shoes. Barlow ran the sniffer over her. Nothing. No hydrocarbons on her hands.”

She assessed him. “True. But she had the ball. We have to find out how and why.”

“Has this radical group claimed credit?”

“Not yet, and they always did twelve years ago.”

“Maybe because they killed two people,” David said harshly and her eyes softened.

“Maybe. We’re probably going to have to bring in the Feds at some point. They’ll want to talk to you. Just a heads-up.”

“Thanks.” They’d risen to the fourth floor and he stopped their ascent. “This is where I found her.”

She leaned forward, squinting. “I don’t see any handprints.”

David switched on the spotlight and aimed it at the window. “Now?”

She stared a minute, then shook her head. “No.”

Thank you, he whispered in his mind, then stepped behind her, taking her shoulders in both hands. Lowering his head until his chin brushed her hair, he adjusted their angle until he could see the shimmer. “There,” he murmured. “See it now?”

She’d stiffened in his hands and it was when she drew a shaky breath that he realized she hadn’t been breathing before. Which did bode well.

“You saw that?” she asked, her voice gone husky, and a thrill raced across his skin. She cleared her throat and when she spoke again, it was briskly. Still, he’d heard the awareness in her voice. It was enough. It was what he’d been waiting for. “Barlow’s right,” she said matter-of-factly. “You do have good eyes.”

A faint buzz of pride layered over the thrill. “It was easier to see in the dark.”

She leaned forward and he let her go, stepping back to her side. “Can you get us closer?” she asked, pointing. “To that smear?”

He maneuvered until the rail was an inch from where she pointed. “Close enough?”

She looked up at him, a wry smile on her lips. “Now you’re just showing off.” Before he could think of an answer, she pulled the camera from the bag around her neck. “We need to get this window to the lab,” she said, snapping a picture.

It was his turn to lean closer until he saw what she’d pointed to-a small dent in the impact-resistant glass, with barely discernible lines spidering outward. “You saw that?”

“I’ve got good eyes, too,” she said lightly. “I also knew what I was looking for.”

“What?”

“I thought about her not wearing shoes. If she’d been one of the arsonists, she would have worn shoes she could get away quickly in. Boots. Sneakers at the very least. But she didn’t wear shoes and she held the ball. Why? She was about five-four, same as me.” Clutching the camera in one hand, she held it up, pretending to bang it against the window. “Dent’s right where it should be.”

He understood. “She tried to use the glass ball to break the window. There was no furniture yet, no chairs, nothing she could use to break the glass. God. Poor kid.”

“I know,” she said. “Barlow said the arsonists poured the carpet adhesive on the first and second floors.”

“True. I could show you the pour patterns if you want.”

“On the way down.” She crossed her arms, dangling the camera from her wrist as she frowned at the window. “If the arsonists only hit the first two floors and she was up here on four, and she wasn’t with them, how did she get the damn ball?”

“We think they poured on two floors, but started the fire on the first floor. That way they could get out. If they lit both floors, it could have spread before they were out.”

“Do we know how they got in and out?”

“Not that I know of. You’d have to ask Barlow.” He considered the night before. “We got here about five minutes after we got the call. We had to smash through the gate, so it delayed us another two minutes. The first two floors were fully engaged at the time, and it wasn’t safe to go in through any of the doors. We were fighting it from outside. That’s what I was doing in the bucket in the first place.”

She still faced the window, but her frown had become thoughtful. “Okay. And?”

“The fire doors on one and two were open. The smoke would have filled the stairwell. If she’d been squatting on one of the lower levels…” He thought about the hearing aid. “And if she wasn’t able to hear them coming…”

“She may have been asleep. Woke up from the smoke, tried to go down the stairs, found herself trapped.” She glanced up at him. “Would she have been able to get out of the stairwell and into the hallway?”

“Possibly. But the heat would have been intense.”

“Hot enough to blister her feet?”

He remembered the soles of the girl’s feet. “Yeah.”

She nodded, and he could almost see the wheels turning in her mind. “She would have been panicking,” she murmured. “Not thinking clearly. Smoke choking her. Maybe she drops to her knees, below the smoke. And somehow she finds the ball.”

“She wouldn’t have been able to see anything,” David said, his stomach turning at the thought of how terrified the girl must have been. “The smoke would have filled the first floors and the stairwell in minutes. If she stumbled on the ball, found it somehow…”

Her blond brows lifted. “Or if they used it to block open one of the fire doors?”

He’d admired her mind the first time they’d met. That much he clearly remembered. “Possible. So she picks it up, but can’t go farther, because it’s too hot. The smoke is too thick. She backs up, to the stairwell.”

“Back to the fourth floor. No fire yet on four. She still has the ball. People hold on to weird things when they’re scared. She gets to the window, tries to break it.”

“She could have hit it with that ball till kingdom come and that window wouldn’t have broken,” David said. “But I doubt she got more than a few hits in. Her lungs would have already been damaged by the smoke from the stairwell, if that’s where she’d gone.”

“Where did you say you found the ball?”

“About two feet from where her fingertips had been. She was lying on her stomach, her arms extended.”

“Her body’s angle to the wall?”

“Thirty, forty degrees, maybe.”

“So she tossed the ball, then pounded on the glass with her hands. She was desperate by then.” She studied the prints on the glass. “She smacked the glass with her palms and pounded with her fists.”

“Probably in the reverse order,” he said quietly. “Her hands were flattened on the glass when she collapsed to the floor. You can’t see them well, but there are streaks from her fingers.”

“Poor kid.” She was silent for a moment while he studied her profile. It had been a long time since he’d been this close to her-two and a half years if he didn’t count the minutes she’d sat next to his bed in the hospital after he’d rolled down an embankment in Evie’s old Mazda last February. And he didn’t count that time as his eye had been too swollen to see clearly. She’d been little more than a hazy image, but he’d known it was her by his bedside as soon as he’d smelled the honeysuckle.

Abruptly she lifted her eyes to his, blue and intense. “That is one hell of a hole,” she said. “I’m… I’m glad you’re okay.”

A fist squeezed his heart and he struggled for what to say. But before he could find the words, she’d turned her gaze toward the lake. “How high does this bucket go?”

He cleared his throat. “Hundred feet. We’re at about fifty feet now.”

“Can you take me all the way up?”

Sweet God. He sure wanted to try. Focus, Hunter. Do not blow this again. “Yes.” The word came out gruffly, but she didn’t seem to notice. “Why?”

“We were wondering how the girl knew about this place. We don’t think she’s from around here. You can’t see the condo from the road, but you can see it from the lake.”

He lifted the bucket past the roof. “What are you looking for?”

“Don’t know.” She held the camera to her face, searching and snapping photos with the zoom. “A path through the trees, a hidden boat, something that shows us how she found this place. We should probably get someone on the ground, checking for a path through the woods.”

“You could try dogs.”

She lowered the camera, looking up at him. “To track her?” A new light filled her eyes. “It might work.” She jumped a little. “Cell phone. Can you hold these?” She handed him the black bag with the binoculars and grabbed for her cell. “Sutherland.”

Her little smile disappeared as she listened. “We’ll be there in thirty minutes.”

“Problem?” he asked when she hung up.

“ME. He has something on the girl. Can you take us down?”

“Sure.” He started their descent, debating his next words, filling his senses with honeysuckle while he could. “Olivia.”

She stiffened and he realized it was the first time he’d said her name that morning. “Yes?” she asked, her gaze focused on the lake.

Look at me. Give me something. Please.

Then he watched her draw a deep breath and let it out. Only her head turned, her eyes meeting his. “Yes?” she asked again.

“I…” Say it. But years of fruitless waiting for the wrong woman had dulled his skills when it came to the woman who just might be the right one. “I need to talk to you,” he blurted. “But not here, where everyone can hear.”

She stared at him, then after what seemed like an eternity, nodded, just once. “I’ll call you when I get a break later. When are you off shift?”

Relief swamped him. At least she hadn’t said no. So whatever he’d done, it couldn’t have been that bad… right? “About two hours ago. I’m on OT now.”

The bucket reached the ground and she unhooked the belt herself, looking for Kane who stood next to the captain ten feet from the truck. “Kane, Ian called. He wants us at the morgue. I told him thirty.” She hopped down from the bucket gracefully. Her knees bent and for a moment she hung there, then straightened like a gymnast sticking a landing. “Thanks for the view. I’ll be in touch,” she said briskly.

Still in the bucket, David watched as she strode to her car, Kane ambling behind her. She didn’t look back, not once. It wasn’t until Kane’s car had disappeared through the front gate that he realized she’d never reclaimed her binoculars.

He pocketed them. That had gone far better than he’d expected.