Bad Boy's Touch (Firemen in Love Book 3) (14 page)

The explosion had done a lot of damage, but it wasn't too difficult to figure out what was what. A scorched couch rested against the wall, then a coffee table in splinters, and a busted television.

Nothing interesting, until I laid eyes on the kitchen.

I'd put out plenty of fires like this to know – and smell – a meth lab when I found one. This wasn't a big operation, but definitely enough to put these guys in jail for quite a while.

“Madison, you better come see this.”

She paused in mid-sentence. “Move it.”

“Aw, shit,” one of them muttered.

She pushed past the fallen debris with the men behind her. When she saw what I found, her eyes widened.

Meth-making equipment lay scattered on the kitchen counter and on the floor. Bags of white powder, gloves, unlabeled bottles of liquids... It was amazing, actually, that so much survived the blast.

But was this really arson, then, or just the mishap of a bunch of moronic, drug-addled punks?

Madison turned to them, arms folded. “Start talking. Tell me exactly what happened here.”

Craig chuckled nervously. “Yeah, sure. I'll just give you a nice written list of it all. Then you can deliver me to jail, gift-wrapped with a bow on top.”

She growled and pushed him against the wall. Dang, there was a lot of strength in that petite frame of hers.

“This is your home. You were obviously cooking meth in here, so don't deny it. I need to know what caused the fire. The explosions.”

Ryan threw up his hands. “And what do we get if we tell you, huh? Busted, that's what.”

I cleared my throat loudly. They got the hint easy enough.

Craig burst into tears and fell to his knees, bawling like a baby. Madison was so stunned by the outburst that for a moment, she dropped the tough-cop act. She backed away from him like he was a bomb about to go off.

“It wasn't me, man! I didn't do it,” he wailed. “I didn't mean to. If I knew this was gonna happen...”

Larry patted his sobbing friend on the back. “Dude, relax. You had no idea.” Then he put on a serious face and turned our way. “We're small time, really. It's just the three of us here. We make the product, then sell it to one guy. Get paid for the order, then move on to the next.”

“And who is this buyer of yours?”

He snorted. “You think I'm that stupid?”

I wanted to say yes, I kinda did – but a frown from Madison shut me up fast.

“I don't know the guy's name. He sends a courier to pick up the order and pay us.” He gnawed his lip and looked down at the charred mess. “Guess we better start looking for another job.”

Craig finally made himself sit up. “Now, it ain't unusual for the random person to put in an order here and there. It's not exactly a secret what we got going on in here. Folks'll turn a blind eye if we cut them a deal.”

Madison looked ill. I sure didn't envy her; the drug problem in this town was spiraling out of control. Still, right now, we had bigger problems than that.

Larry piped in. “So last night, a dude shows up. Never seen him before.
Really
weird guy, wearing a black ski mask. And his voice was super creepy.”

“We were wary at first; thought it might be a police sting. But it was just too bizarre for that,” Craig admitted. “He brings us this box of stuff. Says he's heard of our reputation, that he needs a big order done and fast. The strange part was that he brought us all the supplies to make it for him. Said he couldn't 'dirty his hands' doing it himself.”

“Well, that
is
weird,” I said. “What do you think, Madison?”

She didn't reply, but didn't need to. The look on her face told me all I needed to know.

“It gets more nuts,” Ryan said. “In the box were empty plastic jugs, like the kind you get water in. He demanded we make the product in them. We've never done it that way before.”

“Did he say why?”

“It cooks quicker, was his reasoning. He needed the order done fast. It was late, so we got to work on it this morning. One bottle in each of our trailers.”

Madison bit her lip. “That's it? Did he give you any further instructions, or contact information?”

“No. Said he would return the next night to get his product.”

“You wait right there.” She grabbed my arm and pulled me into the yard. “I think this is our guy.”

“You sure?”

She nodded. “I've seen meth-making cases like this before, in hotel rooms and other enclosed spaces. Mixing the ingredients in a bottle is how they do it when they lack the equipment, or when they're away from the lab. It's a preferred method because it can be done anywhere – but if done wrong, it has disastrous results.”

I shrugged. “Care to explain to a guy who lacks meth-cooking experience?”

“It's simple. During the process, noxious fumes build up. They're highly flammable, so proper ventilation is needed. With the bottle method, those fumes are trapped in a really tight space. If the cook doesn't remove the lid at the right time...”

“I get it. It's kinda like a bomb going off.”

“Exactly – and that's just what the arsonist wanted. He relied on the ignorance of these guys, a bunch of low-level cookers who wouldn't know any better. He burned down half a trailer park without even lighting the match himself.”

The men were whispering to one another now. Probably planning an escape run, but who cared?

“I agree, it sounds plausible, but are you sure they can be trusted? Maybe they're inventing a story to cover their asses.”

“I've interviewed tons of suspects, and it's pretty easy to catch them lying. They're not. The story is too odd. And the guy with a mask, doesn't that ring a bell?”

“Could be our arsonist has a thing for playing dress-up.” I laughed, hoping to lighten the mood. She didn't seem amused. “Okay, say it was him. What next? Did he leave any clues for us?”

We found the guys standing outside their trailer, quietly talking about how much trouble they were going to be in for this.

“You three,” Madison said. “You said this mysterious man left a box. Do you still have it?”

Ryan brightened. “It was in my trailer; maybe it's still in one piece. Dunno what it'll do for you, though. Just a bunch of junk in it now.”

Ryan's trailer was, luckily, the least burned of the three. He let us inside and dug the box out from under his messy bed.

“It's all yours, dude. I don't want nothing to do with this crap another second longer.”

We brought the box outside to study it. As they said, it was just a plain cardboard box with a few empty chemical bottles in it. Madison dumped them out onto the grass.

“Hydroiodic acid, red phosphorus, ethyl ether... Yeah, your typical ingredients. Nothing special here.” She tipped the box over, then gasped. “Brett, look.”

I did so. There were some letters scrawled in marker on one of the flaps. The other pieces had letters too, written in different directions and upside-down.

“What the hell's this? A puzzle?” I took out my knife and slice the box apart at the seams. Didn't take long for us to arrange the pieces and discover our message.

“Too late,” Madison read, trembling. “That's all it says.”

It even gave
me
chills. Yeah, this was our guy for sure.

A few more cops showed up to take the trailer trash in for further questioning. Madison and I went back to her car with the box, to be kept as evidence.

“Guess we're at a dead end again,” she murmured, putting the flattened cardboard in her trunk. “If Victor would just assign more officers to this case, we might actually get somewhere.”

The poor woman looked so frazzled, so stressed out. I hated dealing with this stuff. Displays of such emotion made me uncomfortable.

But this time, I wanted to make her feel better.

“It's gonna be okay,” I said, which hopefully wasn't a lie. “We'll figure this out together.”

I reached for her, but she pulled back. “No, I'll figure it out alone. This is my job as a detective, not yours.”

“Why are you being this way? I'm offering you my help, and you're just going to reject it?”

She slammed the trunk and brushed off her hands. “I... I think it's best if we go our separate ways. If we see each other at the scene of a fire, then that's fine, but –”

“Whoa there.” I crossed my arms. “Separate ways? What's got into you suddenly?”

“I've just been thinking. You and I hanging out together is a bad idea.” Again, she wouldn't look at me. “You did so many illegal things the other night. Dangerous things that could have gotten us both killed. What kind of cop am I, letting you get away with stuff like that?”

“You had a blast and you know it. Nothing wrong with having fun every now and then.”

“There is when that fun is against the law!”

Why did she put so much stock in the legal system? It had never done much good for me.

She slid into her car and stared blankly at the wheel. “What we did afterward never should have happened, either.”

“Oh, so that's what it's all about. What's the problem? You pissed off that I didn't ask you out to a fancy dinner beforehand?”

“No, I'm mad at myself for making so many stupid decisions.” She hung her head. “I thought I could just let go and enjoy things for one night. But I guess I couldn't.”

I was sure plenty of chicks had regrets after sleeping with me – not that they didn't have a good time, but because they knew the way I was. After a couple of times in the sack with the same girl, I grew bored and moved on to the next.

I could've done the same with her, but that just seemed so
wrong.
She was too interesting, too enchanting, to give up.

“You looked like you were enjoying it to me,” I said.

She started the car. “I've got to go. I'm on duty. No time for pointless chit-chat.”

Just before she put it in drive, something caught my eye on her windshield. It was a square of white paper, neatly folded, tucked beneath the wiper blade.

“Wait! There's a paper on your window.”

She gave me a look like she didn't believe me, but then saw it herself. Eyes wide, she climbed out and fetched it from the wiper.

I looked over her shoulder as she unfolded it. When I saw those big, black capital letters, my heart jumped.

It was the message, though, that put a fear in me like none I'd ever felt before.

There was a photo of an unnamed man printed on the paper, along with the words, “Does he really deserve to live?”

“Who is this man?” Madison whispered. “Is he going to try and kill him?”

The next sentence made my stomach sick. When she read it, she immediately put her hand on her gun.

“P.S. Stay away from Madison,” it said. “She's mine.”

Chapter 10 - Madison

The letter we found at the trailer park should have been submitted as police evidence. Instead, I clung to it, pulling it out constantly to re-read those horrible words.

The threat of a possible impending murder was bad enough, but that other thing...

Whoever the arsonist was, he knew me by name. Worse, he claimed that I was “his.”

What was his game? I'd heard the odd story of criminals becoming obsessed with the detective on their case.

The thought of it was horrifying. If this guy had a thing for me, who knew how far he might take it?

Or maybe he knew me personally, in real life. That was worse by far.

“I've not seen you look so determined in quite a while.” Harvey sidled up to my desk, chowing down on a slice of Frank's birthday cake. “This arson case is really a big deal, huh?”

I quickly folded the letter over so he wouldn't see the bottom half. “Yeah, it's a mess. I just want to catch this guy before he hurts anybody. We've been incredibly lucky there were no injuries so far.”

Harvey set another plate of cake on my desk with a smile. He was trying to cheer me up; knew I couldn't resist that strawberry buttercream frosting.

“Maybe later,” I told him. “I don't really have an appetite right now, as you can probably imagine.”

He shrugged and took it for himself. “If this truly is a serial arsonist, I don't get it. Why isn't Victor assigning more officers to the case? He gonna make you handle this by yourself?”

“Who knows what he's thinking?”

“Oh, yeah, that's why I came to see you in the first place. Victor wants you in his office when you got a moment.”

My stomach felt sick. Whatever he wanted, it wasn't good.

Harvey turned to leave. I grabbed his arm and showed him the photo that came with the letter.

“By the way,” I said. “You have any idea who this man is?”

He barely glanced at the image before nodding.

“Course I do. That's Freddy Ventura. Guy killed five women in Florida.” He wrinkled his nose. “Sick bastard. He was supposed to serve a life sentence, but thanks to his connections and deep pockets, he was out on the streets in less than three years.”