Wildfire (17 page)

An uneasy tingling spread through Lynn and grew to a burning
point as Annie stopped and took a drink of water. “Finally, we discovered him
at the back of the hall playing with matches. Drunk as a skunk that had fallen
into a barrel of moonshine!”

Laughter roared out of Annie, filled Lynn’s head, crashing
over her mind, drowning out sanity. “I just find it funny that he went from
nearly burning down my wedding hall to this heroic firefighter,” she said,
wiping tears from her eyes. “Miracles do happen.”

The others at the table also laughed, some snickered, but
Lynn’s guts knotted. Parts of what she’d researched about serial arsonists,
warnings she’d known about dragons and shape-shifters, crowded in to roost in
her mind.

Hernandez was right. A lot of arsonists, or people who are
attracted to fire, did join fire departments, especially the volunteer ones.
Many of them had childhood stories that involved them starting fires or playing
with matches. The motive in many instances involved being a hero.

Lynn excused herself and pushed away from the table. She
tossed her half-eaten cake into the garbage. A chill seeped into her, spread
inside her veins contaminating cell after cell. She’d lived through the
quick-trigger temper and all the trouble that came with it, before
Obaa-chan
had taken her in hand and trained control into her.

She stumbled through the crowd. Her eyes searched for Jack,
passing from face to face. Finally, she found him. He was dancing with the
tall, blonde Kate Harrington. Again.

The dragon churned inside. Her thoughts gathered in her head
in a large, screeching, pulsing cloud of darkness. Jack liked historical
things. Maybe all that talk about history was a cover? He wouldn’t burn the
hotel. But they caught him playing with matches. He wouldn’t let a man die. Or
would he? Did she know Jack Callaghan at all?

Chapter
17

She snatched up the phone to call Anderson, but stopped halfway
through punching in his number. The man wasn’t exactly media-savvy or friendly.
Maybe she’d have better luck getting information if she cornered the
investigator in his office.

A brisk walk in the nice, crisp morning could also help
clear her mind. Lynn grabbed her notebook and a couple of pens and set off for
Tom Green County Sheriff’s Department, where Anderson’s office was located.

The repeated trill of a bicycle bell caught her attention,
drew her eyes. The homeless man in the black, tattered coat wove his bicycle
back and forth on the other side of Harris Avenue, almost parallel to her. He
gave her a gap-toothed smile and a lazy wave.

The dragon growled deep inside, wanting to lunge across the
four lanes of flowing traffic. Lynn fought the urge, eyeing the man. Bulging
plastic bags tied to the back of his bike swayed as he slowly pedaled forward.
For an instant their eyes met and held. Then he passed her, sped up and turned
the corner. Breath petered out of her as she resumed walking. Dragons and ghosts.
She really needed to end this.

Taking a last gulp of the smoke-scented fall air, Lynn
climbed the three steps of the drab, flat-roofed, one-story building that
housed the Sheriff’s Department. As she pushed through the door, three pairs of
eyes turned toward her.

Two deputies and a clerk hovered behind a Formica
countertop. The scratchy tones of the police monitor bounced off the metal
desks and file cabinets, and added to the chaos in Lynn’s mind. She parked
herself at the front counter and asked for Anderson.

The clerk made a discreet phone call. “He’ll be out to get
you in a minute.”

The soft whir of overhead cameras tempted her to wave and
make funny faces. If they were going to record her every move, might as well
give them something to talk about. Then again, maybe not the best plan.

Finally, Anderson emerged and led her deeper into the belly
of the building, to his office. Her nose twitched at the sweet scent of tobacco
lacing the air and she fought back a sneeze as she settled into a plastic and
metal chair with no padding. Anderson obviously didn’t want visitors to hang
around and chitchat. He pinned her with a cool stare. “So what can I help you
with?”

Lynn flipped open her notebook and clicked her pen. “I have
a few questions about the fires in Paradise Valley,” she said. “I’m collecting
information for an overview story I’m working on.”

Eyes fixed on her pen, Anderson leaned back in his chair and
crossed his arms. “Shoot.”

“Are these fires related?”

Anderson’s cold blue eyes returned to her face. “Why would
you think that?”

Nerves danced a jig in her stomach. She mustn’t lose control
of the interview. Lynn squared her shoulders. “Well, you’ve been at all the
recent fires,” she said.

He nodded. “I like to be present at every fire scene, just
to check things out.”

“Do
you
think these recent fires are related?”

Silence. Lynn willed herself not to break it. Anderson and
she calmly gazed at each other across his desk littered with files and stacks
of paper. Finally, Anderson sighed. “We’re investigating that possibility,” he
said.

“Have you found anything suspicious at any of the fires?”
For it to be on the record and her able to report it, he’d have to mention the
footprints and the cigarette butts.

Anderson steepled his fingers under his chin. “This is an
open investigation, so I can’t talk specifics,” he said. “Let’s just say the
frequency of the fires is disturbing.”

Lynn took a deep breath. She racked her brains to glean
something helpful from all the research she’d done.

“Experts say there are generally two types of arsonists— the
amateur firebugs and the organized serial arsonists. What do you think we have
here?”

Anderson sat up straight. His eyebrows rose in surprise. For
a moment, he chewed at his lower lip, making his mustache jog. “Off the
record?” he asked.

“Sure,” she said. “But we might have to revisit the issue
later for the record.”

“We think we might have an amateur whose habits are
escalating,” he said.

“What do you mean?”

He mentioned a series of grass fires and abandoned building
fires had preceded Lynn’s arrival. Then there was Jen’s fire, an occupied home.
“He seems to need bigger and bigger thrills as time passes.”

He pulled out a cigar and lighter from a desk drawer. The
flame drew Lynn’s gaze like a magnet.

“It could also be that the person is trying to keep down the
danger but his fascination grows and his willpower fails,” Anderson said, then
paused to chuff out a couple of puffs of sweet scented smoke. “Fire is
dangerous. And now we have a dead body.”

Dread scrabbled down her spine and crouched in her stomach
at his words. “Do you think there could be more? Are people in danger?”

Anderson held up a finger. “Let’s not cause a panic,” he
said. “But catching this person is a priority and the department is working on
it.”

Lynn’s writing hand shook. She slid lower in her chair to
keep her notebook out of Anderson’s view. The rogue needed to be stopped and
time seemed to be running out. Would she be able to handle it? She didn’t have
a choice. Lynn said a silent prayer. An unbidden thought blipped into her mind—
and at the end of it all, she’d have a heck of a story. Front page, top half. A
different kind of excitement flushed through her. My hunt, my story, and I will
handle it.

“I need something on the record,” she said. “Do you have a
suspect?”

“Yes.”

When Anderson didn’t add anything else, Lynn tried another
angle. “A lot of times the amateur fire bugs turn out to be part of volunteer
fire departments.”

Anderson leaned forward and fixed her with a glare. “Part of
that impression is created by the media,” he said. “More stories are written
about firefighters who turn out to be fire-starters because of the irony of the
situation.”

Without missing a beat, Lynn countered, “So, you are saying
there isn’t an issue of arsonists joining fire departments?”

Anderson shifted around in his chair. “No, that’s something
we do have to watch out for,” he said. “All new trainees and volunteers are
carefully screened.”

She asked him to elaborate on the red flags.

“You know, fascination with fires or a disregard of rules
and safety,” he said. “If somebody is over-eager or keeps showing up first on
the scene.”

Fear squeezed her lungs until it hurt to breathe. Jack.
Images of him standing in front of the burning hotel rolled through her mind. She
forced herself to ask the next question. “Do you suspect anyone in the Paradise
Valley Volunteer Fire Department?”

“No comment.”

She asked her standard, “Anything else you want to add?” and
ended the interview. Lynn quickly explained that she was still in the
information-gathering stage and would call Anderson again when she was closer
to writing the story.

“That’s fine,” Anderson said, handing her a business card.
“If anything else comes up, I’ll let you know.”

Cannon barked hard and furious, startling Jack out of his
Tom Clancy novel. Seconds later the doorbell rang. Excitement sprinted through
him. Jack jumped up. Lynn? No reason for her to come calling. Just get over the
girl.

He trudged across the room, grabbed Cannon’s collar with one
hand, and opened the door with the other. Henry Chase stood on the porch,
leaning casually against a post in the universal pose of studied idleness. An
image of him dancing with Lynn pushed into Jack’s mind and made his grip
tighten.

Henry broke into a big smile, stuck his hand out and stepped
forward.

Cannon lunged for him and Henry skipped back.

“Down boy!” Jack wondered why the usually friendly dog was
acting up. “I’ll be with you in a second. Let me put him in the bedroom.”

He returned to find Henry strolling around staring at the
deer heads in the family room. Jack gritted his teeth. Why hadn’t the man
waited on the porch? He let out a breath and willed himself to relax. After
all, he
had
left the door open. “So what brings you here?”

“Just wanted to talk some business with you.”

Jack knew Henry was the San Antone developer’s
representative and that he was in town wheeling and dealing for land. But he
couldn’t imagine what business the man could have with him since he wasn’t
interested in selling.

“Why don’t you come into the office?” He turned and led the
way.

Jack had run into Henry hanging out with some of the
off-duty volunteer firefighters at local bars. His talents included buying
drinks and telling funny stories. Seemed like a nice guy. Yet, Jack’s hands
itched with the urge to punch him. Jack flexed his fingers. How much of his
dislike of the guy had to do with Lynn? Jealousy? That was a new one.

Henry let out a low whistle as he entered the library.
“Nice.”

Jack glanced around. “Thanks. It’s the family homestead.”

Henry caressed the top of one of the armchairs. “Family
heirlooms. Treasures.” He peered into the display case.

Jack eased into the seat behind the desk. Surely the man
hadn’t dropped in on him to talk furniture and knick-knacks. “So, what did you
want to discuss?”

“Wow, you’re all business, aren’t you?” Henry flopped into a
chair.

Jack leaned forward, not saying anything, and stared at his
guest.

“Okay, okay,” Henry held up his hands. “I am here to make
you an offer.”

“I’m listening.”

Henry reached into his satchel and pulled out a neatly bound
Hope Builders’ concept plan for the Paradise Valley area and laid it on the
desk. “We are looking for land and you have a lot of it. I think we could work
together for mutual benefit.”

“Sorry, you wasted a trip. I’m not interested in selling.”

“How come? We’re open to price negotiations.”

“It’s nothing to do with money, I’m just not selling.”

Henry threw him a puzzled frown and scratched his chin. “I
don’t get it,” he said. “From what I hear, you aren’t exactly a popular person
in these parts. Why don’t you just take the money and make yourself a better
life elsewhere?”

Jack’s temper flared. How dare this —stranger— listen to
gossip and draw assumptions about his life? Would Paradise Valley never accept
him for who he was? He looked down at his nails and stayed silent for a long
while until he felt the anger tamp down. Then he looked Henry in the eye.
“Because this is my land, my family’s land, and I will not be run off it by
anybody.”

Now Henry leaned forward. “Some people would contest that
claim.” He shrugged. “From what I hear.”

Jack clutched the arms of the chair, to keep himself from
leaping across the desk. He needed to control his temper.

“Also, heard the Callaghans before you didn’t hesitate to
sell and make a quick buck.” The other man laughed.

The sound grated on Jack’s nerves like the whine of a
dentist’s drill. He pulled his pen knife from his jean pocket and flicked it
open, counting to ten as he cleaned his fingernails with the blade. He’d been
working on his temper, and wasn’t about to be goaded into losing it.
“Well, I guess I am different from the other Callaghan
men.”

Henry looked around the room again. “Come on, man, everyone
has a price. We just have to find the right one for you.” He fingered the
carved grooves in the arm rest. “Tell you what, I like some of this old
furniture you have. How about I come up with a handsome figure to relieve you
of the land, the ranch house and the furniture?”

Jack squinted at Henry. “Not interested.”

“Think about it,” Henry tried again. “You’ll be free as a
bird, with cash to burn.”

Jack rose out of the chair until he towered over Henry.
“Since you’ve been prying into my life, I am surprised you haven’t heard how
stubborn I am,” he grated out. “Me and the rest of the Callaghans are
legendary. You are wasting your time, Mr. Chase.”

Henry flashed him a switchblade of a smile. “Family,” he
said. “Don’t worry, I’ve studied the Callaghan family history rather well. I’m
going to find your price sooner or later. You’re a Callaghan, after all.”

It took a shitload of control not to punch the guy. Jack
prided himself on being a gentleman, but he was about to throw Henry out. He
shook with barely suppressed rage
.
I am
not
my father or my
grandfather or my great-grandfather, he repeated silently. He took a few deep
breaths and felt the calm return.

“Mr. Chase, you’ve run out your welcome. Leave.”

Henry rose from his chair and tipped his hat to Jack. “Until
we meet again.”

Jack had just slammed the door shut, when his cell phone
rang. Damn, he was popular today. He snatched the phone out of his pocket like
it burned him. “Callaghan.”

“Hi there, sweet thang,” Annie said. “You alright?”

“Yeah, just peachy,” Jack bit out. “Why?”

“I just had a feeling you were upset.”

Damn. Annie had an uncanny sense of knowing when things were
off with him.

She interrupted the silence. “You were in demand at the
picnic last night, dancing with all those single gals.”

The feel of Lynn in his arms shot through him. He gritted
his teeth and stalked back to the library. “Well, you’re always after me to be
social, that’s what I was doing.”

“I think Lynn Alexander might have a crush on you,” Annie
said. Once his sister set off, it was hard to derail or distract her. “She made
you out to be quite the hero.”