Synopsis | Reviews | Excerpt
Called the Chessman for the game pieces left behind in
the wake of deadly fires, the arsonist is intent on making The Last Move.
Arson Investigator Katie
Sullivan is determined to find the serial arsonist who murdered her father, but
the arsonist is playing a deadly game with her, and only the winner will live.
Sheriff Drew Winters is
just as determined to keep Katie, the woman he loves, alive and, if need be,
save her from herself and her blind, reckless quest to succeed. They were a
couple before and could be one again.
Flames and death await them
at every turn. Can they survive? Who will die and who will ultimately declare
checkmate depends on Katie’s skill as an arson investigator and Drew's
abilities as a detective to outsmart the Chessman.
Liz Sinclair is the award-winning, bestselling author
Elizabeth Sinclair, who’s written numerous novels and two acclaimed
instructional books for writers. Her novels have been translated into seven
languages and are sold in seventeen countries. She lives in St. Augustine,
Florida, with her husband and two dogs.
Visit her at ElizabethSinclair.com.
Coming soon!
Prologue
FIRE CHIEF JACK Sullivan was
about to die a hideous death... and he knew it.
"Ironic, isn’t it, Jack?”
The serial arsonist Jack had been pursuing for two years and had dubbed the
Chessman smiled. "You’ll be dying at the hands of the one thing you’ve been
fighting all your life—fire.”
He slipped on protective
latex gloves and then took a can from the small black bag at his feet. Slowly,
he poured until the liquid formed a large puddle on the floor near the
warehouse wall.
The distinctive, almost
sweet odor of acetone made its way to where Jack sat on the opposite side of
the room, his hands and feet bound with duct tape. Jack’s blood went cold.
"Ah, you recognize that
smell. Smells like...” The Chessman sniffed the air like a
demented puppy. ". . . death.”
"Why in hell are you doing
this?”
His captor recapped the can
and turned to Jack, brows furrowed. "Oh, let me see. Because you couldn’t let
it go? Because you deserve it? Because you’re not the super fireman you think
you are?” Then he grinned. "Maybe... I’m doing
it... just because I can.”
The
Chessman dug into the bag and hauled out a light bulb, an electrical cord, an
eye dropper, and a small jar of pinkish liquid—gasoline. All the makings of an
incendiary device that, once it ignited in the pool of acetone, would blow
Jack’s ass to hell and back. Cold dread washed over him. He tried to edge
backwards, but the wall at his back blocked any escape.
"Is
that fear I see on the great Jack Sullivan’s face?” The crazy bastard sniffed
the air again and sighed contentedly. "Yup, I can smell it. You know exactly
what all this is, don’t you, Jack?” He flashed a twisted grin. "Gonna make a
hell of a fire.”
Jack
knew all right. It was one of the simplest incendiary devices around. Any
rookie fireman knew that it would take only one small electrical spark to blow
the bulb and ignite that innocent-looking puddle of liquid into an explosive
inferno. In minutes, the temperature in this room would go from that of a
sultry Florida day to that of the inside of a steel blast furnace. Unless he
got out of here, they’d be sweeping up what was left of him with a broom and a
dustpan.
Jack
kept an eye on his tormenter. He’d been so sure the Chessman was a female, but
now doubts seeped into his thoughts. Women didn’t build incendiary devices as a
rule. "Female fires,” as the guys referred to them, were normally set with
newspapers or piles of laundry, not intricate devices like this guy was
building. Still, everything else, all the clues he’d gathered, had pointed to
the Chessman being a female. And something gut deep told Jack his instincts
were right.
Right
now, however, the gender of the arsonist was the least of his worries. He had
to get the hell out of here and fast.
Think.
You’ve been in tight spots before. Ass-on-the-line situations. But never one
with zero odds. Until now.
The
coppery taste of blood filled his mouth and mixed with the bitterness of the
most intense terror he had ever known. In his heart, Jack knew this crazy
bastard wanted him defeated, pleading for his life, but he’d bite his tongue
off before he’d give the bastard the satisfaction of begging.
Despite
his resolve not to show it, the signs of his fear began to manifest themselves.
Sweat beaded on his brow and ran into his eyes. Panic clawed his gut raw.
Nausea rose up, gagging him with his own bile.
He
shook his head to clear it. Choices. What are the choices?
Maybe
the crazy son of a bitch would listen to reason. "Think about this. Do you want
to live the rest of your life looking over your shoulder? Is this what you
really want to do?”
"Oh,
this is absolutely what I want to do.” The arsonist stopped working and tapped
the eye dropper against his cheek. "You know, Jack, you were always playing the
big-shot hero. And it never occurred to you that you were flawed, just like the
rest of us mortals. If you had been as terrific as you saw
yourself...” His tormentor spoke softly, almost lovingly, as
he went back to assembling the device. ". . . you wouldn’t have to die...
and neither would Katie.”
Jack’s
heart skipped a beat and then seemed to freeze in his chest.
God,
No! Not my beautiful Katie.
Not
his only child. Stark fear turned to rage. "What the hell does Katie have to do
with this? This is between you and me.”
The
Chessman shook his head. "’Fraid not. She’s inherited your genes. And now that
she’s back, I know it’s just a matter of time. She’ll take her fire
investigation job much too seriously for her own good, and, sooner or later,
she’ll become a liability for someone, just like you were for me.” He shrugged.
"Eventually, she’ll have to pay for her mistakes, too.”
Like
you were for me. What the hell did that mean?
Jack
struggled. The duct tape’s edges cut slashes in his wrists. He didn’t have time
to think about what it meant. Katie’s life was at stake. He had to stop him.
"You hurt her, and I’ll—”
"You’ll
what?” The arsonist’s face contorted in rage. "You’ll sic your fire minions on
me? Those poor excuses for do-gooders, the supposed so-called protectors of the
community?” He laughed manically. Instantly, his rage evaporated into a
whimsical smile. His voice took on a sing-song cadence. "But you can’t, Jack,
because in a few minutes, you’ll be a crispy critter. But I’ll be alive,
watching her, waiting for her to make a mistake, just like her hotshot daddy
did.”
He
hummed an off-key tune, and with deliberate concentration, he drilled a hole in
the base of the light bulb, dropped in gasoline from an eye dropper, taped it
over, then screwed the light bulb into the socket and laid it in the acetone
puddle. "You may believe you’re all perfect, but the truth is you’re not.
You’ve made so many mistakes and have so many dead bodies heaped on your soul,
Jack, I don’t know where to start.”
Helplessness
gnawed at Jack’s gut. Once more he battled to free his hands, to save himself,
to save Katie. The edge of the duct tape tore into his skin. Warm blood
trickled down his cold fingers. He ignored the pain and the blood. He had to
get the hell out of here. No matter what the cost. He had to save Katie from
this maniac. And, if there was no other way, he’d bleed to death trying.
"I’m
actually looking forward to Katie’s ego tripping her up, too. I have it all
planned, you know. I’ve been working on it for a long time, every detail, every
nuance.” He began to hum again, that same tuneless, nerve-wracking ditty. "And
I must admit, with all due modesty, it is masterful.”
Rage,
hot and searing, boiled up from the depths of Jack’s soul. "You son of a bitch!
You hurt her and I’ll haunt you from my grave, you piece of shit.”
Shaking
his head, the Chessman clucked his tongue and continued with his work. "Words.
Just words. Impotent, Jack. Very impotent. Words won’t free you or save that
bitch. It’s too late for that. You have no one to blame but yourself for her
death. After all, you taught her all you know... or think you
do, and you’re the one who screwed up. She has your genes, so it’s inevitable
that she’ll follow in Daddy’s footsteps, and someone else will die
unnecessarily—again.” Taking the plug end of the electrical cord, he inserted
the prongs into the wall outlet.
Jack
tensed for the explosion. None came. Of course not. Crazy this son of a bitch
may be, but stupid he wasn’t. He must have turned off the electricity at the
main breaker box.
"Both
of you need to get what’s coming to you. I outsmarted you, and, if she gets too
close, I’ll outsmart her, too... after I play with her head
for a while.” His laughter echoed across the dirty concrete floor.
Purposefully, he walked over to Jack and then slipped something into his
uniform shirt pocket.
Jack
knew what it was without seeing it. It was a chess piece, the crazy bastard’s
signature, a token he had been leaving at all his arson scenes. The thing that
had eventually led Jack to him.
Roughly,
he shoved Jack onto his stomach and then leaned down close. "When the fire
comes for you, Jack, make sure you keep your face to the floor. I want them to
be able to recognize you and find my little token of...
remembrance,” he whispered softly. "We want to give credit where credit’s due,
right?” He leaned close, his warm, fetid breath against Jack’s ear. "You were
smart enough to finger me. Let’s see if Katie can. It won’t be right away. I
want to give her time to figure this out before it happens. When she’s sure she
knows who I am... I’ll have another barbeque.”
Jack
struggled to turn over, but with his hands and feet bound, he was as helpless
as a turtle on its back. His jailer stomped on his back, pinning him to the
warehouse floor. Rough concrete and dirt ground painfully into Jack’s cheek.
The
Chessman stepped away. Jack stared helplessly at the tips of the bastard’s
shoes. "I have to be going now, Jack. Some careless person turned off the main
breaker box. But not to worry, I’ll fix that on my way out.” He paused. "Too
bad you’ll never know who really toasted you.” Once more, he began to hum, and
then closed the door solidly behind him.
Two floors
down, in the warehouse’s maintenance office, I paused and checked out the main
electric breaker box. "Let there be light,” and, with a rush of utter
contentment, I threw the main breaker on. I listened for the roar of the fire
beast coming to life on the floor above me.
Closing my
eyes, I envisioned the flames crawling up the wall and inching across the
ceiling. Soon the oxygen would be used up and the white-hot flames would feed
on the carbon dioxide. If he hadn’t suffocated by then with the 800 to 1,000
degree air filling his throat, Jack Sullivan would burst into flames from
thermal radiation and cook like the sinners in Pompeii, because that’s how
sinners should go... burned in the fires of hell.
By the time I
heard Jack’s horrific screams, I had reached the front door. I paused and
listened for the conclusive stages of the rampaging flashover, then the last of
the exhilarating human shrieks. My blood was pumping so furiously through my
veins I could hear the echo in my ears. Satisfaction flowed through me like a
cooling breeze after a hot day. But I knew it wasn’t gone for long. Not until
the rest of them joined Jack Sullivan in hell would I know true release from my
hellish torment.
Lighting a
cigarette, I took a long drag, exhaled, and smiled. A good smoke after a fire
had become as satisfying as the climax after sex to me. As I listened to the
sound of burning timber crashing to the floor and ceilings giving way under the
weight of the collapsing building, I finished the cigarette, threw the butt to
the sidewalk, ground it out with my foot, and grinned.
"One down.
Three to go.”
Chapter 1
TWO
YEARS LATER...
Engine
Company 77’s Chief Arson Investigator, Katie Sullivan, stood amid the
smoldering rubble of the used furniture warehouse. She stared fixedly at the
light bulb base clinging to the socket end of a melted electrical cord that
dangled from the sofa’s blackened springs.
Katie
knew this device well. It had been used in a fire she knew intimately. Chief
Jack Sullivan, her father, had died in that fire. No, not just died. He’d been
murdered in a way that no human should have to spend their final moments on earth—burned
alive at two thousand-plus degrees. Then, after the arsonist wreaked his
destruction, the bastard had gone underground.
She
shook off the memories that never failed to sicken her and churn her gut into a
rage. After carefully going over what she’d determined as this fire’s point of
origin, she marked it and the location of the incendiary device for the rest of
her arson squad to photograph and collect.
As she continued her
methodical search for evidence, her stomach knotted with the surge of adrenaline
and a familiar excitement. Finally, she was going to get her shot at this
cold-blooded killer.
She
longed to skip the methodical, step-by-step examination of the warehouse ruins
and go straight to searching out the one thing that would confirm her gut
suspicions that he had resurfaced. But she had to be patient and take the
proper steps drummed into her head by her father and the ATF arson
investigator’s training program. Besides, arson was hard enough to prove, and,
if she was right and this was the serial arsonist, the man who murdered her
father two years earlier, she wanted the case against this slug to be airtight.
She’d waited too long to screw it up now.
Perspiration
poured down her sides beneath the protective suit she wore. Steam still emanated
from the puddles of water left by the fire hoses. It would take more than the
three hours she’d been forced to wait before entering the fire scene for
everything to cool down. She could almost smell the acrid odor of smoke, burnt
wood, plastic, and the sweet, fishy odor of burnt polyurethane foam shielded
from her by the mask covering her mouth and nose.
She
walked across the cavernous room that had housed an assortment of used
furniture and stepped into a smaller, adjacent room. This part of the building,
while sustaining a great deal of damage, was on the side the fire had not
completely destroyed.
"Sullivan!”
Shit!
The
strident, male voice drew her attention away from the burnt debris littering
the concrete floor. She turned to see the Incident Commander Jerry Braniff
striding toward her, his face distorted with anger. Braniff was not one of her
favorite people, nor was she his. They’d been butting heads since he’d joined
the department.
Though
his fire gear covered the man beneath, Katie knew him to be unmarried,
unattached to a girlfriend, and a prime candidate for a hunky firefighters’
calendar. She’d seen women swoon over his dark good looks and muscular body.
But she knew the man beneath all that outer charm, and she didn’t like him. He
was a user and an opportunist intent on climbing the ladder to District
Commissioner and willing to step on whoever he needed to achieve his goal.
Katie
slipped the face mask down and let it hang around her neck. "You’re
contaminating my fire scene,” she said, leaning on her shovel.
"Since
I haven’t released it yet, it’s not your scene. What the hell are you
doing in here?” he demanded.
From
the first day Katie had joined Engine 77, they had not seen eye-to-eye on much
of anything. He viewed her as a renegade, out-of-her-depth female who’d gotten
her promotion to lieutenant, not because she’d completed the ATF course and did
it with honors, but because her father had been Chief. While Braniff was a
heartthrob for most other women, for her, he was no more than a splinter under
her skin. No—infection. Just a constant irritation and a major pain in her
investigative butt and, right now, a distraction she didn’t need.
"I’m
doing my job,” she said through clenched teeth and with barely-contained anger.
"Yeah,
and as usual, you’re making it harder for me to do mine. This is an unsecured
scene. We haven’t done a check for weakened structure yet. You could have
gotten yourself buried under a roof cave-in.”
Holding
her gloved hands out, she scanned the room then glared at him. "Well, as you
can see, that didn’t happen. So your point is?”
Jerry
shook his head. "My point is your freaking hotshot attitude. When are you ever
gonna learn that rules were made for a reason? You’re not to enter until I’ve
secured the scene, and you damned well know it. I should report your ass.” He
looked around, his anger and frustration evident in his stiff back and
clenched, pulsating jaw.
She
needed to get back to her search. "Look, I don’t have time for this right now.
So, do what you gotta do.”
"Well, you better freaking make time,
Sullivan,” he yelled, shaking a finger in her face. "You pull this crap all the
time, and if you don’t care about getting your ass in a shitload of trouble, I
care about mine. My name’s in consideration for Assistant Chief, and I plan on
getting it. And I’m not going to let some gung-ho female screw it up.”
She’d
learned a long time ago to let chauvinistic remarks roll off her back. She’d
also learned to fight fire with fire. "Well, let me tell you something. You’re
contaminating a possible arson scene.”
That
stopped his rampage dead in its tracks. "Arson? You think this was arson?”
"Yes.
Arson. And right now you’re not only contaminating my scene, you’re impeding my
investigation. So unless you want me to report you, which might just take your
name out of the running for Assistant Chief, I’d advise you to get your ass out
of here, and let me do my job.”
He
glared at her, his dislike for her burning in his eyes. Then his expression
altered. A strained truce had been achieved. "How long do you need?” he asked,
his tone controlled, but with a definite knife edge.
"I
just got started.” She glanced around, assessing how much time it would take to
inspect the rest of the building. "Give me another couple of hours, and then my
squad will need time to photograph and collect evidence.”
He
nodded wordlessly, started to walk away, and then turned back. "Did you get
here in time to walk the crowd?”
Katie
nodded and shrugged. "Not much to see. Nobody talking much at all. No pocket
jockeys getting their jollies.” Jerry allowed a shadow of a grin to sneak
through at her description of the arsonist who got his sexual thrills by
masturbating while watching his fire. "I’ll need to look at the video
before I decide if our torch was a happy onlooker or not. What about your guys?
Did they get anything?”
Jerry glanced around him at the damage. "The
guy that turned it in said he saw black smoke coming from that side of the
building, then a rush of bluish-green flames.” He pointed in the direction of
the sofa. "Polyurethane foam. That’s the problem with these used furniture
warehouses. Most of the contents were made before the stuff was outlawed, and
there’s enough polyfoam in them to burn down a city block. I’m surprised the
whole thing didn’t go up.”
Katie begrudgingly admitted he was right. This
fire should have done a lot more damage than it had, but whoever set it made
sure that it didn’t by starting it in an isolated section that didn’t have too
much furniture to fuel the fire. "That’s because our torch wanted to make sure
it didn’t go that far.”
His full attention swung back to her. "You onto
something?”
She glanced around the room, and then shook her
head. No point in her going into what she’d found until she had the final
proof. "Right now, I’m just working on a strong hunch.”
That seemed to satisfy him. "Well, let me know
what you find.” He started to leave, and then stopped abruptly. "By the way,
the news vultures are already gathering. Watch what you tell them.”
Her already stretched nerves tightened more.
Not much brought her anger to a boil faster than the media at a fire scene. She
avoided talking to them any way she could. Everyone in the firehouse knew her
opinion of the news sharks, and so did Jerry. But she didn’t have time for his
crap, so she ignored his insinuation that she was a blabbermouth media darling
and nodded, then glanced over Jerry’s shoulder for any sign of the Fire Chief.
"Is Bill around?” She was eager to tell her
surrogate uncle about her hunch.
"Not now. He was here. Got here before the
first truck. But he left a little while later. Said he had a meeting with the
mayor.”
Made sense. With the fire department’s budget
coming up for consideration by the city council, she supposed the mayor took
precedence, even over the fire monster.
As Jerry
stepped outside, she could hear the clamor of reporters throwing questions at
him. Damned media. They seemed to smell smoke before the alarms came in.
She shrugged. Time to worry about them later.
Aiming her flashlight beam at a scorched metal
file cabinet with the remains of singed file folders spilling out of the open
drawers, she resumed her search. As she fanned the beam of light over the room,
a small object, sitting on the dripping windowsill to the right of the cabinet
and silhouetted by the meager light coming through the grimy window, caught her
eye.
Her gut clenched. Blood pounded in her ears.
She moved closer, sloshing through puddles of black water and keeping the
flashlight beam trained on the object, her heart racing. Carefully, she stepped
over a charred desk chair frame; a few half-burnt cardboard boxes, their
contents nearly unrecognizable; and some chunks of ceiling tile that had fallen
to the floor.
Once she stood in front of the window, she took
a deep breath. Blackened a bit from the smoke, but totally recognizable, she
stared down at a white marble chess piece... a pawn, the
piece that usually started the game.
An icy chill chased down her spine. Her
suspicions had been right on target. It was the signature of the Chessman.
The son of a bitch was back.
AFTER KATIE GAVE final instructions to her
arson squad, then stepped outside the burned building a few hours later, the
dogged reporters swarmed around her like a pack of starving, wild wolves,
hungry for any bit of news she could feed them.
"Lieutenant
Sullivan, how did the fire start? Was it arson?” A female reporter rushed
Katie and shoved a microphone bearing the Channel 8 logo in her face.
"Do you know who did it?”
"Was it for the insurance?”
"Did you find the point of origin?”
"What was used to start it?”
"Was anyone inside?”
The questions flew at Katie with the speed of
bullets leaving the barrel of a machine gun. Impatiently, she gave them her
token answer. "It’s still under investigation.”
She continued pushing forward through the
choking crowd, the aluminum evidence case, which contained the documented chess
piece concealed in an evidence bag, clutched tightly in her hand.
"Can’t you even give us an educated guess as to
the cause and estimated damage?” The insistent, raised voice of a man in his
early twenties came from midway into the crowd of reporters. With his notepad
at the ready and his eager expression, he reminded her of Jimmy Olsen of Supermanfame.
"I don’t make guesses,” she retorted in a
clipped, impatient tone, and then turned away.
She’d
just spent four hours rooting through the burned-out ruins of Scott’s Used
Furniture Warehouse. She smelled like a horse fresh from a run in the Kentucky
Derby. The helmet, now tucked beneath her arm, had turned her sweat-soaked hair
into a tight, black cap of curls. Soot smeared her cheeks and hands. Her nose
was full of the stench of smoke. Her nerves were stretched as tight as they
would go and, if these reporters didn’t lay off, one of them could end up
having an up-close-and-personal relationship with the toe of her boot.
In
an effort to avoid their torrent of questions, Katie took an escape route
straight into a wide, muscular chest covered by a sage green shirt. Directly in
her line of vision, a star pinned to the pocket that read Coral County
Sheriff’s Department reflected the bright sunlight. She staggered backwards.
Strong hands came out to catch her shoulders in a firm grip.
"Whoa!
What’s the hurry, Katie?”
Removing
herself from his grasp, she looked up into the familiar face of Sheriff Drew
Winters, the only person who could make her blood run hotter than one of the
fires she investigated. Worry and concern darkened his brown eyes. It irked her
that he questioned her ability to take care of herself, but the way her body
came alive at his touch threatened to override her irritation. Quickly, she put
distance between them.
"Getting
here a bit late, aren’t you, Drew? The fun’s all over.” Anger tainted the
humorous tone she’d sought for, turning her intended quip into a snappy
judgment.
Drew
sighed and dropped his hands to his sides. "I had a prisoner to pick up in
Sarasota and just got back.”
Just
then, Jerry emerged from the burnt shell of the building. She used it as an
excuse to break eye contact with Drew. "Jerry, my team should be done in there
in the next half hour. Once they’ve finished, if it’s all right with Drew, you
can release the scene back to the building’s owner.”
Jerry
glanced at Drew.
"No
fatalities, right?” Drew asked.
"Only
a bunch of sofas that should have been put out of their misery back in the
seventies,” Jerry said, obviously avoiding eye contact with Katie.
"Then,
I guess you can release it when you’re sure it’s out, or when Katie’s team is
done. Whichever comes first.” Drew glanced at her for her okay.
She
nodded.
The
Incident Commander turned his attention to Katie and frowned. "Make sure they
have everything. Once it’s released, if you forgot anything, you’ll need a
search warrant to go back in there.”
Dammit! Why did he
think she needed to be reminded of something she already knew? She hated being
treated like an idiot, and Jerry seemed to enjoy doing it every chance he got.
However, she was too tired to go head-to-head with him again. "Don’t worry,
we’ll get it all.”
As she watched Jerry walk toward the big
ladder truck parked at the side of the building, she became extremely aware of
Drew’s gaze on her.
"Problem?”
She
shook her head. "No more than usual. Someday, he’ll get used to me being a
woman.”
"Then
he’s a better man than I am.” When she swung her gaze to him, Drew quickly
averted his study of her to the burnt shell of the warehouse. "So what’s the
verdict? Insurance?”
Happy
for the change of subject, Katie glanced over her shoulder at the reporters.
The young man had broken free of the pack and was advancing on them with
purpose in his stride.
"Damn!”
Taking Drew’s elbow, she steered him toward his patrol car and out of earshot
of the nosey media.
Against
her will, as they walked, her gaze veered to Drew. He was a handsome,
no-nonsense man, whose Seminole father’s blood shown vividly in his dark hair
and eyes and coppery skin. After helping his widowed mother raise three younger
siblings and then serving four years in the military, Drew had become a deputy
sheriff. His crackdown on the drug dealers trafficking their wares up and down
I-95 had gotten him elected to the position of Coral County Florida’s Sheriff
by an overwhelming majority. His background had made him a guy who went by the
letter of the rules, something Katie had never learned to do.
Shortly
after his election, he and Katie had had a rather torrid affair, which she had
called off a few months later, shortly after her father’s death. Unfortunately,
Drew had never accepted the end of their relationship. She’d never been able to
make him understand that it wasn’t him. She just wasn’t ready to risk her heart
with anyone. Until he did see her side of this, she struggled to keep her
strong attraction to him under wraps. But that didn’t mean that Drew did, and
as a result, she found herself constantly on her toes around him.
They
settled inside the patrol car. The smell of stale coffee coming from several
empty Styrofoam containers rolling around the floor amid convenience store
sandwich wrappers at her feet attested to his long drive. The killer heat
building within the car’s interior magnified the pungent odor to the point of
making it sickening. She rolled down the window next to her.
"This
fire was no accident, and it wasn’t for the insurance.” Handing him an evidence
bag she’d pulled from her case, she explained, "I found this.”
Drew
took it. For a scant moment, his gaze stayed on her face, then something
shuttered his emotions, and he looked at the object in the bag. His eyes
widened and a frown creased his broad forehead. "He’s back.” Though the words
emerged as barely a whisper, there was no missing that his tone was grim.
She
tried to contain her excitement and failed. "It’s him, Drew. The
Chessman. I know it. I also found his signature incendiary device under a
burned-out sofa. The polyfoam filling almost destroyed it, but there was enough
left to recognize a light bulb with a small hole drilled in the metal base.”
She laughed sardonically. "Who would believe that anything that simple could
become a lethal weapon?”
Drew
stared through the windshield at the warehouse. "Considering what it could have
done, there’s not much damage.”
She
agreed. "We’re lucky it’s all not just a pile of ashes. My guess is that he
planned it that way.”
Drew
sighed and shook his head. "So, not only is he back, he’s getting more brazen.
Setting a fire only minutes away from the firehouse? Is he crazy?” Then his
broad brow furrowed. "Why would he plan it that way?”
"He’s
making a point.” Drew frowned at her and handed the bag back to her. Their
fingers touched and a jolt of awareness zipped up Katie’s arm, straight to her
heart. Quickly, she opened the car door, climbed out and then leaned down to peer
at him through the open window. "By setting the fire under our noses and
controlling the destruction, he’s letting us know he’s so clever that, even
when we’re on top of it, we can’t stop him. This whole thing is a game to him.”
She held up the evidence bag containing the chess piece. "Well, it’s my move
now.” She stepped back. "Gotta go.”
As
she started to walk toward her SUV, Drew called to her. "You can’t run forever,
Katie.”
There
was no need to ask what he meant. Their relationship had moved from "Hi, how
are you?” to "Welcome to my bed” with astounding speed. And she’d been as eager
as he was to jump in the sack. Now, how did she make him understand that it had
been a mistake?
How
did she make him understand that she had real reservations about becoming
emotionally attached to a man who looked death in the face every day when he
pinned his badge to his shirt and strapped on his gun? How did she make him see
that she could not lose another man she loved?
Right
now, however, she didn’t have time to try. She had other things to do before
she worried about her private life. Though Drew did things to her heart and
body that no other man could, she had firmly made up her mind to let things
cool down. With the reappearance of the Chessman, she didn’t have what it would
take to engage in an emotional battle with Drew and concentrate on catching the
bastard who’d killed her father, too.
"I
don’t know what you mean. I just have to get back to work.” Feigning ignorance
of anything went against her grain, so she did it poorly.
"Don’t
play stupid, Katie,” Drew said. "You’ve been avoiding me for a long time.” His
smile clearly said he had not given up the chase.
When
the sunlight caught on his badge and reflected a blinding flash in her eyes, it
gave her just the excuse she needed to look anywhere but at his determined
expression. She didn’t have time for this crap. Not now. Not when she had the
chess piece to process. Not when she was looking at her best chance in two
years to nail her father’s killer.
"Sorry.
Can’t talk right now,” she called, walking backwards and putting distance
between them... literally and figuratively. "I want to catch
Bill when he comes by the firehouse. Then I’m on duty, and I’ll be tied up for
the next few days with reports and such...” Quickly, before
Drew could protest, she spun around, and then hurried away to her car.
While
she piled one excuse not to see him on top of another, Drew watched her go. As
she walked away, she began stripping off the shapeless suit that had protected
her from contamination inside the building. Slowly, the body of the Katie he’d
held in his arms on long, hot nights emerged. He swallowed hard and ripped his
gaze away.
He’d
been willing to give her room, to wait her out. However, the discovery of the
chess pawn had sent a wave of panic through him that had prompted him to tear
down the invisible wall she’d erected between them. Now, chances were that
she’d pull into her investigative cocoon completely, and if he didn’t do
something about it, he’d run the risk of losing her forever—emotionally and
perhaps actually.
He
hated the risks she took in her normal investigations, but a gut feeling told
him that this one would be worse, much worse. He knew she’d move heaven and
hell to find this guy, and if putting her life on the line would do it, then
she wouldn’t hesitate for a second to do so.
"Damn!”
He hit the steering wheel with his palm and watched her drive out of the
parking lot. "Not this time, Katie. You forget that if this is the Chessman,
it’s a homicide investigation, too, and I’m going to be attached to your hip.
If you put your ass on the line for this one, I’m going to be there to pull it
out of the fire, whether you like it or not.” And no one had to tell him that
she’d hate it.
Three hours later...
I stepped over the body of the nude woman at
my feet and smiled. I took one last glance in the direction of the fire that
two blocks away had raged so beautifully for so long. One of my better efforts.
Before stepping off the balcony, I stared
down at the woman. The growing puddle of blood beneath her head made me smile.
She never should have told me she had a balcony overlooking the street that ran
past the warehouse. How could I resist the chance to watch my latest test of
Company 77?
The blood-stained cut-glass vase dropped from
my gloved hand, and I watched as it smashed into a million pieces on the floor.
Then I nudged the woman with the toe of my shoe. Just to make sure. Couldn’t
leave any loose ends. No response. Dead. Just as well. One less slut to walk
the streets and sell her body like a slab of roast beef in a meat market.
Now, to make the next move in my game with
the Sullivan bitch. I tucked one of my calling cards into the woman’s mouth,
then another in her hand and closed her fingers around it. I didn’t want it to
get lost or overlooked. I caressed her cold cheek. The expression of stark
terror frozen on her face made me smile.
"Let the games begin.”
WHEN
BILL O’BRIEN arrived at the firehouse, Katie was studying the firefighters’
preliminary reports at the big trestle dining table in the mess hall.
"Hear
you had a busy day,” Bill said, going straight to the coffeepot and filling a
mug with black-as-pitch coffee.
Carrying
the cup back to the table, he straddled the bench next to her. Katie curled her
nose at the odor of the black sludge that cooked over a hot plate for most of
any given day.
"He’s
back, Bill.” She slid the evidence bag containing the pawn across the table.
Having been her father’s closest friend since childhood, Bill had become her
surrogate uncle early in her life and her strength after the fire that took her
dad’s life. She told Bill about the light bulb she’d found. "Same incendiary
device; same white marble pawn.”
Bill
picked up the bag, examined its contents, and then laid it back down. He
sighed. "After all this time, I thought we’d seen the last of him.”
The
man had set a fire that had killed someone—her father. She told herself that
she’d hoped, when he disappeared, that it would be the end, too. But deep
inside, she had to admit to a deep down exhilaration at having another chance
at nailing the Chessman and making sure he got what he deserved. Too bad they’d
decommissioned Florida’s notorious electric chair, Old Sparky. But a lethal
injection would do just as well. Dead was dead. If she had her way, she’d lock
his sorry ass in a room and set fire to it, just like he’d done to her dad.
She
slipped the bag back into her case. "I’ll lock it up tonight, then I’m gonna
ship everything off to the forensics lab in Atlanta in the morning.”
Bill
frowned. "Why Atlanta? We’ve got a good forensics lab right here.”
She
snapped the lock closed on the case. "I don’t want any slip-ups on this one. I
want the best people in the business to analyze it.” She smiled tiredly and
combed her fingers through her hair. "I missed you at the fire.”
Bill
sipped his coffee, then gave her the same explanation Jerry had given her as to
why he’d been absent from the fire. "Politics. You know the drill. It’s the
same every year at budget time. Kiss the mayor’s ass enough to get him to push
through the increase we need for improvements around here, and hope for the
best.” He shrugged. "So where did you find the device?”
"Under an old sofa. It wasn’t until I saw the
remains of the bulb that I knew for sure it wasn’t an insurance scam.” She
shuffled the papers in front of her. "I just scanned the reports, and all but
one of the firefighters said it wasn’t electrical.” She picked out one of the
reports and handed it to him.
While
he read, she studied the man who had taken her under his wing after her
father’s murder. His looks shouted his Irish ancestry: red hair dusted with
streaks of white, sparkling blue eyes, and a mouth always at the ready to
smile.
"One
of the firefighters said it was electrical?” Bill studied the name at the top
of the report, then gave a short laugh. "Well, this explains it. This guy’s a
rookie. He hasn’t had more than two big fires under his belt. Didn’t know
enough to dig deeper.”
"He’ll
learn, just like I did.”
"Don’t blow your horn too loud, Katie girl.
There’s always someone sharper than you waiting in the wings to throw you off
stage.” He frowned at her. "What are you still doing here anyway?”
Katie
fussed with the sheets of paper that comprised the fire report. "I wanted to
finish these before I went home while everything was fresh in my mind.”
"You look wiped out. Get the hell out of here.
Go home and get some shut-eye.” Bill touched her shoulder, and then began
massaging the bunched muscles he found there. "This torch really has you strung
tight.”
She
pulled away from his touch. "Not really. I’m just concentrating on figuring him
out. And I will figure him out this time. This bastard is gonna be
mine.”
"You
sure?”
Katie
glanced up at him. "When I’m on to something, have you ever known me to let go?
Dad’s favorite story about my childhood was the day I took my first step after
falling down and getting right back up repeatedly for days. He said every time
my bottom hit the floor I bounced up without a tear and tried again. Like a dog
with a bone, he’d say. Well, that’s what it’s gonna be like this time, too.”
Bill
smiled at her, walked to the sink, and then poured the remains of his coffee
down the drain. He turned back to her. "I’m counting on that.”
NORMALLY,
KATIE’S alarm clock went off at 6:30, but when she forced her tired eyes open
and looked at the digital clock on her bedside table the glowing red numbers
read 4:18. She propped herself up on one elbow and looked around the darkened
bedroom that had belonged to her parents, the room she’d moved into after her
father’s death.
Moonlight
shafted through the filmy curtains and reflected off a picture of a uniformed
Jack Sullivan that stood on her dresser. A breeze billowed the curtains out in
front of the window, sending the sheer panels into a sensuous Salome-like
dance. Shadows filled the corners of the room. The bedroom door hung open just
a crack, enough for the hall nightlight to cast a small luminous puddle on the
threshold.
She
listened. Silence filled the old house. Somewhere outside a dog barked sharply
several times, and then quieted when an irritated, disembodied voice called out
"Boomer, shut up and lay down!”
Collapsing
back on the pillow, Katie stared at the ceiling. As exhausted as she had been,
it had felt so good last night to shower, crawl into bed, and forget arsonists,
fires and one very handsome lawman, who had managed to resurrect all her buried
feelings for him with one smile. Surprisingly, despite visions of Drew dancing
through her mind, exhaustion overruled desire, and she’d fallen into a deep
sleep quite fast.
So
what had awakened her? Flash? No. It couldn’t be him. The poor dog had been at
the vet’s for the last two days with a bad stomach upset.
As
she reached to check the setting for her alarm, she heard a muffled sound from
downstairs, as if someone had dropped something on the floor. Intruder? The
hair on her nape prickled to instant attention. She listened for another sound,
but none came. Holding her breath, she threw back the light blanket, and then eased
noiselessly out of bed. From her night table, she took a flashlight and a .38
handgun.
Leaving
the flashlight off, she slipped from her bedroom and tiptoed barefoot down the
hall to the stairs. A cool breeze from below passed through the thin material of
one of her dad’s old flannel shirts that served as her nightgown, raising goose
flesh over her body. Careful to avoid the squeak in the third step, she slowly
descended to the lower hall, her back tight against the wall. With the gun and
flashlight cradled in both hands, and her arms extended in front of her, she
clicked off the gun’s safety and pressed one finger in readiness on the
flashlight’s switch, then positioned another firmly on the gun’s trigger.
Moonlight
streaming through the open front door washed everything in the empty hall in an
eerie silver cast. A breeze burdened with the smell of humid air, freshly mowed
grass, and damp earth nudged the door open another inch or so.
She
stared at the open door. Had she been so exhausted when she came home that
she’d forgotten to lock the door? Not very likely. Upstairs, she could easily
have attributed the noises to the creaking of an old house. But not now. Her
whole body went on alert.
Slowly,
she moved through the living room, sweeping corners and shadows simultaneously
with her sharp gaze and the muzzle of the gun. Nothing. Another muffled sound,
like something being scraped across the countertop, came from the kitchen.
Picking her way in her bare feet, she crept toward the kitchen.
Taking
a deep breath, she clutched the gun tighter and made sure her finger was on the
flashlight’s switch. With one continuous motion, she swung open the kitchen
door and hit the flashlight beam.
There
on the sink, looking like the criminal that he was, crouched a gray tiger-striped
tabby belonging to Mrs. Hanford, Katie’s neighbor. The cat was scarfing up the
leftovers from Katie’s hasty tuna sandwich supper from the night before. On the
throw rug in front of the sink lay the broken pieces of a glass that had held
the milk she’d had with the sandwich. Katie breathed a sigh of relief and
lowered the gun.
"Professor
Higgins, are you trying to scare me to death? And how in hell did you get in
here anyway?” The cat, named for Mrs. Hanford’s favorite stage character, My
Fair Lady’s Professor Henry Higgins, looked at Katie and meowed. "Yes, I
know. The sandwich was just lying there so you helped yourself. Well,” she
added, skirting the broken china and then scooping the cat off the counter,
"it’s been nice, but I have a long day ahead of me tomorrow, and it’s way too
late for me to be entertaining. I’m afraid you’re going to have to leave.”
Katie
padded down the hall, deposited the cat on the porch, then stepped inside and
closed and locked the door. Silently, she stared down at the turn-piece in the
center of the deadbolt. She twisted it to the unlock position, then back to
lock it. The click of the lock sliding into place echoed around the hall.
If
she’d locked up when she’d come home, how had the door been opened to let in
the cat? According to Mrs. Hanford, Professor Higgins possessed innumerable
talents, but Katie was certain they didn’t include breaking and entry.
She
headed for the phone to call the police.
