Page 29 of Arsonist’s Match (Blaze and Badge #1)

The next morning

A thena’s heels clipped across the floor as she entered the situation room, pleased to find all her agents hard at work. Her high from last night hadn’t worn off, and she hoped none of them would detect a glow.

“How’d the meeting with the task force go?” asked Shoops, whose desk was nearest the entrance.

“We’re all on the same page,” she stated, placing a stack of folders on Karen’s already cluttered desk— a unicorn pencil holder? Athena cocked a brow at the cutesy personal item but refrained from banning it from the FBI building.

“Fire Marshal Zapata shared the arson investigators’ interviews from the cannery and Synergy fires. I need eyes on them, fast. Shoops, look for inconsistencies in witness statements or any individual who fits one of our profiles. Also, search for overlaps with Little Rock and Shreveport.”

“Yes, ma’am.” Karen peeked at her from behind her glasses before diving into the files.

Athena strode farther into the office, noting all agents’ attention riveted on her except Paulson, who obliviously plowed ahead on his computer. She halted, hand on hip. “Paulson. Want to let the rest of us in on what’s so riveting?”

He unlocked the brake on his wheelchair and spun to face her, triumph gleaming on his face. “You’re gonna want to see this.”

“Put it on the big screen,” she instructed, hopeful regarding his findings.

Images of documents and a photo appeared on the wall of screens above Paulson’s station. “Meet Calvin Rusk.” Brown hair, brown eyes, rugged cowboy type, no remarkable features, yet older than the profile called for.

Paulson proceeded. “I hit on him for his juvie record—setting a dumpster fire. I know, regular teenage mischief, but he also has an adult record, serving two years for aggravated assault. He lives in Greater Houston, has a trailer on the edge of town, but—”

Raising a finger for dramatic effect, Paulson clicked his mouse, and a speeding ticket appeared on a screen.

“He was in Shreveport the day of the steel pipe factory fire. That spurred me to dig deeper into Rusk and voilà,” he said with a smirk, pulling up a yearbook photo.

“Good old firesetting Calvin went to high school in Tyler, Texas, with cheerleader Beth Knowles, who, if you recall, was the victim recovered from that fire. Coincidence?”

“No such thing,” declared Travis. “Do you want Hernandez and me to bring him in?”

Athena glanced at the ex-Marine, his posture tensing with readiness.

Returning her attention to the screens, she scanned Rusk’s bio. “Has worked several blue-collar jobs, described as a loner, out of touch with his family, but he’s thirty-four, and nothing in his employment history connects him to any targeted business.”

“Only a little over the age range,” Paulson dismissed, “plus, it’s possible he was a hire for the jobs, or the connection might not be with the companies themselves, but employees who worked at them. I can keep running that approach; just give the word.”

“Yes, to both of you,” Athena replied. “Ice, Hernandez, go pick up Rusk and bring him in. Paulson, keep at it and see what else you can find.” Lifting her gaze to the other agents, she declared, “I need more suspects.”

“Ma’am, I’ve been working the ex-firefighter angle,” Campbell ventured. “While there’s a surprising number of washed-out candidates and firefighters sacked in disgrace, this Ricky guy best fits our profile.”

“John?” Athena’s look required no verbal directive.

Agent Pau lson pushed a button to transfer control of the wall screens to Sean’s computer. Instantly, a photo accompanied by various documentation filled the screens. The young man, likely mid-twenties, had a striking smile, thick black hair, and smooth tan skin—every bit the charmer.

“Ricky De León hails from a broken home,” Campbell reported, “and his family moved frequently during his childhood. When his mom was in rehab, he spent three months at an uncle’s place in Little Rock.

While not a star candidate, he graduated from the Fire Academy four years ago and stayed on the job for about a year.

After two recorded reprimands, Captain Hughes of Firehouse Sixty-two fired De León for substance abuse and misconduct.

He showed up to work drunk, argumentative, and took a swing at the captain.

Seems he pulled himself together, though, because six weeks later, guess where he ends up working? ”

Shoops waved a page from a folder Athena had given her. “Synergy Warehouse Collective!” she announced enthusiastically. “The arson investigators interviewed everyone employed at Synergy, and here he is. The notes say he claimed he was home alone, sleeping, at the time of the blaze.”

“Does it specify his position at the warehouse?” Athena inquired.

“Shipping and receiving clerk.”

“Hmmm.” Athena weighed the information. “Troubled childhood, drinking problem, anger management issues, but otherwise a handsome, charming fellow—perfect for being the face of the business, dealing with the tenants and drivers, but a far cry from the rush of racing into burning buildings or saving lives. Firebug? Could have kept it under wraps for a few years. He’s the right age. ”

“Campbell and I could bring him in,” Howard suggested, already jumping out of his swivel chair, a bright expression on his dusky face.

“Why not? Two suspects are better than one,” she concurred.

“I’m driving,” called the ginger agent as he slipped a brown coat over his white shirt and shoulder holster. “You putt around town like a grandma.”

“Who yo u callin’ grandma, carrot top? Just ‘cause I don’t drive like a West Texas Tasmanian Devil, don’t make me a grandma.” Howard hotfooted it after Campbell while Athena shook her head at their antics.

“Good work,” she confirmed in understated praise. “Shoops, Paulson, send me everything you’ve got on these two and then drum up more suspects. I’ll be in my office preparing for the interviews.”

“You’ve got it, boss.” A twinkling smile accompanied Shoops’ cheerful chirp.

Athena settled in behind her desk, eyes flicking between two profiles—one a rugged loner with a violent past, the other a fallen golden boy with charm and demons to match.

Either could be their arsonist. She liked to ensure she already knew most of the answers to questions she’d pose, aiming to catch a criminal in a lie.

The more they stepped in it, the more the noose tightened.

“Now ... which of you has been turning buildings into bonfires?”

Howard and Campbell got back before Ice and Hernandez, who’d gone to bring in Calvin Rusk.

After winning the coin flip, Campbell joined Athena in the stark interview room, where a good-looking young man sat like he’d wandered into the wrong place—too casual, too clean-cut for the steel table and harsh lights.

He regarded them with pleasant curiosity through bright eyes.

“Mr. De León, I’m Assistant Special Agent in Charge Bouvier, and I believe you’ve already met Special Agent Campbell.”

Athena had let her hair down and touched up her makeup before he arrived, dabbing the tiniest drop of Chanel to her throat. A little distraction went a long way.

He inclined his head, appreciation flickering in his eyes before he could rein it in. “This is about the warehouse fire, ain’t it?” he reckoned, not appearing the least concerned. “I already talked to the fire investigator, but, I must say she couldn’t hold a candle to you, Special Agent Bouvier.”

“In charge,” she stipulated, her expression impassive.

“I beg your pardon, ma’am.” Pink rose in Ricky’s cheeks. He laid one hand on the table, the other fiddling with something in his pocket.

“Were you at your job at Synergy Warehouse Collective on the day of the fire?”

“Yes, ma’am, I was,” he answered smoothly. “But I saw nothing suspicious.”

Campbell chimed in. “You told Fire Investigator Ballard that you were at home asleep when the fire broke out. Is there anyone who can corroborate your story?”

Athena caught a soft click from his pocket. Metallic, rhythmic. It stopped, and Ricky swung his other hand onto the table in an irritated motion, resettling in his seat and shooting a glare at Campbell.

“It’s not a story. I was asleep, and, yes, alone, because I’m single right now. Hard to believe, right? But, yeah—bachelor life. Even a catch like me doesn’t always want company.”

“Mr. De León,” Athena addressed him, regaining his attention, “what do you do at Synergy?”

His relaxed manner and amiable smile returned. “I’m a shipping and receiving clerk. Valuable too, as I’m fluent in English and Spanish. That’s pretty much a must in the warehouse business in Houston.”

“I imagine so,” she agreed. “Tell me, honestly now.” Softening her icy stance, Athena leaned forward on her elbows, the open collar of her blouse offering just enough neckline to steer his focus.

“Do you enjoy your job at the warehouse—handling papers, having to be nice to both rough drivers and irate customers?”

He shrugged, his eyes veering lower than Athena’s face. Leaning back, he replied, “A job’s a job. I go to work, collect my paycheck, and go home, like every other feller.”

“Not every other fellow,” Athena corrected, tapping one polished nail on the table. “You used to be a fireman—pretty amazing job, if you ask me. Why’d you change careers from something so exciting and important to collecting bills of lading at a stinking hot warehouse?”

Ricky’s jaw tensed, his eyes sharpened, and he slid his right hand back into his pants pocket.

“Firefightin’ is lit, all right, but the officers at my house had it out for me, always ridin’ my butt.

I’m that guy, you know? The action hero type who saves the day.

But there’s a hell of a lot more to the job that’s not so glamorous. ”

That click again. Same pocket. Same rhythm.

“It didn’t work out.” Ricky raised his chin as if in challenge.

“But isn’t it true,” Campbell prodded, “that you were fired for being drunk on shift and taking a swing at your captain?”

With a fiery glare, Ricky yanked his hand from his pocket and squeezed it into a fist on the table. “That was the story he told. I might have been a little hungover, but certainly not drunk at eight in the morning, and he put his hands on me first.” He glowered, crossing his arms over his chest.

He wore charm like cologne—but press the right button, and the temper blew through like smoke , Athena thought.

“I might fight back if someone put his hands on me,” Athena commented, feigning camaraderie. “And they can hardly blame you for having substance problems with the home life you grew up in.”

A sadness crept across Ricky’s face, his expression like a lost puppy’s. “That has nothin’ to do with any of this. I didn’t start that fire, and I don’t know who did.”

“But you were angry with the fire department for canning you,” Campbell declared.

Heat tore through his raised voice, “Damn right I was mad at them, but I got over it, got another job. And Mr. Cooper, who runs Synergy, is happy with me—not about to fire me. You should be talkin’ to Jolene Carver. She’s the one who got fired.”

Athena’s senses quickened at De León’s insinuation. Was this an attempt to cast blame on someone else? The company’s online records didn’t indicate a recent termination, and the fire had destroyed the paper trail.

“When was this?” she inquired.

“I don ’t know, a couple of days before the fire—less than a week,” he answered, his temper waning. “She was some mad too, hollerin’ about suing for discrimination.”

“Thank you, Mr. De León,” Athena said, formality returning to her manner. “Don’t leave town.”

He snorted. “Can’t afford to leave town. I s’pose I should start lookin’ for another job since the warehouse is toast now.”

Athena walked him out, standing across the lobby from the elevator, giving him space. The doors opened. From his pocket, Ricky De León pulled out a silver lighter and snapped it open.

Athena’s eyes narrowed.

Click.