Page 138 of Fire Fight

I had this idea in my mind that when I set eyes on that person, I would know it deep in my bones. Like a flesh memory activated by being in his presence again.

But nothing happened. My heart didn’t race, my body didn’t seize with fear. As far as I was concerned, he was a normal man and not a crazed killer.

I took that as a good sign. Maybe this would be nothing more than a horrible misunderstanding.

Lane watched us closely, eyes darting back and forth. Subtly, I shook my head.

“Sheriff?” the man said.

“Hey, Ward. Mind if I ask you a few questions?”

“Regarding?”

Lane jerked his head at me as he withdrew his trusty notebook from his pocket. “This is Aspen McKay. She was the one Crew saved in the shop fire a few months ago.”

Ward nodded. “I remember seeing your picture in the paper. Nice to see you out and about.”

I cringed. Had I mentioned I’d been front page news? Public photos of me in recent years didn’t exist, so they’d used my headshot from mySun Timesdays to accompany the article and a large picture of the burned-out shop.

At least I didn’t look like a gremlin.

“Thanks,” I said awkwardly.

“Now what is this really about?” Ward asked suspiciously.Next to him, Wyatt’s arms were crossed over her chest. “You don’t think…”

Lane put his hands up placatingly. “This is a routine interview, Ward. Nothing to be worried about. All I need to know is where you were on April twenty-second and twenty-third.”

Ward’s mouth gaped like a fish as he searched for something to say. In the course of my career, both as a journalist and private investigator, I’d seen this type of reaction before. He wasn’t grasping at straws, trying to find a way out of being caught in a lie. He was genuinely shocked, knocked on his ass by the question and that he’d found himself in this situation.

I considered myself somewhat of a professional at reading people, and I knew right then this was not the person responsible for killing all of those people and attempting to murder me.

“On Friday, we had dinner here,” Wyatt said, stepping in to save her father. “After, we went out to the Swallow for drinks and to watch the Rockies game.”

Lane glanced at me, but that piece of information, that he’d been in the area at the time I’d been taken, didn’t change my mind. Again, I shook my head.

“What about Saturday?”

Ward recovered at last, clearing his throat before he spoke.

“I was at a couple job sites,” he said. “First, planting flowers at the community center with the ladies from the council, and then I had to go out to Rauschs’ place for spring maintenance and to prep for the new pool they’re putting in this summer.”

Lane blinked, eyebrows flicking upward, as he jotted that down.

“And that night?”

“He was here all night,” Wyatt chimed in. “I came over for dinner again, and we watched the Rockiesagain.” Her teeth were clenched, and I couldn’t imagine how uncomfortable and infuriating this had to be for her. “I went a little too hard on the beer, so I slept in my old room.”

The words rang true, but I didn’t like the way she refused to look at Lane when she spoke, like she was hiding something.

Was it possible she knew more than she was letting on? Was I reading this entire situation wrong? Had that fire burned away my sixth sense for reading people?

I didn’t think so, but Lane picked up on that thread.

“He could’ve snuck out when you were asleep,” he pointed out.

“Not possible,” she assured him. “I’m a light sleeper, and I would’ve heard him disarming the security system.”

Wait. If they had a security system…