Page 9 of Fire Fight

I grinned but let it drop, shifting gears to the reason for our meeting.

Twisting to the side, I lifted the lid on the box of files andwithdrew the one on top, the first label reading 24-APRIL-1985, SUNSET RIDGE CAR FIRE.

“Walk me through what you know so far,” I said, passing the file over.

“I’ll be honest, not much,” she admitted, almost absently as she scanned the incident report. “I was contacted by Vicky Lee’s parents. They don’t want to be involved, and they aren’t paying me, but…I was intrigued enough to reach out via phone. We talked for a few hours, and I knew I couldn’t let this one go.” Returning to herself, Aspen glanced up at me. “No parent should ever have to bury their child,” she said vehemently. “I’m going to do everything I can to bring this sick fucker to justice.”

“I appreciate the can-do spirit,” I said slowly, choosing my next words carefully. “But what makes you think you can accomplish what four decades of law enforcement hasn’t been able to?”

“I’m not saying I can. But I can get in places cops can’t thanks to all that jurisdictional and bureaucratic red tape.” She placed her hand atop the open file and jerked her chin at the rest sitting in the box at my side. “I owe it to these women and their families to try.”

“And man,” I said, glancing pointedly at the file under her hand, which detailed the incident that claimed Roger Stanhope’s life as well as Vicky Lee’s.

“And man,” she agreed. “Have you looked at these before?”

“I took a cursory glance between calls last night. As of right now, nothing jumps out at me. But I’m happy to spend as much time with you as you need to go over them and get a grasp on what happened.”

“Well, this first one seems pretty cut and dry. Car fire, right?”

I nodded. “But both Lee and Stanhope were dead before the fire was set.”

Those curious, red-brown eyes latched onto mine and widened. “The fire didn’t kill them?”

“Nope. My brother is the sheriff, and he told me the causesof death for both were gunshot wounds to the head. Buckshot, according to department reports.”

“A hunter?” she asked.

I shrugged. “They were up on the ridge overlooking town that’s only accessed by a woods road, so it could be. Could be they’re not connected to the other ten victims at all. But it was also the first incident of its kind in the area that can’t be attributed to some cops and robbers type shit from the twenties and thirties, and the timing is a little too convenient to be a one-off.”

“Timing?”

“You’re aware of the Prom Night Arsonist moniker.” She nodded, and I patted the box at my side. “Each of these incidents happened on a Dusk Valley prom night, including Vicky and Roger’s deaths. In fact, they’d both been crowned king and queen that night and were dead a few hours later.”

A full-body shudder overtook Aspen. “That’s…horrible. Have you ever worked one of these?”

I nodded. “My first year at the department. I was only a lieutenant back then,” I said, shooting her a wink. “But it was…brutal. Poor girl was found in the school bus garage. All that gasoline…” I gave into a shudder. “Took us hours to knock it down, and by then she was…well, I’ll spare you the details.”

I could still remember the distinct scent of burning flesh permeating the air, mixing with the gas and smoke. The odor was so strong, my SCBA had done nothing to filter it out. Unfortunately, I’d been the one to find her, and I’d never forget the sight of her blackened body.

I’d worked some awful fires in Chicago that had claimed lives, but there was a difference when it happened in your hometown and the victim was a girl you knew in that same way everyone in small towns knew everybody else.

“Captain?” Aspen prompted, pulling me from my memories.

“Sorry.” I cleared my throat. “Whatever you need, you’ve got my and the fire department’s full support.”

“Thanks, Crew,” she said, her warm smile quelling my discomfort brought on my bad memories.

My name sounded so fucking good rolling off her tongue. I wanted to hear it again and again—preferably with my face between her thighs.

Returning it, I said, “No problem.”

Bonnie appeared with our food then, and while we ate, conversation drifted from the case toward more personal things. I was amazed by how easy talking to her was, and I found myself excited about the prospect of having this woman in town for a while.

I looked forward to rolling around in the sheets with her. Somehow, I knew we’d end up there.

No strings, no drama.

Exactly the way I liked it.