Читать книгу Baptism In Fire - Elizabeth Sinclair - Страница 11

Back in the beach condo A.J. kept for relatives from out of town, Rachel threw her briefcase on the sofa, slipped off her gray suit jacket and shoes, then switched on the TV for background noise. While she unbuttoned the pearl studs on her white silk blouse, she stared at the blond, female news anchor on the screen.

“In local news, the Orange Grove Police Department has confirmed that arson investigator/profiler Rachel Lansing-Sutherland has been called in to consult on the serial arsons that have been plaguing Orange Grove for the last six months. Ms. Lansing’s own daughter was abducted two years ago on the night that the Sutherlands’ apartment burned down. The case remains officially open, and our sources in the department say that after such a long period of time, abducted children are rarely found alive.”

Choking back a sob, Rachel pressed the mute button on the remote. She threw it on the coffee table and headed into the bedroom, leaving the voiceless, female anchor on the TV screen resembling a bad mime.

It had taken Rachel a long time to concede to the belief that her beautiful little girl would never come home again, never laugh at her daddy’s silly jokes, never draw those unrecognizable pictures of houses and cows, never drift off to sleep while Rachel sang her favorite lullaby—

Unbidden, the words of the lullaby played through her head. Hush, little Maggie, don’t say a word—

Grabbing the edge of the dresser, Rachel bent double, clutching her heart. Would the pain never go away? The emptiness never leave her arms or her heart? How does a mother forget a part of her?

Maggie’s birth had been the most momentous thing that had ever happened to Rachel. When the nurse laid that tiny being in her arms, their daughter had completed the circle of love she and Luke had found. Rachel had marveled that the fiery passion she and Luke shared could have produced something so small, so perfect, so delicate. Luke adored their baby with the same intensity he applied to his work. Together, the three of them had become a family, sharing their love.

After Maggie’s birth, the love Luke and Rachel had for each other had grown by leaps and bounds until she was sure their lives could only get better. But she’d been very wrong. Ironically, all it took to shatter their happiness was a macabre twist of fate and one match.

Exhaustion pressing down on her, Rachel shook loose of the memories and began undressing for a shower. In the mirror above the dresser, she noted that the necklace she wore constantly had snagged in a strand of her chestnut hair. She disentangled the hair and allowed the chain to drop back against her skin. Staring in the mirror, Rachel picked up the medallion hanging from the chain. The artificial light from the bedside lamp caught in the grooves of the Oriental engraving on the gold disk. While in Japan to escort a prisoner back to the States, Luke had bought it for her. He’d told her it was the Chinese symbol for protection and, when she needed him, she had only to rub it and say his name. The whole idea had been foolish fun, but she had never taken the necklace off, not even after the divorce. During the worst times, after she’d ceased opposition to the certainty of Maggie’s death, just fingering it had provided her with a small sense of comfort, but no matter how often she had said his name, Luke had never come.

With the pad of her thumb, she stroked the familiar squiggle, noting that the edges of the design had become smooth and rounded, unlike the sharp carving it had been when she first got it. She thought of Luke, his infectious laughter, his charm, his magnetism, and wondered if this little hunk of gold had the power to protect her from him as well.

Showered, shampooed and feeling much better about the job she’d agreed to do, Rachel slipped into jeans and a pale green T-shirt emblazoned with Puppy Love Is Forever, flopped onto the sofa and opened the folder. Turning the victims’ photos facedown and moving them to the side, she began to go over the detectives’ narrative reports. Using a yellow legal pad she’d pulled from her briefcase, she divided the top sheet into two columns and headed them Similarities and Differences.

Rachel had just gotten started filling in the columns when her cell phone rang. She stiffened, then remembered she hadn’t given Luke her number. Digging through the congestion of gas and credit-card receipts, loose change and gum wrappers she’d stuffed into her briefcase during the drive south, she found the cell phone and flipped it open.

“Hello.”

“Rachel?” Luke’s voice sent a warm ripple through her.

“How did you get my number?” But he didn’t need to answer. She knew. A.J. When she and Luke divorced, it had been as hard on A.J. as it had them. She was sure this was his subtle attempt at mending the relationship.

“I’m sworn to secrecy,” he said, a hint of amusement in his tone.

“Well, you can tell A.J. that I’m glad it wasn’t my virginity I trusted him to guard.”

Once the words were out, Rachel was shocked at how easily she had slipped back into the habit of exchanging quips with Luke.

Would it be just as easy to slip into other things with him? Keeping an emotional distance between herself and the man she’d once loved beyond logic was imperative. She sat straighter.

He laughed. “Yeah. Where we’re concerned, he never got high marks for keeping a secret.”

An instant replay of the evening A.J. let it slip that Luke had an engagement ring for her crossed her mind. A.J. had waged quite a battle with himself, trying to make up his mind if he should stay and be a part of the big moment or if he should leave them to their privacy. Privacy had finally won out, but not before A.J. had inadvertently blurted out that he couldn’t be happier that his two favorite people had decided to tie the knot. She smiled.

A long silence hung on the phone. Why had Luke called? Just to show her he had the number?

“I’m going over the notes A.J. gave me. Was there something you wanted?”

“I just wanted to give you my cell-phone number.” He recited the number, and she wrote it across the tope of the legal pad.

“Anything else?” she asked, eager to get him off the phone before she obeyed her urge to see him, to talk to him about this big step she’d taken and ask him to please not fight her on it. Silence. She doodled absently while waiting for him to say something.

Then, “Did you eat dinner yet?”

“No,” she blurted a little too sharply, trying to kill the urge to say she’d love to have dinner with him.

He chuckled, deep and sexy. “Even grouches have to eat,” he said, reminding her of the first thing he’d ever said to her. She’d gone with him to dinner that night and every night after that. Their entire courtship had been like that, fast, furious and filled with passion and laughter. Then—

No, dammit, she refused to mourn their marriage. She had enough to mourn without adding that. She stiffened her spine.

“I’m not hungry. I’ll fix something later.” She rarely hungered for anything these days, except what she couldn’t have. Like her daughter in her arms.

And Luke? a little voice prompted.

Before he could say anything more, she heard the unmistakable interruption that signaled an incoming call. “I have to take this, Rachel. I’ll talk to you later. Don’t forget to eat,” he admonished, then hung up.

Rachel stared at the dead phone. An acute loneliness washed over her. She folded the phone and laid it on the coffee table. Not until she felt the cold metal on her fingertips did she realize she’d begun stroking the Oriental pendant. When she looked down at the legal pad where she’d written his number, she saw that she had doodled hearts all around it.

Hours passed, and she’d made good progress on assigning the similarities and differences she’d found in the notes. Under the column headed Differences, she’d listed: marital status, hair color and restraints. Under Similarities, she’d written: chloroform, charcoal lighter, victims alone at the time of the fire, all died from smoke inhalation, no signs of sexual assault, one child, each had a Bible placed under her.

Since starting, she’d added a third column to the paper, headed up with one word—Mine. All the similarities she’d listed also appeared under her column. The only differences were that she’d been married and the others had either been separated or divorced at the time of the fires, and she had not been alone.

The common thread that captured her attention was the Bible. Every serial arsonist had a signature. It could be anything from the brand and kind of accelerant they used to the type of incendiary device and where it was planted. This one evidently had religion and, since religious motives were a twisted version of the arsonist’s beliefs, it could make him one of the hardest to catch.

She was studying the columns, thinking about the profile of the arsonist, when the cell phone rang again. Rachel jumped.

“Hello,” she said, expecting Luke’s voice to come back at her through the receiver.

“Rachel, it’s A.J. There’s another house fire. I’ll pick you up in ten minutes.”

Adrenaline coursed through her, bringing her to her feet. Blood pumped through her veins at an accelerated rate. “Is it our arsonist?”

“Not sure. We’ll know better when we get there. I think it’s worth looking into. We’ve never been on scene while it’s happening before. If it is our torch, we might just find him milling around in the gallery enjoying the fruits of his labor.”

By the time Rachel arrived with A.J. at the fire site, the south side of the house was a wall of flames. Slowly, she emerged from the car, her gaze locked on the burning wood-frame house. This was her first fire since Maggie’s death, and she’d forgotten the sheer power of flames that defied control, the destruction they wreak, the devastation they cause.

Rachel followed A.J. to a position just inside the yellow tape that confined the crowd of curious onlookers to the sidelines. Her training as an arson investigator kicked in, and her gaze automatically scanned the crowd, looking for any sign of someone consumed by sexual excitement, a more-than-helpful bystander, a loner removed from the other gawkers or the deadpan stare of a face transfixed by the flames.

Seeing no one that aroused her suspicions, she turned back to the burning house. The familiar, acrid stink of burning man-made materials filled the air. The sounds of firefighters battling the blaze, yelling orders and calling out words of caution mixed together into an earsplitting cacophony of noise. Then the roar of water leaving a pressurized hose added its voice to the din.

Suddenly, a man screamed a name. Rachel looked toward the voice and saw two firefighters restraining him. The man continued to scream, continued to fight the hands holding him back from running into the building. She stared at him, unable to look away.

“Rachel, I’m going to find the incident commander and see what he knows.”

A.J.’s muffled voice seemed to come to her through a thick fog. She nodded but never took her gaze off the distraught man. It brought back vivid reminders of Luke fighting off the firefighters’ restraining hands at their fire. Only when the man collapsed to the ground sobbing could she summon the strength to drag her gaze back to the house.

Rachel’s nerves began to tighten. She bit down hard on her lip. This is just a fire, she reminded herself. Any fire. Nothing personal.

Orange and red flames shot out the windows of one side of the house. Black smoke dotted with tiny glowing embers billowed toward the night sky. Heat waves blurred the outline of the house, twisting its form into a grotesque image of the actual structure. In her mind, as she watched, the image morphed, growing and changing, rising in the sky until it transformed into a high-rise apartment building, the building she, Maggie and Luke had lived in over two years ago.

In mesmerized horror, Rachel watched the flames licking out the windows and up toward the sky. She could hear someone’s tormented screams. Her chest tightened. Her vision blurred and time took a sharp nightmarish turn backward. Two-year-old images came rushing at her.

Roaring flames.

Thick, smothering, black smoke.

A hodgepodge of voices.

People running everywhere.

No! Not your fire…different fire…different, she told herself repeatedly, grabbing feverishly at her slipping control.

But the images persisted, growing sharper with each agonizing second. Her palms began to sweat. Her stomach heaved. Her nerves bunched into painful balls of icy fear.

Maggie. Gotta save Maggie.

The hypnotic flames pulled at her, urging her forward. But she couldn’t move. Something was holding her back.

Hands.

She strained against the pressure of fingers encircling her arms, but they only tightened. Never taking her gaze from the inferno, Rachel pried frantically at the vise grip of those damn fingers.

“Let go!” She heard her frenzied voice, felt the sweat beading on her forehead. Reality struggled to push through the sharp memories. The pain of reliving this nightmare became more than she could bear.

Can’t go there. Can’t go back.

God, images won’t go away.

She had to block out the images.

Then she felt herself being roughly shaken.

“Rachel!” Luke’s stern voice catapulted her over the final edge and back to reality. “Let it go!”

Mentally, she clawed her way out of the mire of the past. Slowly, very slowly, she relaxed.

For a long moment she stared at him, trying to rationalize where he’d come from and why he hadn’t been affected as strongly as she had. Then she saw his eyes. Reflected there was regret, pain and something else that she couldn’t put a name to.

“I knew A.J. shouldn’t have brought you back here,” he murmured, pulling her into the shelter of his body and holding her so tight she could barely breathe.

She pressed her face into his chest. She hadn’t realized until this very moment how much she had missed his strength. His arms felt so right, so safe, so secure. His closeness blocked out the memories of the nightmare that took their daughter and ultimately their love. If only he’d given her this comfort back then.

Reaching down into her gut, Rachel found the strength to pull away and face him. She tucked her hair behind her ears, then shoved her shaking hands into the pockets of her jeans. “I’m okay.”

“Like hell you are. You’re shaking like a nervous cat. If I hadn’t stopped you, you’d be in there, searching for—” He looked away.

She couldn’t deny it. She’d felt an equal pull only once before in her life—two years ago, at their own fire. That night, once she’d been able to breathe again, all she could think of was getting back inside to get Maggie. Little did she know that, by then, Maggie had been long gone, abducted by the arsonist. “I had it under control.”

His head snapped around. Disbelief filled his expression. “Bull.” His gaze bored into her. “And even if you did, which I don’t believe for a minute, what about the next time? What if I’m not around, Rachel?”

In her heart, Rachel knew that any future fires would be different. They wouldn’t have the kick in the gut that seeing her first fire in two years, up close and personal, had. Until this day, she’d studiously avoided fires on the TV, in the newspaper, and certainly had not stood in front of a burning building. This was just one more thing in the series of firsts she was facing: first photos, first fire, first death.

This time had been tough. She would get stronger.

With shaky hands, she wiped the tears from her cheeks, tears she hadn’t been aware she’d shed. “I’m fine now.” And deep down, she knew she was or soon would be.

Luke’s intense gaze studied her. She met him eye to eye, steady and sure. Irrationally, she was reminded of some of the many reasons she’d fallen in love with Luke Sutherland—his sharp instincts about people and his ability to read them, both of which made him an outstanding cop.

Unfortunately, when it had mattered the most, those same qualities hadn’t carried over into his personal life. When the chips were down, what should have drawn them closer drove a wedge between them that neither of them could get past. Luke hadn’t seen that she’d needed him desperately to help her withstand the loss of Maggie, to help her hold their life together. He hadn’t cared enough about their marriage to help her bind the open wounds and keep their relationship from bleeding to death. He’d thrown away all they had left after losing Maggie…their love. For that, she could never forgive him.

Averting her gaze, she searched the crowd of firefighters for A.J. He was talking to a man Rachel assumed was the fire company’s incident commander. After a moment, A.J. turned and walked back to them.

“We might as well get out of here. It’s gonna be hours before Rachel can get in there to look around and the fire company can determine if there’s another victim to add to our list. Right now, they’re classifying it as just another structural fire. Until they can get inside and look around, no one knows for sure.” A.J. stared at the blazing structure.

“Rachel’s not going in there tomorrow or any other time,” Luke said, his face set in determination.

“What?” A.J.’s shocked voice combined with Rachel’s.

Luke’s expression never wavered. “She’s going back to Georgia. We’ll find someone else. Someone who—”

“No!” Rachel’s fury nearly choked her.

He doubted her ability to come through on the job, all because of what had just happened. But the worst had passed, and she could attack this case with the composed professionalism she’d always shown on her job. His trying to cut her loose before she could prove it infuriated her.

When she spoke again, her tone clearly showed both men just how pissed off she was. Her gaze narrowed on her ex-husband. “Who in hell do you think you are that you can make that decision? I chose to come here from Atlanta to help you. The first time I flinch, you’re going to send me home?”

Luke glared back at her. “That was hardly a flinch. And as for who I think I am… I’m the one heading up this task force, and I need people who won’t fall apart on me.” He stopped, took a deep breath and spoke slowly, as if addressing a child. “I don’t want you here.”

She did flinch this time.

The flames behind them billowed skyward, their hissing roar a reflection of the anger Rachel felt. She took a step closer to him. “You weren’t the one who called me here. And as for me falling apart, I suppose you came to that brilliant conclusion from what happened a few minutes ago.”

“What happened?” A.J. asked.

They ignored him.

“Damn straight I did.” Luke clenched his fists. “I saw how those crime-scene photos affected you this afternoon, and now the fire. Bringing you here was a huge mistake, but there’s still time to fix it before your emotions get you killed.”

“What will get me killed is not having my mind on my job because I’m worried that you’ll throw me on the next bus home,” she shot back at him. “What about you? Are you gonna tell me that your emotions aren’t kicking in on this case?”

His whole body stiffened. “We’re not talking about me,” he said, evading her question. “We’re talking about you, and I say you go home.”

Rachel faced off with him and gritted her teeth.

“Whether I go or stay is my call, and I say I stay.”

“You’re both wrong,” A.J. said, stepping between them. “It’s my call.” He faced Rachel, his features set in an uncompromising expression. “No one knows if you’re up to this better than you do, Rachel. So, I’m only going to ask this once, and I expect you to level with me. Can…you…handle…this?”

“Yes,” she said without hesitation. She glared at Luke over A.J.’s shoulder, daring him to argue the point. “Yes, I can.” A.J. looked deep into her eyes, then nodded. “That’s good enough for me. I’ve known you for a long time, and in that time, you’ve never put yourself or anyone else at risk by taking on a job to prove a point or to feed your own ego. I’m assuming the same still holds true. If you say you can do it, then we’ll go for it.” He turned to face Luke.

Luke opened his mouth, but before he could say one word, A.J. raised his hand to silence further discussion.

“Meet her here tomorrow to walk this scene. Afterward, you can take her to the others. They’ve been officially released, so you’ll need a warrant to get on the premises. I’ll call Judge Hawthorn when I get back to my office and get the necessary paperwork out of the way.”

“Thanks, A.J.,” Rachel said, breathing a sigh of relief.

“Don’t thank me.” His demeanor had transformed from her friend, to a hard-nosed cop. “Do your job. If I think for one second that you’re giving me less than one hundred percent, I’ll replace you faster than my ex-mother-in-law decided she hated my guts.” He turned to Luke. “One more thing. Whatever personal issues you two have with each other, settle them on your own time and keep them out of this investigation.” He glanced at Rachel. “That means both of you. Am I clear?”

Rachel nodded.

Staring first at A.J., then Rachel, Luke cursed under his breath. “I hope to hell you both know what you’re doing,” he muttered, and walked away.

Luke ordered another neat scotch, then glanced around the crowded bar. A blonde almost wearing a red minidress made eye contact and smiled. For lack of anything else to do, Luke smiled back. She sauntered toward him, then leaned one forearm on the bar and thrust her ample, man-made chest inches from his nose. The top of her strapless dress nearly lost its precarious hold.

For a second, he imagined Rachel’s luscious body filling the flaming red dress, her full breasts overflowing the top. His groin tightened painfully.

“Buy a girl a drink?”

Luke gave her feminine display the once-over. When he was a young stud new to the force and during the two years since he’d last seen Rachel, this woman’s barely veiled invitation would have called out to his male libido, but not since Rachel had come back into his life. Since the moment he’d first seen her at headquarters, his head was filled with his ex-wife and that left no room for contemplation of a quick roll in the hay with someone else. He turned away and motioned for the bartender to give the woman whatever she wanted to drink.

A few minutes later, the man behind the bar set a frothy, pink drink in a Manhattan glass in front of her. Instantly Luke thought about Rachel and her favorite drink, gin and tonic. No frills. No pretense. Just like the woman. Suddenly, the all-but-nonexistent interest he’d had in the woman diminished to minus zero, replaced by a soul-deep need for Rachel. Would he ever be able to think of her without that excruciating pain of loss filling him?

“You alone?”

Luke shook his head. “I’m taken,” he said, and flashed the ring on the third finger of his right hand, the thin, gold band he’d never been able to bring himself to take off completely.

“Wrong hand,” the blonde said, her voice a low purr, her smile seductive and full of unspoken promises.

“I never could tell left from right,” Luke said, then downed the last of the scotch and flipped some bills on the bar. “I’m still taken.” And probably always will be, he added to himself.

The blonde looked around. “So, where is she?”

He tapped a finger over the left side of his chest. “In here.” Then he left the bar.

Outside, he stood on the sidewalk and looked absently up and down the street. The deafening music coming from the bar followed him. He glanced back at the open door and could see the baffled woman at the bar staring at him. He saluted her. She frowned, made a rude hand gesture and turned away.

He probably should have warned her that drinks didn’t always come with promises. Hell, little in life did. She’d read more than she should have into a friendly gesture. He could have lied to her, but he hadn’t. Rachel was in his heart, as much a part of him as his skin, and had been from the first day he’d seen her with soot on her nose and a determination in her expression that defied explanation. Ever since that day, there hadn’t been a night or a day he hadn’t thought about her, longed for her, pained for her.

He thought about her at the fire tonight, how scared she’d been, how tortured, and had a sudden need to affirm that she was okay. As he walked toward his car, he obeyed the longing churning inside him and reached for his cell phone, then punched in the numbers he’d memorized off the paper A.J. had given him and pressed it to his ear.

“Hello.”

At the sound of his ex-wife’s voice, a familiar band of pain tightened around his heart. He forced a lightness into his voice he was far from feeling. “Hey, Rachel. Hope I didn’t wake you.”

“No. I was just going over the files.” Silence. “What did you want?”

“Just to let you know I can meet you at the scene tomorrow around eight. I’ll bring the coffee.” He waited. “Is that okay?”

“Fine.” She sounded preoccupied.

He swallowed. Damn! He didn’t want to tell her this, but she’d find out anyway. “Rach, they found another woman in tonight’s fire.”

Rachel remained silent for a moment or two, then said, “Damn.”

“A.J.’ll give you the details tomorrow after we check out the scene.” He blew out a long breath. “I’ll let you get back to work.” While he climbed into his car, he continued to hold the phone to his ear, reluctant to break even this tenuous connection. “So…see you then.”

“Luke?”

“Yes.”

“Thank you for…for being there tonight.”

“No problem.” He wanted to add I’ll always be there, but he knew she had no reason to believe such a promise, coming from him.

Silence.

“’Night.” The connection went dead.

“Dream of me,” he murmured into the car’s dark interior. It was what they’d said to each other every night before dropping off to sleep. It was what he still whispered into the darkness every night from his lonely bed.

He folded the phone and tossed it into the passenger seat. For a long moment, he stared down at the phone, then gripped the steering wheel and rested his forehead against his hands.

He’d lost his precious Maggie to this sick criminal. In his gut, he knew he could lose Rachel, too, if he didn’t find a way to protect her from herself. But how did you protect someone who didn’t want to be protected? Whose pride was so ironclad, it would take the Jaws of Life to get through it?

The next morning, at precisely eight o’clock, Rachel pulled up her rented Chevy Malibu outside the previous night’s fire scene. She refused to give Luke any reason to think she was letting her emotions rule her head. Digging through the burned rubble would be another first for her, another step back into her past, but she’d spent most of last night preparing for it and was determined to do it without any hitches.

She powered down the car window, then shut off the engine. The pungent yet familiar smell of wet, burned wood drifted to her on the humid morning air. A smell she’d never gotten completely out of her nostrils or her blood.

Leaning back, she sipped the coffee she’d picked up at the 7-Eleven and watched a handful of firefighters securing the scene and stamping out flare-ups, their soiled yellow helmets and slickers standing out against the black debris. Their sluggish movements told her they’d pulled an all-nighter, and they were badly in need of sack time.

She checked her watch. Eight-fifteen. Luke, always the prompt one of the two of them, had obviously decided to play with her head. He probably hoped that, if he took long enough, she’d give up and leave, not having the wherewithal to go into the scene alone.

She smiled. Not a chance.

Rachel finished the coffee, put her empty cup in the cup holder, then slipped from the car, making sure to grab the notepad, the pen and the camera she’d brought with her.

As she approached the ruins, firefighter Samantha Ellis came around the side of the fire truck. Rachel and Sam had been friends ever since they’d been the only females in their class of rookie firefighters. When Rachel had left the company to take the ATF arson investigators training program, she’d wanted Sam to come, too, but Sam had been happy to keep hauling hoses, and the lieutenant’s insignia on Sam’s helmet told Rachel she’d done well.

Over the past two years, Rachel had lost touch with Sam, as she had with most of the people who reminded her of the past.

Sam came toward her, her face set, a stern warning to stay out of the scene hovering on her lips, then recognition washed over her expression.

“Rachel?” Her face broke into a broad grin. “Great to see you.” Then she paused, a frown knitting her forehead. “What are you doing here?”

“Hi, Sam. Chief Branson invited me to your…uh…party.” She surveyed their surroundings with a critical eye.

Sam cast a quick glance toward the ruins. “Yeah, we’ve been having a lot of these parties lately.”

“So I’m told.” Rachel smiled. “Can you loan me some of your turnout gear so I can get started?”

“Sure thing.” Sam went to the standby truck and hauled out a helmet, a small shovel, one of the cumbersome jackets and a pair of boots.

Rachel took them, put the jacket aside, then sat on the running board of the truck to exchange her sneakers for the heavy rubber boots. After she’d slipped into the boots, she smiled up at Sam. “I’d forgotten how these things make you feel like you’re wearing your big sister’s clothes.” She stood and grabbed the jacket. “Did you find any trace of an accelerant in there?”

“We won’t know until the lab confirms it for sure, but my guess is this torch’s choice of fire starter was regulation, backyard charcoal lighter.” Sam gave Rachel’s clothes the once-over. “Better put on the slicker. You’ll trash your clothes in there.”

Rachel glanced down at her jeans and snowy-white T-shirt. Then, grinning at Sam, she plopped the helmet on her chestnut curls and shrugged. Having second thoughts, she glanced at the slicker. “These things always made me feel like I had a two-thousand-pound elephant sitting on my back.”

Sam sighed tiredly, but managed a grin. “Try carrying it around for eighteen hours.”

As she donned the weighty slicker, Rachel noted that Sam’s back was slumped with fatigue. Dark smudges rimmed her red eyes. Black soot encrusted the woman’s fatigue-lined face.

Under all that grime, it was hard to tell that Sam had once been a Miss Florida finalist. Rachel had never understood why Sam always played down her looks, no makeup, no salon hairdo. Even more, Rachel had wondered why she’d picked firefighting as a career. She’d asked once, but Sam had danced around the subject with all the expertise of a prima ballerina. Sam’s blatant avoidance convinced Rachel the subject should be left alone until Sam decided she wanted to discuss it.

“You’ll need these, too.” Sam handed Rachel a pair of latex gloves, then started toward what was left of the house.

Hauling on the gloves, Rachel sloshed through the wet grass behind Sam. The closer they got to the burned-out structure, the stronger the smell of burned wood and man-made fibers became. Her stomach churned.

Rachel stiffened and reminded herself sternly that she had a job to do. As she prepared to enter the house, determination cloaked any misgivings left over from the previous night.

“We’re about done in here,” Sam told her as she guided her through the opening where a front door once hung. “Fire’s out. Most everything that could burn did, except the woman they took to the morgue about eight hours ago. The closet door was closed—”

“Closed? It was always open with the others.”

“We figure the wind currents from the fire either closed it or it swung closed on its own. I doubt our torch did it. This sicko wants these women to see what’s coming for them.”

Rachel had blanked her actual experience of her apartment fire out of her memory. The doctors called it voluntary amnesia. Whatever it was, until this very moment, Rachel’d had no recollection of the actual fire. Now, as if someone turned a movie projector on and off quickly, a quick flash of the fire eating away at her bedding while she watched it from the floor of her closet, helpless and certain her death was imminent, passed through her mind. Though bits of the panic she’d felt that night and a tiny bit of residual memory remained behind, the image was gone before her mind could register all of it.

Sam continued to brief her while Rachel fought off emotions from scattered memories of the worst night of her life. She pushed them aside. Later. She’d think about it later.

“Just like the other fires, the only thing that managed to survive with just water and smoke damage was the kid’s room. A.J. asked that no evidence be gathered until you saw it, so it’s all just as we found it.” She stepped over a fallen ceiling beam. “At first, we thought this one was different, just a house fire, then we found the woman in the bedroom closet, tied up with lamp cord, a Bible tucked under her.” Sam shook her head. “Freaking sicko.”

A half hour later, Rachel was squatting in front of the closet. On the floor, a partially unburned area told her where the woman had been lying. Next to that lay the Bible, wet, but, having been sheltered by the woman’s body, untouched by the fire. She leafed through the first few pages of the book, observing that the copyright date and the publisher matched those listed in the notes she had back at the condo.

The odor of charcoal lighter still hung heavy in the room. Sam had always been teased that she could outsniff any arson dog, and it seemed she hadn’t lost her touch for identifying an accelerant.

Standing, Rachel examined the room. Almost twenty minutes passed before her gaze fastened on what she’d been looking for—the point of origin. A black V started a few inches above the baseboard. The wood strip along the wall looked like the blackened skin of an alligator. The pattern splayed out and up on the wall opposite the closet, and the smell of charcoal lighter was much stronger here.

She glanced back at the closet and shuddered. The cold bastard had set the fire and, judging by the severe burn damage on the inside of the door, left the door open. With her hands tied behind her, he’d left the victim as helpless as a turtle on its back to watch the flames coming to get her. Just like he’d left Rachel. She shuddered but refused to allow her emotions to dampen her resolve to get this job done.

Rachel swung the door closed. The outside was burned, but not nearly as badly as the inside. Sam’s conclusions were probably right. The wind currents created by the fire had closed it, but too late to save the woman’s life. Methodically, Rachel snapped photos of the inside and outside of the closet, both sides of the door, the Bible, and the point of origin.

“Still have a problem obeying orders, I see.”

Luke’s deep voice sent shivers down Rachel’s spine. She jumped, nearly dropping the camera, then spun toward him. “You’re late.”

“You didn’t wait for me.” He strolled past her to look in the closet. “Here’s your coffee,” he said, holding out one of two cups he’d brought with him.

Grateful that he’d remembered and ready for a second dose of caffeine, she took it and flipped off the plastic lid. The smell of hot coffee wafted up to Rachel. Cautiously, she sipped the steaming liquid.

“Is it okay?”

Oddly enough, it was more than okay. “It’s perfect,” she said. “I’m surprised you remembered how I take it.”

“One sugar and a drop of milk,” he recited, then frowned. “I always wondered what difference that drop of milk made.”

Rachel set the cup on the edge of the charred dresser. “It’s an appeasement.”

He frowned. “A what?”

“Appeasement. When I was about sixteen, I started drinking coffee, and my mother said only men drank black coffee, so the drop of milk was an—”

“Appeasement,” he finished for her, then laughed.

It had a been a long time since she’d heard Luke really laugh. The sound sent ripples of pleasure shimmering through Rachel.

“Kind of like me suffering through those chick flicks you loved when I would have rather been watching James Bond.” He grinned. “But there were compensations.”

His words brought to mind what usually happened after they sat through one of those romantic movies. Usually a shower together, soap-slick bodies rubbing against each other, kisses heating blood to boiling, then a quick rush to the bed, if they could make it that far, then—

She glanced at Luke. He was studying her silently. This conservation was getting way too personal for her comfort. She tore her gaze away and dived into relating what she’d found so far.

“Point of origin.” She pointed at the baseboard. “Your torch used charcoal lighter.”

“Charcoal lighter, huh? Well, he’s consistent. Same accelerant used at each scene.”

She nodded. “But he brings the Bible with him. It’s the same copyright and publisher as the others they found. Can’t be a coincidence. Probably symbolic of bringing God into the lives of his victims.”

“Why in there?” Luke motioned toward the empty closet.

Rachel stopped in the process of turning over a charred shoe with the point of the shovel. “I’m not sure yet, but offhand I’d say it plays a significant part in the religious fire ritual.”

Luke ran his fingers through his mane of black curls. “The religious fanatics are always the hardest to nail down.”

“Not necessarily a fanatic, but don’t rule it out. This is definitely someone with strong religious ties. This guy has it in his twisted mind that he’s carrying out some kind of holy punishment. Question is, what? And why these particular women?” And why include me in the count? “There must be something these women had in common beyond being single mothers, alone at night. When we figure that out, we’ll be on our way to catching whoever it is. I’d like to meet with the task force tomorrow.”

“No need.”

She started and turned to him. “I disagree. I need to meet with them ASAP.”

Luke leveled a stare at her. “You won’t be here.”

She knew in her gut what he was about to say. “What the hell is your problem, Luke? Why do you keep telling me to go home?”

“Dammit, Rachel. I won’t let you do this.”

“You won’t let…” She laughed. “Why this sudden concern about me?” When he didn’t answer, she planted her hands on her hips and faced him squarely. “Let’s get this out of the way so I can get on with my job. Do I threaten your—”

Before she could finish, Luke took a step forward and grabbed her arm with his free hand. “I know what this is going to resurrect for you, and I don’t want to put you through it.”

“Why?”

“Because I’ve given you enough to bear.”

Rachel frowned. The words were spoken so softly, she could barely hear them. That’s the closest he’d ever come to admitting he’d destroyed their marriage. But she didn’t want to discuss it. Not now. Maybe not ever. “We’ve been through all this. Bottom line is, A.J. wants me here, and I want to be here. End of story.”

“Then you plan on seeing this through?”

“Come hell, high water or Luke Sutherland,” she said.

Moments later, Luke watched Rachel drive off. No matter how much she denied it, he was certain this whole thing was ripping her gut apart a piece at a time. He wondered how long she’d be able to stand up to it.

Logically, he knew if they were going to nail this bastard, she was their best hope. He’d never met another investigator who could profile an arsonist the way she could. She seemed to have an inborn sense that led her to the torch, a way of putting herself in their heads. But this time was different from all the rest. This time she had a personal stake in finding the arsonist. Which was exactly why he worried that she was not emotionally equipped to see the job through without falling apart.

The Rachel he’d married had been strong, but that was before they’d lost Maggie. Afterward, he’d been so buried in his own guilt, he hadn’t seen her falling apart until it was too late. By then, he was trying to hold the pieces of himself together. He wouldn’t make that mistake again.

The flaw in Rachel’s armor had always been her pride. She took pride in her work and pride in her abilities. And this time, if he didn’t find a way to stop her, that same pride could very well lead her into a place from which he’d never be able to bring her back.