Читать книгу Sparking His Interest - Wendy Etherington - Страница 10

CARA’S GAZE slid around the room, taking in the water damage and the complete absence of smoke and fire damage. Her mind clicked through the possibilities of a destroyed warehouse, but an intact emergency alert system and working sprinklers—at least in this part of the building.

“There’s more than one control valve,” she said slowly, glancing down at the architectural plans in her hands for confirmation.

Wes wandered around the soaked room, shaking his head. “So he dismantled the sprinklers in the warehouse, turning off the water valve in there, but left the phone lines intact and this valve on?”

“Makes sense to me. Maybe he didn’t know about this one.”

“Maybe,” he said, though he didn’t sound convinced.

Maybe was fine with Cara for now. Questions without answers were fine. She’d interpret once she had more facts.

“Check to see if the door leading to the warehouse is locked,” she said as she headed toward the supply closet door near the back left corner of the room. “Be careful not to smudge any prints,” she added, tossing him a pair of surgical gloves from her jacket pocket.

“I have done this before,” he said, sounding annoyed.

“Doesn’t mean you’ve done it right.”

“Oh, I can do it right.”

She paused in the process of slipping on her own pair of gloves. The man had totally messed with her mind, since his innocent words had sparked a carnal angle. She had to get him back into his spot as professional assistant—fast. “Just check the locks, Lieutenant.”

She flung open the closet door, noting the supply closet was big—about twelve by twelve—nearly the same size as the office. It was full of file cabinets mostly. But against one wall sat a bright, orange-red, floor-to-ceiling pipe that was connected to the wall via a few small pipes.

Heart pounding, she strode towards the pipe, her gaze zeroing in on the pressure gauge window, then to the chain fastened to the water control valve knob, which was about the size of a car steering wheel. The chain held the knob in place, so the water pressure couldn’t be turned off accidentally. Cutting it, unfortunately, was easy—a pair of wire clippers would do. Newer systems had an antitamper device so that if the chain was cut an alarm went off. Until she examined the main security panel she wouldn’t know if that was the case here.

“Found it, huh?” Wes said from behind her. “Works, I guess.”

“There’s plenty of water pressure. The chain’s intact. What about the door?”

“Unlocked, but shut. Why?”

Still studying the pipe system for anything unusual, she replied, “I’m not worried about why yet. I’m still absorbing.”

“Absorbing?”

She drew in a quick breath, and her thought process shut down. She hadn’t realized he was so close. She even thought she could feel his breath against the back of her neck. Impossible. Her hair and the collar of her jacket kept any skin from exposure. She was imagining things. Dreaming.

“Not that I’m an expert or anything—my last fire investigation involved some dingbat woman who set fire to her house to get the insurance money….”

At his tone, Cara turned her head to look at him. Big mistake. He rolled his pretty blue eyes—a description he would no doubt hate—and shoved his hands into the back pockets of his jeans, drawing her gaze to the breadth of his shoulders, which tapered to a lean waist—

She forced her gaze immediately back to his face. She wasn’t some chick on the make, drawn to the moodiness and danger that rolled off Wes Kimball in waves. The aura of confidence and vulnerability—

She stopped her thoughts again. What the hell was wrong with her?

“…caught on to her scheme after about two and a half minutes,” Wes continued, seeming not to notice her straying concentration. “But doesn’t all this seem like overkill?” He frowned. “Or just confusing? If I’m setting a fire in a warehouse, I toss out the gasoline, cut the chain, turn off the water. No water, no sprinklers. The fire will spread rapidly. Then I go to the system panel, bust it open, pull out every wire I can get my hands on and hightail it out of there. Fire rages. Property’s a dead loss. No fire department to get in the way.”

Cara had several problems with that theory, but she jumped on to the most obvious one first. She really liked running through the possible scenarios with him. Usually, she had to play devil’s advocate with herself. “And how would you know to cut the chain to the water valve?”

“The Internet. There’s probably a damn Web site—www dot set-a-fire dot com.”

“And that step-by-step instruction would leave out the smoke detector, the fire department alert system—which is useless without telephone wires—and the possibility of a second control valve? And then, of course, we have the motive to consider. Was the fire department’s arrival a mistake? Twice? Why this warehouse, why the office last week—”

Wes raised his hand to stop her questions, then rubbed his temples. “There are dozens of angles, aren’t there?”

“Even angles that don’t involve Addison’s guilt?”

He said nothing for a moment, then shook his head. “I don’t see any.”

She was dying to ask him what had made him so biased against Addison, what past they had forged, but, following her own advice, she kept her suspicions at bay. They were gathering evidence. Interpretation came later.

“So what do we know?” she asked. “For instance, the day-to-day operations.”

“It’s an office supply warehouse. Lots of crates and boxes moving around. Trucks arriving to deliver inventory ordered from manufacturers. Trucks arriving to pick up and distribute supplies to various businesses in town and out.”

“Exactly.” She paced along the far wall, more in an attempt to escape the enticing scent of his cologne, or soap, or something than the need to move. “Kind of a humdrum existence. Items come in, items move out. Then inventory a few times a year. So who are the people who do all this moving about?”

“Some warehouse people, a manager…”

Cara tucked her map away and pulled her PDA from her jacket pocket, handing it to Wes, knowing the info regarding this particular property of Robert Addison’s was displayed on the screen.

Wes stared at the screen. “This is the background check I ran after the first fire.”

“Ben e-mailed it to me.” She continued pacing. “So, employees consist of the manager, his assistant and five warehouse personnel. All work a day shift. After five o’clock, the property is deserted. The only other people with access to the building are the cleaning service, which comes once a week. The property is protected by a decent security system, which is connected to the fire alert system.”

“Captain Hughes?” someone called from the other room.

Cara strode from the closet and saw a firefighter, who was unmistakably a Kimball, peeking around the door between the office and the warehouse. “Yes?”

The man nodded. “It’s safe for you to come out here now, though I wouldn’t delay too long. The steel reinforcements are holding things up for the moment. They seem solid, but with the heat of the fire…” He shrugged his broad shoulders.

“Thanks. I’ll hurry,” she said.

“We’ll be around a while still. Holler if you need us.” Then he grinned, his Kimball blue eyes twinkling. “And Wes says he gets all the lousy assignments.”

He strode off, and Cara turned, nearly bumping into Wes. The man was forever sneaking up on her. She extended her hands to keep her balance, encountered Wes’s chest, then pulled back just as quickly and swayed on her feet.

He grabbed her shoulders. “That’s my younger brother, Steve.”

Still a little dizzy by the idea of nearly being held in his arms, Cara simply nodded. “I figured. Monica said there were three of you.”

His hands, still resting on her shoulders, tensed. “I didn’t realize you knew my sister-in-law.”

“We met a few months ago when she redecorated several firehouses in Atlanta.” She stared up at him. She knew Monica had briefly dated Wes, though everyone seemed to agree the match had been a mistake. “Problem?”

“No. I just can’t picture the two of you as friends.”

“We’re certainly different.” But outrageous Monica made her smile, and her new friend was always talking about shoes or wallpaper—a nice change from gasoline and matches. She wondered, however, if the tension she’d sensed between Wes and Ben had something to do with Monica. “I understand she and Ben eloped in Vegas.”

“They were all googly-eyed about it. Weird.”

Okay. Strike one with that theory. Wes obviously wasn’t pining after his sister-in-law. The brothers probably just had a personality conflict. Wes seemed to share little with Mr. Professionally Reserved Fire Chief Ben.

When she turned, Wes had to drop his hold on her. She didn’t like being that close to him, touching him. She had a job to do, which didn’t involve examining the personal lives of her colleagues. She’d taken several steps toward the door to the warehouse when he asked, “How, exactly, does a sprinkler system work?”

She glanced back, noting he stood by a large, black file cabinet on the other side of the manager’s desk. “When it detects fire, it shoots water everywhere.”

“Not exactly. It detects heat. And it’s the water flow that actually triggers the alarm.” Confidence suffused his face as he met her gaze. “Right?”

“Right.”

“And here we have water flow, so the fire department came, just like the first fire.”

“Right again.” She paused. “He obviously didn’t know about the possibility of a second water valve.”

“I don’t think so.” He pointed at the ground, and she walked around the edge of the desk to see what was so interesting.

A metal trash can was filled with ashes and sitting on the floor beside the file cabinet. “What the hell…”

“Look up.”

She tipped back her head, focusing on the sprinkler head just above them. “He set the sprinklers off on purpose.” Her gaze met his. “He wanted the fire department to come.”

“Interesting, don’t you think?”

“Oh, yeah.” She paused, trying to minimize the sweet thrill of discovery coursing through her veins. They still had a lot of investigating to do, but she definitely had a feel for this arsonist. What he wanted, what turned him on. It was this part of the job that she liked, the part that made her so successful. She headed toward the door leading to the warehouse. “Let’s see what else we find.”

She snagged two hard hats from a rack on the wall, handing one to Wes. “You know the drill, I’m sure. Safety first. Keep your eyes and ears open for any shifting debris.”

A half smile hovered on the lieutenant’s lips. “It’s not so bad working with you, actually.”

“So glad you think so. I’ll be sure to pass that along to my CO.”

“Who is your CO?” he asked as she gingerly turned the doorknob.

“Technically, the state fire marshal, but the governor’s put me in charge of several task forces lately.”

“The governor? Of the state?”

She laid one hand on her hip. “He likes working with me.”

His gaze raked her figure, somehow communicating admiration without insolence. “I imagine he does.”

Her face heated. She was blushing? Oh, man, that was too much. “Come on, hotshot, let’s find the security panel.”

Thankfully, he fell into step beside her and didn’t comment on the personal turn the conversation had taken. “Any idea where to look?”

Cara glanced at the ruined space surrounding her, then consulted her map again. “Looks like we have a sprinkler room toward the back, closer to the left side.”

They headed in that direction, picking their way around the boxes reduced to near ashes. With smoke still lingering in the air, water dripping off most everything, the ceiling partially collapsed in some places, they had a hard time figuring out what was what.

After several minutes of winding through collapsed and melting rows of giant metal storage shelves without any luck, Wes said, “I’ll find Steve. Maybe he knows where the room is.”

“Good idea. I’ll keep looking.”

She headed off again, stepping over boxes and piles of still-smoldering paper, wondering just how many tons of supplies had fallen from upper floors and how much had actually been down here to start with. It was all a blackened, ashy, damp mess.

But just as she was about to turn a corner partially blocked by a fallen beam, she saw a glint of gold. A doorknob maybe?

She squinted, picking up a crumpled box and moving it aside. The outline of a door was definitely visible just behind a group of boxes. Moving them aside one by one, she finally made a small path for her to squeeze through.

Sweat rolled down her face as she struggled toward her goal. She bent over a bit, dusting the soot from her jeans. As she straightened, she saw the body.

The slumped, badly burned figure against the wall. It was a man. It used to be a man.

She turned her head, swallowing the urge to gag. She’d seen it before, would no doubt see it again. The man wasn’t there anymore. Just his body, the flesh that used to contain him. Still, she had to draw a few deep breaths through her mouth before she knew she could look back.

Her gaze slid back to his face, charred and ruined.

Was this how the investigator had felt when he’d found her parents? Revolted, yet full of pity, praying they hadn’t suffered?

“Lieutenant!” she called, then let her head fall back as she stared at the blackened ceiling, trying to calm her breathing.

“Not far behind you,” he called. “You’re nearly on top of the security system room.”

She knew the moment he’d made it past the boxes. He sucked a breath; the air stilled.

“This thing just got a whole lot more serious,” he said.

She glanced at him over her shoulder. “It certainly did.”

WES STARED OUT his truck’s windshield as he drove himself and Cara through the predawn light.

They’d said very little to each other in the past three hours. Words were certainly beyond him, though he did wonder how often she found something as horrible as what they’d just witnessed. His thoughts went to his father, of course, tragically killed in a fire when Wes was just a teenager. He thanked God he’d never seen him like that.

As he turned off the deserted highway and headed into town, he also realized he could be thankful he hadn’t disgraced himself or embarrassed Cara. Seeing the shock and horror on her face, he’d swallowed hard. He’d let the part of him that had always been a cop take over. He hadn’t drawn her into his arms the way he’d wanted. He’d relied on stark professionalism as they examined the body for evidence and identification and waited for the coroner and ambulance.

Unable to find ID, Cara had ordered the victim be sent directly to the hospital morgue for autopsy. Poor old Doc Moses, who served as the town’s coroner, had never seen anything like this horribly disfigured body. He’d mumbled and stumbled, and Cara had pulled him aside while the paramedics bagged the body for transport.

Then, patting Doc’s hand, she’d told him to go on home. She’d call one of the state’s forensic experts to do the autopsy and have him rush to Baxter immediately.

She’d been brave and lovely, and Wes found himself falling even more thoroughly under her spell.

“After you drop me off at the hospital, go home and get some rest,” she said quietly. “I’ll call you when I have news.”

“I’m going to the firehouse.” At least they’d have food and company. “Why don’t you come with me? You can shower, get some coffee…”

But she was already shaking her head. “I told the pathologist I’d meet him at the hospital. Hopefully, he’ll have preliminary results sometime tomorrow.”

He simply nodded.

“You mind if I roll down the window a bit?” she asked, not looking at him.

“Go ahead.” With the scent of smoke still permeating his clothes, some fresh air would no doubt do them both good. The crisp air hit him, shocking his thoughts and senses into clarity. Her hair billowed away from her face, highlighting her pale skin and watery eyes. Again, the need to touch her washed over him.

He gripped the steering wheel tighter. She was a colleague, not a date. “You want some company at the hospital?”

“No, thanks. I need to be alone. I need to think.”

Wes didn’t argue, though he wanted to leave her about as much as he wanted to find another body in the warehouse rubble.

So it must have been self-preservation that made him press harder on the gas.

HOURS LATER, Wes found himself staring out another window. This time it was Ben’s office window at the firehouse. The sky blazed a brilliant October blue. Not a cloud floated on the horizon. The sun was bright, almost stark white, so powerful he had to squint to look at it.

If he stared intensely enough would he forget the sight of the body? He hoped so, since every time he closed his eyes that’s all he saw.

As a result, he’d never gone back to sleep. It was three o’clock in the afternoon, and he still had no desire to lie down, even though Ben had tried to push him to get some rest. The only concession he’d made was to shower and borrow some clean clothes.

Cara had just called Ben from the hospital. She had some preliminary results, and she was on her way to see them.

In the hours they’d been apart, Wes had managed to rebottle his emotions. They’d been through a charged and shocking situation together; it was only natural he’d felt a certain kinship with her. Their thought processes and dispositions were similar so, of course, he’d been drawn to her. They were virtually in the same business so, of course, they understood each other. But in a normal situation, if he’d spotted her at the grocery store or in a bar, he wouldn’t have done more than smile politely. This clawing, aching need to see her again, to finally, fully touch her skin was nothing more than a human reaction to a stressful situation.

He’d had more bad endings to relationships in the past year than he’d had in his whole life. Some bad and embarrassing endings. Monica came to mind. It was enough to put a man off women. Well, almost.

And he remembered Cara knew her. Monica and Cara. He found that combination hard to mesh. On the other hand, outrageous Monica had married conservative Ben, and they were happy, so what did he know about the subtleties of the heart? He was better off alone. Always had been. Probably always would be.

The office door swung open. Steve stuck his head inside. “Wanna get a beer later?”

“Yeah. Maybe. If I’m awake later.”

“You can tell me all about the sexy Captain Hughes.”

“She’s here to work, not date the locals.” Oh, Mr. Righteous, are we? You, however, can come on to her all you like. He refused to acknowledge his conscience trying to tell him that he just didn’t need Steve’s competition. Women fell at the guy’s feet on a daily basis. “Watch yourself, baby brother, she’s armed.”

“Sounds like a challenge.”

Whatever additional warning Wes would have liked to issue was interrupted by the mayor and Ben brushing by Steve as they entered the office.

“Ben,” the mayor said as he waddled across the room, “I just don’t see how this woman, this outsider can do a better job than your folks here.”

Steve grinned, then retreated quickly, closing the door.

The mayor went on, “She sent Doc Moses into a near faint with that body business.”

Before Wes could defend Cara or explain the situation the mayor had—as usual—gotten wrong, Ben spoke up. “Doc’s the coroner. By law we have to call him to the scene. Captain Hughes has graciously offered to assist in the investigation by bringing in one of her colleagues for the autopsy.”

“Oh, hello, Wes,” the mayor said absently, plopping into a chair in front of Ben’s desk. “Glad you’re here. I’m sure you’ll be on my side in this.”

Wes met Ben’s gaze over the mayor’s head. His brother shook his head.

Striving to take his brother’s silent advice, Wes didn’t comment, though where the mayor got that Wes of all people would be on his side, he hadn’t a clue. At least the mayor’s presence had driven all self-pitying, morose thoughts from his mind. No one could keep from smiling in the presence of a man in a lime-green polyester jumpsuit with bright orange rhinestones, turquoise braided trim and pink sunglasses.

“We have a murder to investigate,” Wes began. “We’re all on the same side.”

The mayor sighed into his jowls. “Yes, yes, of course. Any idea who he was?”

“There was no ID on the body,” Ben said. “Captain Hughes told me only that he was male, Caucasian, probably between forty-five and fifty. Mr. Addison has been contacted, and he’s spoken with his managers. None of the employees are unaccounted for, so we’re going to put the dental records into a national database.”

The mayor winced. “Dental records. I can’t believe this is happening in Baxter.”

Ben sank into the chair behind his desk. He, too, hadn’t slept. “I know. It’s been a rough night for everyone.”

“Mr. Addison will demand quick answers,” the mayor added.

Wes, who still hadn’t moved from his position in front of the window, couldn’t resist this time. “He’ll have to wait in line.”

The mayor glanced up at him, surprise evident in his eyes. “Wes, you know as well as I do how important Mr. Addison is to this community. It’s thanks to his civic generosity that we have a new communications system in the police station.”

Wes ground his teeth. “I’m well aware of his contribution.”

“Tax dollars are simply not enough,” the mayor continued, obviously not aware of Wes’s gathering temper. “Without cooperation from the business community we can’t move our town forward.”

Wes was all for moving forward, and he couldn’t deny the equipment was cutting-edge, but in his experience, ultragenerous gifts of thousands of dollars never arrived without a cost. Especially from a blow-hard like Addison. Wes had been waiting nearly four months to find out just when Addison would ask for his favor. The passing of time had only made him more itchy, wondering just how much the businessman expected in return from the Baxter Police Department.

“Personally,” he said, crossing his arms over his chest and leaning against the window, “I think it will be interesting to see just how anxious Addison is to get this case solved.”

The mayor sat erect, even as Ben sighed. “What do you mean by that? The last thing I need is my peace officers making attacks against our citizens. We must all put up a brave front in this time of crisis.”

Ben held up his hand. “Mayor, let’s please not jump to conclusions about anyone or anything.” He directed his gaze to Wes, giving him no doubt that he was included in this warning. “We don’t need the newspaper to get wind of any more problems. I understand from a friend at the paper that the Atlanta media have been calling them all afternoon for updates. Their cameras are imminent. We all need to be professional and resolute in this.”

Wes had been pushed beyond his already shaky patience. He wanted to scream, to explode. He stalked across the room. “You be professional. I’ll be pissed. A man has lost his life. There’s an arsonist running loose in our town.” He yanked open the door. “We have to—”

He ground to a halt, encountering Cara on the other side of the door. Her hand was raised to knock.

“Oh, hi,” she said. Her eyes were droopy and bloodshot, her skin pale.

“You—” He stopped. Her exhaustion was none of his business. She was a trained expert. She didn’t need him babying her. “Come on in.”

Ben and the mayor both stood up as she walked into the room, with Ben offering her the chair next to the mayor. “Coffee?” he asked.

She shook her head. “I’ve had too much already.”

“What do you know about the victim?” Ben asked.

Wes returned to his place by the window, all thoughts of storming out gone. Ridiculous, this need to be near her. But there it was. Undeniable.

“Not too much,” Cara said. “He definitely died of smoke inhalation. He probably never even woke up. He had holes in the bottoms of his shoes and several of his teeth were rotten. I think he was a homeless person or drifter, who wandered in looking for a warm place to sleep. The lock on the back door had been jimmied, so he probably sneaked in that way. The warehouse manager confirmed having to run out a man who fits his general description a couple of weeks ago.”

“Any chance he’s the arsonist?” the mayor asked, wringing his chubby hands.

“It’s possible, I guess, though no traces of gasoline were found on his hands or clothes.”

“You don’t think he’s responsible?” Ben asked.

“No, I don’t.”

Wes kept silent. He’d have the opportunity to argue his point about Addison being the prime suspect, but he had no intention of doing so in front of the mayor. They’d already had an argument about this after the first fire. Wes had made the mistake of pointing out that Addison had had the property up for sale a few months before and hadn’t been successful in dumping it, and wasn’t it convenient that the property was now a complete loss?

The resulting diatribe, complete with horror at the quick, wrongful judgment of a generous (aka rich) law-abiding citizen, still rang in his ears.

The mayor bit his lip, then glanced at his watch. “Good grief, I’m going to be late to the garden club luncheon.” He shook his head. “And I must say, it’s a measure of how upset we all are that no one commented on my garden motif suit.” He waddled out.

For the first time since their horrible discovery in the warehouse, Wes met Cara’s gaze, and they shared a smile.

“Don’t start with me—either one of you,” Ben said, obviously noting their amusement. “You haven’t had to listen to him moan about the upcoming elections, about how he’s dedicated his whole life to this town and how that ‘young, whippersnapper lawyer’ running against him will use these fires to prove he can’t maintain order and safety.”

“I’ve been at the morgue, you know,” Cara pointed out.

“And I’ve been…” Wes began. Actually, he’d been brooding. “I got chewed out after the last fire.”

Ben went on as if he hadn’t heard them. “And the whole time he’s rambling I’m thinking, Where exactly does he get those suits? I mean does he have them made? I can’t imagine a store carrying them in inventory.”

Wes crossed the room, sitting on the edge of Ben’s desk. He hadn’t seen his brother this messed up since the day he’d asked for advice about dating Monica. “Cheer up, Chief. It could be worse.”

“I don’t see how.”

Wes fought back laughter. “The whippersnapper lawyer could be a big Kiss fan.”

Ben groaned, then narrowed his eyes at Cara. “You look terrible.”

She blinked, then glared back. “Gee, thanks.”

Ben’s face flushed. “Sorry. You just—” He stopped, looking to Wes for support.

Wes simply shook his head.

“You need some rest,” Ben said, gazing unflinchingly at Cara.

Brave guy, Wes thought. That pistol is within easy reach.

Ben began writing on a slip of paper. “These are directions to my house. I want you to go back to the apartment you’re renting, sleep for at least four hours, then come to my house for dinner at seven.” He extended the paper, which Cara took. “That’s an order.”

Cara clamped her jaw tight, but managed to ask, “Is there a room I could use here? I’d rather be close if a lead develops. And I’m fine with ordering pizza and meeting in your office.”

“I’m fine with pizza, too, but my wife has other ideas, as I’m sure you can imagine.”

Cara nodded. “I’ll be there.”

“Wes, can you come to dinner, too? We’ll have some privacy to discuss the case at length.”

Wes noticed his brother asked him rather than demanded, even though the jurisdiction of the case allowed him to command the police however he saw fit. It was this unfailingly polite, restrained tone that set Wes’s teeth on edge. Their teasing over the mayor seemed forgotten, replaced by the usual tension.

He shoved aside the trouble. “I’ll find you a room,” he said to Cara.

She rose. “Chief” was all she said to Ben in parting. She didn’t speak to Wes either until he stopped outside a private room decorated in blue and gray and resembling a small hotel suite, including a computer and entertainment center and a bathroom off to the right. “Nice room. Does everybody else’s look like this?” she asked suspiciously, as if wary of special treatment.

“No, the guys sleep in a one-room bunk hall. This would be for our female firefighters—if we had any.”

She raised her eyebrows.

Her silence unnerved him. No one could ever accuse him of being the most talkative person in a crowd, so carrying the conversation didn’t set well with him.

“They keep bringing the local school kids through here on field trips, thinking someday surely one of the girls will see the job’s appeal.”

“Hmm,” she said as she wandered into the room.

Wes stayed in the doorway. All these weird, gut-clenching feelings kept slamming into him when he looked at her. The lust he understood, could even embrace, if it wasn’t for this case they were working together. But he wanted to sit her down and get her life story. He wanted to know what had driven her to become an arson investigator. He wanted to know her favorite foods, movies and books. He wanted to tuck her into bed and watch those shrewd, expressive eyes close in sleep.

Obviously through exploring the room, she faced him. “You’ve been with me more than Ben. Do I look exhausted?”

“Yes.”

“Why didn’t you tell me to lie down?”

“It would piss me off, so I knew it would piss you off. I’ll see you at dinner.” He backed out, closing the door as he went, wondering how he could possibly already have such a strong sense of her.

And wondering why he was walking away instead of running.