Page 80 of Playing With Fire

Jodi felt as though she had been slapped, hard. He reached for her hand under the quilt and squeezed.

“But I—” he began.

The rest of the sentence was cut short by the buzz of his phone. He dropped the quilt and rummaged around in his pocket.

“Ricky,” he said shortly. Jodi heard what sounded like an elderly male voice on the other end. Ricky’s languid pose disappeared. His face tightened. He threw her a quick glance.

“I’ll be there in fifteen.”

He stood tall and looked down at Jodi. Every line of his body quivered with tension.

Her eyes widened. “Are you all right? Has something happened? Your father...?”

He shook his head abruptly. “No, nothing like that,” he said in a clipped voice. “Something...has come up on...the other case I’m working on.” He went to pick up the empty bottle.

“The personal investigation.” Jodi dredged up a cool smile. “Don’t worry, leave all that Ricky. We were done here anyway.”

She drained her own bottle and tried not to think about the pizza she had already taken out of the freezer to slip in the oven. Looked like she would be eating pizza for a few nights to come.

Jodi hooked the bottles with one hand and grabbed the quilt with the other. Ricky slid the patio door shut behind her.

“Jodi. I wasn’t planning on leaving but—”

She cut him off. A little voice reminded her that this was the way it was always going to be. Ricky had his own agenda, of course he did, and so did she.

“I’ve got a pile of work to do,” she said breezily. “My regular workload hasn’t disappeared just because I’ve disappeared down a rabbit hole in search of the firebug.”

His voice was quiet. “I’m looking for someone. Someone young and vulnerable who needs me.”

Jodi was barely listening. She had the front door open and her game face firmly attached. Even her mother Lucy-May, the globe-trotting socialite, could not have gotten rid of an unwanted guest so quickly.

“Then you must be on your way,” Jodi purred. She closed the door on his surprised face.

Chapter Thirteen

Molly Caitens’ hand trembled a little as she handed over the small pencil sketch. That it had been executed with great care was painfully obvious in the delicate shading and the smudged places where lines had been erased. The tiny face was perfect, the eyes looking straight out of the page, the rosebud lips slightly parted.

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