Page 5 of Over the Flames

Her fingers tapped erratically on the steering wheel as she was forced to stop for a red light. Headlights from a taller vehicle filled her rearview mirror. Arden sank back into her seat to counter the blinding light as the traffic light turned green. Fifteen minutes. She should’ve been on the docks already, but a small, irrational part of her clung to the possibility the divorce hadn’t been the final nail in the coffin of their relationship and had kept her from leaving when she’d had the chance. She’d left him standing in the middle of sheriff’s office parking lot, certain her need for escape had fed into the non-existent competition he’d created between law enforcement and the media. But how else had he expected her to feel about being drawn into his investigation, to feel about discovering Baldwin’s body? She cut that thought off at the root. No. She couldn’t think about that right now. All that mattered was uncovering why Baldwin had gone to that warehouse in the first place. The killer must’ve persuaded him with the promise of insider information, something he could use for a story.

The headlights in her rearview mirror remained steady.

She maneuvered the front end of her car into the park and ride at the north end of the island and shoved the vehicle in park once she reached the line to load onto the ferry. There were still a few minutes before the boat was scheduled to shove off. She’d made it in time.

Two taps on the driver’s side window had her reaching for the telescoping baton in her bag. She flinched away from the door, then clutched the baton anyway as recognition flared. What now?

Lawson signaled for her to step out of the car.

Double-checking her bag for Baldwin’s tablet, she shouldered back out into the rain and faced off with the agent determined to get under her skin. “You’re following me?”

“We’re not done.” He shifted his weight between both feet as though preparing for the oncoming verbal fight. “You’re a witness in my investigation and a potential target, and I need to know what you’re not telling me about Baldwin Webb.”

“Unless you managed to get a warrant from a judge this time of night to keep me here, I’m getting on that ferry.” She hurried across the parking lot to the ticket counter. She slid her credit card across the wet plastic surface toward the man behind the glass, all too aware of the special agent behind her. “One way to Southworth, please.”

“The ferry’s not going anywhere,” the cashier said. “This storm has got us and all of the phones shut down until it clears up.”

“What? No.” Panic fused into the muscles along spine. The hairs on the back of her neck stood on end as Lawson’s outline solidified in her peripheral vision. She swiped at the soaked hair stuck to the sides of her face as she stepped back from the ticket kiosk. No way out.

Lawson’s deep voice penetrated through the ringing in her ears. “Looks like I don’t need a warrant to keep you here after all.”

Chapter Four

The storm had shut down the entire island.

No cell service. No vacancies. Nowhere for Arden to run this time.

Lawson shouldered open the front door of the cabin he’d rented for the duration of the investigation mere hours before and dropped his duffle bag right inside the door. Light-colored wood stretched high above to cathedral ceilings, giving the rental an openness he hadn’t expected out here in the woods. Trees lined the property on three sides, but the floor-to-ceiling windows facing miles of ocean twenty feet from the shore gave him a view he sure as hell didn’t have back in Washington, DC. Single sofa, small kitchen, neutral decor, bedroom loft on the second story. It’d been the perfect arrangement an hour ago. Enough room for him to sleep during his off hours while he worked this case.

Arden stepped over the threshold. Long fingers wrapped around the strap of her bag, she took in the space, the single bed above. Her hair fell in wet chunks over her shoulders and nearly down to her small waist, and he buried the urge to brush it back. From the hardness in her expression, this was the last place she wanted to be for the night, but he wasn’t about to let her run. Not again. “This is your solution?”

Ice solidified between them.

“The department of transportation won’t reopen the ferries until the storm passes. That could be an hour or two days from now.” He headed for the fireplace and flipped on the gas insert to chase back the chill settling deep into his bones. Instant warmth flared out into the small living room, but it’d take more than a few flames to peel his suit jacket and slacks from his skin. He’d investigated cases all over the country, but coming back to Seattle had never been the plan. “I’m not a fan of this option either, but, given there aren’t any rooms available on the island, you’re welcome to sleep outside if you don’t think we can get along until then.”

“My clothes are soaked, and I don’t have anything to change into.” She slipped her bag from her shoulder, hanging onto it at her side as though she were afraid he’d rip it out of her hands. Acceptance ebbed the crack of cold in her eyes, but Lawson’s gut screamed he’d made a catastrophic mistake in bringing her here. One he’d never recover from. “Unless you’re comfortable with me walking around naked, I need a robe or something to wear while they dry.”

There’d been plenty of times during their marriage he’d memorized the shape of her hips under his hands, tasted her skin, and taken her over the edge, but the explicit vision of her stripped bare and vulnerable right here, right now, hit him square in the chest. He curled his fingernails into his palms to counter the image. Attraction had never been an issue between them, but he wasn’t about to let her use it as a weapon against him. Crouching, he unzipped his bag and unpacked a bundle of clothing before straightening. “I always pack an extra pair of sweats and a T-shirt. You can borrow them as long as you’re here. Clean up while I check out what kind of security system the owner installed.”

“All right then.” Something along the lines of surprise pulled her dark blonde eyebrows higher as she took the clothing he offered. “Since you’re such a gentleman, you can take the couch tonight.” She maneuvered past him, heading straight for the only bathroom tucked into the corner of the cabin, and closed the door behind her.

The lock clicked into place before the sound of water hitting tile reached his ears. Hostility still lingered in the air, but Lawson had more important things to think about than his ex-wife if he had any chance of finding out who’d targeted and killed Jacqueline Day and Baldwin Webb.

Shucking out of his suit jacket, he draped it over the corner of the fireplace mantel and loosened his tie. Flames danced behind the glass covering the gas insert as he pulled his tablet from the depths of his bag.

Unlocking the screen, he collapsed onto the sofa and scanned through the crime scene photos for the tenth—or was it the eleventh?—time, trying to pick up something new. He’d worked a lot of serial cases over the years for the bureau, but this… Whoever’d forced gasoline down Jacqueline and Baldwin’s throats and set them ablaze had obviously been trying to send a message, but all Lawson saw was rage. Two victims. No visible connection between them other than their career paths. He couldn’t classify this as a serial case until another victim surfaced, but he hoped to hell this investigation wouldn’t get that far. His gaze shifted to the bathroom door. And he hoped to hell Arden wasn’t the next target.

As much as they’d hurt each other over the past two years, she didn’t deserve to end up like her mentor. Bound, frozen forever in a husk of burnt flesh silently screaming in pain. Nausea twisted his gut. Then again, they weren’t married anymore. She was a witness to a possible serial crime. What she did and didn’t deserve hadn’t been his concern since the moment she’d filed for divorce.

Setting his tablet on the coffee table, he pushed to his feet and armed the security system beside the front door then went through the motions of checking the windows and back door one-by-one. There was something Arden had left out of her statement. Something that’d burrowed under his skin after she’d tried to run from the sheriff’s station and wouldn’t let up. He’d been assigned this investigation because of his familiarity with the area and his natural instincts for getting a quick read on a scene, but doubt lodged in his chest as the storm ripped through the trees surrounding the cabin. Because of her. Of all the witnesses who could’ve come forward, why the hell did this case have to be tied to her?

The friction between law enforcement and the media had only worsened over the past few years. He’d seen journalists like Arden entering into a rat race with no winners, always pushing for the inside scoop. Always risking themselves, the people they worked with, and innocent lives to be the first on the scene. Harassing witnesses for accounts of what’d happened, breaking through crime scene perimeters on some of the most violent cases he’d encountered, contaminating evidence in order to highlight the reality of what had gone wrong in their city.

And his wife—his ex-wife—had fallen in line with them. Why?

His gut hollowed as the water cut off from behind the thin bathroom door. Rounding back into the living room, he went for another look at the ME’s preliminary report from Baldwin Webb’s examination. Hell, his clothes were still wet from the downpour that’d hit the minute he’d stepped onto this damn island, but with nowhere but the bathroom to change, he’d have to deal with it.

The medicolegal investigator’s comparison between X-rays from the victim’s dental records and a study of the body had resulted in a visual match. Baldwin Webb had worked as an investigative journalist for The Seattle Times for twenty years and seemingly put Arden’s journalism degree to use for him. Violent crime, political corruption, corporate wrongdoing and complaints. Baldwin had done it all and earned Seattle’s respect in the process. He’d been known as the go-to source for years with some of his articles taking months—even years—before they’d been published for public consumption. Friends, coworkers, family—they’d all described him as the life of the party, a comedian, who’d filled their lives with laughter and had an air about him no one else could replicate.

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