Page 6 of Over the Flames

But that didn’t mean no one wanted him dead.

“Gasoline in the stomach.” Lawson rubbed a hand down his face. The killer hadn’t only wanted to kill Baldwin Webb. They’d wanted to destroy him inside and out. Forcing a victim to swallow accelerant would require a container of some kind, possibly the nozzle from a gasoline can, but one hadn’t been recovered at either of the death scenes. He swiped through the file until he came to a recent photo of Baldwin Webb.

Thick laugh lines and forehead wrinkles aged what Lawson assumed had once been a handsome face. Gray hair blended into darker brown at the man’s temples, but the eyes… They weren’t the eyes of a man who’d been described as the life of the party, who had a healthy outlook for life and no bad days. Clouded, haunted. The hairs on the back of Lawson’s neck prickled as he searched for and landed on a photo that’d been taken a few months ago at a public event similar to the National Newspaper Awards. Not the same eyes. The same color brown, but there was a difference. A lightness that’d bled out within the past year. “What happened, Baldwin? What changed you?”

The bathroom door clicked open, and Arden stepped into the living room. Lawson sat back on the couch as he took in the long stretch of her legs peeking out from beneath the T-shirt he’d lent her. Oversized, the hem barely brushing mid-thigh. She clutched her wet clothing and his rolled-up sweats to her chest, her bag hanging from her shoulder, but wouldn’t meet his gaze. “The sweats are too big. They won’t stay on, even with the drawstring.”

She moved around the back of the couch. A subtle rush of vanilla filled the air, hiking his senses into overdrive. Firelight highlighted sharp cheekbones and creamy skin as she worked to spread her clothes in front of the fireplace to dry, giving her a warm glow he hadn’t witnessed since before they’d buried their daughter. He’d missed seeing her like that. Hell, if he was being honest with himself, he’d missed her. Missed her smile, the way she used to listen to him purge the memories of the day onto her so he didn’t have to shoulder them alone, how beautiful and happy she’d been when they’d had Rey. She turned her cool gaze to his—the warmth draining from her expression—and folded her arms across her chest. His shirt clung to her curves, leaving little to the imagination, but Lawson wouldn’t make her more uncomfortable than she already was by staring at all that perfect skin.

Because the truth was, neither of them had wanted this. Neither of them had gone into their marriage with the intention of divorce. Neither of them had expected to lose their daughter in the blink of an eye or wanted to be dragged into this case of their own free will. The sooner he accepted that, the sooner they could walk away from this investigation and move on with their lives. She’d found her mentor, her best friend, murdered by a vicious killer, and she’d have to live with that memory for the rest of her life. “Tell me how you’re holding up.”

Shock melted that exterior guard for a moment, something he would’ve missed if he hadn’t been watching her so intently. “You want to know how I’m doing?”

“I used to tell you about my cases to share the burden of all the violent, awful things I had to deal with alone.” He sat forward on the couch, leveraging his elbows against his knees. “But you’ve never been involved in one of them. Until now. I know you’re probably replaying the scene over and over in your head, wondering what you could’ve done differently. Wondering what would’ve happened if you’d gotten there sooner. None of it changes what happened, Arden. Yes, I want to know how you’re doing.”

“And you know me so well.” Her voice deadpanned, that brilliant gaze alight with the flames from the fireplace but distant at the same time. “Don’t worry, Agent Mitchell. My emotional and mental state aren’t under your responsibilities as the lead case agent during this investigation.”

He shoved to his feet, ignoring the fact his clothes were still sticking to his skin, and closed the distance between them. Notching her chin higher as though preparing for battle, she leveled blue eyes on him and triggered something deep, something protective. He reached out, combing her hair back away from her face, and his gut instantly caught fire. “All I want is the truth, Arden. That’s all I’ve ever wanted from you.”

“I’ve already given you everything. You don’t get to demand more from me.” She pulled away and retraced her steps behind the couch with her bag still gripped in her hand. Light footsteps echoed through the cabin as she headed for the stairs leading to the loft. “I’m going to bed.”

Damn it. Lawson swore to himself as she escaped. He maneuvered back around the coffee table and glanced down at his tablet to the crime scene photo taking up the screen. Then froze. What the… He leaned over the device, not daring to move it for fear the faint, smudged outline a few feet from Baldwin Webb’s body would disappear. Blackened ash dusted a five to six-foot radius around the burn site. Every inch of that area had been covered with smoke and soot. Apart from a small rectangular section left behind and Arden’s footprints that’d already been matched at the scene. He lifted his attention up toward the loft, instincts rocketing into overdrive. “Son of a bitch.”

Chapter Five

Arden pulled Baldwin’s tablet out of her bag from her position on the floor, but heightened alertness of Lawson’s movements downstairs pushed hesitation through her. Thick wood from the bed frame cut into her spine as she listened for an indication he’d followed her, but only her own short inhales and exhales filled her ears.

Shattered glass cut across her thumb as she swiped the screen, and she pulled back with a hiss. She plunged her finger into her mouth, and the tablet’s screen lit up. Surprise lightninged through her. It hadn’t been destroyed at the scene, but it wanted a four-digit passcode all the same. Shit. Baldwin hadn’t ever let her see what he’d been working on. No matter how many times she’d asked, and he certainly hadn’t given her the passcode. Her attention drifted to the small, red, battery-shaped outline in the upper right-hand corner of the screen. Five percent. She’d have to conserve the power until she had a better idea of what password he would’ve used. She’d left her own charger in her car at the park and ride. The screen darkened as she set her head back against the mattress and studied the cut across her thumb.

Lawson had been right before, about the images playing on repeat in her head, but she hadn’t been ready to accept his advice. She stared up at the wide, high-centered, rectangular window stretching across the wall as rain ticked against the glass, but all Arden could see—could smell—was Baldwin’s remains burned beyond recognition.

Someone had convinced him to meet in that warehouse. Someone had hunted him down. Someone had forced him to swallow gasoline then set him on fire. Why? Tears pricked at her eyes as exhaustion broke her determination to keep her emotions locked up where they belonged. Her stomach revolted. She ducked her head between her knees and tried to breathe through the nausea. The Ache rose to the surface. The part of her she’d secured in a box at the back of her mind and suppressed since her daughter’s death slithered under the cracks and demanded she look. It was longing, and pain, and grief, and rage all wrapped up into a terrifying knot of burning emptiness. She couldn’t let the fire consume her this time. She couldn’t face the darkness waiting for her to make a mistake.

“Arden?” Lawson’s voice penetrated through the slight ringing in her ears.

She gasped, straightening, as she quickly wiped the tears with the back of her hand. The Ache slid back into its box, and she slammed it closed as he materialized in her peripheral vision. She hadn’t heard him come up the stairs and knocked Baldwin’s tablet onto the floor between them. Firelight reached through the loft opening and stair rail, deepening the shadows around his cheeks and mouth. She grabbed for the tablet and held onto it as though she were drowning, and it was the only thing that would save her. Embarrassment pushed heat into her face as she sniffled the evidence of her exposure away. “How long have you been standing there?”

“Long enough to know you lied to me.” He motioned to the tablet in her lap. “It’s Baldwin’s, isn’t it?”

“He never went anywhere without it.” Pressure built behind her chest as she counted the Arden-like reflections in the shattered screen. Twelve. Lawson knew. He knew she’d taken it from the warehouse, that she could face being charged with a felony for tampering with evidence, that she’d deliberately left it out of her statement, and a part of her was relieved. She didn’t have to shoulder this burden alone anymore. Rain pitted against the window, adding to the deafening silence growing between them. “I wanted to know why he’d gone into that warehouse, who’d lured him there. I wanted to find the person who made him suffer and make them pay.”

“This is exactly why the media is a danger to themselves and everyone around them. You’re always looking for the next story, the next scoop, even when it puts your own life at risk. What the hell were you thinking?” Anger infused his voice, but she didn’t dare look at him. “That you would find the killer on your own and expose them? Do you know how far serial offenders go to ensure that doesn’t happen, how many people they’re willing to hurt to keep from getting caught? Damn it, Arden. Now if that tablet leads us to Baldwin’s killer, it can’t be used in court. You should’ve trusted me to do my job.”

“Trusted you?” A humorless laugh bubbled past her lips as she pressed her injured thumb into a sharp edge of broken glass, and she turned to face him. A long-buried resentment burned through her. She pushed to her feet, the tablet in her hand. “How am I supposed to trust you, Lawson? You were my favorite person, but after our daughter died you became so obsessed with your work, you weren’t there anymore. You’d come home from working cases all day then I’d see you sit at the kitchen table every night with the next, but all I saw was a stranger. How was I supposed to trust someone who wouldn’t talk to me?”

The small muscles in his jaw pulsed below his ears. Lawson slid his hands into his slacks the same way she’d attempted to protect herself by crossing her arms over her chest. “You’re the one who filed for divorce. You’re the one who ran—”

“I was grieving!” Didn’t he understand that? She slammed the tablet onto the bed, and the screen lit up between them. She couldn’t breathe, couldn’t think with the Ache suffocating her from the inside. “My daughter was gone, and I had no idea how to get through to you. I had to leave, but being in the same room with you now makes it that much harder and reminds me that I’m just mad at you all the time.”

She hadn’t meant the admission to slip, but Arden couldn’t take it back. She internally reached for some measure of control when all she wanted to do was fall apart.

Lawson stepped forward, settling on the edge of the mattress, a heaviness overtaking his body language. Hints of his spiced aftershave—so familiar—mixed with rain, and, for an instant, she wanted nothing more than to fill her lungs. For comfort, for closeness. To remember some distant version of…them, but that fairy tale had ended a long time ago.

He stared down at the floor between his feet, every inch of him still soaked through from the rain. A rough exhale escaped from between his lips, and her heart jerked in her chest. “This is a murder investigation. What happened between us doesn’t change that, and I can’t let it affect the case.” He raised pain-filled eyes to her. “You tampered with a piece of evidence that could put us ahead of a killer. How am I supposed to trust you now?”

Bile clawed up her throat. He was right. The past wouldn’t solve this case. Studying the tablet between them, Arden stood and sat on the other side of the bed. She wiped damp palms down her bare thighs, wishing his oversized pair of sweatpants had fit better. Maybe another layer of clothing could keep his words from tearing through the barrier she’d built to protect herself from him. Exhaustion weighed heavy on her chest. Not only from working a full day, discovering her mentor in that warehouse, and being faced with hours of interrogation, but from of the anger and resentment they’d used against each other all this time. She’d lived off of it, used it as a crutch in an attempt to leave the past behind, but now she was just…tired.

Arden couldn’t guarantee he’d trust her again, but that didn’t mean they couldn’t work together to find who’d killed two investigative journalists. She tapped the tablet’s broken glass, and the screen lit up between them. “Baldwin took this everywhere with him. He kept notes on all of his investigations and wrote most of his articles with it. If he really did receive an early copy of Jacqueline Day’s autopsy report, it would be in here.”

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