Page 28 of Over the Flames

“Get lost, man,” the guy said, barely diverting his gaze from the barely legal woman in his arms.

He didn’t have time for this. Lawson holstered his weapon then shot a hand toward the guy’s throat. The woman screamed as she dodged out of the way, giving him enough room to pull the man in his grip closer. His exhales combined with that of the guy in his grasp. “Listen to me, you pain in the ass, my wife has been kidnapped by a psychopathic killer who’s setting people on fire around the city, and I’m not in the mood to wait around until you’re done sowing your wild oats. You understand?” He maneuvered the phone between them, forcing the kid to take a long, good look. “Have you seen this woman? Yes or no.”

“Yeah, yeah. Some lady was helping her walk through the lobby. She seemed kind of out of it, like she was drunk.” The guy nodded, wide eyes steady on the screen. “I swear, man. I didn’t know she was in danger. I would’ve called the police.”

“How long ago?” He jerked the guy into the wall.

“Just a minute ago! Right before we came in here.” The kid wrapped both hands around Lawson’s wrist.

He released his hold around the witness’s neck and dove for the door. Crisp air slid under his collar and fought to cool the sweat beading across his chest. The stairwell door closed behind him as he targeted the main entrance. He sprinted through the lobby, pushing his legs as fast as they would go, and shoved through the double glass doors. Pulling up short, he scanned the street, every car, every face staring at him with confusion and fear contorting their features. Interlacing his fingers behind his head, he tried to catch his breath, but the pain in his chest wouldn’t let up. Not until he knew Arden was safe.

The thundering slam of a car door caught his attention off to the right, to a bright red pickup truck with Washington plates and a glimpse of short blonde hair in the passenger side mirror. Instant recognition speared through him, and Lawson jogged toward the vehicle. Baldwin Webb’s missing vehicle. The tinted back window kept him from identifying the driver, and he unholstered his weapon. “FBI! Get out of the truck—”

Tires protested against asphalt as the truck sped away from the curb, leaving a cloud of black smoke between him and the driver. Burnt rubber filled his lungs and burned his eyes as he took off toward the parking lot around the corner and sprinted for his SUV. Once inside, he redialed Sheriff Sanders and fishtailed out of the lot in the direction the red pickup truck had gone. “I’m in pursuit of a red Ford F-150 with Washington plates I believe to be Baldwin Webb’s. First three numbers on the plate are Alpha-Zulu-Nine. I didn’t get a look at the driver, but Arden was in the passenger seat, unconscious.”

He flipped on the siren and dashboard lights, swerving in and out of traffic, but didn’t see any sign of the truck. He squeezed the wheel and tossed his phone into the passenger seat, still on speaker.

“Acknowledged.” Sheriff Sanders’s voice filled the cabin of the SUV. “Seattle PD is now en route. CSU is ten minutes out from the victim’s apartment building. I’ll have them report directly to you if they give us an ID on our suspect.”

His heart rate spiked as a flash of red pulled his attention down one of the cross streets. There. Lawson twisted the steering wheel as hard as he could, barely avoiding the parked cars along the street, and pressed his foot into the accelerator. “Find out who would seek revenge for Salena Greer’s and her son’s deaths, Sanders. They’re the only one who could be behind this.”

He ended the call, pushing the vehicle harder. The red pickup wound through traffic, car horns breaking through the labored sound of his own breathing. The truck cut off a sedan and took another hard right turn a block ahead. Civilians maneuvered off to the side of the street as much as they could as Lawson gave chase. “You’re not getting away from me that easily.”

Turning onto the street the pickup had vanished down, he locked his arms against the steering wheel and slammed on the brakes. Midday sunlight reflected off the electric red paint of the truck parked in the center of the street. Both the driver’s side and the passenger side doors had been left open. No sign of the driver. No sign of Arden. Shoving the SUV into park, Lawson unholstered his weapon and shouldered out of the vehicle. He motioned to the bystanders on the street. “FBI, get back in your vehicles!”

Fear bled into his pores from the frantic movements of the onlookers around him, but he only had focus for the truck, on finding Arden alive. He approached the pickup from behind, still not able to see through the dark tint covering the back window. Nothing in the bed of the truck other than two gas containers. Pivoting, he pressed the left side of his body into the driver’s side door and searched the cab.

Arden wasn’t here.

Smoke billowed from the backseat, compromising his vision. Covering his mouth, he scanned the surrounding sidewalks and alleys as a face full of fumes burned the back of his throat and nostrils. He only had a moment for his senses to translate the implications before realization struck. His heart kicked into overdrive as he spotted the gas can in the back seat with the burning rag visible inside the nozzle. Lawson spun and ran, waving back the few bystanders who’d stuck around to see what was happening. “Get back! Everyone get—”

The explosion seared across his back and neck and catapulted him into a sedan parked along the other side of the street. Glass shattered under his momentum, and ear-ringing destruction filled his head. His SUV rocketed back and landed upside down in the middle of the street. Air squeezed from his lungs as though every inch of his body had been crushed, and he collapsed onto the pavement. Engulfing both the pickup and his own vehicle, flames spread toward him as unconsciousness dragged him under.

Chapter Twenty-Five

Pain.

Arden tried to pull her head up, but the ache pounding at the back of her skull had taken control. She rolled her fingers into her palms, only to grasp something that felt like splintered wood. The burn in her side screamed with every humidity-filled inhale. Blood glistened on her shirt and highlighted the two distinct areas of her wound. The taser… She’d blacked out after being stunned with a taser, but it hadn’t been like anything she’d seen before. Stronger? Modified? The last few seconds of a struggle flashed across her mind.

“I know you’re awake, Arden. You can’t pretend with me.” The confident grate of the woman’s voice from the shadows raised her nerve endings into over-stimulated consciousness. Soft footsteps echoed off stained cement under Arden’s feet. Stinging pain spread across her scalp as her attacker fisted a handful of her hair and wrenched her head back. “I’ve waited a long time for this. The least you could do is look me in the eyes when I kill you.”

“Rose.” The last piece fit into the puzzle of this investigation. The plagiarism claim against Baldwin, the misdirection leading her and Lawson to Phil Anderson’s home, the suspicion against the Arsonist. It’d all been carefully planned by the investigative journalist staring her down. Pine green eyes remained steady on her, and Arden tugged against the zip ties securing her wrists and ankles to the chair, but there was no give. No slack. A hint of smoke and gasoline fumes triggered her gag reflex. The warehouse. Rose Hindley had brought her back to the beginning, where she’d killed Baldwin on Vashon Island. “You killed Baldwin. You killed them all because they were looking into Vashon Chemical poisoning the island’s water supply.”

“Rose. I never really liked that name, but it’s done its job. It’s brought me to this point, to you. The entire time you sat across from me in that house, you never realized who I was, did you? You never considered the possibility the woman who lost everything because of you would make you pay for what you’ve done.” A humorless laugh and a one-sided smile lightened the woman’s severe features, and the sense Arden had experienced the moment she’d stepped into Rose Hindley’s home two days ago returned. Familiarity. Recognition. The pressure drained along her scalp as Rose released her hair.

Rhinoplasty. Cheek implants. Weight loss. Change of hair color. Arden tried to swallow around the thickness swelling in her throat. The woman in front of her wasn’t the same person Arden had studied for her article. Tension climbed up her back as she pressed herself into the chair. “Salena Greer.”

“Do you know what perfluorooctanoic acid does to the human body, Arden?” Rose—Salena—stepped back. Dim light penetrated through the dirt-caked windows and highlighted one side of her face, throwing the other into darkness. “Do you have any idea how much pain a six-year-old boy would be in by drinking the very same water that was supposed to be good for him?” Rose stepped to one side, within Arden’s peripheral vision, and crouched to gather a large gasoline can from the floor. “The government mandated companies that produced the chemical to phase it out over the past few years, but it turns out, Vashon Chemical didn’t get the message. Instead, they decided they’d hide it to protect their profit margins, and by the time anyone realized what they’d been doing, it was too late.”

Panic flared as Rose straightened, gas can in hand. Twisting her wrist under the zip ties, Arden bit back the groan clawing up her throat. Blood blossomed under the plastic, but that wasn’t going to stop her from trying to escape. “Residents started getting sick.”

“Not just residents. Children. My child.” A low growl accentuated the last word, and a stab of pain softened the wrath in Rose’s expression. “He was sick all the time. They couldn’t tell me why. He couldn’t breathe. The liver damage had crippled his ability to stay awake for more than two hours at a time. The precancerous cells in his kidneys were multiplying. No one would listen to me. No one would believe me. Doctor appointment after doctor appointment. Referrals, more specialists. Hospital stays in the city resulting in negative tests and improved symptoms every time we left the island. I should’ve seen it. I just wanted him to get better.”

“He was improving because he wasn’t drinking the water.” Arden’s heart jerked in her chest. All of that pain, all of that agony from losing a child surfaced in a roller coaster rush of helplessness.

A hardness transformed Rose Hindley’s expression into a woman on the edge, and a shiver chased down Arden’s back. The killer’s knuckles tried to break through the thin skin on the back of her hands as she clutched the gasoline can tighter. Heels clicked on the cement as Rose closed the distance between them. “But that wasn’t what would sell papers, was it, Arden? The public, the newspaper, your editor, Baldwin Webb—you gave them all exactly what they wanted to hear: a mother so desperate for attention that she was willing to poison her son to get it.” Rose tipped the can of gasoline up, and the liquid chugged from the short nozzle, soaking into Arden’s clothing.

“Rose, I didn’t know.” She turned her head away, but the fumes still burned down her throat, stung her eyes. Her lungs automatically spasmed for oxygen. Tipping her head back, she fought for a full breath. A tear escaped down her cheek as the burn intensified. “I’m sorry. I didn’t know. You don’t have to do this. Please, you don’t have to do this.”

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