Page 11 of Raging Inferno

“Because she died the same way as Gwen.”

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Presley watched Dominic’s perfectly sculpted lips move as he spoke. “Unfortunately, hundreds of people die in fires each year,” he responded to her statement.

“Same thing Reggie said,” she muttered.

“Excuse me?”

Presley waved a hand. “Nothing. Look, I know it sounds far-fetched, but I have a gut feeling that they are connected.”

Dominic spread his hands in a move she interpreted asI don’t know what to tell you.

“Sometimes coincidences happen. There is nothing suspicious about the fire. If she had replaced her alarm batteries, the outcome might’ve been different. We’ll never know.”

Presley was having a hard time keeping her frustration at bay. An unbiased look at the evidence might suggest the same conclusion as Dominic and Reggie believed, but she didn’t subscribe to the same theory.

Presley jumped when an earsplitting alarm pealed throughout the building. A voice announced an active fire.

Dom surged to his feet. “I’m sorry, I have to go. We’ll continue this later. Leave your number on my desk, and I’ll contact you. We can grab dinner tomorrow if you’re free.”

Then he was gone.

Presley’s heart lurched. Even knowing he’d meant the invitation innocently, she couldn’t help the glimmer of excitement at sharing a meal with him. She’d crushed so hard on him back in the day. She’d dreamed of going out with him, but those were the fantasies of a young girl.

Presley took out one of her COBRA Securities cards and scribbled her cell number on the back before tucking it beneath the phone on his desk. She left the office and watched as the firefighters geared up in practiced efficiency, loaded into the trucks, and motored away, the sirens growing fainter.

Something niggled at her. It’d happened before Dom’s dinner proposal. When he’d thrown out the offer, her mind had blanked. Then it hit her. The announcement of the fire. She took out her phone and scrolled through her contacts. No wonder the address sounded familiar. It was Nancy Baker’s house.

Presley bolted out the door and almost ran over a young girl with a backpack, wearing a jersey emblazoned with the number twenty, striped knee socks, and sneakers. “Oh, I’m sorry.”

“That’s okay. Who are you?”

“Presley.”

“Like that old guy? Elvis?”

Presley chuckled. “Unfortunately, yes. Same name.”

The girl smiled, showcasing deep dimples . . . just like Dom’s. She wore a Minnesota Twins baseball cap, with long, curly black hair spilling out the back hole. “What’s your name?”

“Gia. My dad works here, but the trucks are gone, so they’re out on a call.”

Presley wasn’t an expert judge of age, but the girl looked too young to be out and about by herself. “Is your dad Dominic Bianchi?”

Gia’s eyes widened, and she nodded. “How did you know?”

The stab of disappointment the news caused was totally inappropriate for the situation. She didn’t even know Dominic, certainly not the man he’d become. It shouldn’t come as a surprise that he was married. Then she recalled him saying something about his daughter slugging him for being insensitive. Presley wondered what his wife would say about his dinner offer to her.

“I knew your dad years ago. I grew up in Serenity Shores.”

“That’s too bad,” Gia grumbled as she kicked at the floor. “I hate it here.”

Presley had felt the same way after Gwen died. Though it was a lovely city, the bad outweighed the good.

She didn’t want to leave the girl, but she needed to get to the scene of the fire. Dominic and Reggie had to believe her now. Her instincts about the Cheerios had been correct.

“Gia, is somebody watching you now?”

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