Page 61 of Nicole's Shelter

“Of course I have, but not as Nicole Livingston. No one involved with WITSEC or my original life knows about it. Not even my current friends or coworkers.”

He had to hope she was right and no one—specifically Clifton—had made the connection.

On a sigh, she dropped her feet back to the floor boards. “The night of the fire wasn’t my best effort, obviously. I’ve been meticulously working on an escape route for years. The fire seemed like good cover at the time, but in hindsight, I should have waited until I was less frazzled to run.”

“Blood loss probably didn’t help,” he teased.

“Talk like that sure doesn’t.”

“Right,” but he couldn’t quell the grin. “Getting back on point, if your Mr. Chan wasn’t a bad guy, what do you think happened?”

“How should I know?”

“You can’t tell me you haven’t created a theory or two along the way.”

“Maybe. But when you’re the only one thinking about stuff, when there’s no one to talk to about it, the ideas start to sound outrageous after a while.”

“What kind of stuff?”

“The fire patterns mainly.”

“You mean the delete sign signature?”

“Well, that too.” She went quiet and he knew she was reliving it. “I saw the DEA jacket,” she murmured. “Saw the shooter’s face. Clifton’s face. I— I think Mr. Chan’s last words were telling me to run.”

Sounded like a decent thing to do, Rick thought. But he didn’t see how that memory tied to the fire patterns. “You said the fires were mostly small?”

“Yes,” She gave a little shudder. “And obviously someone was sending a message by leaving the bold signature.”

“Right. But what pattern popped out to you?”

“The fires were mostly small and contained quickly. Not like the blaze at the apartment. It’s hard to explain and you’ll probably think I’m nuts.”

“Try me.”

“When I think back, I think all those fires were places that bought things from Mr. Chan’s shop.”

“That doesn’t make sense,” he said.

“Told you.” She sighed. “I know it’s a dumb theory and a weird connection. But still. He was a pillar in the community and most of the business owners in the area supported one another.”

“At this point every theory is worth exploring.” He stretched an arm across the cab and patted her knee, wishing she was closer. “My thought is if Chan had sold something that was valuable to Clifton—purposely or not—why would Clifton’s arsonist try and torch it? Why not steal it back?”

“Exactly.” Perked up, she surged against the seat belt. “Unless the fires were a message or a threat.”

“What kind of message? And how do you hurt a man with no family?”

“Put him out of business, I guess.” She shrugged a shoulder “He was devoted to that shop and the community.”

“So not only the business, but to really get under his skin, you let him know his community is suffering because of him.”

“Sounds like psychology 101. But that still doesn’t explain the why of it. I’ll never believe Mr. Chan was into anything illegal.”

He wasn’t about to challenge her belief. Not until he saw the pictures. Assuming there was anything that would shed light on this twisted mess. The gang was Asian, the victim was Asian. It was entirely possible the illegal activity had occurred overseas.

“Did Mr. Chan ever travel much for work or fun?”

“My sister and I sometimes took care of his cat when he went on buying trips, but those were short, always less than a week, and usually to New York or Chicago. He never talked about going all the way back to China.”

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