Soot and flecks of ash coated Special Agent Vera Gilmore’s tongue and stabbed her gag reflex as panic galloped through her chest like a wild stallion speeding across a Texas desert. Coming to Serenity Canyon had been a mistake. But when Brooks Brawley had called her, telling her people had been burned alive, she’d been too shocked to say no. She had the ability to aid him, and she wanted to.
Over twenty years had passed since she’d laid eyes on her former college boyfriend. After graduation, he’d chosen to return to his small West Texas town where he was now the lead homicide detective, and Vera had pursued a career in the FBI. She’d been with the BAU—Behavioral Analysis Unit—in Quantico for the past six years.
Life had forked between her and Brooks, led them down opposite roads to new people and new lives. Lives where new dreams had been birthed and the future had been full of possibilities, until they weren’t anymore. Tragedy and death had stolen from them both. Many nights, Vera had awakened to nightmares, slicked in sweat, hair matted to her face, and no one to hold her close and comfort her. Not anymore. Only hollow remnants of a life that had been good and well-lived remained buried under the ash of Danny’s death.
She fanned her face. January in Texas felt like October in Quantico, Virginia. Mid to upper sixties during the day and fifties in the evening, but the memories burned hot and flushed her cheeks. Even now she could feel the flames licking up her body, melting her flesh and stealing Danny away. Eight years since she’d tried to rescue him from the blazing inferno of their home. Eight years of widowhood. And she was only forty-one.
If only she’d blown out that candle before they’d gone to bed.
She shuddered and refocused on the case at hand and the latest crime scene—charred remains of a horse stable on a small ranch. Rubble and ashes littered the floor. Glancing up through the gaping hole in the roof, she saw the sky tinted in orange and pinks as the sun made its rest for the night.
The stable popped and cracked. But Keegan Lane, the fire lieutenant, had said the structure was secure enough, though he wouldn’t recommend taking up homestead. He was walking around the outside of the building, looking through debris. It had been two decades since she’d seen him too. He’d been Brooks’s childhood best friend. She’d met him a few times when she’d come home with Brooks for a holiday or during the summer.
“Vera, I meant what I said,” Keegan reminded as he poked his head inside. “Take your time but hurry up. Nothing is absolute.”
Wasn’t that the truth.
Brooks had remained outside the stable, allowing her time to go inside alone, examine the damage and, if she had to guess, to give her time to deal with her emotions. It had a been a long time since she’d stood within a building eaten by fire and it had brought back old, terrible and painful memories.
Brooks had always been discerning and thoughtful. With a mom who had suffered from MS, he’d known the responsibility of helping to care for a loved one and see to their needs. She’d passed not long after they parted ways romantically.
The sound of feet shuffling and kicking away rubble drew her attention. Brooks’s imposing frame cast a long shadow as he stood with his hands in his dark denim pockets. He’d always been a big guy with a velvety baritone voice that could lull one to comfort or intimidate. His thick black hair wasn’t showing signs of age just yet and was cut short with a few trendy spikes up front. Only the crinkles around his intense blue eyes showed he was on his way to the midforties.
“What are you thinking?” he asked.
She sighed and rubbed the puckers on her right wrist. The long sleeves, slacks and her shoulder-length hair could hide most of the scars, except the ones on her hands. Unless she wore gloves, and it wasn’t cold enough for those. “The killer let the horses out before setting the fire. Could be to create the diversion so the victim would come out of the house. Could be simply because he’s an animal lover.”
Brooks opened his mouth and Vera held up her hand. She knew what he was going to say.
“I say he because most arsonists are men. Women make up a small percentage—so I’m not ruling out a woman, but for sake of conversation, I’m going with a male. Young. White. He may have a record for earlier offenses, though less dramatic than this latest string, and probably not homicides involved. I can’t say much more until I talk to your friend Tracey.” She surveyed the stable. “She’s clearly the key.”
Brooks’s worried brow revealed his very real concern for his late wife’s best friend. An investigative reporter for the local news station, Tracey had been anonymously called concerning all three fires in the past six months. He’d found out her cell phone number and wanted her to know first. “I just wish I knew why.”
Lieutenant Lane entered the stable. His sandy-brown hair was showing signs of age and his leathery skin revealed he spent most of his time outdoors when not working at the small Serenity Canyon fire department. “The MO is the same. Basic Molotov cocktail. All anyone needs to do is google it and they can learn how to make one. Flammable liquid, a bottle and a rag. Light it. Toss it. Torch it. In this case, it’s gasoline and a glass soda bottle.”
Brooks heaved a sigh. “Easy to buy, hard to trace. Just like the burner phone he’s used to call Tracey. Not just hard—impossible.”
Vera hadn’t had a full briefing yet. Just an initial call from Brooks with a heartfelt plea to help. “Do the victims connect with one another?”
Brooks shook his head. “Not with each other that we can find. Just a slight connection to Tracey, minus our first victim. Stranger camping near Big Bend National Park in his camper truck. It was set on fire in the night. Second vic had ties to Tracey. Intern at the news station. She’d recently been hired. Tracey didn’t know her well. No one did. But this last one...it’s personal.” Brooks balled a fist. “She’s my daughter’s social studies teacher and soccer coach. Tracey and she had become friends since she’d been taking Katie to practices and helped with picking her up from school. The kid’s a mess.” He heaved a sigh and raked a hand through his hair.
Hmm...maybe it wasn’t a purposely trendy hairdo as she’d first thought, but spikes of hair due to stress-combing.
“I’m sorry,” Vera said. Loss was always a mess. “I’d like to talk to Tracey. He’s called her personally with her private cell number and he’s choosing people she’s connected to. She’s important to him. I need to know why.”
“Of course.”
“Look, y’all. I need to go,” Keegan said. “I wouldn’t stick around too much longer. I’m not saying you aren’t safe but I’m not saying you are either.” Lieutenant Lane nodded to Vera. “It’s good to see you again. Sorry it’s under these circumstances.” He slapped Brooks on the back. “I’ll call you later.”
He strode toward the white truck with the Serenity Canyon fire department sticker on the side.
“I never pegged him as one to go into the fire department. He was always in trouble, if I remember right.”
Brooks chuckled. “He’s a good egg. Best man at my wedding. CeCe threatened him with his life if he played a prank during the ceremony. She just knew he was going to set off the fire alarm.” He chuckled at the sweet memory.
Danny had been a jokester too. She actually missed evenings when he’d been doing the dishes and spontaneously sprayed her with the sink nozzle, turning the kitchen into a watery disaster. She’d scolded him, but secretly loved his playful side.
“He sounds fun. Is he married?”
“You interested?” he teased.
She gave him the get-real look.
Brooks shook his head. “Nah. I don’t know that he’ll ever settle down. Did go out for a brief time with Tracey. CeCe was forever the matchmaker. But that didn’t stick. And then Tracey met someone else.” He shrugged. “So he’s available and a catch.”
“The only thing I want to catch is this killer.”
“Me too.”
She paused before moving on with the investigation, affected by his mention of his late wife. While she’d sent flowers to the funeral, she hadn’t personally called or given her condolences. Maybe she should have. “I’m sorry for your loss, Brooks. I’m sure CeCe was a wonderful woman.” From what little Vera knew, CeCe Brawley had been a speech pathologist and the leader of their church’s women’s ministry. She’d died in a tragic car accident coming home from a women’s retreat in the Texas Hill Country two years ago. Brooks’s loss wasn’t simply tender; it was fresh.
“She was,” he said in a low timbre. He inhaled deeply and scanned the stable. “Anything else here speak to you?”
The killer had lured out Adrianna Montega, the soccer coach, when he’d let the horses loose. Once she’d entered the stable, he’d barricaded her inside, but they were unsure with what as it had been less than twenty-four hours since the crime was perpetrated. After imprisoning her, he’d tossed the Molotov cocktail through the open loft window, which was stocked with hay bales. The fire had ignited fast and been furious.
Vera knew firsthand how rapidly a fire spread. Like a ravenous monster with an insatiable appetite. One little candle flame had turned into a blaze, consuming their home in a matter of minutes. Vera didn’t have to imagine what went through Adrianna’s mind or the fear that overtook her. She knew it well. Since the fire, she couldn’t help but look for exits upon entering every store or establishment. She detested confined spaces and she refused to ever live in a two-story home again. They might have made it out had it not been for the time it took to get an already unconscious man down the stairs.
“We’re about to lose light.” His cell phone rang. “It’s Katie. I need to take this.”
She smiled and motioned him to take the call. “I’m about done. Go on. I’ll catch up.” Vera wanted one more look around. She had two more crime scenes to visit, but not tonight. She needed to try to slide into the killer’s mind. She knew the how. She needed the why. What was his ultimate goal? What did he want the world to know? Or was this more about Tracey Tisdale than the news she reported? She was a focal point for sure.
Vera took slow, measured steps outside the stable, studying the distance from the ranch house where the victim had lived. According to Brooks, Adrianna had inherited it from her grandfather and was preparing it to sell.
Brooks also owned a ranch, but she hadn’t seen it yet. Earlier he’d met her in baggage claim at the airport and the moment she’d seen him, a flutter in her chest had unsettled her. It had been such a long time since she’d felt that for anyone, but it had brought back that swooping, heady feeling she used to experience around him over two decades ago.
They’d been kids.
A lot of life and time had passed. She’d grown. Matured. And yet he still evoked that feeling. Not only had it startled her, it scared her. Vera didn’t want to feel flutters for a man—any man. Flutters led to feelings, and feelings led to commitment, which led to marriage and intimacy...and that terrified her most.
When Danny died, she didn’t believe she’d ever be attracted to another man, but after three years, she was. She’d accepted a date with a federal agent. One date had led to four. But Vera was good at her job and she’d noticed his behavior. He chose to sit on her left side, hold her left hand. She’d hoped it was paranoia. Reading too much into it. But after a couple of months, he’d finally admitted he was struggling with her scars.
He was struggling.
She knew after the fire she’d changed. But it was in that moment the reality struck her. She was not the woman she once was and never would be. Not to her. Not to the opposite sex. The crushing blow and humiliation had sealed her resolve. No one would reject her again. She wouldn’t allow it. Even if it meant being alone and lonely.
She slowly circled the stable. The killer must have come on foot. The only way to this spot was up the main drive, past the house. Adrianna would have heard a vehicle, seen headlights—driving in the pitch-black would have been too dangerous. No, he’d parked somewhere, knowing he’d have plenty of time to return to wherever he’d stashed his vehicle. He’d had nothing heavy to haul. Only a soda bottle full of gasoline and a lighter.
The stable was a long rectangle with two sliding doors on opposite ends. Overhead was a large loft with windows above the doors. He would have only needed to open one stable door plus each stall door to get the horses outside. Once Adrianna entered, he would have closed the door then barricaded it with something that wouldn’t burn away and give her the chance to escape. Once the bottle was tossed through the window above, the fire would have ignited the hay in the loft and the stable would have burned quickly.
Using her cell phone flashlight, she reentered the stable and shone the beam on the half-eaten loft. He might have athletic ability. Maybe played baseball or softball. It would have taken a good aim and arm to ensure it went through the window.
Rustling drew her attention. Brooks must have returned.
Cold chills swept down her spine and she paused. “Brooks?” she asked softly.
A crack like a monster tree limb splitting from a storm strike startled her and she shot a glance upward just in time to see a huge broken and charred beam barrel toward her.
She shrieked and bolted, but she wasn’t fast enough. The heavy wood clipped her.
A searing pain shot up her leg and she cried out as she fell, smacking her head on something hard. Stars burst before her eyes as she caught faint sight of a dark figure running from the stable.
Then blackness engulfed her.
Vera’s bloodcurdling scream sent his nerves on edge and Brooks abruptly ended the phone call as he flew to the stable, tripping over brush.
An eerie silence shoved a mountain of fear into his throat and kicked up his pulse.
“Vera!”
Nothing.
Heart jackhammering against his ribs, he burst into the sooty stable, using his cell flashlight to find her as he called her name.
Again, no answer.
He should have been more alert, more watchful. He’d heard the crack, assumed it was a limb. He’d already been second-guessing himself since he’d called Vera and all but begged her to fly out to profile the serial arsonist committing homicides in his small town. Knowing about her husband’s tragic death and Vera’s valiant effort to save him, which had badly burned and nearly killed her as well, had given him some hesitation, but he was desperate to catch this killer who was wreaking havoc on his community.
Already he felt selfish and insensitive but Vera’s reputation for behavioral analysis was stellar and he knew personally how good she was. If she was hurt...
Ahead, near the west side of the stable, he spotted her lying in a heap, a large charred beam lying across her legs. Racing to her side, he dropped on his knees and felt for a pulse.
Thank You, Lord. There was one. She’d hit her head though. Blood splotched her hairline. He called 9-1-1 then propped up his phone for light. Using both hands, he put all his muscle into lifting the heavy beam from her legs. He dropped it with a thud, raising the settled ashes into the air and into his lungs.
He said her name through a cough, but she didn’t stir. Rolling up her pant leg, he inspected the damage. Nothing but a smooth calf covered in soot and deep red marks. He couldn’t be sure if it was broken. The head injury was a priority.
He brushed back her long blond hair from her face. Furrows of skin, some light, some dark, covered her neck and his heart ached for her. Once he’d scorched his finger on a cast iron skillet; it had blistered and burned for days.
But he’d never been engulfed in flames, fighting for his life or the life of his loved one. Vera’s love ran deep and loyal. He’d already known that personally. She’d never passed up giving aid to anyone. The woman kept hygiene kits in her car in case she encountered a homeless person and she never ignored an elderly woman attempting to put groceries in a trunk. Vera was and had always been selfless. It was why she’d come today.
To serve. To bring justice. To stop a killer.
Mercy, he admired her. He did not admire the dip in his gut thinking about her. “Vera,” he breathed. Sirens pierced through his thoughts, growing louder until the lights from the ambulance blinded him. Keegan had said the stable was unpredictable. To get in and out. He was right.
Vera stirred and a slight moan escaped her lips before she coughed and sputtered. “He ran...he ran that way...” she murmured.
He? Who? “Vera, wake up. You’re dreaming.”
“I’m not dreaming. If I were dreaming,” she said through a groan, “I’d be on a horse by a creek or something. Maybe even eating a cheeseburger and fries without gaining weight. That’s a dream, Brookie.”
Her humor and even the old pet name she’d given him brought a smirk to his lips. Granted, he detested the name, but he’d always allowed her to use it. Because at one time, he’d loved her more than anything or anyone in the world.
She shifted and winced. Her frame was petite, barely over five feet. When he’d embraced her, she’d been swallowed up by his beefy six-foot-three-inch frame. But she was tough and solid. Full of spunk, even now in her wounded state. She was far from fragile.
At least physically.
Brooks now understood the brokenness of loss. The way grief shattered one’s soul until even breathing hurt. Many nights after CeCe died, he’d prayed God would take him too. It would have been so much easier than the excruciating heartbreak. But then he’d retract the prayer for Katie’s sake. For her, he’d had to go on and not be consumed by the pain eating him alive.
“Help me sit up.”
“Your leg might be broken or you could have internal injuries. Let’s wait on the paramedics.”
“It’s not broken or I’d have probably puked from the pain by now.”
“Nice.”
Vera shifted and held her head; Brooks helped her into a sitting position. She winced at her leg. “Not broken but probably sprained. My head hurts though. Not gonna lie.”
The paramedics entered the stable, assessed her condition and then lifted her onto a stretcher against her wishes. “You’ll need X-rays on that leg and butterfly stitches on your head.” They asked several probing questions before loading her into the ambulance.
“I’ll be right behind you,” Brooks told her.
“Get the police out here to comb the area. I saw someone. The beam falling was deliberate.” Her voice shook and her hand trembled.
“Are you sure?” She had hit her head.
“I’m positive.”
“Okay.” The doors closed, and Brooks massaged the nape of his neck. Why would the killer be out here? Had he returned to his other crime scenes?
But why try to hurt or kill Vera? She might have interrupted him or he was afraid she would have seen him. Or he might have left something behind and was scared she would find it first and take it. Something incriminating. Striding back into the stable, Brooks inspected the ceiling where the beam had fallen from. He kicked the actual beam. If Vera hadn’t been fast on her feet, she might not be alive right now.
Brooks couldn’t have another death on his hands. He already carried the guilt from CeCe’s death.
“Brooks, my tires are looking bald.”
“I’ll handle it, babe.”
He’d thought he’d had time.
Time slipped by. Reminders fell on deaf ears.
And then her tire blew.
Time ended.
He’d never forgive himself for that. Never forgive himself for robbing Katie of her mom. The loss was taking serious effect. Since she’d passed, the kid was always in trouble. CeCe had been so good with her. Brooks hadn’t been raised with sisters. Dealing with the female persuasion was foreign to him. He was utterly clueless when it came to their thought processes and emotions.
Tracey had been a godsend since CeCe’s death. Picking up the slack and doing girl things with Katie. Now some sick dude with an affinity for fire had seemingly fixated on Tracey.
He jogged to his unmarked Dodge Charger and paused as a sudden cold swept over him and the feeling of unseen eyes staring from beyond sent a rush of dread into his blood.
This killer was unpredictable, an opportunist, and clearly not done with his agenda—one that Brooks was also clueless about. That was why he needed Vera. She could get into the killer’s mind and figure out his motive and what kind of person they needed to be pursuing. She was good at reading people. She’d always been able to read him.
But then his feelings about her had always been easy to observe; he’d never held back from her. Never felt the need to. He wasn’t always good with sharing his emotions but she’d made it simple for him. He wished it was as simple with Katie.
Right now, he was hanging on by a thread, being pulled in so many personal and professional directions. Thankfully, he had some help in the department now, since they’d promoted Andy Michaels from narcotics to homicide detective. The precinct was small and everyone knew everyone. Andy was a good guy and CeCe had set him up with Tracey about three months before she’d died. They had just recently gotten engaged. A wedding was set for summer. CeCe would be proud.
But even with him and Andy working the case, it was a demanding job. Busy. Stressful. Time consuming.
Everyone was looking to him for answers.
Brooks had none.
He eased onto the highway flanked by the gorgeous Davis Mountains. The winding curves he’d been driving since he was sixteen. As he approached the downtown area, he slowed. Most of Serenity Canyon’s shops, boutiques and businesses had closed for the evening. Only a few restaurants and cafés were still open. Once he passed through downtown, he made his way to the small hospital with an even smaller emergency department. Parking behind the ambulance, he left his light bar flashing and headed inside.
As the doors automatically slid open, a wave of warm air enveloped him. He slumped in a waiting room chair and mindlessly scrolled through his phone. The doors opened again and he glanced up.
Andy and Tracey entered. Her expression was worried. She was supposed to be watching Katie.
“Where’s Katie?” he asked.
“I dropped her at Allyson Beaumont’s house fifteen minutes ago. Carinne said she can stay the night if you’re going to be later than ten.”
Tracey helped Brooks so much with Katie, but she had to be to bed early and at the news station by 4:00 a.m. for field reporting, so when she wasn’t available, Allyson’s mom, Carinne, pitched in. “I’ll text her. I have no clue how long I’ll be.”
“Any word on your FBI friend? Andy told me she’d been attacked at the stable. That it wasn’t an accident.”
Andy’s neck reddened. Tracey often had insider scoops and it wasn’t from Brooks. He knew how to separate personal and professional lines.
“Do not report that, Tracey. We don’t know enough about what happened, and I’m not one hundred percent sure that she saw anything. She hit her head pretty good.” He stood and paced the waiting area.
“I’m sure she’ll be fine,” Tracey said. “From what you said about her in the press conference this morning, she seems fully capable and well equipped to handle these kinds of circumstances.”
“Yeah, well, you didn’t see her. If anything happens it’ll be...”
His words died on his lips as Vera hobbled into the waiting room, papers in her right hand. Butterfly stitches and a scowl lined her brow. He rushed to her, inspecting her. “Are you okay or checking yourself out against doctors’ wishes?” The woman was stubborn. Doubtful that had changed over the years.
A smirk creased the dimple in her left cheek that was streaked with soot and dirt. “No. I’m released. Headache but no concussion. Ankle’s bruised, so I get to wear this beauty.” She drew her left pant leg up to reveal a lightweight brace. “Better than a boot or cast, I guess. Otherwise I’m dandy.”
He silently thanked God and his shoulders relaxed. “You said you saw someone. You still sure?”
“Yep.”
“I believe you.” He scoped out her forehead, instinctively touched the tender area. “Looks painful. I’m sorry, Vera. I feel responsible.”
“You knock a beam loose and onto me? I mean you had left the scene. You had time to circle around the stable...”
He gaped then caught the twinkle in her pale green eyes, the tease twitching at the side of her lip, cocking it into a rather attractive smirk.
“Ha. Ha.”
“Then don’t feel sorry or responsible. I can’t say it was the arsonist. It might be someone who has a fire fetish but hasn’t gotten up the nerve to set his own yet, so he came out to live vicariously. I spooked him and he knocked the beam loose and ran. I don’t know for sure. But I plan to find out. After I wash away all this grime. I’d like to get started tonight.”
“You should rest, but before you protest, let me add I know you won’t. So come meet my partner and Tracey Tisdale. Katie’s at a friend’s house but you can meet her tomorrow. You’ll like her. Y’all share the spunky vibe.” He pulled out his cell phone. “I’ll text you my address. We can go to my place and go over more case information, have decent coffee. I’ll drop you at the station for your rental or I can take you to the hotel and wait on you if you don’t feel like driving.”
She waved him off with the hand holding her papers. “I can drive. And I’d like to meet your daughter. I hope she’s more like her mother. Two of you is too many.” She winked and he grinned, then guided her with his hand on her lower back toward Andy and Tracey.
“She’s just like her mom. But maybe a little like her old man too.” He introduced her to Andy Michaels and they shook hands. “And this is Tracey Tisdale. The reporter who’s received the calls, and CeCe’s best friend.” He turned and held Vera’s gaze. “And this is my...”
Old friend? The person he once thought was the love of his life?
“Dear friend and the woman who is going to help us catch this sicko. Vera Gilmore.”
Tracey grinned and hugged her. “So you’re the star he talked about in the press conference earlier this morning.”
Brooks hadn’t used the word “star,” but she was. Earlier today he’d given a press conference to help put the public at ease. Releasing the news that a behavioral expert from the FBI was coming on board as a consultant—one he had said he trusted implicitly—would help put some fear to bed. He might have added a few more accolades, but they were all true. Not a single biased statement.
“I’m glad to have you here,” Tracey said. “It’s been unnerving at best. Terrifying to say the least. Sooner we catch him, the sooner I can stop jumping at shadows.”
“I’ll do everything I can. Once I clean up.”
They strode outside to the parking lot.
Andy hung back and gave Brooks a knowing grin. “A dear friend, huh?” he murmured. “I suspect something more than that, Brooks.”
“That’s why you’re a detective. You got good gut feelings.”
Andy punched his biceps. “Knew it. Told Tracey I was sure y’all knew each other in a more personal way.”
“College. Thought I was gonna marry her. Even ring shopped. But...it went another way. No regrets.”
“Wow. That’s more personal than I suspected. Speaking of suspecting, I also think this guy is ramping up. I don’t like that Tracey is in the center or that he has her personal cell number or that we can’t figure out how he got it.”
Brooks didn’t like any of it either and Tracey wouldn’t change her number.
“I think your gut is spot-on there too.”
That meant they needed to be on their A games.
Copyright © 2022 by Jessica R. Patch