Robert drummed his fingers against his thigh. The woman was dangerous and he knew something about danger—he’d studied addictive personalities for eight years and he’d seen that there were dangers less obvious than those that lurked on side streets, lived in dark alleys, and slept in bars. There were those of the mind—unchecked thoughts that could lead to a temptation that sent its victim to his own destruction.
Right now his destruction lay in the form of a tantalizing woman humming to herself in the cool glow of a setting sun as she set the dinner table. He watched as her graceful arms reached to straighten a place setting and her expert fingers turned napkins into fans.
He was used to watching people. His profession made it essential to be an expert observer, but he knew there was nothing scientific or cerebral about what he was doing now. He’d never hid in a doorway and watched one of his employees’ work, but there was something about her that led him to do this, a vitality about her that drew him, that made his body respond to her in ways that irritated him.
Was it her temper? No, he’d met plenty of women with that unpleasant flaw and they had only annoyed him. Was it her beauty? She was pretty, but not beautiful. She was a big woman and looked like she could survive a strong force, but he knew there was something delicate—vulnerable—about her. A vulnerability she was desperate to hide.
Perhaps it was just his imagination. Something meant to make sense of his attraction to her. No attraction was too simple a word. His entire body responded to the sight of her. He felt a tightness in his groin just peering at her breasts. He could imagine how they would feel in his hands, how her rear would feel pressed against him. His analytical mind could find no logic in his emotions.
He shifted, trying to loosen the tension in his trousers. He was just bored, tired. He knew temptations easily encumbered a mind at rest. He had to find things to occupy himself. He knew the dangers of temptation. His ex-wife had taught him well and he’d learned his lesson.
***
The next day, Robert parked in front of the burn site and stepped out of his car.
“Bad night?” Grant asked him.
Robert scanned the area. The scent of charred wood and melted steel surrounded them. The warehouse was still too hot and needed to be cleared before they could investigate. “I hired a new employee,” he said absently.
“Another servant?”
He turned to him annoyed. “I don’t have servants. What century do you think this is?”
Grant tried not to grin, he liked to bug him. “So what’s wrong?”
“She’s a nuisance.”
“Pretty.”
“Does it matter?”
Grant sent him a significant look.
He shrugged nonchalant and looked at the building again. “Yea, I guess. I haven’t paid attention.”
“How old?”
“Why?”
“I might find use for a housekeeper.”
Robert ignored him. “Where are we with this anyway?”
Grant scowled. “Great,” he said in disgust. “Our baby-sitters are here.”
Robert saw ATF agents Melinda Brenner and Carroll Chancy. Melinda, a slender light-skinned woman with reddish brown hair, glanced in their direction, but made no acknowledgment. Carroll, his white hair sticking up as though he’d just gotten out of bed, waved to them. Robert waved back; Grant nodded his head.
Robert didn’t have the same disdain for working with the government as Grant did. He wanted fire investigation to be seen as a legitimate science, and the ATF agents helped that image. The bureau’s laboratory had pioneered techniques that had helped them to reconstruct scenes.
It was their behavioral science unit, however, that he most admired. If you wanted a psychological profile of a firestarter, they could give it to you.
“They’re here to help,” Robert said. “This is a big fire.” “We’ll solve it before they get through the red tape.”
“I doubt it.”
“Pessimist,” Grant mumbled as the pair approached them.
Robert nodded. “I know.”
Carroll stopped in front of them and glanced at the building. “What a mess.”
“Yes, it is.” Robert said.
Melinda rested her hands on her hips. “I’ve already assembled a response team.”
Grant curled his lip. “Lucky us.”
She pierced him with a glance. “Got a problem, Elliot?”
“Of course not. We always welcome your intrusion.”
She smiled coldly. “Glad to hear it.”
“Come on,” Robert said, hitting Grant in the chest to break the tension. “We need to find some witnesses.”
Grant bowed to Melinda with mock humility. “If that’s okay with you.”
Robert pushed him forward and muttered, “Careful, she might think you like her.”
Grant sent him an ugly look and got in the car.
A couple hours later they sat facing a teenager who ran errands for a local company hoping he saw anything that night.
The teenager sat in the doily-crowded living room with sweat dripping down face. His Adam’s apple bobbed as his knee bounced up and down. His mother stood in the kitchen doorway.
Grant spoke, “We’d like to know—”
“I admit I did it,” he said his voice cracking.
Grant looked at Robert amazed. No way it could be this easy.
Robert spoke with caution. “What did you do?”
“I took the old man’s Jag for a spin. He always said he’d lock me up if I ever touched his car. I thought he was bluffing, you know.” He swallowed his eyes widening more. “What will he charge me with? Theft? Think I can get off on bail?”
“Um--”
“Do you think I’ll get a couple years in juvie?”
Robert sighed. The poor kid was a victim of too much TV.
“That’s not why we’re here.”
“No?”
“No.”
He saw his mother’s face and swore. He turned back to them. “Could you forget what I just said?”
His mother hit him on the back of his head. “What did you think you were doing?” She hit him again. “You no good—”
Robert raised his hand. “Ma’am, do you mind letting us ask your son a few questions?” Before you lower his IQ a couple more points?
She narrowed her eyes and pointed a finger at the teenager. “You’re going to get it from me later.” She looked at the two men and her face softened. “Would you like anything to drink?”
“No, thanks,” Grant said then directed his attention to the teen.
The boy looked glum. “Pop’s gonna murder me.” Grant agreed, glancing at a family photo. The man in the picture looked like he ate nails for snack. “Did you see anything strange yesterday morning?”
“No.”
“You’re certain?”
“Yea.”
They asked a few more questions that went nowhere, then stood. “Thanks for your time.” Grant handed him his card. “In case anything comes to mind.”
“Hey, my name is Randy,” he said as they opened the door. “You know, just in case I go missing.”
Once outside, Grant shook his head as he got in the car. “What did you think of that kid?”
“Make a wild guess.”
“Imagine taking your Dad’s Jag.” He looked at Robert then rolled his eyes. “Oh, I forgot. You wouldn’t have to,” he grumbled, “You probably got one for your birthday.”
Robert only smiled.
Later that day they spoke to a gas attendant at a nearby station.
He laughed, sporting a silver tooth. “Did I see anything strange last night? Ask me if I ever see anything normal. The weirdoes that come out at night, man. Once I saw a guy in a giant chicken suit without the feet. I mean how can you be a real chicken without the feet? And then there was this girl with one leg. Now I’ve got nothing against people with handicaps and all, but she was carrying the fake leg under her arm. Using a crutch then—”
“Yes, we get the picture,” Robert said. “You see strange things. What we mean is, did you see anything suspicious?”
“You want to know suspicious?” He began to tell them another story. Robert interrupted him and thanked him for his time. He turned to leave and saw Grant reading a tabloid. “Let’s go.”
Grant held up the tabloid. “Hey a psychic channeled a sixteenth-century peasant girl.”
Robert frowned. “Put that crap back.”
Grant shot him a glance, surprised by his vehemence. “It’s a harmless—”
“Harmless my ass. Psychics are the biggest frauds of this century.”
“In front of politicians?”
He pushed open the front doors of the gas station and left.
Grant replaced the tabloid and followed. “It’s just a story and all psychics aren’t fakes.”
Robert sat in the car. Yes, they were. He knew from experience. His ex-wife had spent most of his money on charlatans and even convinced herself she had innate powers of ESP. Then she got his mother to believe in psychics. His mother ended up spending more than six hundred thousand dollars trying to contact her dead husband and a sister she’d lost in childhood. Robert made sure they closed business fast. Psychics were vultures preying on people’s needs for answers. He didn’t have any tolerance for that kind of deception.
* * *
Evening descended as Grant and Robert stood in front of the home of Annabelle Warren, the owner of the burned warehouse. Because they’d found no useful witnesses, the owner seemed a good choice. The owner of a burned building was always the first suspect anyway. From the size of her home, it seemed business was good. Grant rang the doorbell, then looked at Robert. “Hmm, looks like one of your summer homes.”
Robert surveyed the grand home then shook his head. “Too small.”
A blonde woman with dark circles under her green eyes opened the door, draped in a bright orange caftan that was a striking contrast to her pale skin. “Ms. Warren?” Grant asked.
“No, that’s my sister,” she said in a strong Caribbean accent.
They introduced themselves. “We called your business emergency number early this morning to the report the fire at your building,” Grant said. “But no representative from your company has yet shown up that we know of.”
She stared at them, making no move to invite them inside. “My sister is out of town. She was upset to hear about the fire and will return as soon as she can.”
“When did she leave?”
“Yesterday morning.”
“When will she return?”
She blinked as though gathering patience. “As I said, she will return as soon as she can.” She shrugged. “Perhaps tonight or early tomorrow morning.”
“Are you familiar with the contents of the warehouse?” Grant asked.
“No.”
“Perhaps, you’re acquainted with any clients who had merchandise stored there---”
“No.”
“Like electronics, radios.”
She blinked again then said slowly, “I don’t know. I couldn’t care less about the business. I have other interests.”
Grant persisted. “Do you know of anyone who might have carried a two way radio like a watchman perhaps or—”
“There is no reason for anyone to stay after closing.” Grant gave up and pulled out his card. “Have your sister call me when she gets back.”
Robert and Grant returned to the car. “So the owner is out of town,” Grant said putting on his seatbelt. “Vacation, business—”
“Or alibi?” They looked at each other then Robert put the car in gear.