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“Uncle Mace!” Joshua broke into a run. Mason managed to lift his left arm out of the way before impact, wincing because it hurt to move the arm at all. He tousled the kids’ hair with his good hand. “I’m fine, Josh. Don’t worry, I’m fine.”
“I was so scared,” Josh said.
“I know. I’m sorry.”
“You’ve gotta be more careful, Uncle Mace. We need you.”
The kid meant every word. Mason looked over Josh’s head at Jeremy. “C’mere, you.”
Jeremy smiled and went to hug him, as well. “The nurses in the waiting room said you saved those two kids’ lives. Said you were a hero.”
“Yeah,” Rachel said, still standing back, giving them room. “She was all cow-eyed when she said it, too. If she didn’t have your life in her hands, I’d have to kick her ass just to establish my dominance.”
“I can’t help it if I’m irresistible to women,” Mason told her. “It runs in the family. Be forewarned, Jere.”
Jeremy grinned. “Yeah, I’m fighting them off all the time myself.”
“I’ll be sure to let Misty know,” Rachel said.
* * *
I leaned against the doorjamb and forcibly held back tears—relieved ones—while Mason continued to talk and tease and joke. Bit by bit the terror left the boys’ faces. God, he was good at that. How did he get to be such a pro? Was it because he was a cop, or because he was their uncle? I was damned if I knew. I had a ways to go to catch up, though. His mind-easing, reassuring abilities were damn near supernatural. Even with me.
Eventually I could tell the emotions were coming out whether I liked it or not, and I didn’t want to lose it in front of the boys, so I said, “I’m going to get food. We really need some junk food. I’ll be right back.” I started to leave, but when I reached for the door to open it, Mason’s partner, Rosie, was standing on the other side.
“Hey, buddy,” he said, eyeing Mason hard, assuring himself that he was all right. “I can’t leave you alone for a minute, can I?”
“Apparently not. Boys, I need a minute. Would you go out and see if your grandmother got here yet? She’s probably out in the waiting room giving the staff a hard time.”
“Yeah. But we’re coming right back,” Jeremy said. He took Josh by the arm. “C’mon. We’ll scope out the cafeteria while we’re at it.” He sent Rachel a very grown-up look. “We’ll get the junk food, Rache. You can hang here.”
The boys left. I didn’t. I was eyeing Rosie, then Mason, then Rosie again, and my NFP (for Not Fucking Psychic, because whatever I had, it wasn’t that simple) was heating up to a slow simmer. “What?” I asked. “What’s going on? I can see something is.”
Rosie gave himself a shake. “I’ll never get over that shit. Yes, something’s goin’ on. That fire is goin’ on. You saved the kids, Mason, but their mother didn’t make it. And it was arson.”
* * *
Peter’s wife was dead, according to the TV news. Police were investigating the fire, which had been ruled arson only hours after the flames were doused. Then again, hiding that fact hadn’t been her goal.
The kids had survived, which defeated part of her purpose, but she supposed the lesson had been delivered all the same. Peter would think twice before he treated her like garbage again. Like some disposable toy he could use and then throw away. He would make her his top priority or else. And he had to know that now.
She’d warned him. She’d warned him. But he was just like the rest.
She picked up the remote to turn her little 27-inch flat-screen television off, but then they flashed a picture that brought her to a stop. It was a man, on his knees on the front steps of the burning house, one of her lover’s kids in each arm. His clothes were charred, and so was he. The caption read Hero Cop Saves Children. The reporter was running her mouth. Gretchen Young turned up the volume and sank onto the love seat—her apartment didn’t have room for a full-sized couch.
“This tragic arson, resulting in the death of thirty-six-year-old mother of two Rebecca Rouse could have been an even bigger tragedy had it not been for the actions of off-duty homicide detective Mason Brown. Brown, a decorated member of the Binghamton Police Department, was off duty when he saw the fire and rushed inside to rescue Rouse’s children, ages three and eight. Detective Brown has been in the news before, most notably for solving our city’s first-ever serial killings last year and, more recently, for arresting his own mentally ill sister-in-law for another spate of bizarre murders. The hero cop is listed in satisfactory condition at Saint Joseph’s Hospital. Police aren’t commenting on the arson investigation, though newly minted Police Chief Vanessa Cantone will hold a press conference tomorrow afternoon.”
Gretchen hit the rewind button, then paused the TV on the shot of that hero cop. He was the kind of man she deserved. The kind of man who would know exactly how to love a woman like her. How to make her feel important. Special. Treasured.
Peter Rouse wasn’t worth her time after all, was he?
She looked at her bag of tools on the kitchen counter, where she’d dropped it after coming home from her night’s work. The bag, a little black leather satchel like an old-school doctor might carry, had been her gift to herself way back when she’d graduated and received her pin.
She wouldn’t part with the bag. But she could afford to get rid of a few of the tools it held. Since they knew it was arson, they were going to need an arsonist. Peter Rouse’s punishment wasn’t quite complete. Yet.
2 (#ulink_734652fc-ee61-5b32-93eb-5ff83cc09658)
“Two freaking weeks,” Mason said. It was his routine now. The first thing he said every morning when I walked into his hospital room was an exaggeration of how long he’d been imprisoned there. I showed up at my usual time. Eight o’clock with a Box O’ Joe, a pair of breakfast sandwiches and a couple of doughnuts.
“Ten days,” I corrected. “You’ll survive, I promise.” I pulled the bedside tray around and adjusted the height, cleared it of books, magazines and an empty plastic Jell-O container from the night before, and set the feast for him. I even poured his coffee. I was spoiling the man rotten. And I still hadn’t told him I loved him, because there were bigger things going on. Okay, and because I was a fucking chicken. I’d managed to decide that I’d say it back if he said it to me again. I’d do it immediately. So all he had to do was say it again and make it easy on me.
What if he’d changed his mind?
“Earth to Rachel,” he said,
I blinked out of my own head and said, “I brought you a great big present today.”
“My discharge papers?”
“Better.” I slid my bag off my shoulder, took out my laptop and set it on the nearby easy chair, my new workstation. I worked on my book-in-progress right here in his hospital room, every day until noon. Then I headed home for a few hours of quality time with my dog, and then I came back with the boys in tow as soon as school let out for the day. I didn’t mind it a bit. The four of us usually had dinner together, cafeteria food or takeout, depending on what I had time to grab, and then I took the kids back to my place for the night.
Amy, my personal assistant, was handling everything else. Copy edits, Facebook and Twitter posts, newsletter mailings, and fan letter replies. I needed to come up with a new title for Amy, because personal assistant didn’t begin to cover it. Maybe something like “She Whose Quitting Would Result in My Complete and Utter Annihilation.” Yeah, that would do it. Goth chick had made herself indispensable to me. Probably all part of her evil plan for the ultimate in job security. As long as I stayed flush, she’d stay flush. And I was staying flush.
I pulled a manila envelope out of my bag and slapped it onto the tray in front of “my detective.” I’d been calling him that inside my head ever since the night of the fire, when I’d screamed it at the Binghamton FD.
Mason was in mid-coffee-sip, but he stopped when he looked at the file. “What’s this?”
“The full case file. Everything to do with it, from the arson investigator’s report to Rebecca Rouse’s autopsy report. It also has Rosie’s notes from the interrogation of Peter Rouse, the victim’s estranged husband.” He knew that Rouse was our most likely suspect, being that his wife had taken the kids and moved out only a few weeks prior to the fire.
“Finally!” He set the coffee down and tore open the envelope. “You didn’t even peek?” he asked.
“I did not. I promised Chief Sexy-pants that it would get into your hands unopened, and you can now verify that I lived up to my word.” I moved up beside him so I could read while he did. And I grabbed my doughnut out of the paper bag because, you know, I’d already resisted it all the way here, and I was only human. He was lucky I hadn’t eaten them both and read the file.
He was skimming, though, flipping pages so fast I couldn’t keep up. Police speak required slow, careful reading for me. It was not my native tongue. “Whathitthay?” I asked around my delicious cream-filled, chocolate-frosted bliss.
Mason correctly interpreted my question, which proved he was my perfect mate, and said, “Gas line was tampered with. Marks that appear to have come from a hacksaw were found on the pipe. The killer let the basement fill with gas, then remotely activated a simple detonator to create a spark.”
“A spark?” I asked. “A single spark?”
He nodded. “That’s all it took.” He was still skimming. “They found the detonator in the rubble, but what was left wasn’t much to go on.” He read some more, nodded. “Search warrant was executed on Peter Rouse’s place. They found a hacksaw in the back of his pickup. Forensics matched the shards in its teeth to the gas line that was sawed through. Teeth marks matched, too.”
“Not the brightest murderer on the block, is he? Keeping that stuff in his pickup.” Mason frowned at me. I shrugged. “Not saying I don’t think he’s guilty, just saying he’s also effing stupid.” Then I lifted my brows. “Notice how I abbreviated the cuss word there?”
“I did notice. Nice job. The boys must be having a good influence on you.”
“I’m turning into Carol fucking Brady.” I clapped a hand over my mouth, but he just kept grinning at me. I sighed at my own difficulty with habit breaking and tried to steer us both back on topic. “So the almost-ex is not only guilty but stupid,” I said.
“Not too stupid to figure out how to remotely ignite the fire,” he said softly. “Arson investigator says it’s tricky to know how long to wait to spark one up with a gas leak.”
I shook my head. “Those poor kids down the hall don’t have a mother anymore, and now they’ve got to deal with the fact that their father killed her.”
“They’re not down the hall anymore. They were moved to the pediatric hospital last night,” Mason said.
“That’s good news, isn’t it?” I hoped to God it was.
“Yeah. Not even in ICU. They put them in a regular room, my nurse said. They’re out of danger. Probably going home—or somewhere—in a day or two.”
“Have you seen them yet?”
“No. I haven’t tried.”
“But you saved their lives, Mason.”
He shrugged. “And I’m not going to go present myself to them in hopes of receiving their undying gratitude. They’ve got enough to deal with right now.” He sighed and closed the file. “Speaking of kids, how are the boys?”
“They miss you. I mean, visiting you for a couple of hours every day isn’t the same, you know? They miss their stuff, too, or so they keep saying, though I don’t see how they could. We’ve hauled most of it to my house by now.”
His face turned serious. I hadn’t meant to wipe his smile away. “They’ve taken over your place. I’m sorry, Rache. I know how much you love your home and value your space. Any damage so far?”
“Don’t be a dumb-ass. They keep most of the mess to their assigned bedrooms.” And the kitchen and the living room and the dock out by the lake and the bathrooms. Good God, the bathrooms. Still, it’s odd how much I honestly don’t mind. Really odd. I shook the baffling state of my contentment away, because I wasn’t yet ready to talk about it. “Myrtle is happier than a carnivore at a meat market. She’s already figured out their routine. She waddles right over and plunks her ass in front of the door at a quarter to three every weekday and waits for them to get back from school.”
He smiled at that, because he loved my dog almost as much as I did. “She is one boy-loving bulldog.” Then he opened the file again.
“Rouse said the hacksaw in the back of his pickup wasn’t his.” He flipped a few pages. “No fingerprints on it. Looked like it had been wiped.”
I nodded. “They searched his house, too, though, right?”
“Yeah.”
“They find anything related to the detonator?”
His eyes raced over pages, his lips tightening. “Nope.”
“So all we’ve got is the hacksaw?”
“His fingerprints were found inside the wife’s house,” he pointed out.
“Yeah, but his kids lived there. I’m sure he was in and out a lot.”
“There was a silver Chevy Cruze seen parked a couple of blocks away at the time of the fire. The neighbors say it didn’t belong there,” Mason said. “Another neighbor said Rouse’s truck was seen in the area that night.” Then he shrugged. “But Rosie says it was there every weeknight. He drove the kids home from school. And this neighbor’s sighting was several hours before the fire.” He looked at me—waiting, I knew, for my feedback. He counted on me for it. And since I was an official police consultant now, I was happy to give it.
“Sounds like they must’ve been getting along, then. She’d have picked up the kids herself if she thought he was dangerous, right?”
“Women seldom think their spouses are dangerous until it’s too late. But when a woman is murdered, it’s almost always the spouse,” he pointed out.
“Says a lot for the state of marriage, doesn’t it?”
He peered up at me, but when I looked back he turned back to the report and flipped a page. “He admitted during questioning that he didn’t want the divorce. He didn’t want to lose custody of his kids.”
“So why try to burn the place with them inside?”
He met my eyes again, and his were brighter than they’d been since the fire. He loved his work, and this was the first chance he’d had to really sink his teeth into a case since nearly getting his gorgeous ass killed.
“Lots of men would rather see the kids dead than lose custody.”
“I refuse to believe it’s ‘lots of men.’ Granted, we see it in the news, but it has to be rare or it wouldn’t be news.”
“That sounded dangerously positive, Rache.”
“I know, right? Having the boys around, I just can’t imagine how a parent could hurt their own kid.” I heaved a sigh. “I suppose it’s possible he did it. But still, all we really have is the hacksaw.” I finished my doughnut, sipped my coffee, leaned back in my chair.
“You have an idea, don’t you?” he asked.
“How can you tell?”
“If I look deep into your eyes I can see a bunch of gears turning in your brain.”
I nodded. “Get me in to see him. I mean, he’s still in custody, isn’t he?”
“No. He made bail. Probably because our evidence is so freaking weak.”
I shrugged. “Even better. I can talk to him more easily that way.”
“Uh-uh. No way. That’s a very bad idea.”
“Oh, come on, Mason.” He hadn’t touched his breakfast sandwich, so I picked it up and took a bite, then put it back. After some yummy caffeine, I went on. “You know I can tell if he’s the guy with a single conversation.”
“He could be dangerous.”
“So am I.”
“This guy probably killed his own wife, almost killed his two kids and damn near took me out with them. I don’t want you anywhere near him.”
“You’re worried he’ll turn his focus to me?”
“That too. Mainly I was thinking about your temper.”
I smiled sweetly and batted my eyes. “What temper?” But he was right. If this man was guilty, he had almost killed my detective. It might not be safe for me to be in the same room with him surrounded by armed guards, much less all alone.
Mason sent me a look that spoke louder than words, but it changed to one of worry when he returned to the file. “We need more or this guy’s gonna walk. A decent defense attorney could find a dozen experts who’d testify that pipe shavings aren’t unique. It’s not like DNA. And his pickup was parked outside in the open. Anyone could’ve thrown the saw into it.”
“That would be a hell of a coincidence, wouldn’t it?”
“Not if they knew who he was. Besides, it only takes reasonable doubt to get him off.”
I shrugged. “All the more reason I should talk to him.”
Mason said, “Your ESP isn’t admissible in court, Rache.”
