Jericho Crewe was writing a ticket for underage alcohol consumption when he saw the massive flash reflected in the warehouse windows behind the drunk teenagers. His body reacted without thought, pushing the two kids to the ground in the shelter of the parked patrol car. He was crouching behind the same vehicle when the boom of the explosion reached them, strong enough to rattle the windows that had been his mirror a moment before.
“Drink at home,” Jericho said quickly, shoving the ticket book back into his belt and heading for the driver’s door of the cruiser. “Or don’t drink at all. Whatever.” It was four o’clock on a Monday morning, so really the kids should be asleep, getting ready for a fun and educational day at school, but he had bigger things to worry about, suddenly. “You two can get home safely? No driving?”
“I live just across the field,” the girl said, gesturing at a row of houses on the far side of a narrow strip of land. She seemed dazed by more than alcohol. “Andy’s staying at my place.”
Great, so teen drunkenness can slide into teen pregnancy.A more prudish-than-expected inner voice, but not something Jericho could worry about right then. “Okay. Be safe.”
He was halfway into his sheriff’s department cruiser when Andy yelled after him, “Deputy Crewe! Hey!”
Jericho turned around, and the kids were both staring at him. “Whatwasthat?” Andy asked, gesturing in the direction of the explosion.
“Police business,” Jericho said seriously. “Get indoors, and stay there.”
Andy looked like he might be thinking about defying that instruction, but the girl had better sense and tugged on his hand. “Let’s go.”
“I see you out again tonight,” Jericho said, “I’ll finish writing those tickets, and see if I can’t figure out a couple other charges to add to them. Go home.”
There. That was theprotectpart of the job taken care of. Now he could to do something more interesting.
In the month since he’d started at the sheriff’s office, Jericho had spent most of his time helping Kayla look into corruption and wading through the bureaucratic bullshit that was part of running the department. Cooperating with the FBI as they investigated his shooting of their rogue agents and all the events that had led up to that, then endless hours of poring over old arrest reports, case notes and evidence chain-of-custody paperwork had bored him so completely that the occasional night of filling in on patrol seemed like an exciting adventure. The town of Mosely didn’t have its own police force, so the sheriff’s department covered the little grid of houses and businesses as well as the vast rural area beyond. Town was the most likely spot to find something happening on a night patrol, and Jericho had been pretty happy to discover a couple of drunk kids to cut the tedium. But writing tickets was nothing compared to explosions. He grinned as he called in to central dispatch and requested firefighters and extra police. This was more like it.
His excitement turned into something else, something cold and tight in his belly, as he drew closer to the flames licking the night sky and realized just which building was on fire. This wasn’t a fun adventure, it was a dangerous situation. Someone might have been killed if they’d been caught in that blast.
He parked the cruiser across the road to block any oncoming traffic. He was the first person on the scene, as far as he could tell, so there was no one to see him as he jumped out of the car and ran toward the burning building. The heat was too intense for him to get much closer than the edge of the parking lot.
He stood there and stared, barely aware of the churning in his stomach and the cold sweat on his skin. The building blazing in front of him was Kelly’s, the bar owned by Wade Granger. And if Wade had been inside when the building exploded, there was no way he could have survived.
Jericho still had Wade’s cell number, and he fumbled with his phone and stabbed at the screen, sending a silent prayer to anyone who might be listening, anyone who might care, as he waited for the number to connect.
When Wade’s voice mail clicked in, Jericho wanted to scream in frustration. Instead he said, “Wade, it’s Jericho. There’s a problem at the bar. Give me a call as soon as you can, okay? As soon as you get this message. Call me. Now.”
It wasn’t enough. Jericho wanted to spill his soul, confess to everything he’d felt over the years, and everything hehadn’tfelt when he’d been with anyone but Wade. He wanted to set it all straight, stop wasting time, stop fighting something that could never be beaten. But if Wade had been in that building, it was too late for any of that.
So Jericho shoved his phone back in his jacket pocket and tried to focus on his job. His hands were shaking a little as he unrolled the crime-scene tape, but by the time the volunteer fire fighters started arriving, he was under better control.
He even managed not to punch the young asshole who sneered at the remains of the bar and said, “You want us to take it slow? No point risking our lives for scumbags like that, right?”
“Follow your standard procedure,” Jericho growled, and then stalked away before the kid said anything else.
It was hypocritical to judge the firefighter. He’d been pretty gleeful himself on the drive over, until he realized whose property was involved. And first responders often developed a sort of black humor as a way to deal with the trauma of their jobs. It was Jericho’s reaction that was unusual, not the kid’s.
He checked his phone, then stared at the flames. They were starting to die down on their own and the firefighters seemed to be spending most of their time on the nearby buildings, making sure the fire didn’t spread. Apparently they’d given up on salvaging anything from the bar. Anything, anyone . . .
Jericho’s phone vibrated in his hand, and he flipped it around to see the screen so fast he almost dropped it. The last texts between him and Wade had come from Jericho’s side, sending information about where his kidnapped half siblings were being held. Now the message came in the opposite direction.
Building is empty. No need for heroics.
Jericho stared at the screen. There was no emotion in the text. And he hadn’t mentioned a fire, or any other reason anyone might have been contemplating “heroics.” It didn’t seem as if Jericho’s call had surprised Wade at all. Did that mean Wade had— Had he known what was happening? Had heplannedthis? Most of Wade’s criminal activity involved smuggling things back and forth across the Canadian border, but maybe he’d branched out into insurance fraud.Maybe he’s branched out into murder, an inner voice prompted.Maybe he killed your father. Remember that, Junior?
Now Wade had sent a possibly incriminating message to the county Under-sheriff. Was he just assuming Jericho would keep his mouth shut about it?
No. Wade wouldn’t assume anything. And he wasn’t careless.
It was another one of Wade’s games. Another test, another trap. He wanted to see what Jericho would do. It was simple and easy, for Wade. Tap a few words into a phone and sit back and smirk as Jericho tortured himself. Damn it.
Jericho turned away from the flames in disgust. Amazing how quickly his cold fear had turned to hot anger. His body was still shaking as if it hadn’t realized that the temperature had changed. Wade didn’t care about Jericho’s career, didn’t care about his personal ethics; he wanted to stir things up. Just like he always had. As kids, they’d taken turns being the instigator, each pushing the other’s buttons and watching the ensuing fireworks, but Jericho had grown up, damn it.
He saw the flashing cruiser lights before he saw the car itself. Kayla pulled up next to him, climbed out of the driver’s seat, and stared at the remains of the building, then at Jericho. He walked a little closer.
