"Fire investigator, Anchor Bay Fire Department." I pull out my credentials. "Shaw Riley."
She examines the badge carefully before looking back at me. "Mira Vaughn. Insurance fraud investigator, Pacific Northwest Casualty. This is the fourth fire in several months, and all of them involve businesses connected to your motorcycle club. Mycompany insures two of the properties, and we have a vested interest in determining whether there's a pattern."
She doesn't offer a handshake, keeping professional distance. Smart woman.
"Scene's still active," I tell her. "Fire marshal hasn't released it. You'll need clearance before entering."
"I understand protocol." Her tone is cool, controlled. "I'm here to observe and document. I won't interfere with your investigation."
She is standing too close to the perimeter tape, attention fixed on the building with hungry focus. She wants access. Wants to see the origin points, the burn patterns, the evidence that will tell her whether this is legitimate loss or criminal fraud.
"The owner is a friend of mine," I say, watching for her reaction. "So we're clear: Mike Barrows is not a suspect in this investigation."
Her expression doesn't change, but her eyes sharpen. She's adding me to whatever list she's building.
"Everyone's a potential suspect in an insurance fraud investigation," she says evenly. "Friends, club members, family. That's not personal. That's procedure."
"Mike's not your suspect." I keep my voice flat. "Marine Recon, honorable discharge. Built this place with deployment savings. Had expansion plans approved last month. He didn't torch his own restaurant."
"Former military doesn't exclude someone from fraud." Her voice stays calm, matter-of-fact. "Financial stress following transition to civilian life is a common factor. And expansion plans don't necessarily indicate success. Sometimes they indicate desperation. Owners overextend themselves trying to save a failing business, then find themselves unable to pay for the renovations they've committed to."
"That's not what's happening here."
"Maybe not." She tilts her head slightly. "But this is the fourth fire over the past several months, all connected to the same organization, and all the owners happen to have expansion plans or recent investments? That's a pattern worth investigating."
Mike never mentioned financial problems. Never asked the Brotherhood for help. If The Anchor was struggling, he would have said something. We take care of our own, and Mike knows that. The fact that he's been silent means either Mira's wrong about the financials, or someone's feeding her bad information. Either way, I don't like where this is heading.
"You're making assumptions without evidence."
"It's data." She meets my gaze without flinching. "And data doesn't care about personal relationships or club loyalty."
I step closer. Not threatening, just eliminating the space she's been keeping between us. She notices but doesn't back up.
"Mike's not your suspect." My voice drops. "But you keep pushing that theory, you're going to find out what happens when you accuse the wrong people of burning down their own lives."
Her chin lifts. "Is that a threat?"
"It's a warning. There's a difference."
Captain Jensen's voice crackles over the radio, calling me back to the command post. I acknowledge without breaking eye contact with Mira. She sees fraud. I see family.
"Scene's going to be here all night," I tell her. "Fire marshal will probably release it tomorrow morning. You want access, you come in with me, you follow fire department protocols, and you keep your fraud theories to yourself until we have actual evidence."
"I don't deal in theories." She tucks the tablet more securely under her arm. "I deal in probability and pattern recognition. And this fire fits a pattern that concerns me."
The word pattern makes my shoulders tense. I think about the other fires over the past several months. Each one a Brotherhood-connected business. Each one suspicious. Each one inconclusive.
"What pattern?" I keep my voice carefully neutral.
"That's what I'm here to find out." She turns away, heading back toward the perimeter.
Straight spine. Squared shoulders. The walk of someone who doesn't back down. I register it and move on.
I head to the command post.
Jensen is waiting with Fire Marshal Davis, and Davis's expression tells me everything before he opens his mouth.
"Accelerant," Davis says without preamble. "Could smell it from the street before we got water on the structure. Pour patterns at multiple entry points. Professional job. Someone who knew exactly what they were doing."
