"Maybe both." Her hand finds mine under the blanket, fingers interlacing. "I've been cross-referencing the properties. Looking for connections between the warehouse and the commercial building. Owner histories, insurance policies, tenant records. There has to be a link."
"You'll find it."
"I always do." It's not arrogance—just fact. "But I don't like not knowing. Someone out there is setting fires, and until I figure out why, I can't predict where they'll strike next."
"What do you think they're building up to?"
"I don't know yet." Her voice is getting fuzzy with sleep. "But I'm going to find out."
"I know you will."
She's quiet for a moment, and I think she's fallen asleep. Then: "Aiden?"
"Yeah?"
"Don't let me call you names in my sleep again. It's embarrassing."
"No promises."
She makes a grumpy sound that might be a protest, and then her breathing evens out into sleep. Ipress a kiss to the top of her head, careful not to wake her.
Outside my windows, Copper Ridge glitters in the darkness. Somewhere out there, someone is setting fires. Tomorrow, Riley will hunt them down with that brilliant, meticulous brain of hers.
But tonight, she's here. With me. Real, not fake.
And that's enough.
Chapter 7
Riley
The connection hits me at 2 AM, three days after the dinner at Aiden's apartment.
I'm sitting cross-legged on my living room floor, surrounded by case files and property records, running on coffee and stubbornness. The warehouse fire. The commercial building. Two seemingly unrelated properties, two seemingly random targets.
Except they're not random.
Both buildings were owned by subsidiary companies. Different names, different registration dates, but when I dig through the corporate filings—really dig, past the shell companies and holding groups—they trace back to the same source.
Blackwood Properties LLC.
My hands shake slightly as I pull up everythingI can find on Blackwood. It's a real estate development company, mid-sized, headquartered in Copper Ridge. They specialize in commercial properties and urban renewal projects. Their public image is squeaky clean—community involvement, charitable donations, the whole package.
But someone is burning down their buildings. And based on the accelerant patterns and the escalating damage, that someone is angry.
I grab my phone and almost call Aiden before I catch myself. It's 2 AM. Normal people are asleep at 2 AM. Normal people don't wake up their boyfriends to discuss corporate property ownership and arson patterns.
Boyfriend. The word still feels strange in my head. Three days of being officially, actually together, and I'm still not used to it.
I set the phone down and force myself to focus on the evidence instead of the warm memory of falling asleep on his couch. The case first. Personal life later.
Blackwood Properties. Someone with a grudge against them. The fires are targeted, deliberate, designed to cause maximum damage while minimizing risk of casualties. Both buildings were empty when they burned—the warehouse was scheduledfor demolition, the commercial building was hit after business hours.
Whoever's doing this wants to hurt Blackwood financially, not physically hurt anyone.
Insurance fraud is still on the table, but the pattern doesn't fit. If Blackwood was burning their own buildings, they'd be more careful about making it look accidental. These fires are obviously arson to anyone with basic training. It's almost like the arsonist wants us to know.
My phone buzzes. A text from Aiden:
