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“Chief Holloway,” she returned, making sure not to make eye contact.
He hovered a moment, mug in hand. Then, with exaggerated precision, he opened the credenza and refilled the coffee maker, measuring grounds, pouring water. When it was done, he rinsed the carafe and placed it back for the next brew. The whole process took three minutes, and in that time, neither of them spoke a word.
She wrote another note—this one about the progression of the third fire’s spread—and then, despite herself, wrote one more line, “Nothing happens by accident.” Wasn’t that the truth. Desiree let last night happen, even encouraged it. She wasn’t a victim—she was a co-conspirator.
Kimble entered the conference room, eyebrows already up. “Investigator Garcia, did you get the analysis from County yet?”
She slid the printout across the table. “Lab confirmed. Accelerant is a petroleum distillate, high-octane blend, probably sourced from a large farm supplier, which is why we didn’t find sales of it at the local hardware store.”
Brandon poured two cups of coffee and brought them over. He placed them in front of them and took a seat next to her. “Can you have someone at the county compile a list of all vendors in a hundred-mile radius that sell that accelerant?”
She nodded. “Already sent an email this morning. Results should be in by the end of business today.”
He didn’t smile, didn’t even blink. “Good work,” he said, but with the sound of someone reading a recipe. He exited his office, closing the door halfway behind him.
Kimble entered the room and looked toward where Brandon disappeared. “Is the boss okay?”
Desiree didn’t answer. She wasn’t sure herself.
Ruiz poked his head in. “You see the sky this morning?” He asked, trying for casual. “Could freeze a cow’s tail off.”
She replied without looking up. “We should be fine. We’re inside.”
He waited for a beat, then tried again. “You got plans for lunch, Investigator Garcia?”
“Already ate.” She figured a Pop-tart in her room counted.
Kimber and Ruiz retreated, both shaking their heads. They didn’t disappear far enough, though, for her not to hear them through the wall.
“What do you think happened that turned them both so sour since yesterday?” Ruiz questioned with concern.
“Not sure. Used to be she’d at least say good morning when we ran into her,” Kimble pointed out.
“And the boss seems extra snippy today,” Ruiz added.
“Well, we should just stay clear until whatever happened resolves,” Kimble suggested.
Desiree added another note to her list:
“Focus on getting results for the case. Ignore everything else.”
It wasn’t long, though, before she could feel Brandon watching her from his office, but she never gave him the satisfaction of giving him attention in return. She heard him on the phone, heard the rhythm of his voice, and caught the clipped edge to his words when he talked. Not angry, just blunt. She wondered if he’d even noticed the difference, or if this was just the man he was when he wasn’t busy making her feel like a part of the team.
Brandon’s office door stayed half-closed all morning. Desiree kept her back to the hallway, working the grid, taping photos, reworking the layout, refusing to look up until she had an answer that couldn’t be second-guessed.
She was still at it when lunch rolled past, and the crew conducted their drills during the early afternoon. The whole time, the only sound was her own pen as it scribbled across her notepad. She focused on solving the problem, because that was the only thing she could still control.
The alarm screamed to life just after 2:40, jolting Desiree upright, the ballpoint in her hand hitting the table and rolling out of reach. She didn’t move for it. Instead, she went straight for her kit, snatched it by the handle, and was down the hallway before the words “Structure fire—Cuvey Gin. Smoke showing,” had finished echoing.
She beat most of the crew to the engine bay and was already buckling her vest when Ruiz slid down the banister and hopped the last three steps. “You riding with us?”
Desiree nodded. “In case it’s another arson.”
He shrugged. “Suit yourself.”
Brandon emerged from his office, on the radio already. “Copy, dispatch. Confirm Engine 1 responding.” He rattled off additional information, eyes never making eye contact with her as he focused on the turnout checklist.
The fire truck headed east, past the old seed silos and a string of abandoned farmhouses. By the time they crested the last rise, Desiree could see the gin’s roof expelling black smoke.
