Bad Boy's Touch (Firemen in Love Book 3) (21 page)

I didn't want it to make sense, but it did. Ugh, if only I could prove it somehow. Nothing would be more satisfying than seeing that jackass thrown into a cell.

It didn't take long to arrive at the Ventura mansion, or what was left of it, anyhow. The place had virtually burned to the ground, leaving behind little more than blackened wood beams and cinders.

“Can't say I feel very sorry for him,” Harvey muttered. “If you know what I mean.”

There was a pickup truck with “Waco Fire Department” printed on the side. Despite the grim scene before us, seeing that truck made me feel a bit more hopeful.

It meant Brett was here.

How could I have developed such strong feelings for him in a week? If I had any sense, I should have shut those feelings off before I got screwed by yet another man.

Brett wouldn't settle down. He tried to put on a good show and impress me, but he'd never stop being who he was: a guy with a thirst for trouble and a lust for whichever girl threw herself at him.

I found him, his friend Jayce, and some other firefighter picking through the rubble. Not far off was Freddy Ventura himself, wandering as if in a daze, occasionally stopping to pick up the burnt remains of his possessions.

I recoiled in disgust the moment I laid eyes on the man. I should have been sympathetic – losing one's home like this was a terrible thing – but how could I feel sorry knowing the things he'd done?

“Silver,” I called to him while Harvey locked up the car.

Brett looked up and gave me a small smile. There was something different about him today; I was sure of it. That wasn't his usual cocky grin.

“Glad you're here. We showed up to do an inspection and found Freddy roaming around the yard. He seems pretty out of it.”

I glanced at the guy again. He was mumbling to himself, then he'd get angry and curse at nobody in particular. I was no doctor, but he sure seemed to need some kind of help.

“I heard his girlfriend was in the hospital. She got trapped in the house and barely escaped in time. What the hell happened?”

He gazed at his shoes. The move made my hair stand on end.

He was guilty of something.

I'd interviewed dozens of people in this job, from victims to witnesses to the criminals themselves. Over the years, I built up a library of body language in my head. A single movement could clue me in, let me know when someone was lying, afraid, or hiding something.

Brett was giving off serious signals for all three.

“Silver,” I repeated slowly. “What
happened?
”

“It was my off day, so I didn't respond to the call,” he said, glancing at my face briefly before looking away. “Apparently, the truck couldn't get up to the house when it arrived. There had been some kind of accident with a bulldozer knocking over a tree in the middle of the road.”

Sure enough, there was a bunch of road construction going on near the entrance to Freddy's house. A bulldozer and big fallen tree stood off to the side. His story seemed true about that, at least.

But then what was he trying to cover up?

“That's awfully bad luck for Freddy. He and his girl, Melody, could have died.” I watched his face without letting him know it. “Do you suppose it was the arsonist's doing? He hates criminals and probably wanted the guy dead.”

“I... I don't know. We're looking for clues, but given what happened, it's possible whatever evidence got burned up.” He pointed to Freddy. “Better go talk to him before he runs away. You, uh, need me to come along?”

“Nah, I got Harvey. Victor finally admitted we had an arsonist and assigned him to 'help' catch him.”

Harvey glared at Brett as he walked past, his eyes narrowed.

“C'mon, Mad. We got a job to do. You can chat with your boyfriend later.”

Then he stalked off, his hands balled into fists. Why was he acting so strange all of a sudden?

“I'll catch up with you in a bit,” Brett said quietly, touching me on the back. “If any cop can get useful information out of this guy, it'd be you.”

I chased after Harvey, reaching him just as he called out to Freddy. Finding him here was a lucky break, but given Brett's odd behavior, I could hardly focus on it.

“Excuse me, Mr. Ventura?” Harvey tapped his shoulder. “We're with the Kingston police department. Terribly sorry about your loss.”

Freddy only mumbled and chewed his fingernails. Dark circles hung beneath his eyes, and his skin had a yellowish hue to it – a sign of an alcohol problem.

I tried to push my judgments and anger aside. This bastard didn't matter anymore; only solving the case did.

“I don't understand what happened,” Freddy said quickly. “One minute, I was watching TV and enjoying my brandy. The next, everything was burning.”

“Calm down,” I told him. “Did you see anything suspicious in your home before the fire broke out? Anyone who didn't belong there?”

“No. No, I don't think so. Melody was upstairs relaxing in the Jacuzzi. There was me in the first-floor living room. The gardener, outside trimming the rose bushes.” He started to sob. “The firefighters didn't get here in time. Everything is destroyed. And my poor Melody, she could have...”

Harvey rolled his eyes when Freddy wasn't looking. “Okay, buddy. Why don't you tell us everything that happened just prior to the fire?”

He nodded and began babbling about how Melody had cooked him lunch, and he got angry at her because he told her he didn't want mayo on his sandwich but she hadn't listened and did it anyway.

“I said she needed to go back in the kitchen and make me a new one. I have an egg allergy and she
knows
that. Sometimes I think the woman is trying to kill me.”

His weepy, sputtering side had vanished, replaced by anger at this innocent woman. Suddenly, it wasn't hard to see how those murders had happened. I put my hand on my gun and stepped back a few feet.

“Just the pertinent facts, please,” Harvey said sternly.

He nodded. “Yes, of course. Forgive me; that girl knows how to push my buttons. Anyhow, after I got my new sandwich, I went to the living room to eat. I recall seeing the gardener from the window, pushing bags of something in a wheelbarrow.”

Harvey seemed disinterested, but I wrote all of it down. Anything, even the tiniest bit of information, could come in handy later.

“Bags of... something?”

“Yes, I have no idea what. I don't bother dirtying my hands with that nonsense. Moving on – just as I was about to take my first bite, the doorbell rings. It was the postman with a package.” His brow furrowed. “The man was acting very fidgety, now that I think of it. And he wasn't the usual delivery guy either.”

“Hmm,” Harvey murmured. “And what was in the package?”

Freddy folded his arms. “Well, that's none of your business. I don't see what this has to do with catching the bastard who did this.”

A pair of teenage boys had taken interest in the burned-down mess. They dipped under the police line yellow tape to check it out, pointing excitedly at things.

Harvey noticed and went to go shoo them away, leaving me alone with Freddy. He tapped his foot and made a show of staring at his watch.

“Do you have any further questions, miss? I've just been through a traumatic event and I would prefer to be alone.”

“Sir, we're only trying to help figure out who's responsible for your loss. Your full cooperation is appreciated.”

He mumbled something and began to walk away, returning to his task of digging through the rubble.

“Mr. Ventura,” I said, following him. “This area is highly dangerous, so I strongly suggest you stay away until we can get the debris cleaned up.”

He kicked what used to be a chair over. “I'm not leaving until I find my safe. The box said it was fireproof, and I simply have to get it back.”

Whatever; like I cared if this idiot fell and broke his neck. Figuring he wasn't going to cooperate any longer, I put my notepad away and wondered what to do next.

Brett joined me while the other firefighters got to work looking for more clues. I gave him a grateful glance. Though I could handle myself, hanging out alone with a serial killer wasn't my idea of a good time.

“Find anything? My boys spotted a weird shack over there behind the house. I was gonna have a look and thought you might want to tag along.”

Freddy whipped around. “That shack is where the gardener, Javier, keeps his tools. Absolutely nothing of interest in it for you lot.”

I forced a smile. “With all due respect, sir, this is now a crime scene – which means the police are obligated to search the premises whether you happen to like it or not.”

His face reddened, his jaw clenched. He looked at me, then Brett, and finally wandered off muttering to himself.

“That guy sure is weird,” I said.

“You think? What did you expect a
murderer
to be like? Honestly, I was thinking he'd chop our heads off with an ax when we showed up here.” Brett scowled. “Let's go check this shed out before he tries to stop us again.”

We crossed the yard and made our way to the shed, which was miraculously untouched by the blaze. On the side of it was a wheelbarrow, a shovel, and other large gardening tools.

“It's unlocked,” Brett announced, reaching for the handle.

I grabbed his arm and stopped him. “I'm the police officer. Let me do my job.”

He balked. “What if there's a maniac hiding in there, waiting to jump at you from the shadows? Who's going to protect you?”

I patted my handgun. “This guy. More reliable than most people I've known.”

“What's the matter with letting a big, strong man take care of you once in a blue moon?”

“Depending on others is just asking for trouble.” I curled my hand around the latch. “Now hush and stand back.”

He grumbled and leaned against the shed with folded arms. “Sure, go ahead and talk to me like that now. We'll see how tough you really are when I got you bent over my knee.”

I shivered, instantly remembering the delicious burn of his hand on me. Somehow, I managed to pretend like what he said hadn't fazed me.

I nudged open the squeaky wooden door. Nothing jumped out, but the smell was awful, like some kind of toxic chemicals.

Brett held his nose as I reached for the light switch. “Are they baking cow manure in here? Jeez.”

The light came on. Nothing much stood out to me, just more shelves of garden stuff, a chainsaw, several sizes of shovels, sacks of fertilizer...

A
lot
of fertilizer, actually.

“Wonder what they were doing with so much,” I mused, cracking open one of the bags.

Brett bent and inspected one of the shovels. “Fresh dirt here. Maybe the gardener was doing a lot of spring planting?”

The sacks were plain white, but they had something scrawled on the front in black marker.

“Anhydrous ammonia, one hundred pounds,” I read. “Wait a minute. This stuff isn't generally used on residential flower beds. It's mostly for large-scale agricultural purposes – but it's also commonly used to make meth.”

“And bombs,” Brett added.

I walked around the shed taking pictures for evidence. What we'd found in here could be completely innocent, but I got the strong feeling it wasn't.

The shed's floor was nothing but dirt, yet when Brett stepped on a spot in the corner, there was a hollow, thumping sound.

We exchanged nervous glances and bent down to see better. There was a thin layer of dirt here; looked as if it'd been spread there recently.

“What do we have here?” Brett brushed the dirt away. “There's something under here.”

He revealed a wooden plank with a latch on it.

“I think it's a door,” I said. “Is there something more below us?”

“Tell you what – you and your gun are welcome to go first.”

I lifted the door. There was a space of sorts below, with a ladder leading into the darkness.

“Watch my back,” I told Brett, reaching for the ladder.

“Whoa. Don't you think you ought to wait for backup?”

I had no idea where Harvey ran off to, but I wasn't sitting around until he got here. I pulled a flashlight from my belt and shone it around until I found a switch on the wall.

Blinding fluorescent light filled the room. I descended the ladder, half expecting to find a dead body waiting at the bottom.

Instead, I found enough drugs to supply all of Waco and Kingston both for an entire year, maybe more.

“What do you see?”

Brett came down after me. His jaw fell as he surveyed the tables loaded with chemicals and equipment. Crates full of finished product were stacked neatly in the corner.

“This makes that trailer park operation look like real small potatoes,” he muttered. “Hey, do you think they're related?”

The dots began to connect. What were the chances that both the trailer and this place went up in flames?

“Maybe the arsonist wasn't targeting Freddy because he was a murderer. Maybe he went after him because of the drugs.”