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But she did recognize one face. A woman carrying a toddler on her hip. It was the hair. Leigh could never forget that hair, even after all these years. Her childhood best friend must’ve still lived close, at least close enough to walk over with a toddler. She watched Leigh as though afraid she’d get off the back of the ambulance and tackle her to the ground. She was afraid. Leigh could feel it. Or was she nervous?
“A vest? Kevlar or cashmere?” Boucher asked.
She wanted to smack him but couldn’t summon the energy to lift her hand. “Kevlar.”
“You said this might be the same guy you chased after two nights ago.” Boucher repositioned himself between her and the woman across the street.
Leigh pulled in another lungful of oxygen then lowered the mask into her lap. She didn’t have the motive to feel embarrassed about her tank top and skimpy underwear visible to the entire rescue crew and police department. Her clothes had gone up with the rest of the house. “Yes. The way he spoke. It was the same kind of threat.”
“Have you pissed anyone off lately?” he asked.
She cut her attention back to Boucher. “I don’t know. What do you think?”
“Agent Brody!” Chandler Reed pulled up short from behind one of the ambulance bay doors, out of breath. He labored as though he’d run the entire length of town to get here. “I was at the station when I heard. Are you okay? Are you hurt?”
Okay. Not the length of town. Just the two miles from the police station.
“I’m fine.” Although she appreciated the concern. She certainly wasn’t going to get it from anyone else around here. “Just a couple of minor burns and bruises. Nothing I won’t get over. See? Still got my good luck charm.” She held the toy soldier in her hand. The EMTs had tried to take it during their exam, promising it would be at the hospital when she arrived, but she had no intention of recovering in a bed while the rest of the team worked this case. Someone had just tried to burn her alive. She was going to find the man responsible before they disappeared. Or before they hurt someone else.
Boucher turned one shoulder away from her, lowering his voice for Chandler. “Take it from me, buddy. Little less desperation next time. Why don’t you go see if Fire and Rescue needs you for anything?”
Hesitation tore across Chandler’s expression. Either he didn’t want to leave her, or he wasn’t pleased to take orders from Boucher. She could see both, but the federal investigator did as he was asked with a nod in her direction. “I’ll see what the fire marshal has to say.”
“Thanks.” She studied Chandler as he jogged across the street then refocused on Boucher. “What was that?”
“Oh, nothing. Our boy’s just been asking about you is all.” The lieutenant shook his head, refusing to meet her gaze. A hint of amusement cracked that controlled expression. “I think he’s got a crush.”
“I’m not his type.” No one wanted to get wrapped up in her mess, and she didn’t blame them. Leigh took another gasp of oxygen and tried to conceal what was left of her clothing with the blanket. Luckily, she’d stashed her overnight bag into her rental after the confrontation with whoever’d graffitied her garage. Just in case she needed a quick escape. Her instincts would pay off this time.
One of the firefighters broke into her peripheral vision and hiked a thumb over his shoulder. “Lieutenant Boucher, I think you’re going to want to see this.”
“What is it?” Leigh moved to jump down from the rig.
“Stay put, Brody. And put the mask back on,” Boucher said. “I’ll be back to get the rest of your statement.”
He was sidelining her during the investigation into the destruction of her own house. Asshole. A wave of dizziness nearly knocked her on her ass, but before she had a chance to reach out for balance, a set of hands held her up.
“Careful now, Agent Brody,” a familiar voice said. “I’m not sure you could take any more trauma tonight.”
She pinched her eyes closed to clear the haze and partly wished it wasn’t who she thought it was. Didn’t help. Chris Ellingson centered himself in front of her, both hands on her shoulders. His skin was cool and abrasive. She couldn’t fight the nausea churning in her gut at his touch. “I’m not traumatized. I’m pissed.”
“And with good reason.” Ellingson surveyed the scene, most likely ensuring he wasn’t noticed. Fire and Rescue shuffled into position as a reburn flared at one corner of the house. Boucher shouted orders to his officers to get everyone back.
Ellingson had chosen his moment perfectly.
“What are you doing here?” she asked.
“Let’s get this off of you. Go someplace quieter where we can talk.” Tugging the oxygen mask from her grip, he tossed it into the ambulance. His hands moved down the length of her arms and clasped her wrists. He hauled her to her feet with surprising strength for a man closer to sixty than forty.
“I don’t want to talk to you.” But her feet were moving to keep her upright. A single tug forced her to take another step. Asphalt scraped against the raw skin of her bare feet. The blanket slipped from her shoulders. She was still moving. The red and blue patrol lights were dimmer here. Soon grass replaced graveled asphalt, and the chaos died. They’d left the scene, but exhaustion, adrenaline loss, and straight up fear had moved in to replace calm and logic.
“You’re in shock, Agent Brody. Probably dehydrated. Don’t worry. I’ll take good care of you. There you go. Right here.” Ellingson maneuvered her to sit. Old wood bit into the backs of her thighs, and she realized he’d brought her to a picnic table less than a block from her house. Would anyone even notice she’d left? “You’ve been so busy with the investigation, we haven’t had a chance to talk.”
She was exposed—physically, mentally, emotionally—stripped and burned and vulnerable. Just the way he liked his victims. Because no matter what the recent evidence said in the investigation into the deaths of three victims, he’d killed those boys twenty years ago. She knew it as well as she knew her father was innocent. He’d tortured his victims, cut them, bled them out, removed their mouths. And despite the fact she didn’t fall into his preferred victimology, he was dangerous to anyone who dared shine the light on the monster he kept inside.
Leigh pressed the edge of the picnic table into her back for a spike of pain, to keep her in the moment and cognizant. “Let me guess. You’re here to help.”
“Come now, Agent Brody.” Taking the seat beside her—too close—he spread his hands out in front of him. “I’m a psychologist first and foremost. It’s in my nature to help. Considering what you’ve been through, I think it’s in your best interest to talk to someone.”
