His gaze ran quickly over Durvan. He was in the uniform of an on-duty firefighter, gray polo shirt with insignia over the heart, navy pants, and radio. He also carried his duty weapon. An arson investigator—part police officer part detective—got involved often during a suspicious fire, to determine the cause of the blaze and if criminal activity was involved. By the time the fire was out, valuable evidence could be lost to the firefighters’ efforts to put out the blaze. The title Arson Investigator was a prestigious position. One Noah earned two years ago. But right now he had a more pressing concern. Durvan was watching him with the calm evaluating gaze of a professional. This was not a friendly visit.
Noah sipped more water, his larynx seeming to scrape against his throat as he swallowed. “What the hell is going on, Durvan?”
“That’s what I’d like to know.” Durvan sat up, as if he’d completed some sort of assessment. “Just wanted to hear your take on last night while it’s fresh. If you’re up to answering some questions.”
“Sure.” To hesitate would only make Merle suspicious. He was just going to have to play along until he could tease out a clue about what Durvan wanted.
The head investigator looked at his computer tablet. “Why did you start the fire?”
“Start the—? You think I started a fire?”
Durvan looked up with a bland expression. “You already admitted as much.”
“The fuck I did!” The spike in his voice made Noah’s throat burn.
“We have your admission.” Durvan’s tone remained flat.
Noah glowered at his friend. “No way.”
Durvan tapped a few things on his tablet then stood up and walked to the bed so Noah could read the text message that he’d pulled up.
The screen was blurry due to his burning eyes, but Noah saw enough to read it.
I’m tired. Failure no longer an option. Fuck it. The end.
Noah winced. Fuck it. The end.
That was an expression his best friend and firefighter buddy Bailey Jefferson often used when he was tired of arguing about a topic, usually the chances of how his ball team would do that season. It was also the last thing he had said just before he died after a wall collapsed on him in a fire last year.
Noah could feel his temper rising. “Where’d you get that?”
“It was sent at eleven last night. The entire fire investigation unit received the same message. From your cell phone.”
“Not from me.”
Durvan shrugged and resumed his seat. “I know it’s been hell of a year for you, Glover.”
Noah held his gaze. “I’ve handled it.”
“Maybe handling it became too much.”
Noah stared at a man he thought of as a friend. Durvan couldn’t really think he—what? “You think I tried to off myself?”
“You tell me.”
Noah let surprise wash over him. Something had happened. Something bad. It was there at the back of this man’s flint-gray stare. The last time he’d encountered it, Durvan had come to tell him Bailey was dead.
That thought cleared Noah’s head. He fought the urge to curl his hands into fists. He was in serious jeopardy. From now on, every word he spoke would be to step up out of it, or toss another shovelful on his professional grave.
“I was in a fire. I don’t remember why—or where.” He swallowed against the dry mouth grating his voice. “Obviously, something went wrong. I’m in a hospital. That’s all I got.”
Durvan put his tablet down. “How did you end up in that store? Did you choose it beforehand? Does it have a special meaning for you?”
Noah glanced at the wall clock. It was 7:19 in the morning. Durvan hadn’t wasted any time in starting this investigation. “Maybe you should stop trying to humor me like I’m a goddamn head case. The truth is, I don’t remember a thing about last night. Nothing. But I do know I didn’t try to off myself.”
Durvan leaned back in his seat and crossed an ankle over a knee. “I’m here to get your side of things. What do you remember?”
“There was a woman.” His own answer surprised Noah. Woman? He didn’t know he remembered a woman until the words were out.
Durvan smirked. “I met her. Where did you pick her up?”
Noah frowned, as if he could squeeze another memory out of his smoke-blurred brain. Something emerged. “She just appeared in the fire. Is she okay?”
He nodded. “She says she saved your ass. What do you remember about her?”
“Tall, slim, pretty. Lots of curls. Quite a looker.” Noah had no idea where the description came from. But he was trained to remember details. Unfortunately, the major facts of the night before still refused to take shape. “That’s her, right?”
“From your description it sounds like she had your full attention. Did she go to the building with you?”
“Never saw her before.” That felt like the truth.
“Sure you didn’t hook up earlier? In a bar maybe?”
Noah just stared at him.
“Okay. Anything else you remember about last night?”
“He doesn’t have to answer that.”
Both men turned to see a woman standing in the doorway. She was tall, dressed in skin-tight slim jeans, hand-tooled boots, and a white embroidered Mexican blouse covered by enough turquoise jewelry to pull down a lesser woman.
Durvan was on his feet in quick Texas gentleman fashion. “Good morning, Sandra.”
“We’ll see about that.” Sandra Glover stalked over to her brother’s bedside. “You can’t talk to a man who’s being unduly influenced by medication.” She pointed to the bag on an IV pole to which Noah was attached.