Fireproof (Maggie O'Dell #10)

“I’ll be just a few minutes,” she told them, hoping the alarm going off inside her head hadn’t affected the tone of her voice.

She watched them scurry around the big SUV that left only two feet between her garage and its bumper. Sam almost smiled at the scowl her mother was giving Jeffery, despite the dark and despite the tinted windshield. Her mother’s defiance helped fuel Sam’s courage. Still, her knees went a bit weak as she climbed out of her vehicle and went to stand in front of the garage, keeping a safe distance between herself and Jeffery and choosing someplace where she didn’t think he could run her over. She also knew that where she was standing she couldn’t be seen from inside the house.

She stood and waited.

She would not get inside his SUV. If he wanted to rip her a new one, he’d have to do it where her neighbors might watch or call the cops.

The engine started, a quiet hum. The driver’s-side window slid down. Jeffery’s face looked calm. His eyes did not.

The glow of the interior lights gave him an eerie blue sheen, as if the illumination came from under the surface of his skin. His tie had been yanked loose and his white collar smudged. His jacket had been tossed aside and his shirtsleeves were rolled up in haphazard folds. His face didn’t look angry, but everything else about him looked enraged.

“There were bodies tonight,” he said in a casual tone that sounded odd considering the context. “Just what Big Mac ordered up.”

She felt his eyes bore into her but she didn’t flinch or look away from them.

“Do you have any idea what you cost us, Sam? I hope your little chop suey dinner out was worth it. Don’t you dare turn your back on me again.”

The SUV’s window hummed back up as Sam’s stomach crashed down.

How had he known where they had gone for dinner? Had he followed?

Then she remembered that her mother had carried in the leftovers. Of course, the bag must have the restaurant’s logo stamped on it. But when Sam walked into the kitchen she saw the plain white paper bags still on the counter. There was no logo, no indication of a Chinese restaurant.





CHAPTER 64




Maggie reeked of smoke but at least she didn’t look as bad as Tully.

“What happened to you?”

He came into the conference room and dropped into the leather chair across the table from her.

“I finally got that backpack bastard.”

“Is he our guy?”

Tully shrugged, looking defeated, tired.

“I think he’s some homeless drunk who’s paranoid and maybe a bit schizo. What do you have going on?”

He pointed to the file folders and maps she had scattered on the large tabletop. Instead of going home, she’d come back to Quantico to pull some files and access some databases. She was screening her calls, still avoiding her mother’s voice messages, when Assistant Director Kunze called, insisting she and Tully meet him in the conference room in an hour. Never mind that it was late on a Saturday night.

“There was a construction site across the street from the shops that burned down tonight.”

“Okay.”

“And there was a construction site just down the street from the warehouse fires.”

“Same contractor?”

“That was my first thought. Unfortunately no. Two separate companies. But here’s something interesting—both projects are federally funded. The one across from the shops is going to be a food pantry. The one in the warehouse district is something called the D.C. Outreach House. It’s going to be a community and sleep shelter for the homeless. Both are HUD projects.”

“Can we access employee lists to see if there’s anybody working on both sites?”

“I’m trying. There’s more red tape than even my clearance can cut through.”

Tully laughed.

“There’s more,” Maggie said. “I talked to the owner of the construction company working in the warehouse district.”

“I bet he was pleased to get a phone call on a Saturday night.”

“Actually he didn’t seem surprised.” Irritated was more what Maggie had detected, but Mr. Lyle Post had treated her phone call as if it were only one in a long run of federal interruptions into his business.

“Can he get you a list of his employees?”

“Said it would be tough.”

“Because of privacy issues?”

“No, that wasn’t the problem. He doesn’t keep track of the names of all his crew members.”

Tully blinked and sat up like he hadn’t heard her correctly and needed to get a closer listen.

“Said he’s had to hire a lot of private contractors because the project got fast-tracked. Someone at HUD told him they needed the job done sooner than they needed to know every single person who was working on it.”

“He told you this knowing you’re an FBI agent?”

“I didn’t exactly tell him who I was.” It wouldn’t be the first time she or Tully had withheld information in order to get information.

“So someone could be working on both projects.”

“Or someone could think the fires would get more attention because they were close to federally funded projects.”