“Every single appearance of the shooter has been at night,” he said. “I want you at the senator’s property with your hand in the earth every single night, all night, until this is solved. I know it’s a lot to ask, but we need to get ahead of this guy and you’re the only one who has even half a chance to find the shooter before he strikes.”
I dropped my chin, indicating that I understood what he was saying, but it was also the most dangerous job on this case. It put me right at the most likely location of the next crime scene. “Backup?” I asked.
“You’ll have it. I know I’m asking something that’s difficult. Energy draining. Unlike the others, I don’t want you pulling sixteen-hour shifts. I want you home and in your bed, to recuperate between shifts. Twelve hours on, twelve off. Go home. Get some sleep.”
? ? ?
But I didn’t make it home. I was within a mile of the turnoff toward Oliver Springs when JoJo’s call came in. “Getchur butt back to town. The senator was just attacked on his way into the breakfast meeting of the Small Business Association. I got no deets. Texting you the address and the GPS. Move!”
“On my way,” I said, pulling into a corner gas station, where I braked and checked the location, pulled up a map, and eased back into traffic, heading for the Just Yolking Around breakfast café, on East Summit Hill Drive.
I could see the smoke miles out, a black cloud rising straight up into the still air. Fire trucks and medic units were everywhere. Flaming ash fell from the sky, burning everything it touched. And all I could think was, It’s daylight. The shooter, if it was the shooter and not a grease fire, just changed his MO. And, Occam was with the senator. My fingers trembled and my breath came too fast.
I remembered seeing John’s old hard hat in the back. It was too large for me, but it would keep my hair from going up like fireworks. As I drove I reached behind the seat and felt around until I found it. I banged out a dusty spiderweb, slid the yellow plastic hat on my head, and caught an unexpected whiff of my husband, from when he was hale and hearty, and not the sick smell from the months he was dying.
Memories flooded over me and I hesitated an instant. His laughter, which had been soft but vigorous enough. His small smile when he brought me a bouquet of daisies from the edge of the woods. His work-roughened hands smoothing a length of wood as he made a cedar chest for some townie. Kindness, a dour composure, and a steadiness of purpose were mingled into the remembered scent of his sweat and, for reasons I didn’t understand and didn’t have time to analyze, it stopped my fear cold.
John had never been cruel to me. According to the church rules and guidelines he had gone far beyond expectations in his care and treatment of me. And he had died and left me protected and wealthy enough, rich in land if not in monetary funds. And now there was Occam. A man as different as it was possible to be from John Ingram. And not really a man, but a cat-man. Who might have been inside the restaurant when it went up in flames. I gunned the engine and turned on the emergency lights and siren.
? ? ?
Just Yolking Around was mostly gone. The brick walls still stood, but the roof had fallen in, the windows had blown out from the heat, and glass on the ground glittered with the reflection of the orange and red flames. Two high-powered water streams jetted into the cavern of black smoke and hungry fire. Anyone who had not gotten out was dead. A sense of loss gripped me, which was stupid because Occam wasn’t mine. Never had been. Such a thing was only a possibility and one fraught with obstacles. Yet, I felt grief, a wailing, raving, furious grief.
I couldn’t shake the strange feelings away. I carried them with me like a survival pack, insulating me from more possible hurt. Getting out of the truck, I was instantly assailed by the heat and the smoke and the incredible noise of flame, shouting, sirens, water pumping, and generators. A uniformed officer ran to stop me and I held up my ID. “Command center?” I shouted over the din.
He pointed across the street from the fire and I held up my thumb before trotting toward the conflagration. An ambulance pulled away; another followed; both were running lights and sirens, which meant they carried the injured and the dying. The strange feelings clasped me tighter, and then I saw Occam on the far side of a table littered with gear, his eyes glowing the brownish gold of his cat. There was blood on his white shirt, and his blond hair was whirling in the fire-wind. His clothes were black with soot. But Occam was alive. Relief shot through me like some kind of drug, melting my bones.
Occam looked up as if he scented me. He met my eyes and the glow of his cat went brighter. My relief was so intense that my knees nearly buckled.
I hadn’t lost him.
As if he knew what I was feeling, Occam placed a hand on the command center table and leaped across it, to land with balanced precision. He stalked across the street, dodging equipment without really seeing it, relying on his cat senses. My heart was beating so fast it felt like a drum in my chest. And I feared he might shame me by doing something overt in front of other people. “Special Agent Occam,” I called out as he reached me. “Special Agent Ingram reporting in.”
Occam stopped so fast his feet ground on the broken glass. His fists were balled as if to keep him from doing whatever he had been about to do. “Thank you, Nell, sugar. This kinda kiss don’t need to be out in the middle of a crime scene.”
This kinda kiss . . . “Crime scene?” I asked instead of what I wanted to say: This kind of kiss . . . What kind of kiss?
“The fire started in the kitchen about three minutes after the senator entered. Flames exploded outward, from the kitchen. Smelled of natural gas and grease and something earthy, like mushrooms. The first flame caught the senator. A direct hit. He’s badly burned. Third degree on his face, head, and hands. Second degree on his torso and abdomen, with his clothes stuck to him like glue. One of the kitchen help, a human, was injured at the scene, and both of the Secret Service assigned to the senator were killed. I couldn’t get them snuffed in time.”
Occam took my arm and guided me back the way I had come. “LaFleur is here and interviewing witnesses. Soul is hobnobbing with the brass, talking arson and grease fire and accelerants. Rick wants you and me to follow the senator’s ambulance to the hospital and try to talk with him before he’s airlifted out to a burn center, and my car is back at the senator’s office.”
I raced back to my truck and got in as Occam entered on the passenger side. Our doors closed and the noise died to a low roar. The stink of smoke and fire and burned flesh didn’t go away but filled the cab from his clothes and hair. I started the engine and Occam pointed to an ambulance that was just pulling out. I still didn’t ask what I wanted to: What kinda kiss? “Which hospital?” I asked. If the senator was human he could go to any hospital, but UTMC was the only one in the area with a paranormal unit and fully trained paranormal practitioners.