Special Agent Nanny. Linda Johnston O.
enter. Kelley had heard that, though experts on fire and water damage repair had made recommendations, reconstruction would not begin until the fire department and the insurance company gave the go-ahead. The walls, or what remained of them, were covered by plywood sheets. One sheet was now a door, kept locked at all times.
But Kelley had heard a sound from that area.
Could the arsonist have returned to the scene of the crime?
Not likely, but someone was there.
Carefully, she crept down the hall.
And stopped. Inhaled sharply. The door was ajar. Slowly, quietly, Kelley ducked under the yellow tape. Without opening the door further, she looked inside.
A man with a flashlight stood in the middle of the damaged but otherwise empty room. He didn’t move. In a moment, when her eyes adjusted to the dimness, Kelley could make out who it was.
Shawn Jameson.
What was he doing here? The psych student hadn’t even worked at Gilpin at the time of the fire. He couldn’t be the arsonist. Could he?
She watched for a long moment. His shoulders were hunched, as if he was in pain. He remained very still.
She wanted to approach him.
He aimed his flashlight at the blackened floor. Knelt and touched it. Inhaled deeply, as if absorbing the now-faint odor of burned building materials and paper.
Though she felt immobilized, Kelley must have made a sound, for he abruptly stood and stared right at her.
She took the offensive and pulled the door open farther. “What are you doing here?”
“What are you doing here?” he countered. At first, she thought she glimpsed raw fury in his eyes. But it must have been a trick in the dimness, for his gaze was flat.
“I heard something and thought I’d better check it out,” she said.
“Sorry,” he said. “I heard about this fire in the news a few weeks back. I was curious, so I figured I’d take a peek.”
His words were light, but Kelley sensed something behind them. Frustration? Anger? Pain?
Definitely lies.
“I don’t suppose you’d like to get that cup of coffee now, would you?” he asked.
To her surprise, she wanted to say yes. And yet—she felt a pang of unease. “Maybe tomorrow,” she replied noncommittally. When it would be daylight. Plenty of people around.
And she would have had time to prepare herself for a conversation with this very disconcerting man. There were some questions she definitely wanted him to answer.
“Tomorrow,” he confirmed. “See you then, Kelley. It’s okay to call you Kelley, isn’t it?”
She nodded automatically, then wished she hadn’t. Being on a first name basis with Shawn eliminated a barrier between them. One she suspected she would miss.
He brushed past and left her standing there, alone in the burned out, empty room, lit only from the hallway behind her.
Tomorrow? She didn’t really need those answers. She could always make up an excuse to put off their meeting. Put it off forever.
Yet she wondered, as she hustled out the door, if she would.
NIGHTTIME.
The arsonist stood alone, outside the administrative wing of Gilpin Hospital, and looked up at the stars.
It was better to look at them far from here, without the bright city lights of Denver interfering. There were a lot of fascinating things in the sky that couldn’t be seen here.
But Denver was still home.
And on this side of the building, at this hour, there were few office lights to disturb the darkness.
The arsonist liked the night, even here. When ambulance sirens weren’t shrieking to herald yet another serious case requiring emergency attention, the area around Gilpin Hospital was quiet, with only traffic sounds interrupting the stillness.
This was a time when things could be done in darkness.
Without being seen.
Like setting fires, when necessary.
Fires like the very successful one that had destroyed the Gilpin Hospital records center.
That task had been a pleasure as well as a duty. The arsonist had enjoyed watching the room burn, all the while anticipating the money to come for that job.
But several weeks later, the job wasn’t over yet. Too many loose ends.
Like Dr. Kelley Stanton.
There were things she knew. Things she didn’t realize she knew…yet.
But she had to be neutralized, in case she recognized them.
If discrediting her was effective, so much the better. It was certainly the least messy way.
If not…well, there were many kinds of accidents that could occur around a hospital.
The arsonist would keep an eye on her. Listen to her, and to what was being said about her.
Report it, when asked.
And, when ordered, the arsonist would act quickly. Efficiently.
Effectively.
Again.
Chapter Four
Shawn had a major need to kick someone’s butt. Preferably his own.
Of course he’d had to visit the scene of the Gilpin fire, and as quickly as possible. He’d done the right thing, waited until it was late and everyone had left—or so he’d thought.
But he’d still nearly blown his cover.
Shawn Jameson, child-care worker, had no business being in that burned-out room. And of all the damned bad luck, his number one suspect, the lovely Dr. Kelley Stanton, had been the one to catch him there.
Since he hadn’t planned his examination of the site, hadn’t been in there long, he hadn’t even gotten much useful information, just initial impressions and the room’s layout.
Not something he wanted to admit to Colleen that night.
One way or another, though, he would talk to his lady boss. Like last night, she’d probably call if she didn’t hear from him soon enough.
He pulled his blue SUV out of the hospital parking lot, spinning his wheels like a demon driver. Out of cussedness, he drove around the block. Past the hospital’s admin wing.
Past the place where he’d nearly blown his damned assignment.
He spotted someone standing on the sidewalk below the area where the fire had been, but he couldn’t make out, in the dimness, whether the person was male or female. Whoever it was hurried away, as if wanting not to be seen.
Damned imaginative fool, Shawn chastised himself. More likely, the person was just being smart, getting out of the way of the loco driver. He took a deep breath, pushed the button to open the window beside him, and slowed down.
Denver was far from a sleepy city. There were popular restaurants in the downtown area, people strolling sidewalks along the Sixteenth Street Mall, enjoying this cosmopolitan western town.
Shawn had enjoyed it, too, when he’d first gotten here and joined the Denver Fire Department as a firefighter. Later, he’d moved into the Fire Investigation Bureau.
“That’s what you do, smart guy,” he told himself aloud as he turned a busy, well-lit corner. “You investigate fires.”
But for the first few minutes in the Gilpin Hospital records room, he’d felt like a scared kid again. He’d stood there. Remembering.