'So what have you learned so far?'
'I've been examining patterns of burn, the structure of the building itself, the ventilation factors, and what fuel loadings were available. The Imperial was a veritable powder keg waiting for someone to strike a match.' He brought her toward a large garbage receptacle set too close to the back wall of the building. 'But I found some 'pour patterns' in and around this Dumpster. They look promising.'
He squatted near a pile of trash and pointed, continuing with his preliminary findings.
'Incendiary fire. A candle ignited the blaze and served as a time delay. It looks like some type of liquid accelerant was used. More than likely gasoline, but I'll confirm that when I run it through the gas chromatograph. See here? It burned in a way that remained visible after the fire.' Rick pointed to the burn pattern, or rather, the absence of burn. 'I'm still collecting evidence, enclosing what I find in airtight containers to prevent cross contamination and keep the integrity of the accelerant intact. But so far, this looks like arson, deliberately set.'
Arson added a wrinkle of complication, but a thought registered in her mind.
'Guess if the fire hadn't happened, we might never have found our Jane Doe buried in the wall. Whoever set the blaze may help us find justice for our murder victim. At least we have a shot at it. Kind of an interesting turn of fate, I'd say.'
The irony appealed to her. Becca handed her helmet to the fire investigator.
'I'll leave the stylish headgear with you. Send me a copy of your findings. And thanks, Rick.'
'Will do.' He nodded and headed back into the building.
Normally, the owner of the Imperial Theatre would be considered a strong suspect for a fire caused by arson. As a rule, the fraudulent act was committed to collect insurance money, especially if the policy amount exceeded the value of the real estate. That fit the bill for the Imperial in its current state of disrepair. But if the property owner had anything to do with the body buried in the theater, an arson fire would be the last thing the owner would want. An arson investigation would only shed light on a very deep, dark secret.
The pieces to this puzzle didn't make sense—yet. But there was nothing like a good mystery. No matter how her investigation proceeded, the owner of the Imperial Theatre would be high on her interview list.
Becca jotted some more notations into her casebook and walked around the building, still thinking about the murdered woman. When she rounded the corner at the front of the theater, she caught sight of her mystery man's Mercedes, but he wasn't in sight. For an instant, she felt—
'Disappointed, Beck? Get over yourself. With my luck, I'll find him in one of the mug books back at headquarters, with priors as long as my arm.' She heaved a sigh.
Reaching into her jacket pocket, she retrieved her car keys and walked across the street. After unlocking her car door, she noticed movement near the corner of the Imperial. Becca recognized the man, even under his designer shades. But instead of crossing the street toward his expensive ride, the guy headed in the opposite way, as if he had somewhere else to be. Doubts crept into her mind. Maybe the Mercedes wasn't his.
'So what are you up to, GQ?' She pursed her lips and thought for a moment, giving in to her impulse to follow. With enough people around, she could blend in and tail him from her side of the street. Mostly, Becca was too damned curious to let him walk away. She slipped on her sunglasses. On instinct, she felt for her Glock, lodged in a holster at the small of her back.
Speaking to her weapon, Becca muttered, 'Let's you and me take a stroll, shall we?'
CHAPTER2
The man walked with purpose, hands in his pockets. A sexy swagger. If she'd known the name of his tailor, Becca would have sent a thank-you note. His suit accentuated every asset the man had. Her target moved with a certain power and grace she always associated with a Grade A male. Yet with his head lowered in boyish charm, his body was a contradiction. Navigating the streets with eyes looking down, he seemed to know where he was going. A man on a mission. His face stern, he looked preoccupied and deep in thought. And although people noticed him, they avoided eye contact, maybe sensing a trace of danger. Eye candy tinged with risk.
Becca felt it, too. Gut instincts as a cop . . . and as a woman.
The guy never turned her way. When he slowed and sat down at a small table in front of a sidewalk cafe, she ducked into a bookstore on her side of the street. With her nose in a book, Becca stood by a large window, maintaining surveillance. GQ placed his order. Before long, the waiter brought two hot beverages. He expected someone to join him.
'This could be interesting,' she muttered.
Raising the book to cover her face, she peeked over the top of her sunglasses. In a simple gesture, her well- dressed target raised a hand and waved. His guest had arrived. Becca looked up and down the street, waiting to spot the newcomer to the scene. No one stood out. But he waved again. This time, with a faint smile on his face.
Eyes wide, she almost dropped her book.
When she turned back, he had removed his sunglasses and stared at her, a definite invitation—or a challenge. Her face heated with embarrassment, but in no time, her blush dissolved into anger at being caught. Becca jammed the book back on the shelf and took a deep breath.
'Don't let him get to you, Beck. And don't underestimate him again.'
Outside the bookstore, she stood on the curb, waiting for the traffic light to change. GQ hadn't moved. Sprawled at the small wrought-iron table for two, he had his arms crossed over his ample chest, looking plenty smug.
With the breezy day, no sane person would have chosen a seat outside. So without a doubt, the mystery man and Becca would have their privacy. She gritted her teeth, determined not to give in to his not-so-subtle game of intimidation. Hiding behind her sunglasses, she glared at him as the light changed. He reminded her of an old tomcat about to play with his next meal.
Becca took her time crossing the intersection. What would she say? After all, she'd been caught in the act of following him. Scenarios played out in her mind, but as she approached, he made the first move.
A low masculine voice with a faint Hispanic accent.
'I've taken the liberty of ordering your favorite. Cappuccino with cinnamon, I believe.' He stood and pulled the seat out for her. 'You looked like you could use a break.'
She removed her sunglasses and sat down, eyes focused on the man taking the seat across from her.
'You knew I'd—' Of course, he knew she would follow him.
He never let her finish.
'Your name, Detective Montgomery?' He grinned, showing a subtle display of dimples. 'At the risk of sounding like a stalker, the answer is yes. Or do you prefer Rebecca?'
No amount of charm or cappuccino tempered her shock.
And still, he pressed his advantage. With a downright lethal smile, he leaned toward her, close enough for her to get a whiff of his distinctive cologne. His intimacy and the small table did a number on her head. In her mind, the busy street and all its noise faded to nothing. All she saw were those eyes—dark, sensual, and honey brown. They commanded her complete attention. Becca tried to turn away but found it impossible. The man stared straight through her—unnerving and mesmerizing at the same time. With the palpable connection between them, she wondered if he felt it, too.
Becca had to break his spell. She shoved the cappuccino aside and matched his posture, elbows on the table.
'You have me at a disadvantage. I don't know your name. You in a sharing mood?' She tilted her head and waited.
'A resourceful woman like you? You'll find out soon enough.'
The cagey bastard sure liked hoarding his secrets. She had to gain control of this conversation, fast.
'I noticed you hanging out in front of the Imperial earlier.'
'Is this a crime, Rebecca?' A slow lazy smile, dark eyes riveted on hers. 'If so, you won't catch me doing it again. After all, I am a law-abiding citizen.'
