talking to the sister he’d mentioned having problems with.
She clicked out of a site for old archived newspapers and clicked on another. Of course, she thought wryly, it was just as likely that he was talking to a woman he was involved with. Maybe one who wasn’t happy about the hours he kept and was feeling neglected. It went without saying that a man who looked like Nate McGuire wouldn’t want for female attention.
Risa narrowed her search to Philadelphia newspapers and then typed in her search command. She was half surprised to find a handful of stories that looked promising. Jotting down notes, she switched from one story to the next. And then moved on to another site and started over. Finally she looked up, barely concealed excitement in her voice. “It says here that the fire at Tory’s back in ’86 was suspected arson.”
Nate looked up. “What made them think that?”
Risa read from her notes. “The investigators could find no electrical reason for the fire. It also mentions the owner didn’t carry insurance. According to Baltes, her boyfriend was asleep upstairs while she was waiting on customers in the bar. A fire broke out when she was cleaning up and she tried to get it under control herself. When that failed, she ran outside to a neighbor’s and had them call the fire department.”
She looked up to meet his gaze. “The article intimates that the fire department’s response time was slower than usual because of the neighborhood the call came from. By the time they arrived, it was too late to do much for the building. And efforts to save the man in the upstairs apartment were in vain.” She couldn’t suppress the excitement from her voice any longer. “And get this . . . the victim named in the article is a Lamont Frederickson. Has a lot of immediate surviving family listed, including a younger brother by the name of Javon Emmons.”
Nate looked as stunned as she’d felt upon reading the article. “What are the chances he’s the same Javon Emmons . . . Juicy?”
“I’m guessing damn near one hundred percent.”
A door pushed open on the passenger side of the gleaming black town car idling at Risa’s curb. She’d barely parked before Adam Raiker emerged from it and waited impatiently for her to join him.
“Adam.”
His tone was wry. “Please. Rein in your excitement. The constant adulation gets wearing.”
Her mouth quirked. “I’ll take your word for it.” She let him lead the way up to the front door before she stepped in to unlock it and allow him entry. When he ensconced himself once more on the sagging flowered couch, she had a flash of déjà vu.
“I didn’t expect to see you so soon. Any news on the assassin ?”
His hand tightened on the polished knob of his cane. “As a matter of fact. Got the call today. The FBI has him under surveillance. They were supposed to move on him tonight. I’ve been invited to sit in on some of the interviews once he’s in custody.”
She smiled at his disgruntled tone. It wouldn’t suit her boss to allow another organization to lead when it had been his life at risk. “I’m glad. Hopefully you’ll get some answers about who hired him.”
“We will if I’m doing the interview.” He stared at her long enough then to make her uncomfortable. Then, in his usual abrupt manner, he said, “Paulie thinks I misjudged you. That I pushed too hard.”
Oddly touched, she found it difficult to speak for a moment. If Adam Raiker harbored self-doubts, she’d never seen evidence of them. And the thought that Paulie’s words would have had him second-guessing himself on her behalf meant more than it should have. In answer, she opened her jacket a bit.
His face creased into a self-satisfied smile. “You’re wearing your weapon.”
She was suddenly glad he would never know how long it had taken her just to force herself to touch it. How she’d shaken like a leaf in a hurricane loading it this morning. The effort it’d taken to bring herself to strap it on.
“It’s just geography. It’s not in the drawer anymore, but what good is it if it’s only window dressing? I don’t know that I can draw it. Fire it.”
“Do you know how many surgeries I had after I escaped and killed LeCroix?”
She could only shake her head in bemusement. Adam rarely spoke of anything remotely personal. And she couldn’t remember him ever offering information about the most intensely traumatic