Burn You Twice - Mary Burton Page 0,3
at this moment.
Feeling Steve’s continued attention on her hands, she held them out as she said, “They don’t hurt.” He now had a full view of the white scars crisscrossing her palms. “Still sensitive to heat, and techs can’t roll a decent print, but otherwise fine.”
To his credit, Steve did not look away. “Which fire was that one from?”
“College.”
“How did you get them?”
“Grabbing a red-hot door handle.” She regarded him. “You’re a lawyer, Steve, so you’d be the person to ask. Do my past experiences cloud my ability to investigate an arsonist?”
“You’re asking a lawyer for a yes-or-no answer?” he said, grinning.
A sense of humor was a point in his column. “You’re right, Counselor, but just supposing . . .”
“I’d have used it against you,” he said. “Impossible to ignore.”
“I would have, too.” She pushed the glass away, wishing the whiskey’s kick would blur the past.
“Is what they said true, Joan?” Steve asked.
“I don’t know, Steve; what did they say?”
He had the good taste to look a little sheepish before he asked, “That the guy who torched your house in college is due to be released from prison this year.”
That was another tidbit the defense attorney had used to publicly call her judgment into question. Shrugging her shoulders, Joan decided she needed fresh air. She scrounged up a decent-enough smile as she grabbed the letter and her purse. “It’s been nice, Steve.”
“Hey, I didn’t mean to pry.”
“Of course you did.” She fished a twenty from her pocket, tossed it on the bar.
He rose. “I thought, maybe—”
“So did I, but you just talked yourself out of what could have been a fun evening.”
“I make my living talking.” He was the type to argue with the weather. “But I also know how to shut up.”
“Apparently not today.”
Purse on her shoulder and letter clutched in her hand, she walked outside to discover a sky thick with gray clouds. Mother Nature understood exactly how she felt. As far as she was concerned, it could rain buckets on everyone until Tuesday.
Still, there were people heading to the bars. Many were laughing, as if they had already adapted to the rainy forecast and shifted their weekend plans inside. If only change were that easy.
The air was muggy, and she cursed the sweat running down her back as she made the two-block walk to her town house. As she rounded the corner onto her street, her phone rang. She removed it from her back pocket and glanced at the display. It was her partner, Seth.
“I heard about the suspension.”
“Good news travels fast.”
“I warned you,” Seth’s gravelly voice barked on the end of the line. “Can’t beat people who are connected. In my younger days, I made that same mistake, but I learned. Just like you have.”
Joan flexed her fingers, accepting that he was trying to help. “You and I both know she did it. Even if my witnesses recanted their testimony after I arrested her.”
“You are preaching to the choir, Joansie.”
“She’s going to do it again.” Just like she sensed in her bones that Elijah would set more fires.
“We don’t arrest people for crimes that haven’t happened, and unless you have one big smoking gun, you’re not going to hold her for more than five minutes.”
“Who gets to die the next time?” Joan asked. “The next woman Avery believes is sleeping with her boyfriend?” The next woman Elijah Weston fixates on?
“Look, you got two weeks of what amounts to paid vacation. Use the time to relax. You work harder than anyone I know.” Seth sounded tired. “Take a break.”
“Right.”
He must have heard the fatigue in her voice. “You going to be okay?”
“Don’t worry about me,” she said carefully.
Seth hesitated. “You sure?”
“Yeah. I’m golden, Seth.”
“Don’t let the suspension get you down. Two weeks will fly.”
Two weeks of no distractions and time to think about how she should have built the Newport case differently. “Like a bird.”
“Barb and I are grilling tomorrow. Door’s always open.”
“Thanks. But don’t count on me. I’ll be foul company.”
After a few more reassurances that she was good to go, she hung up. She climbed the stairs to her town house and unlocked the door. Inside, she picked up the letters dropped through the slot by the mail carrier. She clicked on a light, toed off her shoes, and dropped the mail on a small kitchen table. A card fell out of the stack of envelopes. It was from a reporter. “Would love to interview you.”
She crumpled the card and tossed it in the trash