College Fire and the earlier one in her family’s apartment. Unnamed sources told the reporter about the letters to Elijah. Who would have known about their connection? Knowing Joan, that left Elijah and someone in the prison system. Newport’s attorney must have been worried about Joan’s investigation. Otherwise, why bother with the hit job?
Going back further in the articles, he scrolled through the few mentions of her citations and awards. She was a high-profile cop.
And now Joan was in his jurisdiction. Looking for what? The justice unattainable in Philadelphia? Closure? Redemption? It certainly was not for him.
He laid his phone facedown on the couch and glanced toward his son. Kyle had fallen asleep, the remote in his hand. If things had gone differently between Joan and him, there would be no Kyle.
Life had given him two paths, and he was sorry he could not have taken both.
The arsonist squatted by the ring of stones glistening in the moonlight. The night sky was crystal clear, and the stars twinkled above. In the center of the stones, a tripod of sticks leaned lazily against each other. Beneath the small spire was a gathering of dry leaves and shaved bark.
He struck the match in his hand, savoring the brief scent of flint, and then watched the fire blaze bright and tall at the end of the match. The flame swayed in a hypnotic dance. The play of colors seductively spoke to him and whispered promises no woman ever had. He grew hard.
The flame burned down, scorching the tips of his fingers. He held tight to the match, absorbing the pain until the flame had died. He dropped it on the makeshift pyramid of wood, struck another match, and then tossed it on the kindling.
A small flame appeared, and the fibrous strands crackled and glowed. He blew on the smoldering tinder, which greedily accepted his nourishing breath. The flames nibbled at the kindling and then gorged on larger pieces of wood.
His creation grew stronger and hotter by the moment. Gently, he laid a larger piece of wood on the fire as he looked toward the brittle brush blanketing the forest bed beyond the circle of rocks. It would not take much to release his creation into the wild. Given the steady wind and the dry undergrowth, it would dance up and down the mountainside, destroying all in its path within hours.
He sat back on a large stump and poked the fire with a stick from his pile. The embers crackled and floated around like fireflies.
As tempting as it was to let his mistress destroy it all, he had to be careful. With Joan Mason back in town, caution was essential. He had important work to do, and he refused to let her stop him.
CHAPTER TEN
Missoula, Montana
Monday, September 7, 2020
8:50 a.m.
Despite the extra sleep, Joan was still exhausted and overcaffeinated when she arrived at the medical examiner’s office at the state crime lab on Palmer Street. The air’s crispy coolness had her hunkering down deeper into Ann’s coat, which smelled faintly of cinnamon and rose perfume. Look up the word perfect in the dictionary, and Ann’s smiling face was sure to be right by the definition. Ann’s flawlessness contrasted with Joan’s chaos-strewn life and was plunging her deeper into her dark mood.
She crossed the parking lot to the front double doors. Normally, she would have reached for her Philadelphia detective’s shield and hung it from her neck, but she hesitated, knowing now was not the time to draw attention to her outsider status. She opted to wait.
Gideon’s car pulled up and parked. He strode toward her with long, fast strides. “Do you have warm gloves?”
She resisted the urge to rub her hands. “It’s still summer back east.”
“Montana doesn’t give a shit about back east. Borrow a pair from Ann.” Gideon opened the door and waited for her to pass. He nodded to the short woman with a round face at the reception desk. “Marge, how did you end up pulling duty today?”
“Cursed, I suppose,” Marge said, deadpan. “You?”
His grin was easy and quick. “Same. I’d like you to meet Detective Joan Mason. She’s consulting with me on this case.”
Marge regarded Joan with a mixture of curiosity and suspicion. “Nice to meet you, Detective Mason.”
“Please call me Joan.”
“Joan, where are you from?”
“Philadelphia.”
“That’s a long way.”
“I’m here on vacation. I’m friends with Ann Bailey.”
Marge’s expression softened. “Well, you should have said so. How do you know Ann?”
“We went to college together.”
Marge’s head tilted a fraction. “You were