Matt rode back to the house in silence. He wasn’t the only one. No one spoke much inside the rig. Mason assigned the jobs to be done when they got back and then fell silent himself. Calls like that hit everyone hard, and Matt could only pray that it would at least be quiet for the rest of the shift. As soon as he could, he wanted to wash the entire terrible call from his skin in the shower, find a fresh uniform, and then go back to staring at his newspaper. He still hadn’t read a single word, but it seemed to be providing enough of a buffer between him and the guys, giving him time to try to get his head on straight. Lauren was still rattled by something, no matter how much she denied it, and Matt couldn’t figure out how much to try to help, or if she even wanted his help at all. Things between them had been fucking amazing, but then she’d pulled back, as if he’d imagined the entire thing. God knows she was entitled to her demons. He had a truckload of them himself. He just wished that she’d let him help with dealing with hers. He had over a decade to catch up on with that.

Unfortunately, it looked as though he wasn’t going to get his newspaper-barrier silence. He’d barely stepped out of the shower, still toweling his wet hair, when Mason called him into his office. Crap. He should have known that similarity between Lauren and Brayden and the victims of the fire wouldn’t have gotten past Mason, especially not after spending half the weekend hanging out with them at the fair. Mason had been very patiently watching Matt slowly lose his mind already that morning. He should have known there was no way his best friend and boss would let the fire pass, too, without talking to him.

He took in a breath and draped the damp towel across his shoulders. He was in uniform, but he hadn’t laced his boots yet. Maybe when he saw Matt with still-damp hair and half dressed, Mason would make it quick. He couldn’t force Matt to go talk to someone, after all. Well, not unless he placed him on suspension. A shiver ran through him—if he didn’t have work, then he would have far too many hours to sit and think. Matt dismissed the thought as he stepped into Mason’s office. If Mason hadn’t done that any time over the previous ten years, then he wasn’t going to start now. He knew how much work meant to Matt. He’d told Mason that much, at least.

Still, he stepped into the office ready to explain that he was fine, and that he didn’t need to go to counseling. Maybe he could just explain to Mason that reconnecting with Lauren again was stressing him out a little. Lauren had already told Sloan that they’d grown up together, and so it was pretty much a given that Mason would know by now anyway. He’d obviously been giving Matt his space on that little tidbit, but it wasn’t going to be long before he asked him why Matt hadn’t told him from the beginning that he’d known Lauren before he’d rescued her that day. If he headed it off at the pass by bringing it up himself . . . 

Matt’s mouth snapped shut at the sight that greeted him when he stepped into Mason’s office. Instead of finding his friend there with a cold drink and their favorite junk-food snack, a man wearing a suit and tie stood at Mason’s desk, a frown on his face. What the hell? “Dude, what’s going on?”

Mason closed his office door and then leaned against it. “Matt, this is Detective Gary Bellamy.”

Matt nodded, forcing himself to relax. He thought he recognized the guy from the scene of the fire. He’d probably want to talk to them all eventually. Maybe he was starting with the guys who had gone inside the house and found the bodies. Cold ran through him as flashes of the burned-out shell of the house ran through his mind. No matter how much he tried, his thoughts kept returning to the sight of the wisps of blonde hair stuck to the skull of the female victim. Despite his deep breaths, his stomach heaved. There hadn’t been much else left to identify either of them.

“Thanks for talking with me, Matt,” Detective Bellamy said, holding out his hand. Matt reached out and shook it, relaxing a little when he realized he wasn’t going to have to argue with Mason again right that minute. That didn’t meant it wasn’t coming. From the frown on his captain’s face, Detective Bellamy would likely barely clear the firehouse doors before Mason tried to continue their chat from earlier.

“What can I do for you, Detective?” Matt said. “I’m not sure what I can tell you about the fire today.” He suppressed another shiver when an image of the scene ran through his mind. The shower may have cleaned his skin, but it had clearly done nothing for what was left in his head. The sight of the two bodies left after the fire would be burning their way through his brain for some time to come. He forced the thought away. It wasn’t as if he didn’t already have a whole lifetime of bad memories haunting his sleep every night. What was one more?

The detective cleared his throat, and Matt looked up, suddenly aware he’d gotten lost in his own head. Damn it, now Mason was outright frowning at him. There was still way too much of the shift left for Matt to be able to offer to walk the detective out, or find some other excuse, and then just disappear. Sometimes that worked, especially when he managed to avoid Mason for two days until the next shift started. Matt looked back up. Mason’s eyebrows formed a dark slash on his face, and his eyes felt like they were piercing right through into Matt’s thoughts. Yeah, he wasn’t going to be able to dodge this one. Damn it.

Bellamy looked over at Mason and then pulled out a chair, sitting down at Mason’s desk. He looked at Matt and then gestured to Mason’s bed. Matt looked over at his captain, but when all he got back was a quick nod, walked over and took a seat. Mason stayed where he was, leaned up against the wall, near enough to the door that Matt wasn’t going to be able to leave without walking within inches of him. What the hell was going on?

The detective cleared his throat. “Matt, when you arrived to the scene, did you notice anything out of the ordinary? Anything that didn’t belong?”

His eyebrows raised. “Anything except the giant wall of flames, I assume? Nope.”

Another quick glance to Mason, who remained by the door, his face still, his body passive, his arms resting beside his body and propping himself up on the wall.

Bellamy spoke again. “Matt, before today, have you ever been to the residence before?”

“What? No.”

Now it was Matt’s turn to stare at Mason, his mouth dropping open. Mason said nothing, but his arms moved from his sides to cross over his chest. If Mason was irritated, Matt was outright pissed off. He’d never seen the victims or the house before, not more than a random passing that might happen to any resident in a small town. What was the detective getting at, and why had Mason just let him waltz into the firehouse and start accusing his unit of God knows what?

“So you never met Sandra Richards or her son before today?”

That was it. Clearly surprise or shock wasn’t going to get him anywhere. Matt stood, pulling himself up to his full height and nailing the detective with a glare. Although he rarely took advantage of his height, Matt was under no delusions of what he looked like. Nearly six foot five and as wide as a Mack truck, he usually put extra effort into making himself seem approachable, gentle. This was not one of those times. “Do I need to call my union rep or my lawyer, Detective?”

To Matt’s surprise, Bellamy remained seated. He shook his head. “I’m not accusing you of anything, Matt. Please, sit.”

Matt took a few steps back to the wall opposite Mason, taking up a similar position. “Think I’ll be happier standing, thanks.”

Bellamy nodded. “Okay.” He stood, pulling a plastic bag out of his suit jacket pocket and held it out to Matt. Matt didn’t move, and the detective took a step toward him. “You can take it. It’s all logged and secured.”

He reached out. The detective was right. Whatever was in the evidence bag was completely sealed away. The only thing Matt would do is leave fingerprints on the bag, and it wasn’t hard for the police to get those if they wanted to. He’d been fingerprinted for a background check before he’d even gotten his job. They wouldn’t even have to ask him; the sample was already there, ready and waiting.

He looked down. Inside the bag was a piece of paper. It had a jagged edge, as if it had been torn from a notebook. Matt squinted, trying to read the smudged paper. “Was this inside?”

Bellamy shook his head. “No. Although the notebook the paper came from could have been.” He shrugged. “Obviously, even if it was, it’ll likely be impossible to tell now.”

Matt nodded. Anything that had been paper anywhere in the downstairs would have been obliterated in the fire, and anything anywhere else in the house was likely water or smoke damaged, probably both. A match to either the substance of the paper or the tear would be practically impossible. Bellamy continued. “We found it left on the front porch. It probably only survived at all because of the heavy envelope it was placed in. That’s the part that brings me here today.” He pulled out another evidence bag, that one containing a large, heavy-papered envelope. Unlike the paper, it had some char along with smoke streaks, but that didn’t stop it from being readable. Matt took it from the detective and turned the bag around in his hands. When his gaze skated across the front, it was suddenly clear why Bellamy thought it might have been best if Matt were sitting down. Written across the front in large, bold slashes was a name—“Matthew Rivers.” He ignored the shaking in his hands and switched back to the first paper, the bags fumbling in his hands. He squinted at the note, his blood chilling in his veins when the smoke-smudged letters finally formed words. “You can run, but I’ll always find you. V.M.”

Victor Mancini.

And the envelope was addressed with Matt’s new name.