Chapter Nine – Lucy

 

After I’d double-checked the security chain on the door, I sat back down on the hotel room’s drab bed. With the sound of water falling and cascading off Carter’s muscular body as background noise, I replayed my life choices that had brought me to this point. Here I was, locked in a room with a strange man I’d only just met, with armed gunmen after me, while I investigated what could only be described as a supernatural phenomenon.

Seriously replaying. In Technicolor and surround sound, even, as Carter showered the last of the potato chip crumbs and RC Cola from his hair. My graduation from the fire academy, the pride on Cassidy’s and my father’s faces as I became Shamrock’s second female firefighter to graduate. Spending my year as a probie. Waking up early in the firehouse, making coffee, doing my calisthenics as the rest of the house woke around me.

They’d been hard times, but I’d known I’d get through them. Because I had to. There was no other way I was going to be a firefighter like my father or Cassidy if I didn’t. And becoming one? That was just as inevitable as wet streets after a hard rain. It had never entered my head that I would be anything else in life. No matter how many pranks the guys pulled on me, no matter how many shit-sandwich chores they fed me, no matter how bad things got, I always knew I’d finish. I always knew I’d meet, and beat, their expectations of me.

Besides, where else would I be able to express my fascination with fire? Not starting fires, of course, but just marveling at the sheer destructive capacity of this weird elemental force. This thing man couldn’t live without, but which could turn at a moment’s notice to fatally bite us?

Until, of course, Cassidy finally convinced me that I needed to take the position as a fire investigator. That Bunk needed good people. That the city needed me.

The worst part about this? I didn’t know how any of it would turn out. When I’d been going through the academy, when I’d been doing my probie period, I’d always had that dead certainty that there couldn’t be any other way things would go. Could go.

This, though?

Before, the town seemed to be burning up, one person at a time. Now there were Irish guys shooting up my investigation scenes, and out-of-town private investigators breaking into them. The only way this could get worse would be if those thugs from the Stop & Shop attack somehow caught wind of us being here and showed up, knocking on our door.

And what about Carter?

Something inside me told me I could trust him. That I should trust him. But, that same gut instinct told me he was hiding something as well. A piece of the puzzle. Because, if he wasn’t hiding something, why had he broken into my scene? Why hadn’t I been notified that one of the insurance companies was sending a fire investigator? And, most importantly, why the hell was someone shooting at him?

Something didn’t smell right. And it wasn’t just the soda pop that had burst all over him and his jacket, or the potato and corn chips that had dribbled down over his thick hair and beard. No, his story wasn’t adding up the way it should have.

I shook my head at my ridiculousness. What the hell was wrong with me? His story was more full of holes than a block of Swiss cheese, but here I was, just ignoring everything because of that smile of his, because of the way those manly arms of his had hoisted me up over his broad shoulder as he went running across the parking lot.

Just as I flipped open one of the files from my briefcase, the Jaws theme began to play, haunting the corners of my hearing.

I really needed to change my ring tone. I picked up my cell and checked it. Franklin Bunk.

“Shit,” I breathed, just before hitting “answer” and pressing the phone to my ear. “Lucy Skinner. What’s up, boss?”

“Thank fucking Christ you’re okay,” my supervisor said, with obvious relief.  “Jumping Jesus on a fucking crutch, don’t ever do that again.”

“Do what, boss? What’s wrong?”

“Don’t play stupid with me, Skinner,” he snapped, his tone back to its normal combative one. “I just got off the phone with Shamrock PD. Know what they wanted?”

I didn’t reply, figuring it would be better to remain silent on this one. Instead, I got up from the end of the bed and started to pace. The cops getting involved was bad. Really bad.

“Well, I’ll fucking tell you what they wanted to know. They wanted to know why one of my investigators had her car at the scene of a shooting incident!”

I groaned. “Look, Bunk, I can explain—”

“Explain?” he shouted into the phone. “I told you to go home for the goddamn night! What part of that translated into ‘stop by the Stop & Shop and get shot at’?”

“Okay, okay, Bunk, I hear you.”

“Oh, lovely, you fucking hear me. Hear that, world? She fucking hears me. Great!”

“Dammit, Bunk,” I said with a sigh, fighting to keep in check my impulse to yell right back. “If you’d just let me get two words in edgewise, I’d be able to tell you I wasn’t getting shot at, okay? There was some other guy there, a fire investigator from out of state for some insurance company, and that’s who was getting shot at. Not me!”

“And this is supposed to do what?” he asked, pausing for a breath before answering his own question with another. “Make me feel better?” Before I could respond, he was back at it. “To know that, for whatever reason, I’ve now got some madman with a gun trying to shoot up my fire sites? And some jackass from out of state is running around sticking his nose in my best investigator’s cases before she’s even made her final ruling on cause and source?”

I blinked. Had he just called me his best investigator?

“Because, no, this doesn’t make me feel any better, Skinner. This makes me feel marginally fucking worse, in fact. Who is this asshole? And where the hell are you?”

“Name’s Carter Grant,” I said, before pausing to lick my lips. “And, I think he has an idea of what caused these fires. I think he thinks someone lit them. That they’re not just accidents.”

Thoughtful silence on the other end of the line, punctuated only by Bunk’s heavy breathing through his nose. He always breathed heavily when he got riled up like this, his nostrils flaring and gaping like two black holes as he took an uncharacteristically long amount of time to really process what was going on in front of him.

“He thinks someone started these?” he asked. “How?”

“I don’t know yet,” I replied, then paused. “He won’t tell me.”

“You expect me to fucking believe this shit, Skinner? You expect me to believe this guy who just wandered into town has some sort of line on what’s been going on in our town for the last three weeks? Really?”

I tried to bite my tongue, I really did. But my teeth must have slipped right off the tip, because it didn’t do anything to stop me.

“Let me get this straight,” I said, my voice nearly a growl in my own ears. “You think it’s ridiculous that some out-of-town investigator might have an idea of what’s starting these things, but your primary theory is that phantom gas leaks have been enveloping only the victims in public places? And that phantom electrical sparks have been igniting them?”

Bunk sniffed, but didn’t reply at first.

“But when your best investigator tells you this out-of-town guy knows something, that I’m almost certain he’s the key to this whole thing, that’s just a bridge too fucking far for you? Am I getting that right, boss?”

He just sniffed again, this time more loudly than before.

“So, yeah, my twenty-four hours still starts tomorrow, right?”

“Dammit, Skinner,” Bunk mumbled. “You really got me between a damn rock and a hard place, you know that?”

“Sorry, boss. I would have avoided it if I could—you know that. But I just can’t. I gotta see this thing through, and I really do think this guy knows something we don’t. I think he can help us out, here, and figure out what the hell killed those people.”

“And Cassidy, huh?”

I bit my thumb’s cuticle. I knew he was right, even if I didn’t want to admit it. This was personal, through and through. Maybe that was the reason I was latching onto Carter the way I was? Because he presented some chance, even on an outside bet, of helping me catch what had killed my mentor. Perhaps I could, I don’t know, find a reason for his death other than a stray ember from a cigar, like Bunk had suggested. Something, anything, so I could find the cause of this. And, hopefully, stop it.

“Okay,” Bunk said when I didn’t respond for a moment. “Okay. All right, you’re still on the clock. Twenty-four hours starting tomorrow morning, you got it? PD still wants to talk to you, though, Skinner. I’ll vouch for you and make sure they know you weren’t involved, but they’re still gonna wanna know if you saw something at the Stop & Shop.”

I nearly groaned. “Can’t hold them off till after this is all said and done, can I?”

“Believe me, I wish. I’d love to keep ’em completely clear of this thing till we know more, maybe have charges for them to file, if that’s what it comes down to. Keep this case ours, entirely. But, well, you know how it is. Mayor’s office, Captain Jenkins. Ain’t none of that gonna fly with any of ’em, and we both know it. Besides, there’s guns involved now, not just arson. This is probably outside our wheelhouse.”

“Yeah,” I agreed, stopping my pacing feet for just a moment. I didn’t like the idea of Shamrock PD coming in, poking their noses around, and maybe stealing my thunder. Or, worse, trying to pin something on Carter Grant that didn’t belong there. But what was I going to do? I couldn’t avoid them forever, could I? “Tell you what, send them over here. Carter and I’ll talk to them, show them we’re okay, and that no one was injured.”

“Good,” Bunk said. “That’s sensible.”

I gave him the address of the hotel, and our room number.

“A hotel?” he asked, and I could practically hear him raising an eyebrow in surprise. “Do I even wanna know?”

“Long story, boss. Trust me,” I said, taking a breath. Then, quickly followed by: “And, it’s not what you think.”

“All right,” he said, uncertain-sounding. “Just remember. I want you clear of this as soon as possible. All right?”

“Yeah, Bunk, I know. Believe me, I do, too.”

“Guess I’ll send the detectives your way, then.”

“Thanks.”

He hung up the phone, and I tossed my cell back on the bed as soon as the line went dead. I covered my face with both hands, having to fight for dear life to hold back from screaming into my palms. The cops were on their way, to talk to both me and Carter. My boss had stuck his neck out with them on my behalf, vouching for me.

I turned back to the bed, biting my thumbnail. If it wasn’t my cuticle, it always seemed to be my nail, a habit Clarissa and my father had always tried to break me of.

Never quite stuck, and I still fell back on it in times of stress. Times like this.

Behind me, the door to the bathroom, and the shower, opened up. “Still on the phone?”

I turned around to face him, and immediately averted my eyes from the bare-chested man standing in front of me, with his rippling abs, and pecs so chiseled you could shatter diamonds on them. “Uhhhh,” I said, nearly speechless as my face, even the tops of my breasts, immediately flushed red with startled embarrassment. I shuffled back around, keeping my gaze locked on the bad art over the bed.

“Oh, crap,” Carter mumbled, “sorry. I just forgot to grab a clean shirt from my bag.”

Wow. There was nothing to be sorry about. Far from it, in fact! This was the closest I’d gotten to any action since Jason. That wasn’t exactly something I could say, though. So, instead, I just cleared my throat and tried to control myself from glancing back over my shoulder to get a better look at him. “Yeah, clean shirt.”

Behind me, and out of sight, he unzipped his bag for a moment before zipping it back closed. “Talk to your boss?” he asked.

“Yeah,” I said, a little surprised that he had correctly guessed whom I was on the phone with. “Shamrock PD called him because they found my car at the convenience store, still in the parking lot.”

“And?” he asked. “You can turn around now, by the way. I’m presentable.”

“And, they’re coming over to interview us,” I replied as I spun around to face him. He was back to wearing similar clothes as before, just a plain t-shirt over some jeans. Barefoot now, of course. Then, just curious, I asked, “How’d you hear all that, anyways? You were running the shower the whole time.”

“Good hearing?”

I raised an eyebrow. “Really? That it?”

“That’s it,” he said, a grin growing on his lips. “What, you think I’ve got listening devices planted in here or something?”

“No, I didn’t say that. Not specifically, at least.”

He went over to the credenza and sat down on the edge, causing the whole piece of furniture to shift with his weight, and the flat screen TV beside him to wobble almost precariously. His face stony, he planted both hands on his thighs as he looked at me. “So, police are on their way here? No way to avoid it, I take it?”

I shrugged as I slumped down onto the end of the bed. “What else can I do? I work for the same city as them, Carter. Look, I want to help you with this, to help you figure out what’s happening to these people. But I need you to help me.”

His eyes widened.

“I need you to tell me exactly, I mean one-hundred-percent no BS, what’s going on. The truth, Carter.”

“And nothing but?”

I nodded.

He didn’t say anything for a moment, just kept giving me that saucer-eyed look of his. Finally, he ran a hand back through his still damp hair. “Oh boy.”