Vindicate (Recovered Innocence #1)(56)

He’s out cold. Could he be more seriously hurt than his finger? I run my hands over him, checking for any obvious signs of injury. His head, his arms, his chest, his thighs— “A little higher and more to the middle,” he mumbles.

“Idiot.” I laugh in relief at his perverted joke. “Are you okay? Are you hurt anywhere?”

“Just my pride for passing out. And the finger. It burns like a son of a bitch.” He eases up to his elbows and gets his first look at the building. “Holy shit. That could’ve been us.”

“I know. You saved us.”

“Focus on that and not the part where I blacked out like a wuss.”

“Are you sure you’re okay?”

“I’m fine. What about you? You scared the shit out of me up there.”

“As long as you don’t fall on me again, I’ll be fine.”

Sirens wail in the distance.

“Did you call them?” he asks.

“No. Did you?”

“No.”

“Maybe a passerby called.”

“Maybe.”

“That fire was deliberately set.” I shiver at the thought that someone could do something like that.

He scoots closer and puts his arm around me. “Yup.”

“Most people would’ve walked inside right away. We might’ve been inside when the fire started if you hadn’t been so cautious.”

“Probably.”

“This is more than breaking and entering. It’s attempted murder.”

“Maybe.” He examines his finger. “Nasty. Thank God I’m right-handed.”

“You’re being very blasé about this.”

“Not really.” He stands, brushes himself off, then holds his good hand out to me to help me up. “I’m thinking this is more of a message. And a way to get rid of evidence.” He brushes the hair out of my eye. “Your box was in there with everything you have on your brother’s case.”

“And all of our new notes and info.”

“I’m sorry, Cora.”

“Don’t be.”

“But this’ll set us back.”

“Not really. I made copies of everything. Just in case. I have them stashed somewhere safe.”

“Damn, you’re clever. More clever than the * who set that fire gave you credit for.”

“I also have electronic copies of the notes we made. I backed up my backup. Beau is too important to me not to.”

“My dad will be impressed. Hell, I’m impressed.” He puts his arms around me. “You’re pretty damn impressive, Bluebird.”

“So are you. Not counting the fainting.”

“I didn’t faint. I passed out.”

“Same thing.”

“My finger f*cking hurts. Look at it.”

He shows it to me. It’s already swelling. We need to get him to a doctor. The fire trucks round the corner, their lights slashing red across Leo’s face.

I reach up, put a hand to his cheek, and kiss him. “Thanks for getting us out of there. I’m sorry about your dad’s office. And your finger.”

“I need to call him. He’s going to be pissed. This place was his life.”

“I bet he’ll just be glad you’re okay.”

While we wait for Mr. Nash we watch the firefighters do their job. Whatever the office building is made of doesn’t have a chance against the flames. Before we know it the scene gets out of control. More fire trucks arrive. The police close the street down. News helicopters circle overhead. A crowd gathers. I try to get Leo to have one of the paramedics look at his finger, but he refuses.

“Your dad will have to get here on foot,” I say. “They’ve blocked the street in both directions.”

“Uh-huh.” He’s not paying any attention to me or to what’s happening with the fire. He’s too busy checking out the crowd that’s gathered.

“Who are you looking for?”

“The guy who set the fire.”

I glance around at the people standing around. Could Cassandra’s killer be here, watching? I move in to Leo, needing his warmth, his strength. Out of instinct or habit he draws me closer to him, even though his attention is definitely elsewhere.

“You really think he’s here?” I ask.

“On TV they say the perp sometimes stakes out the crime scene or goes to the victim’s funeral. He wants to see the chaos he’s caused. He wants to relive the moment, relish in the notoriety of his crime. He wants to watch the fire burn. It gives him satisfaction. It’s a part of the allegory. Almost like reliving the crime all over again. He’s here. I can feel it.”

“Where?” I can barely get the word out.

“I don’t know, but he’s here.”

“Son of a bitch!” I jump at the sound of Mr. Nash’s voice behind us. “What happened?”

Leo tells him about the breakin and our narrow escape.

“Are you kids all right?” Mr. Nash asks.

“Yeah,” Leo answers.

“No.” I lift Leo’s arm to show Mr. Nash the bent finger. Leo tries to pull it away.

“What the hell?” Mr. Nash grabs Leo’s wrist, turning his hand in the flashing emergency lights. “You need to get to a doctor.”