Wilde at Heart (Wilde Security, #3)(53)

After a quick trip to the coffee maker for a refill, he dove into Vaughn’s problem. A deal was a deal. By the time the twins showed up that afternoon, both looking as ragged as he felt, he’d uncovered two more of Lark Warren’s previous identities and thought he had a lead on the very first alias she’d ever used—Violet Smith. She’d gone through her first several identities fast, as if afraid to stay one person for too long. In fact, it looked like she’d been Lark Warren the longest at nearly two years.

She was definitely running. But from what?

And wasn’t it interesting that she always chose nature-themed names? Made him suspect her real name was something similar, except nobody matching her description with a nature-themed name had been reported missing five years ago, which was when “Violet Smith” miraculously rose from the dead and got a job waitressing at a topless bar in New York City. And he was positive Violet had been her first alias, because he couldn’t trace her beyond that.

As far as her financials, he came up empty. She never used bank accounts, even when she was settled into her life as Lark Warren. If she was smart—and he thought she was—she probably kept her money close at hand for an easy getaway. She didn’t have any loans or credit cards, and her twelve-year-old car had been sold to a chop shop before she left town.

Brick wall.

Reece was so wrapped up in the puzzle of Lark Warren, he didn’t hear Vaughn enter his office until his brother sat down in the creaky chair next to his desk.

“Lark?” Vaughn asked, picking up the printouts of the new identities he’d uncovered.

“Yeah.” He pushed back from his desk and rolled his head around, cracking his neck. He’d been hunched over the computer for too long. “Vaughn, man, she doesn’t want to be found. Maybe it’s time to drop it.”

“No.” Vaughn folded the printouts and slid them into his pocket.

“All right. It’s your call, but I really think you should let her go.” When he only received a dark scowl in reply, he shook his head and changed topics. “You wanted to talk to me about the fire at The Bean Gallery?”

Vaughn settled back in his seat and folded his hands over his abs. “I looked into it like you wanted. I assume you’ve known all along that Shelby owned the place?”

“Yeah, I knew.”

“Blows my f*cking mind, but figured as much. It went down about like the arson investigator said. Molotov cocktail through the front window. There might have been a little something extra in the mix to give it some oomph, because the place barbecued fast. But of course you already know that because you were there, you sneaky bastard. Here’s the weird thing. Security cameras monitored the store, and the fire never reached the back office so the computers were salvageable. Everything was there, employee schedules, financial information—and surprisingly Shelby was making a solid profit—but the security footage was missing.”

“But Shelby and I were the only two people there before the fire and neither of us touched the computer.” A ripple chased down Reece’s spine. Excitement, dread. Probably both. His blackmailer had sent him the security footage with the first email. Was it possible Shelby’s fires and his blackmail problem were connected?

“Except,” Vaughn continued, “the footage didn’t disappear until after the computer was collected into evidence. The investigators hadn’t even looked at it yet and were all shocked that it was gone.”

“Who would have access besides law enforcement?”

“Nobody.”

Reece sat back in his chair and rubbed at the unshaved stubble on his chin. Why would a cop blackmail him? It didn’t make sense. None of it made sense and he was so f*cking tired of having more questions than answers.

“There’s something else,” Vaughn said.

Reece groaned. “There always is.”

“Cam told you about the fire at the house across the street from Eva’s a few years back? I looked into that too. Eva was out of town, and Shelby had just moved in after breaking up with a boyfriend. The guy, Steven Moore, was the number one suspect in that fire. The going theory is he wanted to get back at Shelby for ending things, but flambéed the wrong house. He disappeared shortly afterward and hasn’t been seen since.”

“So he could be behind the Molotov cocktail at The Bean Gallery. And…” His parents’ house, the last link he’d had to them, was gone. His stomach lurched at the reminder and he cleared his throat. “And last night.”

Vaughn inclined his head. “It’s a possibility, if Moore’s back in town.”

“We need to find him.”

Vaughn said nothing for a beat. “I’m not dropping my search for Lark.”

“I didn’t say you have to. But, man, I seriously need your help right now. If there’s a firebug gunning for Shelby, we need to stop him. She’s escaped two fires already. Odds are not on her side that she’ll escape another.”

Another stretch of silence. Finally, Vaughn nodded and shoved out of his chair. “I’ll see what I can do.”

“Thank you.”

Vaughn paused at the door and glanced back. “Have you heard from Greer?”

“Nothing. You?”

“Nope.” He scratched at his chin. “I know it’s not the first time he’s pulled a Houdini on us, but…this time feels different. Should we be worried?”