Page 30 of On Fire

“Our perp would have to be awfully busy to kill off all three owners in one night, wouldn’t you say? He or she would have to be in all three places at once. A little different than planting three bombs. Are you aware of how this makes no sense? You make no sense?”

There’s pressure on my shoulder again from Finn.

“You’ve got three gay bars, nine deaths, and nearly two dozen people injured as result of a hate crime. Yes, Mr. Holt was targeted. He was targeted because he was gay. I don’t understand how this is difficult to understand.”

Now the Sessions guy gets involved. “We aren’t saying this wasn’t a hate crime, Mr. Silvano.” As he folds his arms across his chest, there’s a subliminal flash of smugness crossing his face. “What we’re saying is that there may also have been a personal element to the case—”

I cut him off. “Of course, it’s personal, of course it’s targeted. And what I’m telling you is that the two other owners are at high risk as well, for the same reasons.”

“We reached a different conclusion.”

“Colton Security is on record then for calling this. This is the wrong decision. I’ve met the two other owners. This is personal to me—to our firm.”

“You can bring this up with Portland PD, but you understand they usually defer to our recommendations.”

“Then Colton Security will provide protection.”

“You will be acting as an independent agent? There’ll be no fiscal support.”

I don’t even glance at Finn. I know he agrees. “Exactly.”

“I commend you for sticking to your beliefs—”

“My conclusions,” I correct him.

He nods. “Your conclusions. Frankly it is probably better to err on the side of caution.”

So, the decision to not provide protection came from higher up.

The virtual meeting is over. I stand for a moment staring at the blank screen.

Finn’s voice is kind. “I know you’re not okay. He was a—a friend of yours.”

“And the best friend I can be right now is to find out who did this,” I say. My voice is steady, but it takes everything I’ve got to control the timbre. Kindness can break me. I cough. “What’s your take on those two?” I wave at the screen.

“They’re both relieved we’re taking action.”

“You are one hell of a profiler.”

“I take after a good friend of mine,” he says, grinning.

His talent is innate—one you can’t learn. CIA intelligence courses helped hone those skills, but his ability to read a person comes from both book and street smarts. Plus, he’s incredibly empathetic, a trait he’s been able to convert into a strength in a business sure to minimize it.

My reason for learning to profile suspects was more practical: I wanted the skills necessary to throw people off. I needed to hide who I was effortlessly, transparently, and I cultivated a way of moving through the world that kept part of me hidden from others, even if only on a subconscious level.

It worked.

Well, most of the time. Right now, I must have failed because he gives me a quick hug, strides to the door and calls down to Chloe in the kitchen for more coffee.

“Listen, I can’t leave right now. Claire’s due in four months and something’s come up—” he catches my worried look. “It’s fine—I mean I’m sure it will be fine, but she kind of has to be in bed until we see the doctor on call today.”

Lifting a set of car keys from the hook by the door, I assure him, “I got this. I’ll use the two rooms at the Cliff House.”

The Cliff House is one of four hotels we rotate on an erratic basis for use as safehouses.

Finn holds up his hand. “I’m going to have Mateus pick up the two men. What I really need you to do is take a look at the bomb sites in Portland. Henry’s body was found at five forty-seven this morning. Remos’s report states he left the bombing scene just after you did at five twenty. Someone was quick to kill him.” He sighs. “Bryce will meet you there, and I think Carlson wanted Keller and Luke to come too. We need a forensic team on site to piece together what happened.”

Luke is a certified fire investigator, Keller, a chief with decades of experience, and Bryce, an explosives expert.