His gaze, still on Ann, froze. She could not blame the guy. If he had stepped into O’Toole’s last week, she might have done the same.
“I was about to tell you,” Ann said. “Joan flew in last night. Did you know she’s a homicide detective in Philadelphia?”
“I did.” Gideon shifted his full attention to her. To his credit, he produced a subtle, almost pleasant smile. “Joan.”
He had always been careful with public displays of affection. They both had agreed in college that PDAs were beneath them. But given that it was taking every bit of her to keep her body from melting, she hoped her presence had jostled his apple cart a little.
She held out her hand. “Good to see you.”
He took her hand, squeezing gently and slightly frowning as her rough scars brushed his skin. His gaze wavered, suggesting he was taken aback. Good. They could all stand on shaky ground together. “Likewise.”
Kyle ran up to his father. “You smell like smoke.”
“There was a fire in town last night,” he said, dropping his gaze to his son.
“What burned down?” Nate asked.
“A beauty shop.” Gideon’s voice sounded almost conversational, as if he did not want to alarm the boys.
“Can we go see it?” Kyle asked.
“No.”
“I want to see it,” Nate said.
“Me too,” Kyle piped in.
“Maybe in a few days,” Gideon said. “Right now, it’s still not safe.”
Joan shifted to cop mode. “Do you know how it burned down?”
“We do not,” he said.
“Nate said Clarke had a call last night,” Ann said.
“That was the one. He was there most of the night.”
“Boys, finish your breakfast,” Ann said. “We’ll go out for a ride in the back range once you’re finished.”
“Can I ride Whiskey?” Kyle asked.
Ann looked to Gideon, who nodded.
“He’s a strong rider,” Gideon said with pride. “Whiskey will be fine.”
As the boys scurried back toward the kitchen, Joan moved closer to Gideon, more drawn by curiosity over the fire in town than she was cautious of old emotions tangled up with guilt. The scent of smoke clinging to him stopped her a couple of feet away. “Have you spoken to Elijah? Where there’s smoke, there’s often an arsonist.”
He rubbed the brim of his hat, already worn in several spots. “We haven’t proven arson yet.”
“Just so you know, I came to town to see Elijah,” Joan said. “I thought he might act again, but never this fast.”
“We don’t know if it’s him yet,” Gideon said.
“Are you defending him?” Ann’s anger hardened her tone.
“No. I just follow the facts. And right now, I have a fire with undetermined origins.”
“Where was Elijah at the time of the fire?” Joan asked.
“He has an alibi,” Gideon said.
“I’ll bet,” Joan said.
The thunder of the boys’ footsteps in the kitchen rumbled through the house and made glasses in an antique cabinet rattle.
“I better go check on that,” Ann said.
Ann turned and was calling out the boys’ names before her foot landed on the first step.
“I’m going to talk to Elijah,” Joan said.
“About what?” Gideon asked.
“I’m not sure. But I’ll know when I get there.”
“A few questions will reveal the truth in his heart?” he asked, baiting her.
“No. Thinking maybe interrogation skills I’ve picked up along the way might ferret out a few deceptions.”
“And then what? He’s already been tried, convicted, and served his time for the last fire.”
Joan slid her hands into her pockets. Jesus. She’d been fired up and motivated when she’d boarded the plane yesterday. She had not formulated a clear plan beyond seeing Elijah. Now a suspicious fire had destroyed a building, and there was a crime scene to examine. And whether Gideon liked it or not, she would participate in the investigation.
“I’m borrowing your mother’s car,” she said.
He shook his head. “The clutch is out.”
“Then I’ll get Ann to drop me at the rental car place.”
He regarded her with a guarded steadiness, as he used to when sizing up a wild bronco. “You can ride with me and save her the trip into town. It’ll give us a chance to catch up.”
A hint of challenge laced Gideon’s tone. He was daring her to spend time with him and perhaps, God forbid, converse about the unfinished business between them.
To beg off would scream coward. She might regret the decisions she had made a decade ago, but she would not apologize for them. “I need to grab my coat and purse.”
“Chop-chop,” he said. “Bus is leaving in five minutes.”
“Right.” As she passed the hallway mirror, she caught a glimpse of her reflection. Her hair stuck up, and yesterday’s mascara was smudged under her eyes. She looked like a cross between a rooster and an anime cartoon character.
Minutes later, teeth brushed and hair tamed by a damp comb, she’d changed into jeans, a dark-brown sweater, and black boots. All work-wardrobe staples. She felt underdressed without her sidearm.
The boys were gathered around Gideon. Both had donned coats and looked ready to head to the stables with Ann. Nate had a calculus book tucked under his arm. Algebra had nearly been Joan’s Waterloo in high school. “Some light reading, kid?”
“Yeah,” Nate said. “Do you like math?”
A quip died on her lips when she realized it might discourage the boy. “Nice. It’s good to be smart.”
“Ready?” Gideon asked.
“I am.”
The four years Joan had spent in Montana had hovered in the shadows of her life for many reasons. Foolish to think all the baggage had centered on Elijah, when the bulk of it belonged to Gideon.
Walking out the front door, as the boys raced toward the barn, Gideon unlocked the doors to the police-issue SUV.
She slid inside the car, glancing in the side mirror and watching as Gideon hugged his son and whispered something to him. A part of her was glad Gideon had a child to love. Even in college, he had said he wanted children. Even though she had refused to discuss the possibilities of motherhood in those days, a part of her now wished they’d had a child together.
She settled in the seat and hooked her belt. The dash was dust-free, as was the side console. There was a computer mounted between the seats as well as a two-way radio, which must have been convenient for when he was out of cell service.
He slid behind the wheel, clicked his seat belt as he looked in the rearview mirror at the boys to make sure they were clear of the car. She found it strange to think how time and life had made this wild and reckless cowboy more cautious and deliberate.
The engine throttled up as he pulled out of Ann’s driveway and onto the rural route.
Joan shifted her attention to the stunning mountain peaks that ran along the entire horizon. The landscape was so vast that it left her feeling exposed and unsure of how to proceed. She missed the urban gray granite walls of Philadelphia that flanked her and blocked out old memories that now nudged to the front of her mind. Joan shifted in her seat and ignored the tightening in her chest. She had been so stubborn and hard on him because she had loved him. She thought if she left him, it wouldn’t hurt so much. But she had been wrong.
As she narrowed her eyes, the landscape blurred, and she could pretend it was not so intimidating. She needed to find Elijah, figure out what his strategy was, and get the hell back to Philadelphia before she lost her mind.
Confessions of an Arsonist
This fire should have satisfied my cravings, but it has only created a hunger for more heat and more destruction.
CHAPTER EIGHT
Missoula, Montana
Sunday, September 6, 2020
11:00 a.m.
Gideon noticed Joan shivering but was not surprised, given her flimsy coat. She had forgotten about the weather. He turned up the heat. “I’m assuming the regular rental car place?”
“That’ll work.” She tapped her finger on her worn jeans, as if unsaid thoughts were scratching against her insides.
“It’s about twenty minutes from the ranch,” he said.
“How far is the rental car place from the arson scene?”
“Ten minutes in the opposite direction.”
When Gideon had first seen her at Ann’s, he was too taken aback to notice much about her. Now, with Ann and the boys gone, he’d had time to process. Time to remember what he had loved about her.
Joan was as fit and trim as she had been in college. Her hair was shorter, but he liked the way it showed off her angled face and made her green eyes pop. She did not wear much makeup, but she still did not need it. He had always assumed that if he ever saw her again—and he had fantasized about it—he would not feel really strongly one way or the other about her. Just twenty minutes with her had told him that he’d been wrong.
“Can you take me to the arson scene first?” Joan asked. “I want to see it before I talk to Elijah.”
“Why? You can’t work it in an official capacity.”
“Technically, no. But it may help. I’ve walked my share of arson scenes in the last few years.”