Chapter 7 #2
His face gives nothing away. I look for tells—a twitch, a flicker, anything that suggests he's lying. Either he's genuinely surprised, or he's very good at hiding it.
"We'll need access to your employee records. Recent terminations, HR complaints, any legal disputes involving your properties."
"I'll have my assistant compile everything." Blackwood's composure is returning, the executive mask sliding back into place. "Whatever you need. These fires have cost us millions. If someone is deliberately targeting Blackwood Properties, I want them caught."
"So do we."
The interview continues for another hour—property acquisition history, insurance details, competitor relationships. Blackwood is cooperative but not particularly helpful. Either he genuinely has no idea who might want to hurt his company, or he's very good at hiding it.
On our way out, the receptionist hands us a flash drive. "Mr. Blackwood's assistant compiled the employee records you requested. HR files, termination records, the works."
"That was fast," I murmur to Aiden as we wait for the elevator.
"Almost too fast."
"You noticed that too."
"They had that drive ready before we finished the interview." His jaw is tight. "Either they're very efficient, or they knew we'd be asking."
The elevator doors open. We step inside, and I catch our reflection in the mirrored walls—the two of us standing side by side, partners in more ways than one now.
"Something feels off," I say.
"Big time."
"Blackwood's too calm. His company is being targeted by an arsonist, and he's reacting like it's a minor inconvenience."
"Maybe he's just good at compartmentalizing."
"Maybe." But my gut says otherwise. "Or maybe he knows more than he's telling us."
The elevator descends in silence. Outside the glass walls of the lobby, Copper Ridge looks the same as always. Normal Tuesday afternoon, people going about their lives.
Someone is burning down Blackwood Properties, one building at a time. And until I figure out why, I can't stop them.
But I will figure it out. That's what I do.
Back at my apartment, I open the flash drive's contents on my laptop while Aiden makes coffee in my kitchen like he belongs there. Employee records scroll past—names, dates, positions, reasons for termination.
"There's a lot of turnover," I note. "Fifteen terminations in the past year alone."
"That normal for a company this size?"
"On the high end." I click through the files, scanning for patterns. "Most of them are standard—performance issues, downsizing, voluntary resignations. But this one..."
A name catches my eye. Daniel Marsh. Terminated eight months ago. Reason: Gross misconduct.
"Daniel Marsh," I read aloud. "Former property manager. Fired for gross misconduct after allegedly falsifying inspection reports. He filed a wrongful termination suit that was dismissed three months ago."
"That's a motive."
"And a grudge with eight months to fester." I pull up everything I can find on Daniel Marsh. Forty-two years old. Former property manager. Lost his lawsuit, lost his career, probably lost a lot more than that.
The kind of person who might decide that if he can't have justice through the system, he'll take it himself.
"I need to find him," I say. "Interview him. See if his alibi holds up for both fires."
"Tonight?"
I check the time. Already past six. "Tomorrow. First thing."
Aiden appears beside me with two mugs of coffee, setting one within reach. "You're close. I can see it."
"Close isn't caught." But I take the coffee gratefully, letting the warmth seep into my hands. "Thanks for coming today. To the interview."
"Thanks for letting me."
I lean back in my chair, looking up at him. He's loosened the strangling business casual—top button undone, sleeves rolled up, looking more like himself. More like the man who cooked me dinner and held my hand under a blanket and made me believe this thing between us could actually work.
"You were right," I admit. "About not handling it alone. It helps. Having you there."
His expression softens. "Yeah?"
"Don't get smug about it."
"Wouldn't dream of it." But he's already smiling as he leans down and kisses me softly, coffee and warmth and the promise of something I'm still learning to trust.
My phone buzzes on the desk. I ignore it. It buzzes again. And again.
"That's insistent," Aiden murmurs against my lips.
I pull back with a sigh and check the screen. Three missed calls from the fire department dispatch. A text from Captain Vasquez:
Vasquez: Another fire. Industrial district. Same MO.
My blood goes cold.
"What is it?"
"Another one." I'm already grabbing my jacket, the moment of softness evaporating into professional urgency. "Industrial district. Same pattern."
"I'll drive."
We're out the door in thirty seconds, the employee files and coffee mugs abandoned behind us. Somewhere across the city, another building is burning.
Three fires now. The pattern's escalating. Whoever Daniel Marsh is—or whoever's doing this—they're not slowing down.
And if we don't stop them soon, the next one might not be an empty building.