Chapter 10 #2
Afterwards, lying tangled together in sheets that now smell like both of us, she traces patterns on my chest with lazy fingers. Comfortable silence settles between us.
"So that just happened," she says eventually.
"Yeah." I press a kiss to her hair. "It did."
"No regrets?"
"None." I tighten my arm around her. "You?"
"Not one." She props herself up on one elbow to meet my eyes. "But we should probably talk about what this means."
"It means you're mine." Simple statement of fact. "Case ends, you stay. We figure out the details as we go."
"Shaw—"
"Not negotiating this, Mira." I cup the back of her neck, thumb brushing along her jaw. "What we just did wasn't casual. Wasn't a one-time thing. You knew that when you kissed me. So did I."
She studies my face for a long moment. "I live two hours away."
"Then move. Or I will." I shrug. "Either way, this doesn't end when the case closes."
Something shifts in her expression—relief mixed with acceptance. "Okay."
"Good." I pull her back down against my chest. "Now sleep. We've got work tomorrow."
She settles against me, and within minutes her breathing evens out. I lie awake longer, one arm around her, already running through the investigation in my head. Suspects to interview, financial records to analyze, patterns to find.
Someone's burning Brotherhood businesses. Now I've got another reason to catch the bastard.
Sleep claims me eventually, pulling me under into dreamless dark.
When my internal clock drags me back to consciousness, dawn light is barely filtering through the blinds.
Mira's still asleep when I slip out of bed, her hair spread across my pillow.
I head for the kitchen, start the coffee, check my phone. Nothing from the station. Good.
By the time she appears in the doorway wearing one of my shirts and nothing else, coffee's ready.
"Morning." Her voice is still rough with sleep.
"Morning." I pour her a cup, passing it over. "Sleep okay?"
"Better than I have in weeks." She takes the coffee. "Your bed is ridiculously comfortable."
"Or you just needed to actually relax for once. Great sex will do that for you."
"Maybe." She sips her coffee, studying me over the rim. "What time do we need to leave for the interviews?"
"Couple of hours." I move closer, backing her against the counter. "Plenty of time."
"For what?"
I kiss her thoroughly, tasting coffee and morning. When I pull back, her eyes are dark. "Breakfast. Can't work on an empty stomach."
"Practical."
"Always." I step back before I forget about the interviews entirely. "Eggs okay?"
"Perfect."
We fall into rhythm—me cooking while she sets the table, conversation about the case, the suspects, what questions need answering.
Halfway through breakfast, my phone buzzes. Cole.
Cole: Heard Mira's at your place. Everything okay?
Me: Yeah. Long story. Tell you later.
Cole: As long as you're being smart about this.
Me: Always.
Mira glances up from her eggs. "Everything okay?"
"Cole checking in. Making sure I'm not fucking up."
"Are you?"
"With you? No." I hold her gaze. "Best decision I've made in years."
She holds my eyes, doesn't look away despite the blush. "Good answer."
After breakfast, we both shower—separately, because otherwise we'll never make the interviews—and get ready. Professional clothes, work mode settling into place despite what happened last night.
She climbs onto my bike behind me, arms wrapping around my waist, body pressed against my back. Everything feels different now. More possessive. More permanent.
First interview is with Hartley Industrial's owner, Jonathan Hartley.
Bitter man in his fifties nursing grudges about every contract he lost when Brotherhood businesses chose different vendors.
Defensive posture, aggressive responses, clear financial desperation showing in his worn office and ancient equipment.
"You're targeting me because of my business relationship with the Brotherhood," he snaps halfway through my questions. "This is harassment."
"This is investigation." Mira's voice stays level, professional. "Five fires at Brotherhood-connected businesses, all following the same pattern. You've got motive, means, and opportunity. We're just asking questions."
"I didn't burn down anything. I don't care how desperate my business is, I wouldn't risk prison over lost contracts."
"Then help us eliminate you as a suspect." I lean forward. "Account for your whereabouts during each fire. Provide financial records showing you didn't purchase accelerants. Cooperate instead of getting defensive."
Hartley glares but eventually provides alibi information and agrees to turn over his financial records. Not conclusive either way, but enough to keep him on the suspect list without moving him to the top.
The second interview is different. The manager at Cascade Services is smoother than Hartley—professional veneer firmly in place, answers rehearsed, body language controlled.
But the same bitterness shows through when we push.
Same financial desperation, just better hidden.
Alibis that sound plausible but need verification.
Financial records promised but not immediately provided.
Summit Contractors gives us the third variation.
Younger owner, more arrogant, less scared.
Treats the whole interview like an inconvenience rather than a threat.
Provides alibis without being asked, volunteers financial records before we request them.
Either genuinely innocent or smart enough to know cooperation looks better than resistance.
"We need financial records," Mira says as we're riding back toward my place. "Deep dive into their transactions, cross-reference with accelerant purchases, map against the timeline."
"How long will that take?"
"Couple days if I focus on nothing else. Less if you help."
"I'll help." I pull into my driveway and kill the engine. "We work better together anyway."
Inside, we spread financial documents across my dining table.
Public business filings, tax records, preliminary financial data Mira had already pulled on all three suspects before we ever knocked on their doors.
The deep private records will come later when they provide them, but there's enough here to start building patterns.
Tedious work, cross-referencing transactions against dates, looking for patterns that connect to the arsons.
Hours blur together. Coffee refills, note-taking, spreadsheets mapping financial activity. Mira's brilliant at this—seeing patterns I'd miss, connecting details that seem unrelated, building comprehensive profiles that narrow our suspect pool.
"Shaw." Her voice cuts through my concentration. "Look at this."
I move behind her chair, looking over her shoulder at the screen. "What am I seeing?"
"Evidence that Cascade Services, or whoever owns them, is paying Hartley in order to set him up as the fall guy."
"We need more proof before we can move on this."
"I know. But this is the first real lead we've had." She turns in her chair, looking up at me. "We're close, Shaw. We're finally close."
"Yeah." I squeeze her shoulder. "We are."
Dispatch calls while we're still standing there.
"Riley."
"Active structure fire, Pacific Imports, commercial district east side. Captain wants you on scene."
"On my way." I end the call and grab my keys. "Another fire. No Brotherhood connection that I know of."
Mira's already closing her laptop. "The pattern's changing. That could mean escalation."
"Or it could mean we've got a copycat." I head for the door. "Either way, I need to document the scene."
"Be careful."
I pause in the doorway, looking back at her. "Always am."
The fire at Pacific Imports is already under control by the time I arrive. Standard commercial blaze, nothing sophisticated about the accelerant pattern. Wrong methodology entirely—crude gasoline pour, obvious ignition point, zero attempt at concealment.
Not our arsonist. Different person, different motive, completely unrelated to the Brotherhood fires.
I document everything anyway, take my samples, file my report. Professional thoroughness even when my gut says this isn't connected.
By the time I get back home, it's past eight. Mira's still at the dining table, laptop open, surrounded by financial documents. She looks up when I walk in.
"Well?"
"Not connected. Different accelerant, different technique, different everything." I drop my gear by the door. "Probably insurance fraud, maybe vandalism. Not our guy."
Relief crosses her face. "So the pattern didn't break. He's still targeting Brotherhood businesses."
"Yeah. Which means Cascade Services is still our primary suspect." I move to stand behind her chair, looking at the spreadsheet on her screen. "How's the analysis going?"
"I've mapped every cash withdrawal against every fire. The correlation is too precise to be coincidence." She pulls up a timeline. "Cascade Services is paying Hartley. We just need to prove it."
"Tomorrow we take this to Marshal Davis. Build the case for a warrant." I knead the knots from her shoulders. "But tonight, you need to stop working."
"I'm close—"
"You're exhausted." I turn her chair to face me. "Take a break. Eat something. Get some sleep."
She studies my face for a long moment, then nods. "Okay. But only because you're right about the exhausted part."
I order takeout while she showers. We eat at the kitchen counter, conversation easy despite the investigation weight hanging between us.
"I should head back to my hotel," she says eventually. "Get some actual sleep in my own bed."
"You could stay. The guest room's available."
"Shaw—"
I meet her eyes directly. "You're exhausted, it's late, and you'll be back here first thing tomorrow anyway. Not pushing for anything. Just offering a bed."
She studies my face for a long moment, then shakes her head. "I need some of my own things. Tomorrow, maybe."