One #3
Over the past several months, Emmett had led the team in their investigation into the illegal adoption ring. Another nightmare he couldn’t shake.
It had started with Jenny Clarke. Nineteen. Died by two shots to the chest. Buried and eventually found…along with the discovery through autopsy that she’d given birth two months prior.
A pattern emerged—two more girls. Same story.
All teens. All murdered shortly after giving birth.
The task force had been formed with push from one of the biggest benefactors of K-9 programs in the state, Dodger Andrews.
The very worried grandfather of Mia Andrews, who was still missing.
And who the task force needed to find before her due date in October. The clock was ticking.
“You think it’s the arsonist?” Emmett asked, pulling Trevor out of his thoughts. “Is Helena getting too close?”
“I don’t know. Thought crossed my mind. Who else torches her house in the middle of an open arson investigation?
” He exhaled sharply. He’d spent months splitting his attention between the two cases, but tonight had made him fearful for Helena.
“I’d like to take a few days and focus on the arson case. Helena’s important to the PD.”
He didn’t say brilliant, funny, beautiful or that she had a way of looking right through him like she already knew the parts he tried to hide.
No. He didn’t have time for any of that—not while his mother was still under care at Lavender Assisted Living, and maybe not even then.
“You’ve earned it,” Emmett said. “Focus on the case. If you need backup or resources from the task force, you’ve got them.”
“Thanks, Emmett.”
He ended the call and his phone immediately rang again. Brody Baird, the arson investigator.
“Brody—what do you have?”
“Brake fluid mixed with calcium hypochlorite.”
“Pool shock,” Trevor said, pulse quickening. Same as the car fires.
“Yeah. Homemade incendiary. Won’t be easy to trace. But it lines up with your arson murders.”
“You think we can narrow down the brand of brake fluid?”
“Maybe. I’ll try.”
“Appreciate it.”
He hung up and strode into the emergency department, Lark at his side. Helena might not know it yet, but this hadn’t been some fluke or faulty wiring.
The arsonist wanted her gone.
And now Trevor knew it.
Now he could fight back.
The receptionist gave him her room number, and he headed down the hall, heart pounding with something that wasn’t quite fear—closer to fury.
Helena had survived the fire.
But someone had meant for her not to.
* * *
A couple of hours later, Helena had been cleared to go home—except she didn’t have one anymore. Her house might be nothing but rubble. The only thing left of her parents, of her childhood, of every memory she’d fought to protect, had gone up in smoke.
Tears burned behind her eyes, but she wouldn’t let them fall. Not here. Not in front of anyone. She’d learned a long time ago…big girls don’t cry. At least not where anyone could see.
She’d figure this out. Like she always did. Dad had taught her to be strong, self-sufficient. Capable. It didn’t matter that people didn’t understand her—or her job. Men, especially. They didn’t appreciate that she could diagnose a transmission rattle faster than they could pop the hood.
Some were intimidated. Others just saw her as a challenge. Something to conquer, like Everest. She’d heard the names behind her back. Ice Queen. Grease Madame. Sometimes worse. All because she ran a successful mechanic shop and fleet department and didn’t play helpless.
Dating wasn’t on the agenda. Not now. Not with Dad gone. Not with the house, their house, reduced to cinders.
A knock at the door broke the silence.
She looked up and waved weakly from behind her oxygen mask. Of course it was Trevor Slate, holding the black duffel bag she kept at the fleet department with an extra change of clothes and shoes. His thoughtfulness to bring it warmed her heart.
He stepped in quietly; serious as always.
That no-nonsense vibe was stitched into every part of him—from the set of his jaw to the shadows under his eyes.
She only ever saw a soft side when he talked to Lark.
He was private, like her. Reserved. Honest. Dependable.
And in six months of working alongside him, he’d never once treated her like anything less than a woman.
She appreciated that. He treated her like a lady, even if she wasn’t what most men called one. Dad always said she was a tomboy, but she just liked what she liked.
“Hey,” she rasped, lowering the mask. “Guess you’ve been to the house. How bad is it?”
“I don’t know,” he admitted. “I left right after the ambulance took you. Lark and I were out running. She alerted to accelerant—that’s how we found you.”
“You found me?” Her breath hitched. Gratitude swelled in her chest. If he hadn’t been there…she’d be dead.
Trevor nodded, downplaying it with a shrug. “Got you out the bedroom window. Got you safe.” He handed her the bag. “I stopped by your office at the fleet department. Grabbed this for you. It’ll do for now.”
“Thank you,” she murmured while unzipping the bag and removing socks and tennis shoes to put on her freezing-cold feet. “How can I repay you?”
“You don’t.” His brow creased, not in frustration—just sincerity. “But you should know…the accelerant matches the one from the arson homicides. Hank and Brody are checking to see if it’s the same brand.”
Her stomach dropped. “You think the killer came after me?”
“It appears that way. You’re close to this case. Maybe too close. Maybe he fears you know something you don’t. It’s a small town and it could have gotten out what the arsonist used as his incendiary device. Could have been mimicked.” Trevor’s jaw flexed. “You ever feel watched before tonight?”
She removed her oxygen mask completely, trying to focus. “Work was normal. Nothing strange. Wait—” She paused. “Before I went to bed, I thought I saw a shadow in the woods. I figured it was just the wind in the trees casting shadows.”
Trevor’s jaw flexed. “You ever feel watched before tonight?”
He shifted, rubbing the back of his neck. “You got a place to go when you’re released?”
“I’ve got a room over the garage. Tiny kitchen. Cot. It’ll do.”
He frowned. “Helena, your garage is a fire hazard. And you were just pulled out of a burning house. You’re in danger.
The arsonist we’re after, or someone mimicking him, has targeted you and was at your home setting it ablaze without your knowledge.
I think you should stay with me until we catch him.
It’s safer—not because of me but Lark. She can scent accelerant over a mile away—literally.
Anyone tries to burn us down, she’ll let us know before danger hits.
I’ve got a spare room now. My mom’s not there.
She moved into assisted living this week. ”
Her throat tightened. “I’m sorry, Trevor.”
He gave a small nod.
“I hear what you’re saying, but I’ll be fine at the garage. I’ve managed worse.”
“Worse than having your home set on fire, with you inside, by a diabolical killer who is still out there?” he said, voice low. “Humor me. If you feel up to it, we can work the case together. You’ll be safe. And you won’t owe me a thing.”
She hesitated. She hated feeling weak, hated accepting help—but right now, she was scared. Really scared and she let her reservations go. “Okay. Just for a couple of days.”
“Fair enough.” His tone said not really, but he didn’t argue.
Then his phone rang. He checked the screen, brow furrowing.
“Hey, Chief,” he answered. “Yeah—hold on.” He put the call on speaker. “She’s here. What’s up?”
The fire chief’s voice came through the line, tight and grave.
“We found human remains in the crawl space at Helena’s house.”