Chapter Twenty-Five
Mick forced himself to wait until Louie made another copy of the letter for him and headed back to the kitchen to help with dinner before he rushed over to his filing cabinet.
The two-inch binder was right where he’d left it, with cadet program applications and photos of all those hopeful candidates inside.
He lunged for the book and carried it back to his desk, perching on the edge of his seat and coming up on his toes.
His legs refused to stay still. Once he’d opened the cover, he couldn’t turn the pages fast enough.
Was it possible that the answer to the questions about the rash of fires had been in Riley Hoffman’s office—now his—all along?
“What was his name? Kevin? Curtis?” He flipped the pages harder as the answer didn’t instantly appear. The name didn’t matter, anyway, because he knew the kid’s face.
Maybe all of these fires had started as some game, some “TORCH” for people who thought it would be fun to destroy other people’s property.
That was dangerous enough. But today was different.
This morning someone, maybe a participant in that game, had tried to murder the woman he loved.
Had tried to burn her alive. And there was no way he would be getting away with it.
“He’s here. He has to be here,” he said, though a weight settled in his chest over the possibility that he could have been wrong. That he was just grasping at straws.
Still, he continued to rip at the applications that weren’t even alphabetized.
Just punctured with a three-hole punch and threaded onto the rings, probably as the packets arrived during the monthlong application period, each marked with the date it was received.
As that thought settled, Mick flipped the whole book to its back cover to look at the earliest applications submitted.
After working backward through two letters of recommendation and the transcript, he stopped on the first page from the earliest applicant.
And there he was. Cameron Lewis Phillips, the sheet said at the top.
For several seconds, he could only stare at the photo clipped to it.
He could have been any teen that Mick had passed on the streets since arriving in Mount Isabel.
White. Ordinary. Only if Mick was right, he was also the kid who’d tried to kill Rachel.
To be sure it was the same boy, he turned back to his computer and moved the mouse to awaken the monitor. The photo that had been there earlier filled the screen. Mick zoomed in to get a better look, but from even at a distance, he could tell it was a match.
Mick couldn’t help it. He lifted the photo and read the whole application, trying to glean details from the typed words.
Though in this day of helicopter parents, he recognized that the boy might not have completed the application himself, his answers suggested that he had.
The kid listed only computers and video games as interests, even referring to himself as a “computer wizard.” His answers to the question about why he wanted to consider a career in firefighting weren’t so different from those on any of the other applications, but Mick gave them a closer inspection.
“A ‘hero’ and ‘big part of the community.’” Mick whispered and then reread every word. “He has big plans, all right.”
But when he scanned to the bottom of the page where Cameron had added a little something extra to make his application stand out, Mick’s blood went cold. The boy had added a quote.
“A coward turns away, but a brave man’s choice is danger.”
—Euripides (c. 485-406 BCE)
He grabbed his phone, searched for a number and tapped the link to dial it. His throat tightened as it rang.
“Mount Isabel Police Department, how may I help you?” the dispatcher said.
“I’m Fire Chief Mick Prentiss,” he said, pausing to clear his throat. “I’d like to speak to Chief Gilman.”
* * *
Mick’s whole body and his head ached by the time he pulled his truck in front of his apartment two hours later, the sky not quite dark but well on its way.
He should have known that the police wouldn’t want to waste any time collecting the cadet program application to match with the crowd photos from the crime scene.
Now he wouldn’t even get a chance to try to see Rachel at the hospital. Not that she would have agreed to talk to him, anyway. But he could have tried.
He’d used the electronic key to open the main building door when he heard footsteps behind him.
“Mick Prentiss?”
He stopped and turned his head to the side, trying to stay calm. An officer had told him that Cameron Phillips was already under arrest before he’d even left the police station. Clearly, someone had missed something. Maybe an accomplice?
“Who’s asking?” He waited, trying to come up with a weapon he could use, besides his bare hands.
“I just wanted to get a look at the guy who took my job.”
Mick dampened his lips, then slowly turned around to face him.
He’d seen the photos on Rachel’s wall. The man standing in front of him, with wavy blond hair, light-blue eyes and the kind of pretty-boy looks that Mick never had, was definitely Riley Hoffman.
If not for the photos, he never would have guessed they were related. He looked nothing like Rachel.
This wasn’t the way he’d intended to meet her brother. But he hadn’t expected him to ambush him at his apartment, either. Come to think of it, Rachel had done the same thing to him. Maybe the thrill of surprise ran in the family.
“Mr. Hoffman?”
“Riley will do.”
Only it didn’t feel right, given that Mick had just left the man’s former office a few hours before. “I didn’t know you’d been—”
“Released from rehab?” Riley finished for him. “Yeah, they tossed my butt earlier today. Four weeks max, and even that was after getting two extra weeks approved.”
“If you’re looking for your sister, I’m sorry to have to tell you—”
“That she’s in the hospital? Yeah, I’ve heard. In fact, I’ve heard a lot of things.” Riley paused to eye Mick until he shuffled his boots in the snow. “Like that I can’t go home because, apparently, somebody burned down my house.”
Mick was relieved that Rachel’s brother hadn’t gone into details about what else he’d learned. “I’m so sorry. That has to be a hell of a way to come home. Especially now when you’re—”
Riley cleared his throat, crossing his arms and moving into a defensive pose that reminded Mick of his sister. They were related, all right.
“Don’t worry about me. I’m fine,” Riley said.
The younger man must have recognized that he’d spoken too quickly, too defensively. He glanced over his shoulder to the street and then turned back again, his expression a calmer one.
“I did hear that police took a suspect into custody about an hour ago,” Mick said.
“Now, that I hadn’t heard.”
“A seventeen-year-old named Cameron Phillips.”
“No way! Cameron? I thought he’d finally given up.” Riley blinked several times and tilted his head. “Wait. Did you say he was a suspect for the fire at my house?”
“Yeah. Sorry. How’d you know him? I saw his picture in the fire cadet program applications—”
“Again?”
Mick narrowed his gaze and waited for him to explain.
“He applied last year, too,” he said and then shrugged.
“When it didn’t work out for him, he kept calling, wanting to know why he wasn’t accepted.
I guess it messed up his big plans. He lives on a hobby farm with executive parents who work near Lansing and aren’t around much other than to buy him stuff. ”
“Like computers and video games?” Mick lowered his voice to ask the next part. “Didn’t seem like a good psychological fit for the program?”
“Something like that.”
Mick nodded, aware that information should have been confidential, except possibly between the two of them. “Hey, it’s getting cold out here. I don’t have any furniture, but come inside. I have tea, cocoa or coffee.”
“I kind of had another idea,” Riley said. “Since I don’t really have anywhere to stay, and my car’s in the garage—if there still is a garage—I wondered if you could give me a ride to the hospital. I need to see my sister and see if I can camp out at her house for a while.”
“I can take you, but why me?”
At that, Riley chuckled. “From what I’ve heard, we’re practically family. I do have to say you work fast, though. I wasn’t gone that long. And from what I hear, you’ve been in town an even shorter amount of time. The twins are crazy about you. And my sister—”
“Sorry.” Mick lifted a hand, signaling for him to stop. “This is just too awkward. In addition to that, your sister, uh, doesn’t want to see me.”
“Well, that’s too bad because you’re my ride. She’ll just have to live with it.” Riley gestured to Mick’s truck, and they both started toward it. “Could we make a stop to pick up Carly and Carissa on the way? I’m dying to see my girls.”
They were parked outside Stacy’s house before Mick tried again.
“How do you know about…”
“I have my ways.” Riley grinned at the windshield. “Seriously, I told you I got kicked out today. I needed a ride. Peter was off, so he helped me out.”
“And filled you in.”
He smiled again, not disagreeing, though he couldn’t help wondering just how much his friend knew. Then, for the first time since he’d met Riley, the man’s expression became serious.
“You’re not just ‘hanging out’ with my sister, are you? Because she’s been through a lot, and I don’t think she could take—”
“No. Never.” His vehemence surprised even him. “But like I said, we’re not…”
“Good. I’d hate to have to kick your ass when I’ve only just met you.”
“And since I’m your ride.”
A few minutes later, the girls were buckled in the back seat of the quad cab, chatting about fires and how their mom was okay, as they drove toward Mount Isabel Regional Hospital.
“You two will figure it out,” Riley said, breaking the silence in the front seat.
Mick nodded, his throat thick. “Either way, if you ever need to talk with someone about…you know…anything, I just wanted to let you know that my dad’s an alcoholic, so…” He stopped and shrugged.
Riley kept staring at the windshield. “I’ve got a lot of work ahead of me. Doing my ‘thirty in thirty,’ attending an Alcoholics Anonymous meeting every day for a month. I was able to attend one at the center before I left today.”
“You know, I think we’re all going to be okay.” Mick hoped by saying it, he could make it true.
“I hope so, man. I really hope so.”