Blue Smoke

shoulders. “He’s the only one left, and since he’s not here to object, sure. I like hanging this on him. And what, suddenly he’s your new best friend?”
    “He got hurt making sure you didn’t.” Gib took her face in his hands. “Xander could have been sewing you up tonight. Or worse.”
    “Apologize,” Bianca reminded him, and had Gib casting his eyes to the ceiling.
    “I’m sorry I said you were selfish. You’re not. I was mad.”
    “It’s okay. I am selfish when it comes to you. I love you. I love you,” she repeated, sliding into his arms, reaching for her mother’s hand. “I don’tknow who’s doing this, or why, but I’m afraid now. At both scenes he’s left something from Sirico’s.”
    “Sirico’s?” Gib repeated.
    “One of the matchboxes at the school, a dinner napkin tonight. He’s telling me he can walk in there, get to you. He’s telling me . . .” Her voice wavered. “I’m afraid that he might try to hurt one of you. I couldn’t stand it.”
    “Then you know how we feel about you. Go, get a little sleep. We’ll lock up on our way out.”
    “But—”
    Bianca squeezed Gib’s hand before he could speak. “Get some rest,” Bianca continued. “Don’t worry any more tonight.”
    When they were alone, Gib whispered to his wife, “You’re not thinking about leaving her alone.”
    “We’re going to leave her alone. We have to believe in her, and she has to know we believe in her. It’s so hard.” She pressed her lips tight for a moment, steadied her voice. “It never stops being hard to step back from your babies. But you do it. Come on, let’s lock up. We’ll go home and worry about her.”
    T he phone woke her at five forty-five. Reena clawed her way through the sticky syrup of exhaustion, fumbled on the light, then the recorder.
    “What?” she mumbled into the receiver.
    “Just weren’t quick enough, were you? Not as smart as you think you are.”
    “But you’re smart, aren’t you?” She chained back her temper. “Except, you know, that was a lot of trouble, a lot of bang to take out a truck. Plenty more where that came from.”
    “Bet he’s pissed.” There was a low laugh. “Wish I’d seen his face when it blew.”
    “You should’ve stuck around. If you had balls, you’d have stuck around for the show.”
    “I’ve got balls, bitch. You’ll be licking them before we’re done.”

    “If that’s all you want, tell me where and when.”
    “My time, my place. You don’t get it, do you? Even after tonight you don’t get it. You’re supposed to be the smart one, but you’re just a dumb whore.”
    Her eyes narrowed. “If that’s the case, why don’t you give me a couple hints. The game’s no fun if I’m lagging behind. Come on,” she coaxed, “let’s play.”
    “My game, my rules. Next time.”
    When he hung up, she sat back. Her mind was working now, cleared of sleep and working fast.
    Don’t get it, do you, even after tonight?
    What came out of tonight? she asked herself. He uses different methods, different types of targets. He doesn’t stick with the same MO, the same targets as a more typical serial arsonist would.
    He leaves something from Sirico’s as a signature. As a message to her.
    Someone she’d taken there in the past? O’Donnell was looking at Luke, and Luke hadn’t had any love for the shop. But Luke was in New York. It was possible, of course, that he drove down to Baltimore, but why would he? Why would he harass her after all these years?
    And the syntax was wrong, the pattern of it. Luke could do that deliberately, to throw her off. But again, why?
    Added to it, he didn’t know anything about fire, about explosives. Other than having his Mercedes torched, he . . .
    She sat straight up.
    “Oh God!”
    It wasn’t the same—not exactly. Bo’s truck hadn’t been broken into, the interior fired, the alarm disengaged. But . . .
    Gas poured on the engine, on the tires, under the chassis, the device in the gas tank.
    All those years ago. Could this be the same person? Not someone who’d wanted to attack Luke, not someone with a grudge against Luke.
    But her. All this time.
    But so much damn time, she thought, getting up to pace herself through it. Six years? Had there been incidents between she hadn’t clicked into? Fires she’d investigated that were his work?

    She’d have to go through the open files, the cold cases. Anything that had come through the unit and hadn’t been closed.
    How far