Blue Smoke

wandered over, and Bo caught Reena’s eye and grinned at her.
    It wasn’t the time to talk about serial arson and murder.
    S he couldn’t stay, though her excuses to go home were met with protests.
    “I just want to lay as much of this out as I can for your parents,” Bo told her. “So they can hash it out overnight, be sure this is what they want. If you can wait a half hour, I’ll go with you.”
    “You’ve got your own ride. Big burly one, too. I’ve got files I need to read over. An hour of quiet and thinking time’s just what I want.”
    “Want me to bring you dinner?”
    “That’d be great. Anything. Just surprise me.”
    Xander caught up with her as she followed, for curiosity’s sake, the path between the curvy orange lines. “I’ll walk you around.” He tugged her hair, an old habit.
    She poked an elbow in his ribs in the same spirit.
    “Why don’t I go home with you,” he began, “hang out awhile? We never get to—”
    “No. I’m working, and I don’t need my little brother playing guard.”
    “I’m taller than you.”
    “Barely.”
    “Which means I can be the younger brother, but not the little brother. Either way. Catarina, he could come to your house.”
    “Yes, he could. He knows where I live. I’m prepared for that, Xand. I can’t have someone with me twenty-four hours a day. I want you to be careful.” She turned to him, laid her hands on his shoulders. “Joey Pastorelli. If I’m right, he wants payback. You—nearly three years younger—took him on, beat him back. I can promise you he hasn’t forgotten that. I want you to be careful, to take care of your wife and baby. Don’t worry about me, and I won’t have to worry about you. Deal?”
    “The son of a bitch comes anywhere near An or Dillon—”

    “That’s right.” Her eyes held his in perfect understanding. “That’s exactly right. Keep them close for now. You and Jack, you look out for Fran and Bella, the kids. Mama and Dad. I’ve got some extra patrols, but nobody knows the neighborhood, the feel of it, like we do. Anything, anything seems off, you call me. Promise me.”
    “You don’t even have to ask.”
    “It’s hot,” she said after a moment. “It’s going to be a hot night. Summer’s starting to kick.”
    She got in her car and drove home. But when she got there, she sat, studying the house, the street, the block. She knew several people who lived on this row, had known them all or most of her life.
    She knew this place, had chosen to live here. She could walk in any direction and pass half a dozen people who knew her name.
    Now neither she nor they were safe.
    Gathering her files, she got out, locked her car. She studied the dents and scars pocking it, little reminders of how much worse the explosion on Bo’s truck could have been.
    How long would it take him to light up her car? she wondered. Two minutes, three? He could do it while she slept, while she showered, fixed a meal.
    But that would just be a poke in the ribs. She thought he’d go up a level now.
    She walked to her door, waved to Mary Kate Leoni, who was washing the white marble steps three doors down. Housekeeping, she thought. Life went on with simple things like housekeeping, waiting tables, eating ice cream cones.
    She unlocked her door, set the files aside. And unholstered her weapon. Whatever she’d said, or told herself, about handling things, wanting an hour of quiet and solitude, she was jittery enough to do a full walk-through of her own house. With her gun in her hand.
    Satisfied, if not settled, she went downstairs for the files and a cold drink. It was time she made good use of the office she’d only begun to set up on the third floor. Time she did what she did best: organize, study and dissect.

    She booted up her computer, then turned to the board and easel she’d hauled up shortly after she moved in. From the files she selected photographs, newspaper clippings, copies of reports. She brought up and printed out copies of photos and reports from her own computer.
    When they were arranged, she stepped back, looked at the board as a whole. Then she sat at the keyboard and wrote out the sequence of events beginning with that day in August when she’d been eleven.
    It took longer than the hour, but she barely noticed the passing of time. When the phone rang she swore, and was so deep in what had been she nearly forgot what was. Her fingers were an inch away from snatching up the phone when she stopped