Fireproof

an accident.
    “We still haven’t figured out who the woman was,” Racine added. “She definitely wasn’t killed there. Her murder may have had nothing to do with the fires.”
    “Interesting,” Ivan said, shifting his feet again and practically stomping them. “But you still haven’t given me a solid description of this guy.”
    “What exactly do you expect?” Maggie asked. “That I tell you he wears double-breasted suits and talks with a stutter? That he walks with a limp and drives a white paneled van?” She purposely mixed several famous profiles. First, the Mad Bomber of the 1940s. Second, the vehicle that was supposed to lead them to the Beltway sniper.
    Ivan stared at her—or, rather, his mirrored glasses did. Then recognition came as a smile crept over his lips. “That’s right. The profile of the Beltway sniper was totally wrong. The type of vehicle was just one mistake. You’re only proving my point, Agent O’Dell.”
    “You need to give me some facts, too, Investigator Ivan. Agent Tully and I were asked to profile this case, but we were given very little information from your department. By now you must know or at least can speculate what chemicals are being used to start the fires.”
    “Wait a minute,” Racine said. “The District PD is under the impression that the ATF and FBI are coordinating this effort and working together.”
    Maggie saw Ivan clench his teeth and suck in a breath as his head swiveled away from her. In the mirrored reflection she watched flames dance where his eyes should have been. There was something unsettling about the sight.
    “Our lab’s still working on that.”
    “Tell you what. I’ll make you a deal.”
    The mirrors came back.
    “Send whatever trace you’ve collected to Keith Ganza. When he tells me what the chemicals are, I’ll have a detailed profile for you within twenty-four hours.”
    Another fire engine wailed to a stop about a hundred yards behind them. In Ivan’s glasses Maggie could see two firefighters jump out. Ivan was still stonewalling when Maggie heard someone call her name. It took her almost a minute to recognize the arriving firefighter in his full gear, his hat brim pulled down low over his brow.
    It was Patrick.

CHAPTER 44

    “That hot cop is your sister?”
    “She’s not a cop. She’s an FBI agent.” Patrick hauled his equipment to the curb.
    “Looks familiar. Hey, wait a minute. Last night on TV. Wasn’t she on Larry King Live ?”
    “Larry King’s not on anymore.”
    “Really? What happened to him?”
    Patrick wasn’t in the mood for this. It was bad enough to run into Maggie here. He didn’t need Wes Harper’s ridiculous chitchat.
    “Is she married?”
    “Divorced.”
    “That’s even better. You know what they say about divorced women?”
    Patrick didn’t know and didn’t want to know.
    “What did you do to your hand?” he asked, changing the subject. He pointed at a fresh scar on the back of Harper’s right hand. It still looked a bit raw.
    “Nothing.” But he pulled his glove up quickly. “So maybe you could introduce me to her.”
    “Don’t you think we should get our equipment ready?”
    “Hey, chill out, dude. You’re not the team leader on this one.”
    Harper gave Maggie another look before he turned his back to get to work. “There’re three buildings in between the fire and our client’s building.” He kept his voice low. “Not like it’s urgent. Probably won’t even need to foam it if those guys take care of their business.”
    By “those guys” Patrick knew he meant the real firefighters. He stopped to watch. They had a hell of a job on their hands. Hoses were still being attached to fire hydrants. A second engine screamed two blocks away. The siren faded, then stopped when it arrived at the other church. Two blazes spewing black clouds of smoke and yet Patrick and his partner weren’t here to help on either blaze.
    For Patrick, this was much worse than being five miles away, like the last assignment, spraying down a house and watching from afar. To be here—right here—to feel the heat of the flames and fill his lungs with smoke and just stand back and watch. It was wrong. It went against his basic instinct.
    Patrick twisted his gloves in his fists instead of putting them on. He felt helpless, shackled. He glanced at Harper, who had pulled out a computer tablet but was staring up at the flames.
    “It’s actually pretty, isn’t it?” Harper said, and smiled at