Fireproof

his casket. That’s what had sent her spiraling into the nightmare. She had smelled smoke. Patrick reeked of it.
    “Did you drive directly from the site?” she asked, trying to remember where he had been this past week.
    “Yeah.”
    He left the open box of leftover pizza on the island countertop while he popped open a can of Diet Pepsi. He slid onto one of the bar stools, suddenly stopping and hopping off like the seat was on fire.
    “Sorry. I guess I smell bad.” A slice of pizza in one hand, the Pepsi in the other, he looked back to see if he had gotten the bar stool dirty.
    “Don’t worry about it. Sit.”
    Maggie grabbed a slice of the pizza and took a seat next to him, waving at him to sit back down.
    He hesitated and Maggie hated how tentative and how polite he still was around her. Almost as if he were waiting for her to change her mind, change the locks. She blamed herself. There were twelve years between them, and she was supposed to be the mature one.What a joke that was. She had no idea how to do this family thing. She purposely kept people at a safe distance. She had lived alone a long time and hadn’t shared living quarters since her divorce.
    Other than Harvey and Jake.
    That’s when she bolted off her bar stool.
    “Where are the dogs?”
    The panic from her nightmare returned, showing itself in her voice.
    “I let them out in the backyard.” But Patrick was already on his feet again.
    In three steps Maggie was at the back door, punching in the security code and flipping on the patio light.
    “Jake’s been digging out.” She tried to calm herself. “One of the neighbors threatened to shoot him if he finds him in his front yard again.”
    “You’re kidding. That’s crazy.”
    But Patrick was beside her as she flung open the door.
    Both dogs came loping out of the dark bushes, white and black, side by side, tongues hanging out, noses caked with dirt.
    “Looks like he’s gotten Harvey to help him.” Patrick laughed.
    It was funny and Maggie smiled, relieved despite the tightness in her chest. Four months ago Jake had saved her life. She wanted him to feel safe here, to feel like he finally had a home, and yet he insisted on escaping like she had infringed on his freedom. Maybe she had been wrong in taking him away from the vast openness of the Nebraska Sandhills. She had wanted to save him, like she had saved Harvey, but maybe Jake had never needed saving.
    The dogs lapped up water, sharing the same bowl, leaving dirt in the bottom. Patrick and Maggie returned to their pizza just as Maggie’s cell phone began to ring.
    She checked the time—1:17 in the morning. This couldn’t be good. For some reason she thought about her mother, but knew it was just Catholic guilt for not telling her about Patrick staying here. Not like it was a problem. Her mother rarely came to her house. Finally she grabbed her phone and saw the caller’s number displayed on the screen.
    “Detective Racine,” Maggie answered instead of offering a greeting.
    “Hey, sorry to wake you.”
    “No, it’s okay. I was already up.”
    Maggie was surprised. Usually Julia Racine’s brisk manner didn’t include an apology no matter what time of day. It took a lot to soften up the District homicide detective. Maggie had witnessed the occurrence only a handful of times.
    “I already called Tully. Our firefly’s been busy,” Racine said without much pause. “And this time he’s left us a body.”

CHAPTER 4

    WASHINGTON, D.C .
    R. J. Tully flashed his badge at the uniformed cop patrolling the first set of crime scene ribbons. The guy nodded and Tully slipped under. He wished he’d grabbed something warmer than his trench coat.
    And, damn, when had he gotten a stain on the lapel?
    Didn’t matter. His choices had been limited. Staying overnight at Gwen Patterson’s was still something new. With his daughter, Emma, away and in her second semester of college, there wasn’t any excuse to hurry back home, but he hated the idea of having two different sets of clothes at two different houses. He had been married for thirteen years, on his own now for more than five. Maybe he was too set in his ways to be in a relationship.
    Gwen had generously given him his own drawer at her house and his own side of a closet, almost twelve inches next to her soft and colorful fabrics. His space looked pathetic with only an extra shirt and an extra pair of trousers. That’s all he had hung there. None of it seemed right. It felt