Fireproof

needed Sam.
    “Hey, maybe I can help you out.”
    She and Jeffery both startled. Neither of them had noticed the firefighter come over to them from behind the crime scene tape. He pushed back his hat and the first thing Sam noticed was how clean he was—no black smears on his face, no sweaty hair, no smoke or soot anywhere on him. Even his boots were dry.
    He looked about Sam’s age—around thirty—short and muscular, though the latter was difficult to judge under his heavy uniform. He had a square jaw, a nose that looked like it might have been broken at least once, and narrow, deep-set eyes that traveled too slowly over Sam’s body. Usually that sort of thing didn’t bother her. She wasn’t sure why it did now. What was it about this guy that didn’t feel right?
    “From what I hear,” Jeffery said, “there’s not much to tell.”
    “I recognized you when you were talking to my partner earlier. You’re Jeffery Cole from CNN.”
    Sam almost laughed. She should have looked away. She already knew what Jeffery’s response would be.
    Too late.
    She saw him smile and his chest practically puffed out as he straightened his tie.
    “What is it you think you can help us with, Mr. Firefighter?”
    “Actually my name’s Wes Harper. I’m a private firefighter with Braxton Protection Agency.”
    “Private? I didn’t realize there was such a thing. That’s interesting, but I don’t think we need any more footage.”
    “I saw that piece you did last night.”
    Now that Jeffery had decided this guy wasn’t one of the “real” firefighters and that he wasn’t interested, he had started to shut down, like an actor done with his role and donning his own persona. Even his smile waned, polite because he couldn’t resist a compliment and would certainly wait for this guy’s, but beyond that Sam could see he was no longer interested in resuming his role as Jeffery Cole, investigative interviewer.
    “I know you’d probably rather interview my partner, but since he turned you down maybe I could fill in.”
    “That’s nice of you, but I think we’re good.”
    “Aren’t you doing like a part two on his sister tonight?”
    Sam almost dropped the lens she had taken off and was carefully putting into its sleeve.
    “Excuse me?” Jeffery said, stepping closer to Harper as if he hadn’t heard him. “That young guy, that rent-a-fireman, is Agent O’Dell’s brother?”
    “That’s right,” Harper said with a smile, not the least bit bothered by the derogatory remark about his occupation.
    “Well, well,” Jeffery said. “It’s certainly a small world, isn’t it?”

CHAPTER 49

    This would be a piece of cake, Maggie thought. A disabled Kernan wouldn’t be able to see the reactions his insults and swipes registered. She saw his head tilt, his chin track up—signs of a man depending on what he heard and smelled rather than saw.
    “Once again,” Maggie said, “I’m here only because my superior insisted.”
    “Oh, that’s right. And they’re always wrong. Aren’t they?”
    “They have rules and regulations they need to follow. I understand that.”
    He leaned back and his head cocked to the side as if gauging her response. He intertwined his fingers and laid them on his thick chest. That’s when Maggie realized his tie was navy blue but his suit was dark brown. He had no one to help him dress. No one to offer advice before he went out the door. Just the dog, who although he rested in the corner, still kept his eyes trained on his master. But a dog couldn’t tell you that your tie doesn’t match your suit. And suddenly Maggie wanted to kick herself, because she actually felt sorry for Dr. James Kernan.
    “But you still believe they’re wrong? That you shouldn’t be here?”
    She sat back in the chair, fingers no longer clenched and now resting in her lap. She stared at him and wondered what it was like to be cunning and sharp-tongued, to be brilliant and to win every mental game, and yet be totally alone in the world. No, she didn’t feel sorry for him, she felt uncomfortably like him .
    Was this her future? Instead of the paraphernalia from the history of psychology, she’d have strange tokens and memorabilia of the serial killers she had tracked.
    Then Maggie thought of Lucy Coy, the old Indian woman she had met in the Sandhills of Nebraska. She’d be content to be like Lucy, surrounded by dogs and quiet and a beautiful landscape.
    “Have you become hard of hearing, Ms.