Page 7 of Serial Burn

Lainie dropped her forehead into her palm with a groan, and Jesslyn bit her lip on a smile.

“Fine. He’s great. I like him a lot.”

“But?”

“But...” She shrugged. “It’s not a good time to pursue something.”

“Will it ever be a good time?”

Lainie’s compassionate gaze made Jesslyn want to squirm. “I don’t know. I’m so committed to the job there’s nothing left for anything—or anyone—else.”

“Because your job may one day lead you to whoever it was that started the fire that killed your family.”

“Exactly.”

“Or it might not. I saw your interview.”

“Is there anyone who hasn’t seen it?”

“Not that I can think of.”

Jesslyn nodded. “They keep playing it and asking for anyone with any information about that night to come forward. I should be thankful. The more people who see it, the more awareness there is about who we’re looking for and why.” She took another bite, searching for how to express what she was feeling. She finally found the words. “I remember being seven years old and understanding that someone killed my parents and sisters with fire. On purpose. And I remember thinking someone should have stopped him. I didn’t understand why no one had. When I realized there were jobs that people did to catch murderers like that, I wanted to do that job.” She paused. “I don’t know if I know how to do anything else.”

Lainie studied her with a frown and Jesslyn returned it.

“What?” she asked.

“I’ve wanted to ask you something for a long time now, but haven’t because I’m afraid it might make you mad.”

Okay. “Since when did that stop you?”

“That’s valid.” She put her fork down and took a sip of her water. “I guess I just wonder what your family would think of you dedicating your life to finding the arsonist. To the point that you have no life of your own. In other words, sacrificing your life for their justice.”

“What? I have a life. One that I’m very happy with.”

Liar.

She shut that little voice down fast.

Lainie raised a brow. “Are you? Really? You don’t long for more?”

Okay, she did. She sure did. But admitting it out loud would break something inside her. If she put words to her thoughts, she might lose the will to keep going after the killer, and if she did that, she had no idea who she’d be. And that terrified her more than just about anything.

“I plead the fifth,” she muttered and stuffed another bite of pot roast into her mouth.

NATHAN AND ANDREW STOOD OUTSIDEBud Christie’s room with the man’s doctor, who’d finally joined them in the hallway. It was late and Nathan was exhausted, but the best time to solve a crime was in the early hours of the investigation.

Mr. Christie’s burns were bad, but the smoke inhalation was the medical team’s biggest concern. “So, what you’re saying is,” Nathan said to the doctor, “he’s not waking up anytime soon.”

“He’s in a medically induced coma. We’ll bring him out of it when we feel he’s healed enough to do so.”

“But he’ll live?”

“I’m afraid I can’t tell you that. I’ve seen people recover from worse and I’ve seen people die from wounds not as severe. Only God knows for sure.”

“Right.” Andrew rubbed a hand down his cheek. “Will you let us know when you’re ready to bring him out of the coma?”

“Of course.” The man shook his head. “I’ve known Bud all my life. I’m friends with his daughter, Vanessa. She and I went to medical school together.” He glanced toward the waiting room. “She’s on her way home as we speak. Should be here in another hour or so.”

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