Page 26 of To Hold and Protect

The strong smell of gasoline permeated the air, and he rubbed a finger over leaves that were wet. He brought his finger to his nose and sniffed. Gasoline.

“He was here. Good job, Ember.” He rewarded her with a few treats. “What’s that?” He focused the light on what had caught his attention. Thumbtacked to a tree was a picture...a Polaroid. Who even had a Polaroid camera anymore? His gaze narrowed in on the photo. It was a photo of the first fire.

“Shit.” Parker didn’t doubt for a second that the arsonist had left it for him to find. That was probably the reason for the gasoline, to make sure Ember would lead him here. His feeling that he was being watched hadn’t been his imagination. He didn’t have any rubber gloves on him, and he didn’t want to get his crew stirred up yet, so he called Tristan.

“I need you and one of your CSI people,” he said when his brother answered. He gave Tristan his location.

“That’s out of the city limits, so you need Skye.”

“Right.” The sheriff and police departments shared crime scene technicians since both departments were small, but Tris was correct—this was Skylar’s territory. “Did Skylar pick up Everly from Willow, do you know?”

“She did.”

“Then you need to relieve her so she can come out here. This fire was started by some boys smoking cigarettes, but our arsonist was here.”

“Hell. I’m headed home now. She’ll meet up with you in thirty or so. As soon as we hang up, I’ll get a CSI headed your way.”

The CSI arrived ahead of Skylar. “Good afternoon, Maurisa.”

“Chief. What you got here?”

“A little gift from a firebug.” He stood back with Ember while Maurisa collected and bagged the Polaroid and a few of the gas-soaked leaves. When Skylar arrived, he told her what he’d found.

“He, or she, if that’s the case, is taunting you,” Skylar said after she studied the photo Maurisa had bagged.

“Yeah, I had that feeling by the third fire. Since a female arsonist is rare, for ease of conversation let’s go with a male unless we learn differently. There’s a message on the back.” It read,In fire, there is beauty. There is purity. I see you, Parker. See me.“I don’t like this at all.”

“Don’t blame you.” Skylar handed the photo to the CSI, then put her hand on his arm and walked him away from the interested ears of the CSI. “He’s making it personal to you.”

“I know, and you can’t imagine how much I wish otherwise.”

“Have you fired anyone, interviewed anyone you didn’t hire, had an argument with anyone?”

“No, none of those. Our man either has a scanner or he followed me or the firetrucks here.” His money was on a scanner.

“Well, someone’s out to get your attention, so think hard on who in your past would do something like this.”

Only one name came to mind, but he immediately discarded the mere idea of it. He’d agreed to all of Simone’s demands, so she didn’t have any reason to travel here from France and cause trouble. Did she?

His eyes gritty and burning, Parker glanced at the large clock on the studio wall. Three in the morning was a good reason for gritty eyes. He should go to bed, but his mind was chaos. So much had happened in the last twenty-four hours that there was no way he’d be able to sleep.

Finally confessing his secret to his brothers had been cleansing, and maybe it was a bit overly dramatic, but he felt like his sins had been washed away. He’d carried the weight of the secret he’d shared with his aunt for so long that, unburdened of it now, the crushing weight gone, he wouldn’t be surprised if he floated away.

Too bad he wasn’t going to be able to enjoy this new contentment thanks to an arsonist who apparently was targeting him for some reason. He’d thought hard about anyone he knew who might have it out for him. Not a single name came to mind. Yet, something nagged at the back of his mind.

He shrugged as he stepped back to see what he’d created in his painting fog. Whatever was nagging at his mind would come to him, or it wouldn’t. He ran a critical eye over the canvas. It needed more work, but the bones were there.

A boy, his face hidden in shadows, his shoulders sagging as if the weight of the world rested on his back, leaned on the windowsill of a dark room as he looked out at a raging storm. The clouds were dark and angry, and lightning streaked down from the sky. In the distance, though, a golden ray of sunlight parted the black and purple clouds, shining down a ray of hope that the boy lifted a hand toward, as if reaching for that hope.

Parker set down his brush and considered a title for the painting. One word came to mind.

Liberated.

No one but him would understand the title of the painting, no one would know it was a self-portrait from a time when he was a confused boy. And because no one would understand the significance of the painting, it would go in the show, but it wouldn’t be for sale. How many were not for sale now? Lawrence, the gallery owner, wasn’t going to be happy about the no-sales.

He cleaned his brushes, then turned off the studio lights before going out. Bed called, but his feet took a detour. By the time he’d made it home it was dark, and Willow’s yellow car hadn’t been in the driveway. Had she gone on a date? He told himself he was just being a good neighbor by making sure she was safely home. When he reached his front yard, he stilled and frowned. Her car still wasn’t in the driveway.

Not his business if she’d gone on a date and wasn’t spending the night in her own bed. It irritated him that the thought of her with some other man bothered him. He didn’t know why he cared. Exhausted, he went inside his house, showered, and then crashed facedown on his bed. He was in that hazy in-between of wakefulness and sleep when his eyes snapped open.

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