Weezer might be the only member of the extended Little Bear family that Daniel hadn’t met. She hadn’t been particularly sociable before she won half a million dollars in the lottery, and she was even less so afterward, afraid people wanted her money.
Daniel didn’t have to worry about that. He would never make the kind of money his fathers did, but he got by. The cost of living in Cedar Creek was nothing compared to LA, and generous people like Ben’s mother gave discounts or free meals to officers. It helped a so-so salary go further.
They were finished eating and Daniel had half of his omelet in a box when the sound of a Federal siren winding up caught his attention. He and Ben both looked toward the fire station across the street, where one engine was pulling out of the station and a second, lights flashing, its own siren engaging, waited to follow.
“As wet as it’s been, you’ve got to be determined to burn something,” Ben remarked as they walked out to his car.
“Determination might be the number one character trait of criminals.”
“Or stupidity. It’s funny how often you hear the phrase ‘criminal mastermind,’ but in all my years on the job, I’ve never met one. I think Mila’s stalker came closest.”
Daniel agreed with him there. Though Sam had passed on information to various police departments, the number of murders that one had committed was still unknown. There had been three in Cedar Creek alone, plus two attempts on Mila and one on Sam.
Mila’s stalker had been deadly. Was Natasha’s?
A black plume of smoke rose to the west above downtown. Ben’s expression went grim as he turned onto First. They would have headed in that direction anyway, but to the police station, not a fire. Daniel hoped it was just a small fire and nothing that required their presence.
The smoke grew thicker, dimming the emergency lights on the engines parked half a block from the courthouse. Ben set the siren to yelp, easing past cars stopped in the street, parking sideways to block the nearest intersection.
“Looks like a car fire,” he said, shutting off the engine. “Damn, and the rain’s starting again.”
Daniel pulled his slicker closer as he got out. A sedan parked across from the courthouse was engulfed in flames, patches of its bright red paint blistering and peeling off, a Dodgers sticker on the rear bumper melting from the intense heat.
He stared at the ruins of the sticker. He knew that sticker—had seen it just last night. Firefighters wielding a powerful line blocked his view of the license tag, but he didn’t need to see it to know it was white with blue numbers and the state’s name in red script across the top.
Natasha’s stalker had set her car on fire.
Now where the hell was she?
When the first raindrop splashed on the tip of Natasha’s nose, she wasn’t surprised. She didn’t even stifle a groan. The dreariness seemed fitting. Her life was figuratively pretty dark. Why shouldn’t it be literally dark, as well?
Grumbling, the people around her started moving away, going on about their day or seeking shelter. Most of the buildings farther down the street had awnings that would keep them dry, but the closest ones were beyond the firefighters’ barrier. Here by the courthouse, there was nothing but sidewalk and grass, and her feet had rooted themselves there. She didn’t like being in the open, but at least no one could approach her stealthily. No one could sneak up and scare her. No one could observe her fear closely.
Not no one. RememberMe. He couldn’t sneak up.
But he’d already scared her.
She wore her slicker, zipped to her chin, and hugged the purse tucked underneath with both arms, her gaze locked on the flames with macabre fascination. Firefighters called to each other and to the police officers who had arrived to assist, and the engines’ sirens droned in a low hum, matched by a toneless numbing hum inside her.
He was here. Maybe in one of the groups of gawkers, maybe down the block or in one of the nearby buildings. Maybe he’d driven away after starting the fire, but he wouldn’t have gone far. He could be parked on a side street, watching his handiwork. Watching her.
She didn’t glance around. It was too damn hard to look at strangers’ faces and wonder, Is it him? Is it that man wearing the suit that looks like a lawyer? Is it the mechanic-looking guy with the grease rag hanging out from his back pocket? Could it be that firefighter in all that gear? Is one of them capable of doing this? Are all of them capable?
Was it even a man? She had assumed, and Stacia and Felicia Martin, but none of the communications made that certain.
Hey, RememberMe? How about a new name? I’m thinking ScrewYou.
Yeah, she liked the sound of that. It made her sound brave and bold, even though she was quaking inside.
She saw two figures approaching in her peripheral vision, but she couldn’t make herself look their way. Strange that, even after five years, she needed to see no more than that dark blur to know the shorter of the two was Daniel. She needed no more than to remember the way he’d left last night to know his expression was going to be as dark as the smoke, that he was going to be wound as tight as she was and more ready to explode.
He stopped directly in front of her, too close, invading her space. She wanted to step back, but her feet wouldn’t move, so she slowed her breathing and dragged her gaze slowly to his face.
Dark. Angry. Hostile. Very tightly controlled.
“Are you all right?”
The question startled her, making her blink slowly. The unexpectedness of it struck her at the same time the ridiculousness of it did. She was standing there unharmed, wasn’t she? The firefighters weren’t offering her medical care, were they? Of course she was all right. Though how the hell could she possibly be all right when her stalker had just set her damn car on fire?
She wanted to laugh and to cry, but instead clenched her jaw tightly and nodded.
“Do you know what happened?”
Before she could remind herself to maintain her control, an answer slipped out. “Well, it didn’t spontaneously combust. I’m guessing he did it.”
“Who?” That came from the second man, a few feet behind and to the side of Daniel. He’d been at the desk beyond Daniel’s yesterday afternoon when she returned to the police station, and seeing him now confirmed her first impressions: he was big, dark and gave off a calm, solid sense that nothing ever got past him.
How much did he know? Had Daniel told him anything? Everything?
Squeezing her eyes shut, Natasha wished herself someplace else. It didn’t work, of course. When she opened them again, the big man was waiting for an answer. Daniel was looking hard at the people who watched the firefighters working.
“Someone’s been harassing me,” she said stiffly.
He politely reworded it for her. “Someone’s stalking you.”
She nodded.
“And you think he followed you here from California?”
Yes, Daniel had told him something. She couldn’t tell by the man’s impassive expression how much he’d confided, how much of his hostility he’d passed on.
Wishing for a deep breath that would erase the tension contracting every muscle in her body, she nodded. “He sent me an email saying that he would find me. After all, Cedar Creek isn’t very big.”
The other detective’s expression didn’t change. “When did you get here?”
“Yesterday, around noon.”
“Who knew you were coming?”
“My