A half hour later, Rachel was squatting in front of the closet. On the floor, a partially unburned area told her where the woman had been lying. Next to that lay the Bible, wet, but, having been sheltered by the woman’s body, untouched by the fire. She leafed through the first few pages of the book, observing that the copyright date and the publisher matched those listed in the notes she had back at the condo.
The odor of charcoal lighter still hung heavy in the room. Sam had always been teased that she could outsniff any arson dog, and it seemed she hadn’t lost her touch for identifying an accelerant.
Standing, Rachel examined the room. Almost twenty minutes passed before her gaze fastened on what she’d been looking for—the point of origin. A black V started a few inches above the baseboard. The wood strip along the wall looked like the blackened skin of an alligator. The pattern splayed out and up on the wall opposite the closet, and the smell of charcoal lighter was much stronger here.
She glanced back at the closet and shuddered. The cold bastard had set the fire and, judging by the severe burn damage on the inside of the door, left the door open. With her hands tied behind her, he’d left the victim as helpless as a turtle on its back to watch the flames coming to get her. Just like he’d left Rachel. She shuddered but refused to allow her emotions to dampen her resolve to get this job done.
Rachel swung the door closed. The outside was burned, but not nearly as badly as the inside. Sam’s conclusions were probably right. The wind currents created by the fire had closed it, but too late to save the woman’s life. Methodically, Rachel snapped photos of the inside and outside of the closet, both sides of the door, the Bible, and the point of origin.
“Still have a problem obeying orders, I see.”
Luke’s deep voice sent shivers down Rachel’s spine. She jumped, nearly dropping the camera, then spun toward him. “You’re late.”
“You didn’t wait for me.” He strolled past her to look in the closet. “Here’s your coffee,” he said, holding out one of two cups he’d brought with him.
Grateful that he’d remembered and ready for a second dose of caffeine, she took it and flipped off the plastic lid. The smell of hot coffee wafted up to Rachel. Cautiously, she sipped the steaming liquid.
“Is it okay?”
Oddly enough, it was more than okay. “It’s perfect,” she said. “I’m surprised you remembered how I take it.”
“One sugar and a drop of milk,” he recited, then frowned. “I always wondered what difference that drop of milk made.”
Rachel set the cup on the edge of the charred dresser. “It’s an appeasement.”
He frowned. “A what?”
“Appeasement. When I was about sixteen, I started drinking coffee, and my mother said only men drank black coffee, so the drop of milk was an—”
“Appeasement,” he finished for her, then laughed.
It had a been a long time since she’d heard Luke really laugh. The sound sent ripples of pleasure shimmering through Rachel.
“Kind of like me suffering through those chick flicks you loved when I would have rather been watching James Bond.” He grinned. “But there were compensations.”
His words brought to mind what usually happened after they sat through one of those romantic movies. Usually a shower together, soap-slick bodies rubbing against each other, kisses heating blood to boiling, then a quick rush to the bed, if they could make it that far, then—
She glanced at Luke. He was studying her silently. This conservation was getting way too personal for her comfort. She tore her gaze away and dived into relating what she’d found so far.
“Point of origin.” She pointed at the baseboard. “Your torch used charcoal lighter.”
“Charcoal lighter, huh? Well, he’s consistent. Same accelerant used at each scene.”
She nodded. “But he brings the Bible with him. It’s the same copyright and publisher as the others they found. Can’t be a coincidence. Probably symbolic of bringing God into the lives of his victims.”
“Why in there?” Luke motioned toward the empty closet.
Rachel stopped in the process of turning over a charred shoe with the point of the shovel. “I’m not sure yet, but offhand I’d say it plays a significant part in the religious fire ritual.”
Luke ran his fingers through his mane of black curls. “The religious fanatics are always the hardest to nail down.”
“Not necessarily a fanatic, but don’t rule it out. This is definitely someone with strong religious ties. This guy has it in his twisted mind that he’s carrying out some kind of holy punishment. Question is, what? And why these particular women?” And why include me in the count? “There must be something these women had in common beyond being single mothers, alone at night. When we figure that out, we’ll be on our way to catching whoever it is. I’d like to meet with the task force tomorrow.”
“No need.”
She started and turned to him. “I disagree. I need to meet with them ASAP.”
Luke leveled a stare at her. “You won’t be here.”
She knew in her gut what he was about to say. “What the hell is your problem, Luke? Why do you keep telling me to go home?”
“Dammit, Rachel. I won’t let you do this.”
“You won’t let…” She laughed. “Why this sudden concern about me?” When he didn’t answer, she planted her hands on her hips and faced him squarely. “Let’s get this out of the way so I can get on with my job. Do I threaten your—”
Before she could finish, Luke took a step forward and grabbed her arm with his free hand. “I know what this is going to resurrect for you, and I don’t want to put you through it.”
“Why?”
“Because I’ve given you enough to bear.”
Rachel frowned. The words were spoken so softly, she could barely hear them. That’s the closest he’d ever come to admitting he’d destroyed their marriage. But she didn’t want to discuss it. Not now. Maybe not ever. “We’ve been through all this. Bottom line is, A.J. wants me here, and I want to be here. End of story.”
“Then you plan on seeing this through?”
“Come hell, high water or Luke Sutherland,” she said.
Moments later, Luke watched Rachel drive off. No matter how much she denied it, he was certain this whole thing was ripping her gut apart a piece at a time. He wondered how long she’d be able to stand up to it.
Logically, he knew if they were going to nail this bastard, she was their best hope. He’d never met another investigator who could profile an arsonist the way she could. She seemed to have an inborn sense that led her to the torch, a way of putting herself in their heads. But this time was different from all the rest. This time she had a personal stake in finding the arsonist. Which was exactly why he worried that she was not emotionally equipped to see the job through without falling apart.
The Rachel he’d married had been strong, but that was before they’d lost Maggie. Afterward, he’d been so buried in his own guilt, he hadn’t seen her falling apart until it was too late. By then, he was trying to hold the pieces of himself together. He wouldn’t make that mistake again.
The flaw in Rachel’s armor had always been her pride. She took