Karl looked at the scar that ran across Rick’s face, then glanced away quickly. “Looks like you came in second in a knife fight, dude. Hope you’ve brushed up on your hand-to-hand since then.”
Rick remembered why Karl had always annoyed him. They’d always been competitors, never really friends. Karl’s biggest problem, which had obviously followed him into manhood, was that he never knew when to shut up.
“We’d better get going. Kim and I need to meet with Preston,” Rick said.
“It was good seeing you, buddy,” Karl said.
“I’m sure we’ll run into each other again.” Rick held Karl’s gaze for a moment longer than necessary. Instinct was telling him to be careful around the man. Was it that old competition between them or something more? He couldn’t tell, but until he figured it out, he wouldn’t lower his guard.
* * *
KIM FOLLOWED HIM to his SUV. “You and Karl... You weren’t ever really friends, were you?”
“No, but we attended school together and played on the same football team. We were friendly—at times.”
“I can’t believe how rude he was to you,” Kim said. “Do you really need to meet your brother or was that an excuse to walk away?”
“Both. It’s a bad idea to make enemies with someone Preston may have to depend on someday,” he said. “Right now, I’d also like to get clearance to take a look around the Brickhouse again in daylight,” he said. “Afterward we’ll head to Turquoise Dreams. Angelina certainly got my attention today.”
“Are you sure your brother’s going to be okay with you investigating on your own?”
“Under ordinary circumstances, no, but the Hartley P.D. is badly understaffed. I can be an asset to them because I’ve got the best law-enforcement training in the world.”
“Will I need clearance, too?”
“Yes. I need you there because you’re familiar with the place and can help me reconstruct the scene. If something’s off or doesn’t belong there, it might stick out to you but slip right past me.”
* * *
AS THEY RODE to the station, she remained quiet. Although she never looked directly at him, Kim was aware of the way his strong hands gripped the wheel and how he seemed to completely focus on whatever he was doing at the time. She wondered what he would be like in bed—all that intensity, all that drive.... Everything about him spoke of endurance and masculinity.
She shifted in her seat. This was not the time for thoughts such as these. Still watching him out of the corner of her eye, she saw him rub the bottom tip of the scar near his cheek.
“Does it ever ache?”
“What?” he asked, focusing on her.
“The scar.”
“Not generally. The skin around it feels tight sometimes, but that’s about it.” He glanced at her, then back at the road. “When we first met, you never looked directly at it. Most people stare when they see me for the first time, then try to pretend they weren’t.”
“Your eyes drew me more,” she said.
“My...what?”
“You have a way of looking through people, not at them.”
“I observe. It’s how I stay alive.”
“Is the scar one of the reasons you left the Bureau?”
“Yeah, it ruined me for undercover work. I became too easily identifiable.”
“You could have still been involved in routine investigative work,” she said. “Why leave?”
“I preferred undercover assignments.” He shook his head. “No, it was more than that. I knew it was time for me to come home and try to reconnect.”
“With your brothers?”
“With myself.”
* * *
THEY ARRIVED AT the police station a short while later and Rick led her down the hall to his brother’s office. Preston waved them inside.
“Anything new?” Rick asked.
“No, but it’s too soon. The lab’s backlogged.”
“I’d like clearance to search the crime scene,” Rick said. “I know the arson investigator and your crime scene team has already been through there, but maybe Kim and I will see something that’ll trigger a memory. It can’t hurt.”
“You’re right. In fact, I’ve already asked my captain about getting you officially involved. He’s agreed.”
Preston reached into the drawer and brought out a shield. “I’m deputizing you. Raise your right hand.” Preston swore him in with a short phrase.
“At the end of this case, if you want to join the force officially, your application will go to the top of the pile.”
“Thanks.”
Preston looked over at Kim. “Stay with Rick and follow his orders to the letter. You are not a police officer, you’re just an observer.”
“Understood,” she said.
“All right.” Preston looked at his brother. “Remember to wear gloves,” he added, handing him and Kim a pair each.
After they left the station, Rick asked, “What were the names of the servers last night?”
“Bobby Crawford and Kate Masters.”
“How do we find them?”
“Kate’s probably in class right now. She carries a heavier load than I do and is just a few credit hours away from her business degree. She probably won’t be much help. Kate’s a hard worker, but her mind’s always on some test or paper. She rarely even goes into the kitchen.”
“What about Crawford?”
“Bobby comes in on time and does his job, but never has much to say. We don’t talk about anything other than job-related things.”
As they neared what remained of the Brickhouse, Rick slowed down to study the heavily damaged structure before parking across the street.
“Look down the alley. The back wall was pretty much blown out last night, but it looks even worse this morning. More bricks and roof beams must have come down since then. The loading dock and half the alley are blocked.”
“At least all that flying debris didn’t penetrate the side wall of the furniture store. These old downtown buildings were built to last,” Kim noted.
“Well, whoever cut the gas line and blocked the door counted on the initial blast and resulting fire to do their work,” he said. “If we hadn’t escaped and lived to tell the real story, it might have been written off as an accident caused by faulty connections.”
Kim peered ahead at a young man ducking beneath the tape and walking into the alley. “I think that’s Bobby Crawford. See him over there? He’s wearing jeans, a gray sweatshirt and ball cap,” she said, pointing.
Rick caught a glimpse of the man just as he climbed over a pile of rubble and headed toward the loading dock. “Come on. Let’s go talk to him.”
By the time they’d crossed the street and reached the crime scene barrier, Bobby was nowhere in sight. Rick slipped beneath the crime scene tape and climbed up the rubble-filled stairs of the loading dock to look inside.
“Stay here,” Rick said, then slipped though the gaping hole where the blown-out kitchen doors had once stood.
Rick moved slowly and carefully, picking his way through the mess. Only a few