Total pages in book: 82
Estimated words: 78334 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 392(@200wpm)___ 313(@250wpm)___ 261(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 78334 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 392(@200wpm)___ 313(@250wpm)___ 261(@300wpm)
Now it’s my turn to smile. “I think I can help you there.” I reach over and grab the wind report and wave it at her. “They capitalize on red flag conditions.”
“What do you mean?”
“I analyzed all the fire patterns and the only ones RainVest targeted were lands with wind advisories and extreme drought. The perfect scenario where a thunderstorm with lightning or a neglected campfire would set a blaze ripping. As such, investigators wouldn’t ever be thinking arson. They’re going to naturally conclude the area was ripe for disaster.”
“I knew you’d be able to find something,” She murmurs in awe.
“The key is the wind. All these fires happened during high wind advisories, which would explain the spread patterns and cause accelerant to burn out so fast, it wouldn’t be detectable. Fire investigators are already expecting wildfires, and they probably wouldn’t look very hard.”
Tessa rests her chin in her palm, contemplating. “Which begs the question… who started the fires? Because I seriously doubt Gavin DelRey did it himself.”
“Your whistleblower didn’t say?” I ask.
She yawns and covers it with the back of her hand, then stretches her arms overhead, spine arching as she twists in her chair. “No, only that everything I would need was on that flash drive, so hopefully it will be apparent when I see it.”
“I can help you get through it.” I mean, I’ve got nothing else to do since Malik has relegated me to full-time watchdog over Tessa.
“We’ve been doing this all day,” she says with a grimace. “My brain feels like overcooked noodles.”
“That’s an image I didn’t need.”
She shoots me a faint smile, pushes her chair back, and stands, rolling her shoulders. The hem of her T-shirt lifts an inch before she tugs it down absently. “When will my house be ready? I’d really like to sleep in my bed tonight.”
I glance at my watch. “Probably not for another few hours. You might want to consider staying here another night.”
Tessa sighs, her mouth turned downward, but I also see determination. “Fine,” she huffs. “But I need a break. Think I can walk around the block for some fresh air?”
“No.”
She stills slowly. “Excuse me?”
I set my pen down and lean back in my chair. “You’re not wandering Pioneer Square alone at night when someone already used a vehicle to eliminate your source.”
Her jaw tightens. “Well, you are my protector, so I should be safe, right?”
“Absolutely,” I say, standing up from the chair. “But I’ve actually got a better idea. Come on.”
She hesitates a second, then follows me out of my apartment. Instead of heading for the elevator, I guide her toward the far end of the corridor where a secured metal door sits. I punch in the access code and wait for the magnetic lock to release with a muted click, then pull it open and lead her up the narrow industrial staircase beyond it—steel treads, black handrail, our footsteps echoing faintly in the enclosed shaft. At the top, I key in one more code and push through the final door, and the rooftop opens up, cool night air rushing in as the Seattle skyline stretches before us.
Tessa inhales a short gasp of surprise at this little oasis. A low concrete wall about four feet high runs the perimeter, high enough to give privacy from neighboring buildings but low enough that the skyline is visible. Dark, weather-resistant seating is arranged around a square firepit that will get plenty of use as we head into fall. Anna installed a few narrow herb planters she filled with rosemary, thyme, and basil and invited us all to share.
Beyond the wall, Pioneer Square spreads out in shadow and amber light from the lamppost, and farther out the skyline rises—glass and steel against a slate sky. On clear nights, the Space Needle burns bright across the distance, but tonight it’s partially veiled in mist.
Tessa steps out fully and draws in a long breath. “Okay,” she admits softly. “This is better.”
We walk to the perimeter wall and she crosses her arms on its edge, gazing past other rooftops to Elliot Bay. “For the record,” she says, glancing at me, “you don’t get to just say no to me.”
“For the record,” I reply, “I just did.”
She huffs a quiet laugh and rolls her shoulders. My fingers itch to touch her, give her a massage as I would often do when she was stressed. The wind catches her hair and sweeps it across her cheek and I’m mesmerized as she tucks it behind her ear without looking at me.
Silence settles, but it isn’t uncomfortable.
“So,” she says finally, glancing sideways at me. “Did you ever have any luck finding the safe girl?”
“The safe girl?”
“The one who doesn’t run toward explosions.”
I study the skyline before answering. “I dated safe. An accountant. An elementary school teacher. A nurse who liked yoga retreats and weekend farmers’ markets.”