Ride the Fire by Jo Davis Page B

turned his head to see who was approaching. Reaching the deck, she ascended the three steps, skirted his chair to face him . . . and a cry of dismay escaped her lips when she spied the small table beside him.
    “No! Jack Daniel’s? What are you thinking?” A highball glass sat beside the bottle, half-full of amber liquid.
    He raised his eyes and blinked slowly, as though noticing her for the first time. “Why are you here?”
    She flinched. “That can wait. Why do you have a gallon of whiskey? Tell me you didn’t go out and buy this.”
    “Sunday. Liquor stores are closed.”
    “Then where did you get the bottle, Sean?”
    “It was a gift. From someone who hates me.” His laugh was harsh, his eyes bleak. “And no, I haven’t taken a drink.”
    “There’s whiskey in the glass,” she pointed out.
    “Didn’t say I didn’t want to.”
    She took a cautious step forward, scrambling to make sense of this. “Back up. How exactly did you come into possession of the bottle?”
    “You sound like a detective,” he said dully. “Maybe that’s what I need.”
    His attitude scared her. “Answer the damned question.”
    “I never picked up my mail yesterday. When I got home this morning, there was a package wrapped in brown paper sitting beside the mailbox. I brought it in, opened it, and found the bottle inside.”
    “That’s it? Why would you say someone hates you? Could be from an old friend who doesn’t know you’re on the wagon.” She didn’t really believe that, though, and from his expression neither did he. Something else was going on.
    Without a word, he reached behind the bottle and picked up something from the table. A photograph. Since it had been lying facedown, she hadn’t seen it before. He simply handed it over, and waited.
    Flipping it over, she peered at the pic, frowning. A big fire, obviously. Involving a truck? What . . . ?
    The instant she realized what she was looking at, the blood drained from her face. “Oh my God.” Cold horror gripped her and her knees grew weak. She sat heavily in the lounger beside his, staring at the hideous photo.
    “Someone watched my family die. Took a fucking picture and sent it to me two years later.” He looked at her with wrecked eyes, voice cracking. “Why?”
    “I don’t know,” she said, reaching out to grab his hand. “But considering this and the phone call that upset you the other day, I think we need to call the police.”
    “What can some beat cop do? I haven’t actually been threatened and there’s no real proof this is anything but meanness.”
    “First, we’re not going to call a uniform. We’re going to use our tie to the police department and go straight to the guys who can really help.” Her tone brooked no argument. “I’ll make the call. Can I use your phone? I left my cell phone in my purse, in the car.”
    He nodded, looking lost. No way could she address the real reason she’d come. Not now.
    “I’ll be right back. In the meantime, don’t touch the bottle or that glass anymore. If someone hates you that much, the whiskey could be tainted. Did you think of that?”
    His eyes widened. “No, I didn’t. But the bottle was sealed. . . .”
    “That doesn’t mean squat. Just sit tight until I get back.”
    Slipping inside the house through the sliding glass door, she went straight to the phone sitting on the far end of the kitchen counter. Picked it up and scrolled through the numbers on his speed dial. She found the one she was looking for with no trouble. As captain, Sean kept all of his team’s numbers handy, and as she’d guessed, this one was still included.
    Tommy Skyler answered on the third ring. “Hey, Cap! What’s up?”
    She smiled at the way he still called Sean “Cap” even though Skyler was now working in Arson. “Wrong person. It’s me, Eve.”
    A pause. “Eve? Oh! What’s going on?” His voice was cheerful, but clearly puzzled about why she was calling from Sean’s number.
    “I have sort of a