The Arsonist by Mary Burton Page A

time.
    She’d said public relations. It seemed a natural fit, but there was more to the story.
    He deliberately avoided talking about the fires again until he noticed that Darcy was within earshot. He’d give her some information but there’d be a payback later. He wanted to know what the hell she was up to.
    “I spoke to the chief yesterday about the fires,” Gannon said as Darcy approached.
    If he hadn’t been watching, he’d have missed her slight hesitation.
    She set their orders down. “Here you go, boys.”
    “And?” Nathan said.
    “He thinks they’re unrelated,” Gannon said.
    “But you don’t,” Darcy said.
    He half expected her to pull up a stool and sit down. “I only have a gut feeling to go on.”
    “He’s the man that should know,” Nathan said. “He investigated fires in his former life.”
    Darcy didn’t seem surprised by the bit of information. But then if she’d been living in D.C., she’d have read about him in the papers. So why not bring it up at lunch?
    “Former life is the operative word,” Gannon said pulling the tomato off his burger. “Let’s not ruin this good meal with talk about fires.”
    As their chatter settled onto more mundane topics, Darcy drifted away. Over the next hour Gannon lingered, enjoying a hot meal, the company and watching Darcy from the corner of his eye.
    He noticed her at the bar with the bartender. He learned from Larry the bartender was her brother. The guy didn’t possess her intensity. Relaxed and easygoing, he smiled too much for Gannon’s taste.
    Darcy’s brother was also a heavy drinker. He was careful to drink from a mug, but when Darcy wasn’t looking, he filled the cup with coffee and then topped it off with whiskey. At the rate he was going, he’d be hammered by closing time.
    At eight-thirty, he said his goodbyes to Larry and Nathan and waved to Darcy who was across the room taking an order.
    She’d said earlier she got off at midnight.
    Restless, he knew sleep wouldn’t come for many hours—if at all tonight. He’d wait until Darcy got off her shift.
    And then they’d have a chat about what she was really up to.

Chapter 8
    W hen Darcy dumped the two trash bags into the Dumpster, it was nearly midnight. The customers had cleared out of the tavern and she was cleaning up for the night. Her feet felt as if they’d grown seven sizes over the last few hours. Her body ached.
    Not only was she tired but also frustrated. She’d been so busy tonight, there’d been no time to linger near Gannon’s table and listen to see if the discussion turned to the fires.
    Tomorrow, they had a bike ride planned. She could certainly question him then. But the fact that her professional and personal lines were blurring bothered her. She’d never dated anyone just to get information.
    The back door of the tavern banged closed as Trevor came out carrying another bag of trash. He swerved and swayed, and she realized he was drunk.
    Without a word to her, he tossed the bag into the Dumpster. He tipped out of balance and would have fallen if she’d not steadied him.
    “Man, you are drunk,” she said in a voice filled with disgust. “I was stupid to think you were just drinking coffee.”
    “Where the hell is the money from the register, Darcy?”
    “I cleaned out the register a half hour ago and locked the money in the trunk of my car.” She’d done this when he’d gone to the men’s room. “Tomorrow, I’ll deposit it in the bank.”
    His expression turned savage so quickly it took her breath away. “You did what? That’s my money!”
    The booze had drowned the natural charmer. “You want me to repeat it?”
    “I need that money to pay bills.”
    “Don’t worry, that’s exactly what it’s going to be used for.”
    He grabbed her arm. His fingers bit into her arm. “Give me my damn money.”
    “Why? So you can go buy more booze or maybe you’re also into drugs now?”
    Trevor wrenched her arm and she let out a painful moan.