“A little. What would it hurt if he did ask you out?”
The stress visibly melted from Ann’s shoulders. “If we’re talking about love lives, what’s the status of yours?”
“Married to the job.”
“That can’t be much fun.”
“It has its perks.”
“It’s the job that brought you here, then?”
Joan’s vibe shifted from easygoing to brittle. “You know me—I was never good at social calls. Is he really officially out?”
She knew Ann did not need a detailed reference to understand she was talking about Elijah Weston. “I haven’t seen him since the trial, but my sources in the prison system tell me that the beautiful boy we knew in college has firmed up into an imposing man during the last decade.”
“Brilliant and now strong.” Elijah Weston could have been the perfect guy. If he did not have a habit of setting fires. “Where is he now?”
“He moved into a boardinghouse near the university yesterday. He and his lawyer have gone out of their way to keep his release quiet, but you know how that goes. Missoula is a small town in many respects, and people will figure out that he’s been released. The state notified me, because I was his victim. Did they do the same for you?”
“Yes. My letter arrived yesterday. Nothing like giving me time to prepare.”
“Do you really think that he would come after you or me?” Ann asked.
“I’m not going to wait to find out.”
“They tell me he still denies he had anything to do with the College Fire,” Ann said.
“Elijah sent a letter to me at my home address.”
“What? How did he find you?”
“I don’t know. Did he write you, too?”
“He sent two letters to my parents’ address years ago, but I never responded. After that, Clarke promised to run interference for me.”
“I’d think a psychologist would be all over correspondence with a guy like Elijah. How many people get a glimpse into the mind of an arsonist?”
“Elijah’s mind is one place I have never dreamed of traveling.” Ann drew in a slow, steady breath. “He’s playing a game.”
“I’m very aware.”
“What do you think you can accomplish, coming back here?”
“Other than catching up with my college pal? I don’t know.” Elijah had left an indelible mark on her life that would never be erased, even by her magic “Delete” key.
Ann regarded Joan. “You’re worried about him, aren’t you?”
“He’s had ten years to plan his next move.”
“What makes you think there is a next move?”
“Gut feeling.”
Ann slowed at a T intersection and, tapping the brakes, took a left. Shifting gears, she pressed the accelerator. “What makes you think you can stop him, Joan? You can’t watch him twenty-four seven.”
“Don’t underestimate me. I’m a one-woman wrecking ball.” Joan scrounged up a grin, but Ann’s grim expression echoed her own sense of dread.
The arsonist stood in the shadows inside the beauty shop. It had closed three hours ago, and the space was now silent. The cleaning crew had just swept up the stray piles of hair, polished the mirrors and chrome-trimmed chairs, and dumped the trash.
The Beau-T-Shop was doing well by all accounts. It had more customers than the five hairdressers could handle, so the owner should have been making money hand over fist. But success had a way of tricking people into believing the money would always flow.
He reached for the plastic milk jug of gas siphoned from the borrowed truck’s gas tank. Though it was easier to fill up his containers at a gas station, that was a quick way to get noticed by the cops. So, he’d tanked up the truck and then driven to the mountains and siphoned most of the gas into jugs. A trip to another gas station and his vehicle was refilled, with no one the wiser.
He poured a trail of gas along the first salon station. He paused to look at the picture of the stylist and her children, a boy and a girl with white gap-toothed grins standing with their mother in Glacier National Park. He did not know the woman and was a little sorry that she would be out of a job, but if she was any good at what she did, she would quickly find work. It might mean moving to Helena or Bozeman, but no one said life was fair.
He continued to dribble gasoline over each station, only pausing when he reached the last. He knew the woman who worked at this station. She had been a sweet, humble little thing the day they’d met, and he’d been drawn to her from the outset. Like most women, however, she’d proven herself to be a liar.
He continued pouring gas, inhaling the fragrant scent. Just as he’d finished off the first jug, a door opened behind him. Carefully, he set his container down and checked his watch. “You’re right on time, darlin’.”
Keys rattled and heels clicked across the back room as she approached. She had a petite frame, blond hair cut short on top and long on the sides.
“What are you doing? Why did you call me?” the woman asked.
“What does it look like I’m doing?”
Worry knitted her brow. “You said you wanted to talk.” She gripped the keys and took a step toward him. “I smell gas. What are you doing?”
“What do you think? You said you hated your job, right? You said you dreamed of burning this place to the ground. I aim to please, baby.”
Her grin faded to horror as the weight of his words settled. “I didn’t literally mean burn it to the ground.”
He moved toward her, smiling, his gaze dropping to her breasts. Lana always did have a great rack. He reached for her left hand and kissed the diamond he had slipped on her finger yesterday. “You said you wanted to see it reduced to ashes.”
She searched his face, as if waiting for the punch line. “That was before.”
“Before what?” he prompted as he reached in his pocket for a packet of matches.
Her gaze shifted to his hands, as if remembering stolen times when she had guided his hand to her breast as she whispered Fuck me in his ear. “You know.”
He did know. And that was precisely why they were here now. He removed a match from the packet and struck it. “Yes, I do.”
“You’re scaring me.” She took a step back.
“I’m trying to fulfill our fantasy, baby. All you talk about is fire. Now you can see it for yourself.” He lit the match, and some of the fear softened in her gaze. “You like it, don’t you?” The match burned out. He struck another and held it up for her.
She moistened her lips and touched the burned match.
“You always get excited when I talk about flames.”
She pouted her lips, but she stepped closer to him.
“Come on, baby. Do this with me,” he cajoled.
“We’re going to get arrested.”
“Not if we’re careful. And I know how to do it right, don’t I?”
That coaxed a small, nervous smile. “Yeah, you do.”
“Then do this with me. I promise it’ll make you horny as hell.”
She moistened her lips again. “We won’t get caught?”
“No, we won’t. I promise.”