All three ladies nodded, exchanging puzzled glances. "That's all," Richter said.

"Thanks, ladies, you've been a big help." He jogged across the street to where Captain Larry Fletcher stood next to the rig, a radio in one hand. "Larry."

"Reed." Larry was frowning at the burning house. "Somebody made this fire."

"I think so, too. Larry, somebody might be in there."

He shook his head. "The old ladies said the owners are out of town."

"The owners hired a college kid to watch the cat."

Larry's head whipped around. "They said nobody was home."

"The girl wasn't supposed to stay overnight. There are two cars in the garage, right? The owners only kept one in there. Their other vehicle is a truck that they took with them. We've got to see if she's in there, Larry."

With a curt nod, Larry lifted his radio to his face. "Mahoney. Possible victim inside."

The radio crackled. "Understood. I'll try to go back in."

"If it's too dangerous, you come back out," Larry ordered, then turned to Reed, his eyes hard. "If she's in there…"

Reed nodded grimly. "She's probably dead. I know. I'll keep canvassing the crowd. Let me go in as soon as you can."

Sunday, November 26, 2:20 a.m.

His heart still pounded, hard and fast. It had all gone just as he'd planned.

Well, not just as he'd planned. She'd been a surprise he hadn't expected. Miss Caitlin Burnette. He pulled her driver's license from the purse he"d taken. A little souvenir of the night. She wasn't supposed to be there, she'd said. Let her go, she'd begged. She wouldn't tell anyone, she'd promised. She was lying, of course. Women were full of lies. This he knew.

Quickly he moved the dirt away from his hiding place and lifted the lid of the plastic tub. Shiny baubles and keys struck his eye. He'd buried this the first day he'd come here and hadn't opened it since. Hadn't had cause to. Hadn't had anything to put inside. Tonight he did. He tossed Caitlin's purse on top of his other trinkets, replaced the lid and carefully arranged the dirt on top. There. It was done. He could sleep now.

He walked away licking his lips. He could still taste her. Sweet perfume, soft curves. She'd practically been dropped in his lap. Like Christmas come early. And she'd fought him. He laughed softly. She'd fought and cried and begged. She'd tried to tell him no. It just made him harder. She'd tried to scratch his face. He'd easily held her down. He shuddered, the memory still so fresh. He'd nearly forgotten how good it could feel when they said no. He was getting excited again, just thinking about it. They always thought they could fight back. They always thought they could say no.

But he was bigger. Stronger. And no one would ever tell him no again.

From a window above the boy watched, his heart pounding. Tell someone. But who? He'll find out I told. He'd be so angry and the boy knew what happened when he became angry. Sick with terror the boy went back to bed, pulled the covers over his head and cried.

Sunday, November 26, 2:15 a.m.

It had been a nice house, Reed thought as he walked through what was now a ruined shell. Damage to one side appeared less extensive than the other. It would be daylight soon and he'd be able to get a better view. For now, he flashed a high-powered light on the walls, looking for the burn lines that would lead him to the fire's origin.

He stopped and turned to the firefighter who'd manned the inside line. "Where was it burning when you got here?"

Brian Mahoney shook his head. "There were flames in the kitchen, the garage, the upstairs bedroom, and the living room. We got as far as the living room when the ceiling started to crumble and I got my guys out. Just in time, too. Kitchen ceiling caved. We focused on keeping it from spreading to the other houses after that."

Reed looked straight up through what had been two stories, an attic and a roof and saw stars in the sky. They could have multiple points of origin. Some bastard wanted to be sure this place burned. "Nobody hurt?"

Brian shrugged. "Minor burns on the probie, but he'll be okay. One of the guys got some smoke. Captain sent them both to the ER to get checked out. Listen, Reed, 1 came back in to look for the girl, but there was still too much smoke. If she was here…"

"I know," Reed said grimly. He started moving again. "I know."

"Reed!" It was Larry Fletcher, standing in the kitchen next to the far wall.

Immediately Reed noted the stove pulled away from the wall. "You guys pull that stove out?" he asked.

"Not us," Brian answered. "You're thinking he used the gas to start this thing?"

"It would explain the first big explosion."

Larry continued to stare down at his feet. "She's here."

Reed gritted his teeth and moved to Larry's side. He shone his light down, dreading what he'd see. And drew a breath. "Goddammit" he hissed.

The body was charred beyond recognition.

"Dammit," Brian echoed, tightly furious. "Do you know who she was?"

Reed moved the light around the body, schooling his mind to be detached, not to think about the way she'd died. "Not yet. I got the number of the old owner of this place from the ladies across the street. Joe Dougherty, Senior. His son, Joe Junior lives here now. Joe Senior said Joe Junior and his wife went on a chartered fishing boat twenty miles off the Florida coast for the weekend. He doesn't expect him back until Monday morning. He did tell me his daughter-in-law worked for a legal firm downtown. Supposedly the girl they'd hired was the daughter of one of the wife's officemates. A college kid. I'll see if I can locate her parents." He sighed when Larry continued to stare at the body on the floor. "You didn't know she was here, Larry."

"My daughter's in college," Larry returned, his voice rough.

And mine will be soon enough, Reed thought, then banished the thought from his mind. Thoughts like that would drive a man crazy. "I'll get the medical examiner out here," he said. "Along with my team. You look like shit, Larry. Both of you do. Let's go outside so I can debrief your crew, then go back to the station and get some rest."

Larry nodded dully. "You forgot to say 'sir.' " It was an attempt at levity that fell miserably flat. "You never said 'sir,' not in all the years you rode with me."

They'd been good years. Larry was one of the best captains he'd ever had. "Sir," Reed corrected himself, gently. He pulled Larry's arm, making his old friend move away from the charred obscenity that had once housed a young woman's soul. "Let's go."

Sunday, November 26, 2:55 a.m.

"I've got the lights set up, Reed."

Reed looked up from the notes he'd been making sitting in the cab of his SUV. Ben Trammell stood a few feet away, his eyes troubled. Ben was the newest member of his team and like most of the team members, had been a firefighter for years before joining the fire marshal's office. This was, however, Ben's first death as an investigator and the strain was already visible in his eyes.

"You okay?" Reed asked and Ben jerked a nod. "Good." Reed gestured to his photographer who waited in the warmth of his own car. Foster got out, his camera in his hands and a camcorder hanging around his neck.

"Let's go," Reed said briskly, walking up the driveway, around the debris left by the firefighters. They'd work on processing everything outside when it was daylight. "For now we touch nothing. We're going to document the scene and I'm going to take some readings. Then we'll see what we have."

"Did you call for a warrant?" Foster asked.