Against the Fire (12 page)

Mattie shoved the key in the ignition, torn between relief and disappointment.

The evening turned humid but the temperature remained pleasantly in the eighties. By the time Gabe arrived at the Zigman Gallery, the place was humming with people. In a cream-colored sport coat and dark brown slacks, he was dressed pretty much like the rest of the men at the opening, except for his brown ostrich cowboy boots.

The women, in an elegant array of expensive cocktail dresses, sipped from long-stemmed flutes of champagne. Gabe opted for a beer, which the bartender behind the portable bar poured into a chilled beer glass and handed over.

Gabe moved around the room, searching for Sal Zigman or his wife, Barbara. Instead, he ran into Suze Coster, a striking brunette he had met during the remodel of a luxury home in University Park, a woman who still phoned occasionally when she wanted a little intimate company.

“Well, cowboy, I see you’re looking as good as ever.” Suze’s golden-brown eyes ran over him head to foot. “But then when haven’t you?”

“Hello, Suze.”

She was tall and willowy, with a generous bosom and thick dark brown hair that curled under around her shoulders. She was the daughter of a congressman, spoiled and used to having her way, and extremely inventive in bed.

She ran the tip of her finger over the lapel of his coat. “I didn’t realize how much I’d missed you. Why don’t I call you later? Maybe we could get together after the opening.”

He only shook his head. “Not tonight, Suze.”

“No?” One of her dark eyebrows went up. She followed his gaze over the top of her head and turned to see what had captured his attention. Mattie Baker had just walked into the gallery.

“So…that must be your latest conquest. Or maybe she isn’t—at least not yet—and that’s what has you intrigued.”

“Maybe,” he said, but he couldn’t pull his eyes away from Mattie, who was wearing an elegant but simple, strapless black cocktail dress, her fiery hair left loose around her shoulders.

There were no wild curls tonight and the dress wasn’t terribly short. This wasn’t Lena Sterling, and Gabe didn’t expect her to give in to her sexual needs the way she had the night he’d taken her to bed.

Still, he was glad to see her. Way too glad, in fact. Which scared the hell out of him.

“Excuse me, Suze. Believe it or not, I have some business I need to take care of.”

“Really?” She gave him a catty smile, reached up and patted his cheek. “I can tell by the bulge in your pants the kind of business you have in mind.”

Gabe’s jaw tightened but he managed to hold on to his temper. Besides, Suze was right. He’d been hard from the moment he’d seen Mattie walk through the door. He blew out a frustrated breath as he realized that even if Suze called and wanted to come over, he wouldn’t let her. Gabe silently cursed. The woman he wanted in his bed was standing across the room and no other woman would do.

“Aren’t you Matilda Baker? I’m Barbara Zigman. I saw your picture in this morning’s paper.”

Mattie tore her gaze from Gabe and the stunning brunette hanging on his every word, a woman he seemed to know far too well.

“It’s Mattie, actually. Just plain Mattie. The paper got it wrong.”

“Well, congratulations, Mattie.” She extended a slender hand glittering with diamonds, a petite woman with short black hair spritzed into a spiky style, a pretty face and a very pale complexion.

Mattie shook her hand. “A pleasure meeting you, Barbara.” She glanced at her surroundings. “Your gallery is impressive and so is the artist you’re featuring.”

“Thank you. His name is Michael Ames. His work is being received very well. His future looks extremely promising.”

“I’m sure it will be.”

“The article said you’d be receiving your award on Tuesday night?”

“That’s right.”

“What award is that?” Gabe asked as he strolled up to them, his gaze an intimate touch on her face. She suppressed a little tremor of awareness at the feel of him standing so near.

“She’s the winner of this year’s AIA award for best gallery design,” Barbara said. “That’s the reason the article caught my eye.”

Mattie smiled. “Galleries and museums have sort of become my specialty. Though to tell you the truth, it’s been more an accident than anything. One job just sort of morphed into the next.” But she was very pleased to be getting the award. After work on Monday, there was going to be a small reception in her honor at the office. And Tuesday night, Aaron was going with her to receive her award.

“I’m sorry I missed the article,” Gabe said. “I was a little busy this morning.”

“Yes, I saw that on the news,” Barbara said, a slight frown creasing her forehead. “I’m so sorry, Gabe. Does the fire department have any idea what might have started the blaze?”

“What or who,” Gabe said darkly. “Unfortunately they don’t know anything yet.”

“They think it might have been arson?” Barbara asked, surprised.

“It’s possible.”

She shook her head, causing the light to bounce off her spiky black hair. “The way society has been going, it was probably some teenage boys whose parents let them run wild.”

Mattie stiffened. “I don’t think it’s fair to jump to that conclusion.”

Barbara’s gaze took in her warlike posture and she flashed a repentant smile. “You’re right. That wasn’t fair at all. Just because my brothers were completely out of control doesn’t mean all kids are that way. But whoever did it, I hope they catch them.”

Mattie relaxed. She thought she could like a woman as forthright as Barbara Zigman.

“Speaking of teenagers,” Gabe said. “There’s a boy whose work I think you should see.”

One of Barbara’s fine black eyebrows went up. “Is that so?”

“Enrique Flores is a friend of Mattie’s. He’s the reason I asked her to come here tonight. The kid is completely amazing. He’s painted an incredible mural three stories high on the side of an abandoned building. I’m hoping you and Sal might be willing to take a look at it sometime.”

Barbara shifted her attention to Mattie. “What about you? Are you convinced of the artist’s talent, as well?”

“Enrique’s paintings are spectacular. I’ve never seen anything like them. In fact, I stopped by his house this afternoon and picked up a piece of his work. It’s in the trunk of my car. I thought if you had any interest, I’d leave it here, let you take a look at it whenever you had a little extra time.”

Barbara’s dark eyes gleamed. “If you both think it’s that good, I’d like to see it right now.” She motioned one of her employees forward, a tall, rangy young man with shaggy brown hair.

“David, take Ms. Baker’s keys and bring back the painting in the trunk of her car.” She looked over at Mattie. “If that’s all right with you?”

“That would be terrific,” Mattie said, handing David her car keys.

In minutes, the young man returned to the gallery carrying part of an old wooden door. He eased through the boisterous crowd, into the back room where Barbara had set up an easel to view the work.

David struggled to center the heavy wooden panel on the easel.

“Enrique doesn’t have money for canvas,” Mattie explained. “He paints on whatever he can find.”

Barbara made no reply. Her entire attention was focused on the painting. Wild splashes of color—fierce reds, neon yellows, rich deep greens depicted life on the street. But instead of the dismal overtones most artists thought necessary to capture the hardness of urban life, Enrique painted only the beauty.

There was a quiet joy in the faces Enrique painted that made the shabby clothes they wore and the dirt and papers in the gutters seem irrelevant. These were people who saw the positive side of life, people who found hope in the world instead of despair.

“It’s stunning,” Barbara said a little breathlessly. Spotting her husband through the open back room door, she began to wave at him madly.

“Sal! Sal, come in here a moment!” She turned back to Mattie and Gabe. “I don’t want to take anything away from the wonderful artist we’re showing, but I am so very glad you brought this to us.”

Sal Zigman joined the group in front of the easel. Barbara introduced Mattie to Sal, a small, distinguished-looking man in an expensive Italian suit with the same black hair as his wife. Then Barbara stepped away from the painting so her husband could see.

Sal’s eyes widened. For long moments, he just stared. Wordlessly, he turned openmouthed to his wife.

“Exactly!” she said triumphantly.

“Whose work is it?” he asked excitedly. “Is he here? I want to meet him. We need to see what else he’s done.”

Mattie’s eyes stung with tears. “I can arrange for you to meet him. Enrique’s only seventeen but he’s done a lot of other paintings. I saw some of them at his house. Thank you so much for giving him this chance.”

“If the rest of what he’s painted is as good as this,” Sal said, “the kid is going to be a star.”

Gabe grinned. “Wait till you see his mural.”

Mattie looked up and her heart squeezed. Gabe was willing to help a boy he barely knew, take time from his own problems—which at the moment were monumental—to help a boy who needed his help very badly.

More and more, she was attracted to Gabe and not just because he was amazing in bed. She was letting herself in for trouble, and yet she couldn’t seem to do anything about it.

“Want to take a look around the gallery?” Gabe asked. “Michael Ames is very good.”

What she wanted to do was to leave. What she wanted was for Gabe to take her straight to bed. As she stood beside him, she could feel the crackle of sexual energy sparking between them, feel the pulsing of desire. Mattie forced herself to ignore it.

“I’d love to see the gallery,” she said, hoping the tremor in her voice wouldn’t betray her. “Thank you for inviting me here. And for what you’ve done for Enrique.”

He shrugged as if it were nothing. “The rest is up to him.”

Mattie thought of the skinny boy with the incredible talent and a lump formed in her throat. Ignoring the warmth of Gabe’s hand at her back, she let him guide her into the gallery. Gabe lifted a glass of champagne off a passing waiter’s tray and handed it over and Mattie took a long, calming swallow, enough to relax her but not enough to weaken her resolve.

For tonight, at least, she was going home alone.

The only male in her bed would be Tigger, curled up in a furry ball at her feet.

Mattie looked up at Gabe’s handsome profile and her heart lifted dangerously. Worry coursed through her at his magnetic appeal and the power he seemed to hold over her.

Clearly, she was making the right decision.

Twelve

Tuesday morning, Gabe sat at his desk in the construction trailer in front of the Greenwood Apartments. Inside the chain-link fence surrounding the work site, the Atlas night security guard was making a shift change, a new guard taking his place. Other Atlas guards were posted at the Egyptian Theater, at the warehouse Gabe hadn’t yet started to remodel, and at the building that housed his condo. He no longer owned Las Posas, where he lived, but he hadn’t taken Dev’s warning lightly.

His cell phone rang. Gabe dug it out of the pocket of his jeans and flipped it open. “Raines.”

“Gabe, this is Thomas Daily. We had the arson dogs on the scene over the weekend. It was definitely arson.”

Gabe’s stomach tightened. “How does that work, with the dogs, I mean?”

“They’re trained to accelerant detection—gasoline, lighter fluid, paint thinner, kerosene—that kind of thing. We know the fire started a little before three in the morning. That’s when the 9-1-1 call was made. By then the trailers had done their job and the place went up like kindling.”

“Trailers?”

“Starters. Something as simple as a matchbook, or it can be more complicated, like a cell phone detonating some kind of incendiary device.”

Tension settled between his shoulders. “Any idea what the starter was in this case?”

“We think it was something fairly simple, but it looks like there was one on each floor.”

“Same guy, you think?”

“So far there isn’t a pattern. The first job was strictly amateur, a single point of origin. This one had multiple starting points. And the accelerant was gasoline. The job took more thought, more planning. Either it’s a different guy or he’s learning, studying technique.”

Great. A guy who’s putting himself through arson school. “You don’t think whoever set the fires might have just been picking easy targets? Half-finished construction jobs would light up a lot faster than a completed building. They’re easier to get in and out of and there’s more flammable material lying around.”

“We’ve considered it. We just don’t have enough information to know for sure. Do you have your suspect list ready?”

“I’ve been working on it. I can fax it over to the number on your card.”

“That’ll work. We’ll keep you posted.”

“Thanks, Captain.”

Both men hung up and Gabe released a breath. Becky wasn’t at work today and he was grateful. He was tired of seeing that worried look on her face. The only woman he really wanted to see was Mattie. But if he called her, she might blow him off the way she had on Saturday night.

Besides, what he really needed to do was talk to some of the people on his list, figure out who might have some animosity toward him, some kind of personal agenda.

Gabe faxed his list to the arson department. Since he had already emailed the list to his brother, he set off to see Hank Munro, one of the men Becky had mentioned. Hank was a big, brawny guy who worked the crane at McKinney Court. Gabe had never had a problem with him—not one he knew about, at any rate. Still, if the man had some grievance against him, Gabe needed to know.

Late that morning, the fire department had given the okay to start removing the debris from the site. The walls were still standing, but they had suffered major structural damage. Everything would have to come down.

Hank was working the crane when Gabe got there. He motioned for the man to turn off the engine, then approached as Hank jumped down from the cab.

“What’s up, boss?” Hank was in his forties, with close-cropped curly black hair and a silver earring in one ear.