Night Smoke Read Free

board, no longer interested in the smoldering wreck of the warehouse. “You want answers?” He jerked his thumb in Ry’s direction. “Ask the inspector.”
    “Civilians don’t belong at fire scenes,” Ry said from behind her. When she turned to look at him, he saw that her eyes were green, a deep jade green.
    “It’s my fire scene.” Her voice was cool, like the wind that teased her hair, with a faint drawl that made him think of cowboys and schoolmarms. “My warehouse,” she continued. “My problem.”
    “Is that so?” Ry took another survey. She was cold. He knew from experience that there was no place colder than a fire scene in winter. But her spine was straight, and that delicate chin lifted. “And that would make you …?”
    “Natalie Fletcher. I own the building, and everything in it. And I’d like some answers.” She cocked one elegantly arched brow. “And that would make you—?”
    “Piasecki. Arson investigator.”
    “Arson?” Shock had her gaping before she snapped back into control. “You think this was arson.”
    “It’s my job to find out.” He glanced down, nearly sneered. “You’re going to ruin those shoes, Miz Fletcher.”
    “My shoes are the least of my—” She broke off when he took her arm and started to steer her away. “What are you doing?”
    “You’re in the way. That would be your car, wouldn’t it?” He nodded toward a shiny new Mercedes convertible.
    “Yes, but—”
    “Get in it.”
    “I will not get in it.” She tried to shake him off and discovered she would have needed a crowbar. “Will you let go of me?”
    She smelled a hell of a lot better than smoke and sodden debris. Ry took a deep gulp of her, then tried for diplomacy. It was something, he was proud to admit, that had never been his strong suit.
    “Look, you’re cold. What’s the point in standing out in the wind?”
    She stiffened, against both him and the wind. “The point is, that’s my building. What’s left of it.”
    “Fine.” They’d do it her way, since it suited him. But he placed her between the car and his body to shelter her from the worst of the cold. “It’s kind of late at night to be checking your inventory, isn’t it?”
    “It is.” She stuck her hands in her pockets, trying fruitlessly to warm them. “I drove out after the night watchman called me.”
    “And that would have been …”
    “I don’t know. Around two.”
    “Around two,” he repeated, and let his gaze skim over her again. There was a snazzy dinner suit under the velvet, he noted. The material looked soft, expensive, and it was the same color as her eyes. “Pretty fancy outfit for a fire.”
    “I had a late meeting and didn’t think to change into more appropriate clothes before I came.” Idiot,she thought, and looked back grimly at what was left of her property. “Is there a point to this?”
    “Your meeting ran until two?”
    “No, it broke up about midnight.”
    “How come you’re still dressed?”
    “What?”
    “How come you’re still dressed?” He took out another cigarette, lit it. “Late date?”
    “No, I went by my office to do some paperwork. I’d barely gotten home when Jim Banks, the night watchman, called me.”
    “Then you were alone from midnight until two?”
    “Yes, I—” Her eyes cut back to his, narrowed. “Do you think I’m responsible for this? Is that what you’re getting at here—? What the hell was your name?”
    “Piasecki,” he said, and smiled. “Ryan Piasecki. And I don’t think anything yet, Miz Fletcher. I’m just separating the details.”
    Her eyes were no longer cool, controlled. They had flared to flash point. “Then I’ll give you some more. The building and its contents are fully insured. I’m with United Security.”
    “What kind of business are you in?”
    “I’m Fletcher Industries, Inspector Piasecki. You may have heard of it.”
    He had, most certainly. Real estate, mining, shipping. The conglomerate owned considerable