Page 59 of Flash Freeze

Sterling rose with him, collecting his briefcase. “Yes, sir. We’ll look into it.”

“Mr. Bach, here’s a quote for your press conference,” Whitmore said. “I support the Houston Police Department and the FBI 100% in their investigation into what occurred at Gulf Allied Chemicals Houston plant and am grieved by the lives lost. To show my support, I’m offering a $500,000 reward for information leading to the arrest and conviction of those responsible. And I’ll back that up. Kerrington, offering a reward—ha! I just doubled it.”

Whitmore started around the table toward the door. “Richard, how’s about we get some lunch on our way home. Reckon anything’ll be open?”

“Are you sure you can’t recall hearing a word about Nexus?” Athena asked as he passed her, still in her seat.

“Ma’am, I know you’re just doing your job, but don’t you think, if I had any clue about the vile snake who was stealing from me, that I’d have done something about it? Now, if you’ll excuse me, I know my rights.”

Bach stood and held the door for them. “Sir, if you do run across something—”

“Yes, young man,” he waved dismissively. “You’ll be the first to know.”

Sterling handed Bach a card. “Don’t bother Mr. Whitmore again. If you have further questions, put them in writing and send them to me.”

The door closed behind them, and Bach returned to sit with Athena, who hadn’t left her chair. “What do you think?”

“I think Charles Whitmore is a lot of things,” she confessed, “but not the perpetrator we’re after. He’s right. Half a million is peanuts to him, and he didn’t invest in bringing his plant up to code because he was considering selling it and building a newer facility elsewhere. He seemed genuinely surprised by the words ‘murder’ and ‘Nexus.’ As much as I hate to admit it, he’s not our guy. Are you going to hold a press conference? Do I have to come?”

Elyan raked a hand through his hair. She saw him reach for his breast pocket, like he was going for a cigarette, before his hand dropped. “I’ll record a brief statement updating the progress in the case and give it to the media. Then it’s back to the grindstone.”

“Indeed.” She stood, and Bach walked her back to the office. The team spent all afternoon digging, testing leads, and falling short. Athena just wanted Flash. At least she’d get her loft.

Chapter 28

The firehouse alarm rang again. “Engine Eight, respond to a restaurant fire on Leeland Street.” The rescue squad, Engine One, and both ambulances were already out on other calls.

“It’s our turn, A Shift,” Flash called, moving Snuffles from her lap to the couch cushion. It seemed she’d barely had time to sit down. Yesterday, HFD had called them in to help B Shift handle the relentless emergency calls. Today was her crew’s regular tour, with C Shift rotating through Engine Eight to give firefighters time to eat, shower, and snag some rest between calls. Even with the breaks, the added responsibilities of serving as lieutenant left Flash running on very little sleep.

“You mean a restaurant is open in this town?” Waylon asked as he stepped into his boots, turnout pants and all.

“Doesn’t have to be open to catch fire,” Woods answered, whipping on his coat.

“Maybe if we put it out fast enough, they’ll give us free food,” Flores joked.

Gear on, Flash climbed into her shotgun seat and grabbed the radio. “Engine Eight responding. ETA six minutes.”

As they pulled out to the familiar announcement of lights and sirens, Flash glanced up at an automobile precariously dangling over the edge of the I-45 overpass, still glazed with ice. Squad Eight was on the scene, securing the vehicle. Once, during Lisa’s rookie year, before she earned the moniker “Flash,” a classic Corvette careened over the concrete railing, spun like an Olympic diver, and crashed upside down on the sidewalk in front of the federal building across the street. It was unforgettable. Unfortunately, the high-as-a-kite driver was killed instantly. She remembered Smokey saying, “Your Harley is safer than a fiberglass convertible.”

Smokey Aguilera’s cherished face flashed before her, bushy mustache and all, warming and pricking her heart at once. She’d seen him at the Christmas party, laughing and carrying on as if he still had both his arms. He told her he loved teaching at the academy, and his wife was thrilled he finally made the move to a safer position within the department. “Ironically, she says the bomb might have saved my life,” he’d told her with a smile.

The engine sped away, leaving the teetering car in Squad Eight’s capable hands. Returning to the moment, Flash opened her messages to check for more information about the incident ahead. “Kitchen fire,” she read aloud. “No customers, but several employees were on scene. Injuries and cause unknown.”

“Probably a spark hit a gas line leak,” Waylon speculated.

“Or a power surge from the electricity trying to come back on,” guessed Woods.

Flash looked out her window. It was midafternoon, but still dusky under the thick cloud cover. Not a single light to be seen—streetlamp, traffic signal, or from a building. “I don’t think the power’s trying to come on, but we need to be ready for anything. Waylon and Flores, charge two lines when we get there. Woods, look for the employees and ensure they’re all accounted for while I make a brief assessment before we go in.” With Captain O’Riley out with Engine One at a church fire, she would have to make the calls.

Waylon pulled the engine to a stop at an angle, blocking off the street. The last thing they needed was looky-loos driving by. Snow crunched beneath Flash’s boots as she hopped to the ground. Waylon and Flores pulled hoses.

“I’m looking for restaurant employees,” Woods called and waved. “Who called this in?”

Eyes fixed on the smoke rolling off the roof, Flash strode ahead. The Bayou Bistro sat at a corner, surrounded by a shoe-and-boot shop, a florist, a BBQ restaurant, a vacant lot, and plenty of empty parking spaces. One car, piled with undisturbed snow, had been there a while. A pickup truck and a mini-SUV had pulled in much more recently. People gathered across the street, pointing at the rising smoke, their voices worried.

The Bayou Bistro, where Flash had eaten before, was a mostly wood-sided structure with some brick accents at the corners. It featured a large, covered veranda with outdoor seating, now dripping with icicles. She recalled indoor seating, a bar, and an upstairs that could be reserved for parties. The smoke rose from the low-pitched roof above the kitchen. She’d never been back there.

Keeping her focus on the structure, Flash walked around the side, stomping through the inches of snow covering the empty parking spaces. Melting ice dripped from the eaves near the smoke plume, but a lot of white stuff remained packed over the shingles. Drawing nearer, she found a back door and tested its handle. Extreme heat radiated through her glove. This access would be closer to the source of the smoke, but maybe too close. She didn’t want to open it, inviting a blast of flames to incinerate those nearest the entrance. Besides, the front door was closer to the hydrant.