"No." I forced myself to stand, to face the warehouse's looming presence. "This is more sophisticated. Harrison was raw emotion barely contained. This..." I gestured toward the burn patterns visible on the walls. "This is choreographed and deliberate. It's like the difference between a bar fight and a ballet."
Max whistled softly. "Someone's showing off."
"Someone's creating art." The words tasted bitter on my tongue. I moved deeper into the scene. "The arrangement is deliberately misleading. They want investigators to focus on the obvious evidence."
"While missing, what's underneath?" Sarah was already taking notes. "What are we not seeing?"
I opened my mouth to answer, but movement near the center of the warehouse caught my attention. A group of firefighters clustered around someone, their attention focused on his hands as he traced patterns in the air.
The voice wrapped authority in unexpected gentleness, drawing my attention like iron filings to a magnet. "Direction of burn indicates the point of origin was thirty feet inside the main entrance." Lieutenant Marcus McCabe stood with his crew, his hands directing their attention to burn marks. "The sprinkler system was disabled, but not in any way I've seen before."
My throat went dry. The department photos in his case file hadn't done him justice. He moved with the contained power of an athlete, but it was the care in his gestures that caught me off guard—the way he positioned himself slightly between his crew and the worst of the scene and how he subtly adjusted his stance to keep everyone in his line of sight.
I forced my attention back to my tablet, but his voice still curled around my thoughts, low and steady. My focus kept slipping—not only due to the evidence but due to his presence. He steadied people simply by standing near them.
Unconsciously, I glance at his profile, outlined by the red-blue patterns of emergency lights. There was a fine sheen of moisture on his face, and his shirt clung slightly at the base of his spine where the heat had settled. I shouldn't have noticed that. It was irrelevant—a distraction.
Professional distance.
Clinical observation.
Focus on the evidence, not how his voice resonated in my chest or how his presence drew every eye in the vicinity.
"Dr. Reynolds?" A hand appeared in my field of vision, catching me off guard. I looked up into eyes that somehow managed to be both intense and kind. "Lieutenant McCabe. Thank you for coming out."
His handshake was warm, solid, and grounding in a way that threatened my carefully maintained composure. If that weren't enough, the slight catch in his breath and the barely perceptible widening of his eyes sent prickles of heat crawling up the back of my neck.
I retreated into academic language like a knight hiding behind his armor. "The accelerant patterns suggest a sophisticated understanding of fire behavior dynamics. The spread rate appears to have been deliberately controlled to create specific signatures."
"Exactly what I was thinking." He released my hand but didn't step back, staying close enough for me to feel the heat radiating through his uniform. "Walk the scene with me?"
The warehouse interior unfolded like a macabre gallery. Our footsteps echoed against the concrete. Marcus McCabe maintained a steady presence beside me as we moved deeper into the space. I forced myself to focus on evidence collection, not the way he unconsciously adjusted his stride to match mine.
"The sprinkler system." He lifted his flashlight, rolling his shoulder slightly before directing the beam toward the ceiling. He inhaled slowly. "They disabled each head individually. Not smashed or bypassed--disassembled with precision."
I followed his light, noting the careful dismantling. "They'd need specific tools and knowledge of the internal mechanisms." The beam wavered slightly as Marcus shifted closer, presumably for a better view. "Someone who understands both the engineering and the art of it."
"Art?" His voice sounded genuinely curious rather than skeptical. When I glanced over, I found him watching me instead of the evidence, his expression thoughtful. He didn't look away when our eyes met.
"Look at the burn patterns." I moved toward the nearest wall, grateful for an excuse to put space between us. "Most arsonists want destruction. They use the fuel to create maximum damage. But these..." I traced the air near an elegant whorl of char, careful not to contaminate the evidence. "These are deliberate compositions. They applied precise amounts to control the burn rate, creating specific visual effects."
Marcus stepped closer, rubbing a hand briefly over his jaw before bracing his hands on his hips. "Like a painter choosing their medium," he said, but his gaze lingered a second too long, like his mind had momentarily drifted elsewhere before snapping back into focus.
The insight surprised me. I turned to find him much closer than I'd expected, those perceptive eyes fixed on my face rather than the wall. "Exactly. They're not merely setting fires; they're creating—"
"Installations." He finished my thought, voice dropping lower. "The warehouse itself is their gallery."
A shiver that had nothing to do with the damp Seattle weather ran up my spine. "You understand this kind of thinking."
"I understand dedication to craft." Something flickered in his expression—recognition, maybe, or appreciation.
Like the triathlete swimming laps before dawn, I thought, remembering his case file. Like pushing through water with perfect form, each movement is precise and purposeful.
"These marks here." I forced my attention back to the evidence, moving along the wall. "They're signature elements hidden beneath more mundane burn patterns. Mostinvestigators would miss them, focusing on the primary evidence."
"But you see them." Marcus stayed close as we moved, his presence simultaneously steadying and unsettling. "What else are you seeing?"
The quiet intensity in his voice made me look up. He watched me with the same careful attention he'd given the fire scene as if I were a puzzle he wanted to solve. The scrutiny should have made me uncomfortable. Instead, it caused me to smile briefly.
