“Mr. De León, I’m Assistant Special Agent in Charge Bouvier, and I believe you’ve already met Special Agent Campbell.”
Athena had let her hair down and touched up her makeup before he arrived, dabbing the tiniest drop of Chanel to her throat. A little distraction went a long way.
He inclined his head, appreciation flickering in his eyes before he could rein it in. “This is about the warehouse fire, ain’t it?” he reckoned, not appearing the least concerned. “I already talked to the fire investigator, but, I must say she couldn’t hold a candle to you, Special Agent Bouvier.”
“In charge,” she stipulated, her expression impassive.
“I begyour pardon, ma’am.” Pink rose in Ricky’s cheeks. He laid one hand on the table, the other fiddling with something in his pocket.
“Were you at your job at Synergy Warehouse Collective on the day of the fire?”
“Yes, ma’am, I was,” he answered smoothly. “But I saw nothing suspicious.”
Campbell chimed in. “You told Fire Investigator Ballard that you were at home asleep when the fire broke out. Is there anyone who can corroborate your story?”
Athena caught a soft click from his pocket. Metallic, rhythmic. It stopped, and Ricky swung his other hand onto the table in an irritated motion, resettling in his seat and shooting a glare at Campbell.
“It’s not a story. I was asleep, and, yes, alone, because I’m single right now. Hard to believe, right? But, yeah—bachelor life. Even a catch like me doesn’t always want company.”
“Mr. De León,” Athena addressed him, regaining his attention, “what do you do at Synergy?”
His relaxed manner and amiable smile returned. “I’m a shipping and receiving clerk. Valuable too, as I’m fluent in English and Spanish. That’s pretty much a must in the warehouse business in Houston.”
“I imagine so,” she agreed. “Tell me, honestly now.” Softening her icy stance, Athena leaned forward on her elbows, the open collar of her blouse offering just enough neckline to steer his focus. “Do you enjoy your job at the warehouse—handling papers, having to be nice to both rough drivers and irate customers?”
He shrugged, his eyes veering lower than Athena’s face. Leaning back, he replied, “A job’s a job. I go to work, collect my paycheck, and go home, like every other feller.”
“Not every other fellow,” Athena corrected, tapping one polished nail on the table. “You used to be a fireman—pretty amazing job, if you ask me. Why’d you change careers from something so exciting and important to collecting bills of lading at a stinking hot warehouse?”
Ricky’sjaw tensed, his eyes sharpened, and he slid his right hand back into his pants pocket. “Firefightin’ is lit, all right, but the officers at my house had it out for me, always ridin’ my butt. I’m that guy, you know? The action hero type who saves the day. But there’s a hell of a lot more to the job that’s not so glamorous.”
That click again. Same pocket. Same rhythm.
“It didn’t work out.” Ricky raised his chin as if in challenge.
“But isn’t it true,” Campbell prodded, “that you were fired for being drunk on shift and taking a swing at your captain?”
With a fiery glare, Ricky yanked his hand from his pocket and squeezed it into a fist on the table. “That was the storyhetold. I might have been a little hungover, but certainly not drunk at eight in the morning, and he put his hands on me first.” He glowered, crossing his arms over his chest.
He wore charm like cologne—but press the right button, and the temper blew through like smoke, Athena thought.
“I might fight back if someone put his hands on me,” Athena commented, feigning camaraderie. “And they can hardly blame you for having substance problems with the home life you grew up in.”
A sadness crept across Ricky’s face, his expression like a lost puppy’s. “That has nothin’ to do with any of this. I didn’t start that fire, and I don’t know who did.”
“But you were angry with the fire department for canning you,” Campbell declared.
Heat tore through his raised voice, “Damn right I was mad at them, but I got over it, got another job. And Mr. Cooper, who runs Synergy, is happy with me—not about to fire me. You should be talkin’ to Jolene Carver. She’s the one who got fired.”
Athena’s senses quickened at De León’s insinuation. Was this an attempt to cast blame on someone else? The company’s online records didn’t indicate a recent termination, and the fire had destroyed the paper trail.
“When was this?” she inquired.
“I don’t know, a couple of days before the fire—less than a week,” he answered, his temper waning. “She was some mad too, hollerin’ about suing for discrimination.”
“Thank you, Mr. De León,” Athena said, formality returning to her manner. “Don’t leave town.”
He snorted. “Can’t afford to leave town. I s’pose I should start lookin’ for another job since the warehouse is toast now.”
