Wilde Fire (Forever Wilde 3)

Teri exchanged a look with the chief before the chief answered. “Maybe he was trying to prove to you that he could protect your family.”

I wondered if punching the guy would cause me to lose my job.

Probably.

“He doesn’t need to set a fire to prove that to me, Chief,” I snarled. “And he doesn’t need to actually put out a fire to prove to me he knows how to do it. He’s a trained firefighter. He’s responded to any number of fires before. Why would he think a tiny garden brushfire would impress me?”

Teri held out her hand. “Let’s all calm down and stop speculating for a moment. What we need right now are some new leads. We were finally able to process some of the evidence from the big fire and discovered it was started with a crude incendiary device similar to a Molotov cocktail or bottle bomb. It was made with a bottle of Patron tequila. The problem is anyone can get Patron at any liquor store.”

I felt my stomach roll and my vision went pitchy around the edges as I remembered the two bottles of Patron on Otto’s kitchen counter. Fuck. “Patron? Are you sure?”

“It’s a very distinctive bottle shape, and it was found in a back guest bathroom by a broken window. We’re sure. My crime lab has it right now.”

My mind sifted through thoughts a mile a minute. Anyone could have lifted one of the Patron bottles out of the bunkhouse before Otto grabbed the last two. Maybe there had been more? Most friends and family of the Wildes knew the bunkhouse was always left unlocked and available for someone who needed a place to crash. They didn’t worry about security because you couldn’t drive onto the ranch that far without Doc and Grandpa hearing from the main house.

I needed to talk to Otto.

But I wasn’t allowed to discuss the case with Otto.

Fuck. Fuck.

“Have you asked him about it?” I asked.

“Not yet. He’s headed in right now for another interview.”

“Does he know he’s an actual suspect at this point?” I asked. “He might want a lawyer present or a union rep.”

“No, and we’re just having a chat with him at this point. He’s not an official suspect yet,” Chief Paige said.

I tilted my head and stared at him. “Explain the difference between an unofficial suspect and an official one,” I said. I’d been challenged the same way on many occasions in my job.

Teri cut in. “The difference is we have absolutely no evidence with which to charge him. So right now we’re still focused on gathering evidence.”

Chief Paige locked eyes with me. “You know as well as we do, Sheriff, that it’s not an interrogation requiring a Miranda warning unless he’s in custody or being detained. As this is a voluntary information-gathering inquiry, there is no need for legal or union representation.”

It wasn’t often that I sympathized this much with suspects, but boy did the tables turn when it was the person you loved on the receiving end of any law enforcement “inquiry.” I hoped like hell Otto wasn’t stupid and that he recognized quickly he’d be better off with representation of some kind before answering too many questions.

But knowing my man, he’d be one of those guys who claimed, “Why do I need representation when I’ve got nothing to hide?” I could just hear him saying it right now.

Damn it all to hell.

I needed to find a way to warn him without actually contacting him.

After a few more minutes of going over the preliminary results of the evidence collection, there was a knock on the conference room door.

Evan stood to open it, revealing Stevie on the other side with an arm full of pastry boxes and a drinks carrier with several cups of coffee in it.

“Oh bless you, Steven,” Evan said dramatically. “I shall be forever in your debt.”

Stevie preened under the attention from our resident silver fox while he flitted into the small room to deposit the spoils on the round table.

“An assortment of baked goods and coffees. Nico said when you stopped by this morning the line was so long you left. He wanted to make sure you knew how sorry he was,” Stevie explained. “He loves taking care of Hobie’s heroes.”

Evan looked surprised. “Wow. Talk about service with a smile. Tell him he didn’t have to do that. How incredibly generous of him.”

Stevie laughed and shrugged. “I think he’s hoping if the bakery ovens ever catch fire, you’ll bust your ass double time because you’ll feel indebted to him. I’m not sure he much cares about the bakery itself, but his precious ink emporium is upstairs. God forbid something happen to his tattoo gun.”

Evan’s deep laugh filled the room. “Tell him it’s a deal.”

After we all gushed over the treat, I offered to walk Stevie out. We passed several of the firefighters hauling equipment through the engine bay, and I had to grab Stevie’s arm to remind him how to walk.