Fatal Burn (West Coast 2)

“Or any of the stock.”

“Where are the animals?”

“In a pen out beyond the paddock. Santana rounded up all of the horses and locked them in a corral on the far side of the paddock, the one farthest from the fire. Then he located the dogs and has them kenneled in cages away from the scene, out near the lane, just so nothing gets any more disturbed than it already is before the crime scene team and the arson dicks have a look.”

“What about Shannon’s dog?” Shea asked as he studied the area that the arson squad would have to evaluate: a sodden, seared mess.

“Khan? We found him in the house. Unharmed and pissed as hell that he was cooped up when all the action was out here. Now he’s with the other dogs.”

“Santana’s taking care of him, too?”

“Yep.” Robert’s eyes held Shea’s for a second and though neither said a word, the unspoken sentiments toward the man who lived and worked with Shannon passed between them. Neither Shea nor Robert trusted Nate Santana as far as they could throw him.

“Swell guy,” Shea said and the corners of Robert’s mouth tightened in his soot-streaked face. “Where was Santana when all of this happened?”

“Good question. Maybe up in his studio. He showed up after she managed to get the horses out. But I got the feeling from something Aaron said the other night that he was supposed to be away for a while, that Shannon was alone this week.”

The bad feeling in Shea’s gut just got a little worse. Gnawed at him. Already things weren’t adding up and the crime scene guys hadn’t even started picking through the ash and debris yet.

“Look, all I know is that he and another guy were here trying to help Shannon before the EMTs arrived,” Shea said.

“What other guy?”

“A guy from out of town. Named Settler, I think. Didn’t catch any more than that.”

The fire truck behind him rumbled to life. “Beats me. I never saw him, never heard his name. But the captain has it. Look, I’d better get back.” He motioned toward the last fire truck and the hoses being folded by a couple of other firefighters.

“So who’s at the hospital with Shannon?”

“Oliver,” Robert said, mentioning their younger brother. “I called him when I figured out it was Shan.”

Oliver, too, had been a firefighter once, but had given it up and now was only a few weeks away from taking his final vows as a priest, if you could believe that.

Shea didn’t understand Oliver’s latent calling to serve God, but their mother had been delighted to finally have a priest in the family. Maureen had so little interest in life, had become so filled with a creeping despair in the past few years that Shea thought Oliver should go for it, become a goddamned priest. Take the vows. Swear off sex and sin for the rest of life. Hell, someone should break out of the family’s seemingly unbreakable tradition—or was it obsession?—of fighting fires.

“After Oliver talks to the docs and sees that Shannon’s okay, then he’ll tell Ma.”

“That’ll be fun,” Shea said sarcastically. This might be the final blow for their mother. It wasn’t enough that she’d raised hellions like their father, even her daughter couldn’t stay out of trouble. It seemed to be a Flannery family trait, or the curse, as Maureen O’Malley Flannery called it.

All the Flannerys had been born with wild streaks. All had skeletons locked firmly away in their closets. All had a penchant for trouble—whatever it may be. “Just as long as Shannon’s all right, nothing else really matters,” Shea muttered.

“If you say so.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Only if someone did happen to beat the crap out of my sister, I think that stupid bastard is gonna pay and pay big time.”

“The law will handle it,” Shea said.

“Yeah, right.” Robert snorted, the smile on his blackened face without a trace of humor. “And I think I’m about to be canonized by the pope himself.”

“Hey, Flannery, how about a hand over here!” Kaye Cuddahey, wearing her most put-upon, I’m-friggin’-tired-of-doing-all-the-work-for-you-lazy-male-asses expression, waved at Robert. She and Luis Santiago were slamming doors shut on the rig as it idled. She looked pissed as hell as she glared at Robert.

“See ya later,” Robert said and hustled back to the truck.

A few seconds later the big rig rambled down the lane.

Shea walked around the scene, eyeing the rubble, trying to imagine the conflagration that had erupted. So far they didn’t have answers, but that would change. Once it was cool enough, he and some of the people from the police crime lab as well as the fire department’s investigator would sort through the piles of ash, glass and charred remains to figure out exactly what had happened. Maybe Shannon could give an explanation, or Santana, or the other guy, the stranger. What had the name been? Settler? Christ, who was he?