Mercy (The Night Man Chronicles Book 3) by Brett Battles (most inspirational books of all time TXT) 📗

“We seem to have ourselves a serial arsonist.”

Okay, now this is news. “This isn’t the first time?”

“Not even close.” He glances at his notepad to get himself back on track. “Didn’t see anyone running away when you drove up? Or any cars driving off?”

“The only people we’ve seen are Ms. Wright and Mr. Gale.”

He thinks for a moment and cocks his head a little. “What were you two doing out this way?”

“We were going to check out a house we might rent. It’s not too far from here. When Kara spotted the fire, we came here instead.” The only reason I don’t say we’ve already rented the farmhouse is that he might see us in town, possibly even going into the duplex, so I don’t want him to get too curious about us.

Another car arrives, and the man who climbs out— a civilian, from the way he’s dressed, probably in his fifties—walks over to one of the other deputies.

“You always rush to fires?” Olsen asks.

I repeat what I told him when he started questioning us. “We thought someone might need help.”

“And we were right,” Jar adds, a tad more annoyed than she needs to be.

“I wouldn’t advise doing that on a regular basis. You might not have gotten out.”

The civilian approaches us, smiles, and says, “Good evening, Daniel.”

“Evening, Mr. Mygatt,” Olsen says.

The older man looks back at the house. “Thought we might be past all this.”

“Apparently not.”

Mygatt’s gaze stays on the fire for a few more seconds before he looks at me. “You’re the one who saved Harlan’s life?”

I shrug as if it was no big deal, and say nothing.

“I’m not sure whether to thank you or curse you out.”

“I’m sorry?” I say, genuinely confused.

Mygatt chuckles. “Harlan’s my cousin. We have a kind of, um, tempestuous relationship. I was just kidding about the curse-you-out part, though. He and I may get on each other’s nerves from time to time, but I’m glad he’s still around.” He leans toward me and stage whispers, “Besides, I can give him a hard time about this for years.” He turns his attention to Olsen. “I didn’t mean to interrupt. When you’re done here, I would like a word.”

After Mygatt walks off, Olsen asks us for contact information and I give him one of the numbers that will ring to my phone.

He writes it down. “Thanks. If we have any other questions, we’ll give you a call.”

“That’s it? We’re free to go?” I ask.

“That’s it.”

“Would it be possible for someone to move one of your cars so we can get out?”

He glances at the driveway. “Oh, yeah. Sorry about that.” He cups a hand over his mouth. “Hey, Dalby! Move your car out of the way. These folks are leaving.”

A deputy who was standing near the back of the fire trucks—Dalby, presumably—jogs over to one of the sheriff’s cars and climbs in.

As Jar and I get back into the truck, Carla Wright hurries over, waving her hand to get our attention. I lower my window.

“You’re leaving?” she says.

“You’ve got plenty of help here now. We’re just in the way.”

“I wanted to thank you for saving my brother.”

“You did already.”

“I did?”

I nod.

“You didn’t tell me your name, though, did you? If you did, I don’t remember it.”

I did, but there’s no reason to remind her of that, too. “I’m Matthew and my girlfriend’s name is Kara.” That’s part of the fake history Jar and I had fleshed out before we checked out the rentals. Since we’ll be living together, it’s either that or pretend to be married.

“You live in Mercy?”

“We’re staying in the area.”

“I’d love to drop something by to thank you for what you’ve done.”

“That’s not necessary.”

“Please, I insist.”

“We’re just about to move into a new place. Why don’t you tell me where you live and I can drop by? Would that work?”

“Perfect. Thank you.” She gives me her address and I put it into my phone. She glances back toward the ambulance, which looks like it’s also getting ready to leave. “Better make it the day after tomorrow. I’ll probably be busy with Harlan tomorrow, making sure he’s doing okay.”

“Day after tomorrow it is,” I say, having no intention of paying her a visit.

“Late afternoon.”

“Sounds good.”

She hurries to the ambulance and climbs into the back, just before one of the EMTs closes the door.

We wait for the ambulance to leave first. As it heads for the driveway, I notice Mygatt standing off to the side, pointing his phone’s camera lens at the blaze. From the way he interacted with Olsen and the other officers, I wonder if he’s a fire inspector or someone like that.

Once the ambulance is speeding down the drive, I take my foot off the brake and get us the hell out of there.

During the drive to the Travato, I can’t help but think about the fire. Based on what Olsen said, this wasn’t the first case of arson. But why burn down an empty house, and a barn, and whatever that third building was? From what I’ve read, most people who purposely set fires are driven either by a love of flames or a love of money. Sometimes both. If you’re doing it for the insurance money, you’d want to do it so that it looks like it was caused by faulty wiring or something similar. You wouldn’t have burned your house down in such an obvious way.

All very strange.

But also not our problem.

The Travato is a welcome sight. This will be only our fourth night staying in it, but seeing it now feels a little like coming home.

Maybe I’m just overreacting to my experience at the fire. Which is kind of odd, given the more intense experiences I’ve been through in my life. Of course, it’s been almost two months now since we’ve had any work. I mean, on the day job. Obviously I’ve done a few things on my own—like dealing with Marco and Blaine and hoisting Evan off the side of the