Skin Deep (Station Seventeen #1)(7)
“Well it’s not a body,” she prompted, and Sinclair nodded to reaffirm.
“Story I got from the call-in was that RFD responded to a house fire, and after the flames were out, they found something they deemed serious enough to have us take a look at.”
The back of Isabella’s neck prickled beneath her ponytail. Something about this still wasn’t gelling. “And you’re doing the walk-and-talk because…?”
“Captain Bridges out at Seventeen called it in.”
And there it is. “That’s why you’re coming out with me instead of sending Hollister or Maxwell or Hale? Because Seventeen is on-scene?”
“I’m coming out with you because I enjoy your sparkling personality, Moreno.” God, he put just enough good humor to the words to make the sentiment stick, too. “But to address your concern, yes. Kellan Walker made the find. Since you two have a little history, I thought I’d tag along.”
Isabella’s stomach pinched beneath the top of her jeans. “Kellan Walker and I don’t have any history. And he definitely doesn’t concern me,” she said. Piss her off? Check. Drive her bat-shit crazy? Check. Hell, he’d even turned her on a little (translation: a lot) with those crystal blue eyes and stupid-broad shoulders and dark, sexy scruff. At least, he had before the whole Chicago debacle three months ago. But nobody—nobody—concerned her.
Because Isabella knew far better than to let them.
“Okay,” Sinclair said, a pop of surprise moving through her veins as his tone backed up the word. “Then we shouldn’t have any issues.”
Sure. Just as long as she and Walker didn’t have to speak, they’d be peachy. Not that she was the one with the problem. She’d busted her ass three months ago on his sister Kylie’s case, which had been a doozy and a half, thank you very much. In order to keep Kylie safe after she’d witnessed a brutal murder halfway across the country, Isabella had trusted a former colleague, and Kellan had trusted her.
Funny thing about a house of cards, though. If even one was crooked, the whole lot of them came crashing down. Isabella had unknowingly promised Walker’s sister protection she hadn’t been able to deliver when a member of her old colleague’s team turned out to be dirty, and the case had culminated in a violent shootout. Even though Kylie had ended up unharmed, it hadn't been due to Isabella's slick detective skills. Walker had been furious with her that his sister's safety had been compromised.
But not as furious as Isabella had been with herself that she’d inadvertently put a murder witness in harm’s way.
She shoved back the fresh shot of remorse blooming in her chest. “So what exactly did these guys find, anyway?” she asked, focusing her thoughts on this call, where they belonged.
“I don’t know, but we’re about to find out.”
Sinclair pulled up to the uni directing traffic around the sea of emergency response vehicles, flashing his badge to gain entry to the scene. They got as close as they could, which wasn’t saying much under the circumstances, but Isabella didn’t mind hoofing it a little if it meant she could observe the scene of a crime from the outside in.
She and Sinclair got out of the Tahoe about a half-block from what—as best she could tell—was ground zero for the fire. Every last one of her senses pinged to life as they moved over the seen-better-days sidewalk and past a couple of detached row houses. The neighborhood wasn’t great, which meant the intel likely wouldn’t be great, either. People in bad neighborhoods tended to have selective memories when it came to recounting suspicious activity. But if the address of the fire had popped anything weird in their database, Sinclair would’ve mentioned it. So right now, Isabella had to fly on what they had.
Which was a whole lot of French-fried house. Damn, the thing smelled as bad as it looked, the bitter-burnt punch of smoke combining with the scorched siding and smashed out windows to hammer home the suggestion that the structure was a total loss. She scanned the scene, her stomach tightening involuntarily at the sight of the firefighters milling around and storing their gear in various response vehicles.
Stop being an idiot. She and Kellan might not have the best history in the galaxy, or okay, even be on speaking terms right now. But a job was a job. There was no reason for her stomach to get all traitorously jumpy over clapping eyes on him again.
Even if he did hate her guts.
“Sergeant. Detective.” The familiar voice knocked Isabella back to the present tense. Captain Tanner Bridges, who they’d dealt with from time to time at crime scenes and had always been as helpful as he was fair, greeted them on the sidewalk in front of the burned-out house. “Thanks for coming out so quickly. I wasn’t sure who else to call.”
“Not a problem,” Sinclair said, shaking the man’s hand. “Can you tell us what you’ve got?”
The captain paused, his brown eyes flashing with uncertainty. “Probably best to show you.” He jerked his head toward the house’s front walk, starting to lead the way. “We responded to a nine-one-one call a few hours ago, and when we got here, the house was pretty heavily involved. Best we can tell, the place looks vacant. Cause of the fire is still unknown, but at first blush, I’d guess some bad wiring kicked things off.”
“Okay,” Isabella said, all question, and the captain answered with a nod.