Chapter 17: Crown of Smoke: Chapter 17

I scan the list of all the deceased from the fire at the Ifrinn property. The list goes beyond the Ifrinn parents to include many people who don’t have the name Ifrinn. I’m assuming staff. What’s missing are the names of their sons. How had they escaped when none of these people had? Where were they? Could they have been complicit too? If so, why didn’t they take over or now work with Kean? I’m hoping Flynn might be able to shed light on this. It’s why I finally broke down and texted him yesterday about meeting today.

I’m still feeling guilty about sneaking out on him the other night. I’m unsettled by how intense things have gotten between us. But in the last few days, I’ve justified my leaving his bed and avoiding him by telling myself he needed to rest and heal, and not that I’m scared to death of my feelings. I’m not a great liar, especially to myself.

I pull out the old newspaper article with the names of the Ifrinn sons. At the time of the fire, Phoenix was twenty-one years old and the oldest. Ash was nineteen, and twins, Blaise and Flint, were seventeen. Four brothers who vanished into thin air after their parents’ deaths. The papers painted them as entitled youth who either met their own demise by the Keans or fled town. They were men, or nearly, but still young.

Four teenagers don’t just disappear without a trace, although what do I know of their world? I know what I’ve been able to learn during my research. I’ve seen plenty of Mob movies on TV, although how real is that?

I pull out the arson investigation to review. The official report states faulty wiring, but digging into the investigation, I see multiple fires starting simultaneously. The security system mysteriously failed. And the emergency response was delayed by nearly thirty minutes.

Too many coincidences, I think, circling key details. If the man at the fight is right, someone let the arsonist in. And the slow, practically inept investigation suggests the Keans had the police and an arson investigator on the payroll.

I have to admit, Hampton Kean pulled off quite a feat. The Ifrinns were untouchable for generations, their compound a fortress. Yet in one night, everything they built went up in flames.

A knock on the door interrupts my thoughts. Immediately, my heart quickens and everything inside me goes warm. It’s not the reaction I want to Flynn’s arrival. What is it about him that affects me so?

I go to the door, take a breath, and open it. Steeling myself doesn’t prevent the onslaught of sensation at seeing him. He’s as dangerous and appealing as he ever is in his soft faded jeans, a white T-shirt that molds to his chest, and piercing blue eyes staring at me warily. He must remember that I snuck out on him the other night too.

“Thank you for stopping by. I have something I thought you might like to see or maybe can shed light on.” I lead him to my small table where all my materials are spread out in an organization that only I understand.

“The fire report says faulty wiring, but digging deep, I see notes that suggest multiple fires. Security systems failed, emergency response was delayed.”

Flynn glances over at the paperwork, but he seems disinterested. “Nothing we don’t already know or could have guessed.”

I look up at him, surprised. Is he mad at me for leaving? Or is there something else going on? “I can’t publish guesses, just as I’m sure you can’t convict the Keans on guesses either.”

He shrugs.

‘And look at this,’ I continue, pushing forward the property records. ‘Within days of the fire, the Keans took everything. There are deed transfers, but it doesn’t appear they bought anything. They just… took over.’

Still no reaction. Just those intense blue eyes studying me.

“I found this list of victims. All the people who perished in the fire.”

He takes the paper, and it’s the first reaction I see from him. A quick look of startled pain, quickly covered by his setting the paper on the table. “Again, this isn’t new.”

“I know you must have more information than I do. I was thinking maybe with that list, you’d know who was missing?”

“Missing?” He arches a brow.

“Yes. We know someone let the Keans in. They probably disabled the security. We also know they work for the Keans now. Maybe you can look at the list and know who isn’t on it that could be the culprit.”

“You think I know everyone who worked at the house that night?” he asks, his voice raw.

I nod. “Do you?”

He glances at the paper. “These were people, Lucy, not a story.”

His words hurt me. Am I being callous? “I know that⁠—”

“Just because you think the Ifrinns were as undeserving to live as the Keans, doesn’t make this any less a tragedy.”

I stare at him, wondering where this is coming from. “I’m sorry if I’m being dismissive of them. I’m not. I’m trying to figure out what happened.”

“Why?”

“Are you angry with me?”

He scrapes his hands over his face. “I’m trying to figure you out. Why you stupidly put yourself in danger for people you don’t think are worthy. Why you fuck me and then walk out on me. Is this all about the story? That’s it? Am I part of your investigation? You got an up close and personal investigation of me, and now you’re done? Will you detail my tattoos in your story since you studied them pretty closely?”

He’s calling me out about the other night. I don’t blame him. It was rude.

“No. I just… everything is so… intense. I don’t know you, Flynn.” I swallow. “This pull between us is unsettling.”

He softens and moves to me. “For a woman who likes to walk into danger, your hesitation about me is surprising.”

I give him a small smile. “You feel the most dangerous of all.”

“I’m the one who keeps saving you.”

I guess he is.

“If it’s any consolation, I’m as unsettled by this thing between us as well.” He pushes a strand of my hair away from my face.

“Is that why you seem disinterested in what I’m sharing with you?”

“I’m more interested in you.” He leans in and kisses me. I let him because I don’t have the willpower to stop him.

When he pulls away, he smiles and turns to the papers. ‘You’ve been busy.’

“That’s what I do. Research.” The change in his demeanor throws me off. A minute ago, he was distant, distracted. Now he’s calm and showing an interest in my research.

“The delay in response and changes in the report aren’t a surprise. The police were in on it,” he says matter-of-factly.

Annoyed, I glare at him. ‘You knew this but didn’t tell me? This isn’t a one-way street, Flynn. You’re supposed to tell me information too.’

He arches a brow. “It’s well known that people like the Keans have important people in their pocket.”

“Do you know who was in theirs that night?”

“No. Not specifically. But I’d guess this guy.” He points to the name on the report, Detective Marshall. “I wonder what position he holds now.”

I riffle through my papers. ‘He showed up immediately after the fire, gave statements to the press before the scene had even cooled.’ I find the article and slide it across to Flynn.

Flynn’s jaw tightens as he studies the image of Marshall in the paper. ‘He declared it an accident within hours. Before any real investigation could happen.’

‘Exactly.’ I lean closer, lowering my voice though we’re alone. ‘He was promoted to sergeant detective a few months later.” I hand him another article. “He was one of the fastest rising in the police. He was Superintendent Captain just a few years later.’

‘The pet. A reward for services rendered,’ Flynn mutters, his fingers curling around the edge of the article.

“The pet?”

“It makes the Keans even more untouchable.”

The implications are frightening. If the police helped orchestrate this takeover, how deep does the corruption go? How many people turn a blind eye while a family wreaks havoc over the city?

“Do you know Marshall or the men who work around him?” I ask, studying Flynn’s face. ‘Anyone else who might be involved in covering this up?’

He shrugs, picking up another document. ‘Lots of cops take bribes. Hard to pin down exactly who’s in whose pocket.’

‘That’s not what I asked.’ I snatch the paper from his hand. ‘You clearly know something about this detective. The way you’re looking at that photo⁠—’

‘Lucy.’ His voice carries a warning edge. ‘Drop it.’

‘No.’ I plant my hands on my hips, wondering why Flynn is being so obtuse. ‘You’re supposed to be helping me investigate, but you’re stonewalling me.’

Flynn meets my gaze, his blue eyes hard as steel. ‘Maybe because some leads are better left alone.’

‘Better for whom?’ Frustration bubbles up. ‘The corrupt cops? The Keans? Because it’s certainly not better for justice.’

He turns away, but not before I catch something flicker across his face—recognition, maybe even pain—when he looks at Detective Marshall’s photo again.

‘You know him, don’t you?’ I press. ‘Or at least know of him. What aren’t you telling me?’

‘I know what I need to know.’ Flynn’s words are measured, careful. ‘And right now, you need to be careful about which threads you pull.’

“Back to that?”

His eyes narrow.

“I know these are dangerous people, Flynn. It’s my job to expose them.”

He shakes his head. “No, it’s not. You tell stories, Lucy.”

I’m incensed. “The free press is an important part of what makes this country run, and part of that includes exposing corruption.”

“Ifrinns were corrupt. Why are you working so hard for their justice?”

I gape, wondering what is going on with him. The only thing that comes to mind is that he’s annoying me on purpose because he’s holding back information. But why? If he’s really an undercover cop trying to bring down the Keans, why wouldn’t he want to expose their connection to corrupt officers?

‘You’re supposed to be investigating corruption in the Keans, right? So why aren’t you more interested in a dirty cop who helped cover up their crimes?’

Flynn’s shoulders tense. He turns to face me, boxing me against the table. ‘Part of investigating is keeping cards close to the vest, especially from nosy reporters.’

I push back against his intimidating stance. ‘If you’re working on an internal investigation, other officers must be involved. Who’s your superior? Which department are you with?’

His blue eyes darken. ‘I’m not your story, Lucy.’

‘No. Not this time.’ I point at the photo of Detective Marshall. ‘This man helped murder an entire family. He let the Keans walk away clean. And you’re acting like…’ The realization hits me hard. ‘Like you already knew all of this.’

Flynn’s silence speaks volumes.

‘How long have you known about Marshall’s involvement?’ My voice shakes. ‘Were you planning to tell me, or am I just some convenient source of information for you?’

‘It’s complicated.’

‘Then uncomplicate it.’ I step closer, searching his face for answers. ‘Because right now, my investigative instincts are screaming that you’re hiding something big. And I don’t like being played.’

The muscle in his jaw ticks. His hands clench at his sides. Everything about his body language confirms my suspicions. There’s more to this story than he’s telling me.

‘Who are you really, Flynn?’ My reporter’s instincts are screaming that something isn’t adding up.

‘If you’re investigating the Keans, why aren’t you more interested in exposing corrupt officers?’ I press again. ‘That should be exactly what you want. Unless you’re protecting them.’

His jaw clenches. ‘I have no interest in protecting Marshall or his minions. But not everything is simple, and the press isn’t privy to everything, especially during an investigation.’

“Or you have other motives.’

Flynn’s eyes darken dangerously. For a split second, I glimpse something wild and vengeful behind his carefully controlled expression. It makes me step back.

But then his whole demeanor shifts. That dangerous edge melts away as he steps closer, his hand coming up to brush my cheek. ‘You’re too smart for your own good, you know that?’

My breath catches at his touch. Even as doubt clouds my mind, my body responds to his proximity.

‘I’m trying to protect you,’ he murmurs, his thumb tracing my jawline. ‘The less you know about certain things, the safer you’ll be.’

‘That’s not fair,’ I whisper, but my resolve wavers as he leans in closer.

‘Life rarely is.’ His lips ghost across my temple. ‘Trust that I have my reasons.’

I want to push back, to demand answers, but his gentle touches are scrambling my thoughts. It isn’t just his nearness and potent presence that have me distracted. It’s the shift in his voice, in his gentle touch. He’s protecting me again. Apparently, I’m a sucker for that.

‘Flynn…’ I start to protest, but my voice lacks conviction.

He pulls back just enough to meet my eyes, that dangerous charm of his making my knees weak. ‘Let me handle the detective angle.’

My mind races with conflicting thoughts. Every journalistic instinct screams that he’s hiding something massive, something that could blow this whole story wide open. Yet my body betrays me, leaning into his touch.

‘You can’t just touch me and expect all my questions to disappear,’ I manage, knowing it will amuse him more than sway him.

His blue eyes hold mine, intense and unreadable. ‘I don’t expect them to disappear. I expect you to trust me.’

‘Trust works both ways.’ I place my hand against his chest, feeling his steady heartbeat beneath my palm. ‘You’re asking me to ignore major leads, but you won’t tell me why.’

“I have told you why. It’s dangerous. And the deeper you dig, the more dangerous this gets.’

‘I’m already in deep.’ I curl my fingers into his shirt. ‘I’m not backing down just because things get complicated.’

His thumb traces my bottom lip. ‘That’s what worries me.’

The heat between us is electric, charged with equal parts desire and irritation. I want to trust him. God help me, I want to believe he’s protecting me. But I can’t shake the feeling that I’m missing something crucial. The way he reacted to the list of victims of the fire, to the detective’s photo, his reluctance to discuss certain aspects of the case… there are too many pieces that don’t fit.

My instincts have never led me wrong before. They’ve helped me break important stories. All of a sudden, I have a new character to add to this one. Flynn Tine. Perhaps it’s time I dig deeper into him.

I’m not a part of your story.

His words come back to me, and with them guilt over wanting to research him. Especially considering how I’ve muddied the water by sleeping with him. It’s all the more reason to resist him. But as he leans in to kiss me again, I don’t push him away.