Burning Truth (Lost and Found Columbus #3)

Chapter 1

1

T he air was thick with smoke and the acrid scent of burning debris. Addie Kingston stepped out of the news van, her eyes wide with shock as she took in the devastation before her. Java Joy, the coffee shop on the bottom floor of an old warehouse, had been reduced to a smoldering wreck, its windows blown out and burning pieces of furniture scattered across the sidewalk. Sirens wailed in the distance, and the flashing lights of emergency vehicles bathed the scene in a surreal, strobe-like glow.

“Get the camera rolling,” Addie instructed her cameraman, Jake, who was already gathering his gear. “We need to capture everything.”

Jake nodded, his lined face set in grim determination. Addie knew he was as shaken as she was—they both got coffee here regularly—but they had a job to do. She took a deep breath, forcing herself to focus. The psychology of arsonists dictated that they often returned to the scene of their crimes, seeking to relive the chaos they had created. Every detail mattered.

“Scan the area,” she directed. “We need to get footage of everything—the damage, the emergency response, the bystanders. And make sure to get close-ups of the blast radius.”

She didn’t know why she told him. Jake had been in the business a long time. As he moved through the wreckage, Addie pulled out her notebook and began jotting down observations. The blast had been powerful, targeting a popular spot. The only saving grace was that it was in the middle of the night, when the shop was closed. It wasn’t just about the physical damage—it was about sending a message. But what was the message? And who was behind it?

She approached a firefighter who was directing the efforts to douse the remaining flames. “Any idea what caused this, Chief Black?” she asked.

The firefighter, a grizzled veteran with soot-streaked cheeks who had spoken to her before, shook his head. “Too early to tell. Could be anything from a gas leak to something more sinister. But judging by the pattern of the blast, it looks deliberate.”

“It’s him again, isn’t it?”

The older man looked at her for a long moment. “Off the record? Yes, I think so.”

Addie’s heart sank. Deliberate meant premeditated and premeditated meant the likelihood of more attacks. She thanked the chief and continued to survey the scene, her mind racing with questions. Who would do this? And why?

Addie stared up at the inferno, her mind reeling. Even from this far away, the heat was absolutely scorching. She couldn’t imagine how hot the firefighters were charging into the building.

She glanced behind her at Jake, the cameraman. The big, state-of-the-art camera was already up on his shoulder. “Are you getting all this?” she asked.

Jake nodded and started toward the melee. Grabbing her mic, Addie charged after him. Fastening her pale blue linen jacket closed, she minced over the sidewalk, wishing she’d left her tennis shoes on. It wasn’t like the camera saw her feet, anyway.

Jake tripped over a curb as he tried to get into a better position and she reached out to steady his shoulder. Though he’d been doing this a long time, when you had 30 pounds of camera on your shoulder, it was sometimes hard to maneuver.

The building that was burning was an old monstrosity that was being revitalized. Years ago, it had been a fabric warehouse. Once the company had gone under in the 80s, the building had faded into disrepair. After a while, squatters had moved in, and that was her fear now. She knew people had been living in the upper parts of the building as recently as three months ago because she’d done a segment on the struggling homeless population on the east side. Mama Kate had spoken to her at length, and she’d visited her once since then. Mama Kate took in and guided a lot of lost souls, and she tried to create a home for them.

Was it above board? No. Absolutely not. But sometimes the squatters were incredibly hard to remove. As she looked up at the blazing warehouse, she truly hoped there was no one inside.

“Are you ready,” Jake asked her, planting his camera on a tripod, the blazing building behind her.

Addie nodded, looking back one last time. Then, taking a smoke-laden breath that almost made her cough, she straightened her shoulders and looked into the eye of the camera.

“This is Addie Kingston, reporting live from the scene of a devastating fire in downtown Columbus. Earlier today, a powerful explosion ripped through the popular coffee shop Java Joy on the bottom floor of the building, leaving behind a trail of destruction and panic. While the cause of the blast remains under investigation, initial reports suggest foul play. Authorities are urging the public to remain vigilant as they work tirelessly to uncover the truth behind this horrific act. If you have any information, please call the Columbus Fire Department at ….”

The segment would air during the prime-time slot, a quick yet powerful clip designed to grab viewers’ attention and keep them informed. Addie could see it in her mind’s eye, and the way Ron, her producer, would edit the information and place the segment for the most impact.

She filmed for a solid twenty minutes, repositioning, then talking to a couple of bystanders that had seen the blast. They were laughing, high on excitement, and it made her sick that they could be rejoicing in the face of such destruction.

Despite the summer night, and the radiating heat from the blaze, a chill ran over her skin, and she glanced around the area. The crowd ebbed and swelled as they gawked and wondered out loud what had happened. One man caught her attention. Exceptionally tall, his arms were crossed over his strong chest and his feet planted as he stared up at the blazing building. He was taller than most of the crowd around him, but that wasn’t what caught her attention. No, it was the look of fear in his dark eyes. Not fear, dread. Pain. Regret. So many things. Her own heart ached in empathy.

Addie knew people. She could read the expressions on their faces, and she knew when there was information to be found. Before she could give herself a chance to think, she started wading through the people.

She was within ten feet of the man when he suddenly glanced at her, as if he felt her presence. Addie felt the force of that look like a lightning strike, her tummy turning. In the light of the fire, she could see the broken texture of his face. It wasn’t a beard. It was scar tissue, all down the left side of his face, curtaining slightly over his left eye and shortening the dark left brow. She opened her mouth to say something to him, but he spun away and faded through the crowd quicker than she could follow.

Addie shook her head, wondering if she’d imagined what she’d just seen and felt. Wondering if she’d just seen the arsonist.

Severn Moran backed away from the blazing building, not understanding the sick fascination that had drawn him to it. He’d been walking on the street a few blocks away when he’d heard the blast, and he’d sprinted toward the sound. He wasn’t even sure why he’d done that. It had been years since he’d been in the military, and it wasn’t his responsibility to respond to anything anymore, other than the jobs his boss sent him on.

It was some kind of instinctive fear he’d responded to. The sound of an IED explosion was unique, and he could tell that this one hadn’t been big, but big enough to cause damage. And it had obviously been big enough to light an entire warehouse on fire. He hoped there was no one inside, because the building had been completely engulfed.

The present faded away as he’d stared up at the roiling danger. He could feel that fire crawling across his skin, layering pain over pain with no surcease. Standing fifty yards away, he could feel the heat on his sensitive skin, and it reminded him of horror. The horror of lives lost, the horror of not being one of the ones to find silence. For some reason, he had been chosen to live, and he would wonder why for the rest of his life.

More and more fire trucks pulled onto the scene, and a news van squeezed between them but out of the way. Of course, the vultures would be here. The little news reporter dropped out of the van and trotted around the front, dodging firefighters and hoses. She said something to the cameraman, and they moved into a position to film the carnage.

Severn looked back up at the devastation. There was a whoosh of sound that gave him chills in the summer heat, and a great bout of fire shot up as it broke through the roof.

There was nothing to be done for this building. It didn’t matter how many engine companies arrived on scene or how many hoses hit the beast. It had won tonight. The building was a loss. As well as anyone that was left inside. Even as he watched, the fire fighters retreated from the building. They realized it was a loss as well.

The reporter and the cameraman had shifted closer, and he glanced at them. The woman’s voice sounded familiar, and he recognized her immediately. Sometimes he turned the news on just to hear other human voices. And hers, especially, had a calming aspect. He’d recorded a couple of her segments, lighter ones, on his phone. Sometimes when specters of the past worried at him, he would turn on one of the recordings, just to listen to her voice. She had this throaty, raspy little voice that hinted at sex, and a curvy shape that he appreciated. Though she’d just started, she seemed to have a good head on her shoulders and a real heart in her chest. She wasn’t as casual or flippant about the stories she reported. It seemed as if she really cared.

Glass blew out of one of the third-floor windows, and Severn thought for sure he heard a voice screaming out. He frowned, hand going to his head. No, that had sounded like Blaze, but the guy had been dead for almost ten years. It wasn’t Blaze, no matter how much he wanted it to be.

Looking back at the fire, he waited for more sound, but none came. If someone had been alive, they probably weren’t now.

There was a creeping along his scalp, and he looked around. The reporter was looking at him, and he could see her big green eyes from here. They were lit from the fire, and in that moment, she was stunning. Her dark, almost black curly hair looked burnished in the firelight. Severn loved looking at her curves. She wasn’t the normal skinny generic newscaster. She was surveying him, her lip-sticked mouth slightly open, trying to decide if he was worth talking to.

Taking the choice from her, he forced himself to turn away from the catastrophe. He wanted no part of this night.

Addie wrapped up her segment and turned off the mic. They wouldn’t know if there were bodies inside until the arson investigation team went through the building. In her gut, she had a feeling it was going to be bad. Mama Kate had taken in several people. There had been a group of them on the third floor. Addie had told the fire captain, but he’d shaken his head at her.

“There’s no way we can get up there, Addie. It’s fully engulfed.”

Yeah, that’s what she’d thought too. The firefighters were all milling around, none of them rushing inside anymore. They still battled the fire, pumping gallons upon gallons of water in through the shattered windows, but it seemed like a lost cause. The fire continued to blaze, unabated.

She glanced around at the crowd again. Standing near the chief was a man in a suit. He looked pretty average, with brown wispy hair blowing in the drafts, but something about being at a fire in a suit made her think she needed to know who he was.

Stepping over debris, she walked toward them. The man in the suit was saying something to Chief Black, and Chief was shaking his head. The exchange looked a little tense.

Addie stopped beside them and shoved out her hand to the man in the suit, aware that she may be interrupting a private conversation. “Addie Kingston, WNBC4.”

The man had taken her hand automatically. “Russel Dunn, Department of Ohio Emergency Medical Services. It’s truly a pleasure to meet you, Ms. Kingston. I watch you every night on the news.”

“Thank you,” she said automatically. She heard the phrase about twenty times a day. “What’s the EMS department doing here?”

Mr. Dunn made a motion. “Well, when one of your cars are involved...”

She looked at the burned out husk of a county vehicle. “Ah,” she said. “Bet you’re gonna have a ton of paperwork in the morning.”

He laughed, nodding.

Addie pulled out her notepad and scribbled her number on a blank page, then handed it to the chief. “Just in case you learn something about Mama Kate, I’d appreciate a call.”

Chief nodded as he slipped her paper away.

“Mama Kate,” Dunn asked, looking at the chief.

“There’ve been squatters upstairs for a few months. We’re hoping they moved out.”

Dunn looked slightly horrified. “There are people inside?”

Chief shook his head. “We won’t know that for a few hours, when we can actually get inside.”

Addie had a feeling it would be longer than a few hours, but she didn’t say that. Instead, she made her goodbyes and went to find her cameraman.

Jake drove her back to the station, and he seemed to understand that she was in a funk. He didn’t joke around with her like he normally did. He’d been the one recording when she’d interviewed Mama Kate, so he understood her distress.

Ron Hutchison, her producer, nodded as they watched the raw footage in the booth. “This is good stuff. It’ll be on the air in twenty minutes,” he said, already beginning to edit the recording.

Addie started to leave the box of his office, but he spun his chair to her, catching her eye. “Good job, Addie. I know you were struggling there for a minute, but you pulled it together like a professional.”

Addie gave him a weak smile. “Thanks, Ron.”

She looked up at the screen, and the man with the scarred face was there, looking up at the blaze. Despite the scars, he was a seriously handsome guy. Strong bone structure, deep-set, intelligent looking eyes. She just didn’t know what to think about what was in his expression. Was she reading too much into it? Maybe it was just the way the flames played on his damaged skin. She wasn’t sure, but he looked more terrorized than the people crowded around him on the sidewalk.

Well, if those scars were from a fire, it would make sense that he would be terrified.

Addie stayed long enough to see the segment air, then she headed home. If there was an update, she would hear about it.

Traffic at midnight was minimal, which was good, because she was only half paying attention as she drove home. Worry dogged at her, and she doubted she would sleep at all tonight.

When she’d taken this job, her mother had shaken her head at her. “I love you, kiddo, but I don’t know if this is the job for you. I’m not sure if your heart will take it.”

Yeah, she’d kind of felt that as well, but she’d wanted the experience under her belt. At first, she’d been an intern, a nobody in the production business. But one of their reporters had unexpectedly resigned to take a job across the country, in California, and the search had been on for a new, prime-time face to fill in. It was not the way things were normally done in the business, but it made for a good story.

Ron, the Program Director, had put out the call and her boss had put in her name. It was no secret she’d gotten the job because she was more than passably pretty. As soon as she’d walked in the door of Ron’s office, he’d nodded his head at the man sitting at the conference table with him. “Yeah, she’s the one. Get her ready for the camera.”

And he’d stalked out of the room, leaving her with a new job she hadn’t even handed her resume over for. Was he even aware that she planned to take over his job, then move up?

While she didn’t mind being on camera, it wasn’t what she was working toward, but she had decided to accept the position for the experience. Eventually, she wanted to be the News Director, who ran the entire enchilada. This was experience in that direction. At least, that’s what she kept telling herself.

The worst part about being on camera was learning to regulate her expressions. She hadn’t trained to be an on-air personality, so it had taken some getting used to. At bad scenes, she still had to overcome her own emotions to report the news. Ron had gotten frustrated with her a few times, because she’d said or done something in reaction to what she’d seen. At a crash with a school bus, she’d cried when she’d learned that one child had been killed. At another scene, she’d laughed when a dog had raced up to greet her, leaving muddy footprints all over her new skirt.

Surprisingly, though, the viewership appreciated her humanity. At first, they didn’t like that she’d ‘taken’ the previous woman’s job. Layla Jones had been a nightly staple on WNBC 4 News Columbus for a lot of people, and her exit had been abrupt. There had been a lot of speculation that something had happened to make her leave the station, but Addie didn’t think that was a case. Layla had simply been offered a job in LA, a spot she’d been more than happy to take.

Once Addie changed into her sleep clothes and settled onto the couch with a cup of tea, she started scrolling through her social media. They had a social team at the station that posted important clips and events for them on their pages, and most of the time, Addie liked scrolling through and responding to comments. Even months into the job, it surprised people to get a response from the actual personality.

Recently, though, she’d had a couple of trolls. One persisted in critiquing her outfit every day. Whatever. But the other had started leaving more personal comments. Things that niggled at her. Yep, there he was. BrickBrak342 had left a comment. You should have done better. I spent a lot of time on that, Addison.

She frowned at the comment, wondering if he was trying to take responsibility for the crime. Or did he just mean he’d spent time watching her segment?

She took a screenshot of the statement and sent it to Ron. The man barely slept, and she had a feeling he was still awake. He would watch the nightly segments, then take copious notes on what could be better to be distributed at his morning meetings. Over the past couple of weeks, she’d sent him several of these screenshots. Just things that didn’t sit right with her.

BrickBrak342 had been a different name before they’d blocked him, but she recognized the phrasing. He always used the long version of her name, like he was a teacher correcting the pupil. It grated at her. If he was the same guy, they were going to have to watch him, because he’d commented on several of her segments recently.

On her phone, she added the screenshot with the others in the file and where she’d stored it. Then she headed to bed for a sleepless night, wondering about the victims of the fire.