“I didn’t realize anybody was going to be here,” she said.

“Neither did I,” the man responded. “Sorry about that. I hope I didn’t startle you too much.”

He navigated his way over a debris pile and pulled off his work gloves to extend his hand to her. “Name’s Regis, Paul Regis. I’m a fire investigator with Atrium Insurance.”

She took his hand, which felt smooth and cared for. His grip was firm.

“Jillian Coates,” she said. “I live… lived here.”

Regis quickly glanced about.

“I’m sorry, Ms. Coates. I really am. This is a terrible thing to have happen.”

Jillian liked Regis for saying that.

“Worse than you could ever imagine,” she replied. “But Scott Emberg, the president of the condo association, made it sound like the damage here had already been inspected.”

“Oh, gosh, I apologize,” Regis said, his hazel eyes earnest. “I’m a very trusting person, so that’s probably the reason I’m always forgetting to show this. I should have it hanging in plain sight, but I never liked things around my neck.”

He reached into the breast pocket of his coveralls. Pulling out an ID badge hanging from a metal beaded lanyard, he presented it to Jillian, who glanced at it. The photo didn’t nearly do Paul Regis justice.

“Atrium isn’t my insurance company,” she said.

“I’ve been hired to perform an independent investigation of the premises,” Regis explained. “You might not be an Atrium customer, but your condominium association is.”

“Why did the condo association contract you to investigate? I’ve been told the cause was already established.”

“Oh, yes, the burn pattern above the heater in your office. It appears that they are right on the money. Arson investigators usually are. We’re quick but careful. Atrium has several of us experienced inspectors on the payroll, mostly guarding against home or business owners who hire a pro to defraud their friendly neighborhood insurance company. Every once in a while, we find something the local department’s inspectors have missed that points to arson. In that case, even if it’s someplace modest-no offense-we’ve earned our keep.”

“I see,” Jillian said, feeling a great emptiness, and suddenly not anxious for Paul Regis to leave. “I didn’t realize insurance companies had their own fire investigators.”

“They all do. They’ll double-check anything that’s threatening to cost them money. That’s why so many of the biggest buildings in so many cities have insurance companies’ names on them.”

Regis smiled, but Jillian abandoned a brief attempt to respond in kind. She had no relatives in the city, but half a dozen of her friends would be happy to take her in. Probably more. Most of them had already extended kindness to her by planning the funeral, bringing food, and staying over with her. It made her sad to think of having to impose on them again. It was hard to believe that before the horrible call from the Charlotte police, she was happy and fulfilled almost every minute of every day.

Regis seemed to have maturity and a genuine air of compassion. Maybe they could go and sit for a cup of coffee before she decided whom to call.

“You look a little pale,” he said. “Do you need to sit down?”

“No, I’m okay. Actually, there’s a bench on the lawn out front. If you have time, maybe we could sit down there for a bit.”

Regis took her by the elbow and guided her out through what had once been the portal to her home. Twilight had nearly given way to a cool, breezy night. Jillian decided she would find a hotel and deal with everything else in the morning.

“I’m really sorry about your place,” Regis said again.

“Thanks. It’s just stuff, I know, but it was my stuff-mine and my sister’s.”

“I wasn’t told that someone else lived here.”

“It’s just me. My sister died three weeks ago.”

“Oh, that’s terrible.”

“She lived in North Carolina. I was storing all of her things before I decided what to do with them. Now they’re gone.”

“In my line of work,” Regis said, “the first lesson you learn, and learn quick, at that, is things are replaceable, but people aren’t.”

“I’m grateful that nobody was hurt, or worse. It’s just that-” Jillian’s eyes began to well. She took a minute to compose herself. “These things were all I had to remember her by. Our parents passed away a few years ago in a car accident.”

“It’s a strange coincidence,” Regis said, “but I lost my sister too.”

“I’m so sorry, Paul.”

“I’m not telling you this to make you feel bad for me or anything,” Regis continued. “Just wanted to let you know that I understand how hard this must be for you. My sister’s death has haunted me my whole life. In fact, she’s the reason I’m a fire investigator.”

“Was she killed in a fire?”

“Exactly,” Regis said, staring off at the condos across the walkway. “I was away at college when it happened. She was only sixteen, living at home. It was arson. Jealous boyfriend threw a gasoline bomb into her bedroom window while she slept. She didn’t have a chance. Ever since that I’ve been fighting fires or investigating them-first for various fire departments, and for ten years now as an independent contractor.”

“That’s a horrible story. Just horrible.”

“At least I can say Susannah didn’t die in vain. I’ve helped police catch a bunch of arsonists. I’m very good at what I do. Lot of times I find evidence of arson that town or state investigators miss.”

Jillian could see the man’s eyes beginning to mist.

“That’s good for you, Paul. And I’m sure what you do makes every day that much easier.”

“It does.”

“Somebody murdered my sister too. Forced her to write a note and then take an overdose of sleeping pills. And I’m not going to rest until I catch whoever did it. I don’t want Belle’s death to be in vain either.”

“I’ll pray that you succeed.”

“Thank you.”

Impulsively, Jillian turned and gave Regis a grateful hug. He returned the embrace, but broke it off when she did. His shoulders felt tight and powerful, and in spite of all she was going through, or possibly because of it, Jillian felt a slight spark.

“Well,” he said, “I’m actually all done with my walk-through.”

His voice rose as if he were about to say something further.

Jillian did not want him to leave and barely kept herself from saying so.

“I appreciate you taking the time to explain things to me,” she said instead.

“You know, I’m really glad to have been here when you came.”

Their eyes met, and for several moments, Jillian held his gaze.

“Thank you,” she said. “You’ve made me feel much better.”

“Look, it’s getting dark out. I wouldn’t hang around here much longer if I were you.”

“Okay. I’ll come back tomorrow and check the upstairs.”

“Just be careful. The floor looks okay, but there may be weak spots. I’d help you, but I actually have to drive up to Philadelphia for an inspection.”

“I… I’m really pleased to have met you,” Jillian said. “You are very empathetic.”

“I left my cards at home per usual, Jillian, but I’d be happy to give you my number if you’d like.”

His eyes really are quite remarkable.

“I would like that,” she said, writing her cell phone number on the bottom of the notepaper he had handed her and passing that half back to him. “Expect to hear from me.” She gave fleeting thought to kissing him then and there, but finally managed to pull her gaze away. “Thank you, Paul. Thank you for everything.”

“Don’t mention it,” he said with an understanding smile.

TEN BLOCKS away, after pulling his unmarked rented van to the curb, the man who called himself Paul Regis reached into the pocket of his coveralls to caress the smooth steel of the two small gas canisters he had extracted from their hiding place in the closet of Jillian Coates’s upstairs bedroom. Beside them in his pocket were the top-of-the-line surveillance cameras and microphones he had also removed from the condo.