Chapter 17: Chapter 16

I flipped over onto my back, staring at the ceiling. No position seemed comfortable tonight. Sleep wasn’t typically a friend, but it wasn’t usually this bad either.

Letting out a growl of frustration, I punched my pillow. Rho’s face played in my mind on repeat. It was like a slideshow of torture. The first image was those gorgeous hazel eyes full of hurt. But the second was far worse. Want made the gold in them spark and swirl as need parted her lips.

“Fuck.”

I never should’ve said yes to dinner. I should’ve blown her off and shut that door fast and hard. But I hadn’t. And she’d somehow managed to slip past the defenses I’d so expertly built over the past two years.

My phone rang from the nightstand. The first tone had my blood turning to ice. The device rarely rang, and sure as hell not at three in the morning.

I grabbed it, jerking the charger cord free. Seeing Shep’s name on the screen only drove my panic higher as I struggled to hit accept.

“What happened?” I demanded.

“Need you at Rho’s.” I heard the strain in my friend’s voice. He was trying to hold back whatever emotion was trying to break free.

“Talk to me,” I ordered but was already moving, pulling on joggers and a tee.

“There was a fire at the Victorian.”

“Tell me she’s okay,” I growled.

“She’s fine,” Shep assured me. “It didn’t get close to the cottage. The fire department has it out now. It was pretty contained to the part of the house that was burned before, so it didn’t spread.”

My footsteps faltered as I reached for my keys. It was hard to get something that had been burned before to burn again. It didn’t make any sense. And that had my gut churning. “Be there in ten.”

I hung up before Shep had a chance to answer. Slipping on my sneakers, I jogged out to my truck.

I made the typically fifteen-minute drive to Rho’s in eight. Fire trucks were everywhere, along with sheriff’s department vehicles and Shep’s familiar silver pickup. I parked next to him, jumped out, and slammed the truck door behind me.

Striding across the gravel drive, I ignored every firefighter and cop, searching for one person only. The moment my gaze locked on her, all the air punched right out of my lungs.

Rho had a blanket wrapped around her shoulders and Biscuit’s leash looped around one hand. Her face had gone completely pale, devoid of any color at all as she stared at her surroundings. But she wasn’t truly seeing. It was as if she was in a trance.

I crossed to her on instinct. Not a damned thing could’ve kept me away. I came to a stop in front of her, but Rho still didn’t react. Lifting a hand, I squeezed her neck gently. “Look at me, Reckless.”

She blinked a few times, her focus finally coming to me. “Anson?”

“There she is.” I searched those hazel eyes, so much duller than I was used to. “You okay?”

Rho nodded. “We’re fine. I just—what are you doing here?”

“I called him,” Shep cut in.

My hand dropped instantly as I turned toward my friend.

Shep’s eyes narrowed on me, but he quickly shifted his focus to Rho. “Thought it wouldn’t be bad to have our fire-restoration expert on hand.”

Rho’s brow furrowed. “It’s the middle of the night. You shouldn’t have woken him up.”

“Yes, he should’ve,” I growled.

Her gaze cut to me, and a little fire returned to those eyes. “It’s ridiculous. It’s not like you can do anything about this tonight.” Her shoulders slumped. “Maybe the house is cursed.”

Shep moved in then, putting an arm around her shoulders and pulling her into his side. “It’s not cursed. We’re going to figure out what’s going on and fix it.”

My back teeth ground together as heat prickled my skin. But it wasn’t from the fire that was out now. This felt a lot like jealousy. Because some part of me wanted to be the person with his arm around Rho. Even though I knew I couldn’t be.

Just then, another truck pulled up, and Nora and Lolli were out in a flash, running up the porch steps. They surrounded Rho, pulling her into hugs and then guiding her and Biscuit inside the cottage.

The moment the door closed, Shep crossed to me. “Trace is waiting for word from the fire chief. Come on.”

I didn’t say anything as I followed him toward the hulking sheriff and the officers surrounding him. Something about Trace always set me on edge. He had the kind of perceptiveness the Behavioral Analysis Unit was constantly on the lookout for. That meant my guard always had to be up around him.

Trace’s gaze cut to us as we approached, his eyes narrowing as they landed on me. “Anson,” he greeted. But my name somehow managed to be a question at the same time.

“Wanted him to take a look once the fire crew is done,” Shep said.

A muscle along Trace’s jaw fluttered. “He may not be able to. We’re not sure what we’re dealing with yet.”

That prickle at the base of my scalp was back. Our crew was careful with cleanup, and I’d been the last person in the Victorian last night. I knew nothing had been left behind. And with the electricity to the home still turned off, there was only one likely answer. Arson.

“Come on,” Shep clipped, annoyance lacing his tone.

“This isn’t something to fuck around with,” Trace gritted out. “We move through our official processes.”

Shep opened his mouth to argue, but I held up a hand to stop him. “Let’s just see what the fire chief says. No one’s going near the house until they clear it anyway.”

Shep finally jerked his head in a nod.

Trace looked back at me, his assessing stare asking all the questions I didn’t want it to.

“Colson,” a man who looked to be in his late fifties called as he strode toward our group.

Trace turned to face him. “What’d you find, Chief?”

The older man nodded at a younger guy in full turnout gear at his side. The younger man dipped his head. “No question. It’s arson. The whole east side of the house reeks of gasoline. Trailers lead outside where someone set it.”

Shep let loose a dozen or so curses, but Trace remained completely quiet. The only sign of what he was truly feeling was a spasm in his jaw. Trace’s gaze flicked to the fire chief. “When can I get my team in there to work the scene?”

“As soon as you’d like. It looked worse than it was. It was confined to the room on the northeast corner. There wasn’t a lot for the fire to burn, even with the accelerant,” the chief answered.

Trace jerked his head in a nod, turning to one of his deputies. “I want the county crime scene techs here now.”

The younger guy nodded quickly and pulled out his phone.

“Would you mind if I took a quick look?” I asked. I tried my best to keep my tone casual yet respectful.

The fire chief turned to me, his eyes narrowing. “Who the hell are you?”

Shep stepped in. “Greg Nelson, meet Anson Hunt, my fire-restoration specialist.” He turned to me. “Nelson’s our fire chief.”

He knew I’d put together that much already but made the introductions, nonetheless.

“You won’t be able to do a damned thing until Trace’s boys are done processing the scene,” Nelson clipped.

“And girls,” a female deputy in the circle muttered.

Nelson flicked a look in her direction. “Relax, Beth. I know you’ve got bigger balls than all of them.”

Beth snorted. “And don’t you forget it.”

Trace ignored the back-and-forth between the two, his focus centered on me. “What are you hoping to see?”

I didn’t answer right away. I needed to tread carefully and choose just the right words. Instead, Shep spoke for me. “Anson knows fire. He’s been studying it for years now. He might see something that’s helpful.”

Trace’s gaze had stayed firmly locked on me while his brother spoke. “If you go in, you go with me, and you don’t make a single move without my okay.”

I jerked my head in a nod. “You got PPE gear?”

“In my SUV,” Trace clipped.

I’d seen the guy be warm and funny, but it was clear he wasn’t going to be my number-one fan. That was all right. Good, even. I didn’t need the liability of a friend.

I followed Trace to his vehicle, Shep at my side. In a matter of seconds, we were all donning the Tyvek suits and N95 masks that made us look like we were entering a chemical spill. And in a lot of ways, we were. None of us needed to be breathing the gas fumes, and you never knew what toxins a fire could expose to the air.

Trace reached out a gloved hand to open one of the back doors to the kitchen. He paused at the threshold. “Stay behind me.”

A couple of firefighters still roamed the home, triple-checking that they hadn’t missed any embers.

Trace led us down the hall and toward the library. As we moved through the space, I frowned. Something was off. My sixth sense flared to life. But Trace kept right on moving.

He stopped at the entrance to what had once been an office. The temperature shifted, heat still brimming from the space, even though the fire was out. “No farther. Not until my guys process it.”

I didn’t say a word, simply stepped to the side to get a better view. The room was charred beyond recognition, as if someone had thrown already burned logs onto a fire and turned them to ash.

“We’ll have to rebuild this whole wing,” Shep said quietly.

It would’ve been a lot worse if we’d been farther along in the restoration process. But maybe someone didn’t want us getting that far. The thought had me retracing my steps to the library.

The space had been partially burned in the last fire but hadn’t caught in this one. I pulled my mask down for an inhale. Gas. Everywhere.

I slipped my mask back into place and surveyed the room, trying to figure out what had tripped my radar. I began moving around the space, searching. There were still some books on the shelves that were in relatively good shape. A few knickknacks, too. Even a painting on the wall that looked only slightly discolored from its exposure to smoke.

“What the hell is he doing?” Trace muttered.

Shep pushed his brother back a step. “Just give him a minute.”

I slowed in front of the bookcase. It wasn’t a built-in, but it was nice quality. Mahogany if my guess was correct, maybe even African koa. The bottom third was cabinets, and above was all shelving.

The last cabinet door was open. I crossed to it, my Spidey sense tingling the closer I got. I crouched down and peeked inside. It was too dark.

“Flashlight?” I called.

Footsteps sounded, and then Trace handed me one. “Here.”

I took it and pointed the beam inside. There was a stack of what looked like papers, but they didn’t show any signs of fire damage.

A familiar unease settled over me. “May I retrieve?”

“Yes,” Trace clipped. “I’ve got an evidence bag.”

I reached a gloved hand inside to remove the stack. Rising, I set the flashlight on a shelf that looked steady, facing the beam of light up so we could better see. What I saw was newspaper clipping after newspaper clipping, all with coverage of the fire. They weren’t new either. The corners were yellowed with age.

A smear of red caught my eye. Ink. Not blood, I reminded myself. Someone had circled text on the article. The Stirlings’ thirteen-year-old daughter is still in critical condition. It is uncertain if she’ll survive.

The two sentences were circled twice over, but the word survive was underlined three times. The action made my jaw clench as I turned to the next article. A different sentence was circled this time. A firefighter wishing to remain anonymous said it was a miracle the young girl survived the fall from her balcony. Again, the word survive was underlined repeatedly.

I flipped through article after article, each with the same refrain. When I reached the last one, nausea rolled through me. The word survived was underlined yet again, but this article had a photo. Clearly Rhodes’ minor identity was no longer being protected.

It was a family shot that had likely been taken for a Christmas card or something similar. The group was posed in the field behind the Victorian, the mountains framing them. Only there were countless red circles around Rho’s face. Over and over until the newspaper had torn in places. And below it was one thing.

MAYBE YOU DIDN’T DESERVE TO SURVIVE.