Chapter 44: Chapter 43

I couldn’t seem to make myself let go of Anson. I clung to him like a barnacle, affixing and never letting go. Not when Trace interviewed us or the EMTs gave Anson a once-over. He’d likely have a shiner where Felix clocked him one, but the cut from the rock thankfully hadn’t needed stitches.

Anson’s hand trailed up and down my back, but the entirety of his arm kept me close as we sat on my porch steps. It was as if he needed the nearness as much as I did.

“How’s your head?” I asked. I was sure the continual flashing lights from the various emergency services vehicles weren’t helping.

“I’m good.” He skated his free hand over my legs, which he’d positioned on his lap. “How are your feet?”

The moment the EMTs arrived, Anson demanded they look at my feet, despite the fact that he was the one with the head injury.

“They’re fine,” I said. He’d tried to get me inside once before, but I wasn’t going without him. The truth was, my feet ached and stung. I’d scraped them up and gashed one on an especially sharp rock. But they’d heal. Probably in less time than it took for my heart to mend.

Felix.

The man I’d always thought of as a sweet boy. As if I’d frozen him back in the time of that first kiss. But that picture wasn’t the truth. Maybe it never had been.

Trace stalked across my gravel drive. He wasn’t trying to hold tight to his mask tonight. He was letting the whole world know how pissed off he was. He crossed to us and crouched so he was at eye level with me. “How are you feeling?”

“I’m fine. What do you know?”

Trace’s jaw worked back and forth, taking a moment to speak. It was then that I realized he was holding back. The anger making itself known on his face was the fury that had slipped past the walls he typically guarded so well.

“Felix regained consciousness in the ambulance, but he’s not saying a word other than lawyer.”

Anson grunted, making his opinion on that perfectly clear.

Trace pushed on. “We found his truck a ways down on the main road.” Trace’s jaw moved side to side again as if he were struggling to voice his next words.

“You found something,” Anson said, sitting up. It wasn’t a question. He was certain.

Trace jerked his head in a quick nod. “Storage box in the bed was a treasure trove. Gas and rags I’m guessing will be a match to the fire here.”

I grabbed Anson’s arm, needing to ground myself in the here and now.

“Newspaper articles covering the recent fire and the fires from fourteen years ago, including the one here. And photos. So many goddamn photos.” Trace’s voice took on a smoker’s rasp as he spoke, knowing how much his words had to hurt.

“You think he started them all?” I croaked.

“It’s still early,” Trace said. “But one thing’s clear. He’s fixated on you. There are photos of you from afar. At work. In town. At home. It looks like they were taken with a telephoto lens.”

My stomach roiled, and I suddenly felt dirty, like I needed to take a shower.

Anson’s arm tightened around me. “You said he was your first kiss.”

Bile swirled in my stomach, but I nodded. “The night of the fire.”

He tensed and shared a look with Trace. “Escalated things. He didn’t want anyone around who might come between him and Rho.”

That muscle in Trace’s jaw fluttered again. “But he just as easily could’ve killed Rho.”

I felt Anson’s struggle to keep his hold on me gentle—the readjusted grip, the deep inhales and exhales.

“He probably thought she’d have plenty of time to get out. Her room was on the opposite end of that hallway. A thirteen-year-old kid isn’t going to be a fire wiz, no matter how much he’s been playing with it. And an old house will catch quicker than a new build.”

Trace nodded and then scrubbed a hand over his face. “I didn’t see it. Not for a single second.”

“Neither did I,” I whispered, unshed tears burning the backs of my eyes. “Why start it all up again?”

Anson went rigid. “Because of me. You haven’t ever been serious about anyone, but I’m sure word’s gotten around that we’re together. If he’s been watching or talking to people on the crew, he knows I’ve been staying here.”

Bile surged again. “It’s not your fault.”

“No, it’s not. But I’m still fucking sorry,” he gritted out.

I twisted, pressing my face into Anson’s neck. “Don’t let him get inside your head.”

Anson stroked the side of my face. “You’re right.” Letting out a long breath, he turned to Trace. “Get this fucker.”

Trace jerked his head in a nod. “I’ll lock him down. You take care of my sister.”

Asking Anson to step in was like a nod of approval from Trace. And Anson didn’t miss it.

“I’d do anything for her.”

Trace pushed to standing. “Good. Call if you need anything. I’m going to put a rush on the evidence we found.”

And then he was gone.

But my world was left spinning.

Anson didn’t wait. He lifted me into his arms and carried me inside. Biscuit rushed to meet us, letting free a little whine, but I was too dazed to even let it register.

Did this mean someone had killed my family? It wasn’t an accident. It was pure hatred. And for what? Some sort of twisted obsession?

The tears came then—one sob and then another, ragged and brutal as they tore from my body.

“I got you,” Anson whispered.

He lowered me to my bed as more sobs racked my body. He curved around me, cocooning me in his warmth. “Let it out. I’m right here.”

So, I did. I released all the pain, anger, and grief, knowing Anson would be there to catch me.

The sun streamed down from high in the sky as I stood on my back deck, the rays catching the shimmery threads on my cowboy boots. I’d needed the bright spot, even if it was just in my footwear. Everything felt so eerily quiet compared to the chaos of last night. No lights. No sirens. No deputies traipsing all over my yard.

I frowned at a flower bed that had gotten the worst of the officers’ carelessness. I’d have to run out to Bloom to get some replacement plants. I wouldn’t be working. Duncan had told me, in no uncertain terms, that if I showed up at the shop, he’d fire me.

Instead, I was standing outside, twiddling my thumbs and about ready to crawl out of my skin. I glanced down at my phone. Eleven-thirty.

I still needed to kill fifteen minutes before Fallon showed. She’d wanted to eat here, but I needed to get out of the house. Away from the ghost town.

I missed the noise of the crew, but they’d been told to halt work until further notice just in case the main house needed to be reexamined. So, they’d switched to a different jobsite. Anson had gone in hours late and practically kicking and screaming. And only after a deputy was stationed in his vehicle outside my house. He wasn’t taking any chances with The Hangman still at large.

At least, this was some time away from Anson’s watchful gaze. Time to try to process the fact that Felix had been the one to tear my life apart all those years ago. Who’d been determined to do it again.

My stomach dipped and rolled. The boy I’d kissed. The one I’d thought would change my life.

In the most twisted way, he had.

My eyes burned, pressure building behind them. I shoved the tears back. I couldn’t cry. Not again. I’d sobbed until I passed out last night, and I didn’t welcome the idea of going down that road again.

I took a slow, steadying breath as I walked farther into my garden. I let the scents of lilac and lupine fill my nose, calming me. I focused on the wind in the trees.

My phone buzzed, and I tugged it from my back pocket.

FALLON

Be there in five.

A little of the tension in my chest eased. If anyone could distract me from this nightmare, it was Fallon. I jogged up the back porch steps, locking the door behind me. I gave Biscuit some scratches and a bone to chew on, then grabbed my bag and headed for the front door. Stepping outside, I locked the door and headed toward the squad car standing sentry.

As I got closer, light and shadow played over the open window. My steps faltered as my brain tried to compute the sight in front of me. A body was slumped against the wheel. And there was blood. So much blood. I turned to run, but it was too late.

“Hello, Rho.”

The voice was familiar but deeper somehow, darker.

I turned to find the source of the tenor, to fight, but I didn’t get a glimpse of more than a corner of a T-shirt before pain bloomed in my temple, bright and sharp. The world tunneled as I fell, but I could only think of one thing.

Anson.