“Are you okay?” I ask softly.
“Never have kids, Peace. They’ll kill you, if you don’t kill them first. But I’m glad you were here, or I might have lit that little shit on fire myself. You’re sure it wasn’t him?”
“Not a hundred percent,” I admit. “But ninety-nine-point-nine. He’s just too skinny, and he doesn’t carry himself the same way. I don’t feel like Clark’s that kind of kid. He’s going through an angsty rebel phase, yeah, but not a crazy pyro phase.”
Blake smiles tiredly. “In all your wisdom raising kids, huh?”
“Hey, I’m not completely lost.” I laugh. “I know people, no matter their age.”
“Yeah, you do.” But Blake shakes his head. “I know you’re right, anyway. That beat-up old Pinto he’s driving ain’t the right car. Plus, there’s been another fire and a new note.”
“Again? Was anyone hurt?” My heart sinks; my eyes widen.
“Could’ve been,” he says grimly, lifting haunted eyes to me. “They tried to set the fire at your cabin, but the tinder tipped over into the snow and put itself out.”
That hits me like a blow to the gut.
I…oh, no.
Now there’s no more doubt.
The guy, the creeper, he wanted to hurt me.
He recognized me, knew who I was, and he wanted to hurt me, and I was off gallivanting around town today like nothing could ever happen. Totally oblivious.
I wrap my arms around myself. “But the note? What else happened?”
“Ms. Wilma chased somebody off her property but didn’t get a good look at him. Here.” He digs in his jacket pocket and retrieves a bit of blue paper, then passes it over. “Look for yourself.”
Frowning, I take it and smooth it out.
Jenna was the real hero, Warren.
And you can’t even protect her memory.
Yikes.
It’s so ominous, so terrible, and I can’t even explain why.
I shake my head. “Who’s Jenna?”
Blake exhales slowly, propping his elbow on his thigh and leaning forward, pressing his knuckles to his temple. “Warren’s sister. Dead. Almost a decade ago. She was murdered by one of our closest friends overseas while they were enlisted. All because she found out he had a terrible secret, some illegal shit he was smuggling in and out of Heart’s Edge. He made it look like an accident in the line of fire when they were deployed, but Warren…he wouldn’t quit till he found out the truth. Took him years to figure it out and win her some justice.”
“That’s horrible. So it sounds like whoever set the fire blames Warren for something?” I bite my lip and pass the note back to Blake. “What did the other note say?”
He gives me a skeptical look. “You didn’t eavesdrop on that, too?”
“Um.” I wince, half-smiling. “Sorry.”
Blake looks so heavy, so burdened, and I wish there was more I could do. “It called Leo a scarred freak. Said he and his merry band of assholes aren’t as smart as they think.”
“Wow, that’s cruel. So the arsonist is after the Heroes of Heart’s Edge,” I murmur as it clicks. “To him, you’re not that heroic.”
Blake’s head comes up sharply. “All of us? Me and Doc, Warren and Leo? Shit.” He stares at me, then swears, looking away and dragging his hand through his beard. “Yeah, guess that jives. And it helps me narrow my suspect list down to one, though I don’t want to fucking think about it.”
I can’t help myself.
I can’t stand seeing anyone in pain, least of all Blake.
So I slide off the arm of the sofa to settle down next to him, our hips just barely touching.
“Hey,” I say, resting my hand on his arm. “Who do you think it is? Why would they want to hurt you?”
He doesn’t look at me.
His arm might as well be solid steel under my touch, so tense, and I worry all this tension can’t be good for his leg.
After a minute, he turns a long look on me, searching, before his hand falls to cover mine, warm and enveloping in its roughness.
He’s not pulling away from me.
But he’s not giving me any answers, either.
He just squeezes my fingers and says, “Don’t worry about it, darlin’. Old family business. You’ve gotten muddied up in enough of my dirt around here. It’s not your problem.”
Then he leans in, stamping a kiss to my forehead.
It’s chaste, not like the burn-me-down passion this morning.
I’m just as in love with it, anyway.
He kisses me like I’m a small, precious thing he wants to cherish, the rasp of his rusty-brown scruff against my temples, catching in my hair.
And even if it’s so small, so simple, so sweet…
It takes my breath away, leaving me silent as he pulls back, the sadness in his smile whispering at an old, deep ache.
“You just let me look after you,” he says, though he’s already standing, drawing away, and putting that wall up between us again. “I’ll get this wrapped up nice and quick.”