He emerges awhile later, his expression set in stone. Doc’s at his side, the two of them bowed over something held between them, talking in furious whispers.
I’m a little surprised when they beeline toward me.
The thing they’re holding…it’s some kind of metal contraption.
Looks almost like a cuff, but with a nozzle and some kind of lighter-like mechanism attached, and a little empty metal tank that’s been burnt and dented in. It’s small enough to fit on someone’s arm, maybe.
They stop in front of me, both of them glaring so grimly I wonder if I did something wrong.
Then Blake speaks. “Peace, you’re absolutely sure the person you saw setting fires wasn’t Clark Patten?”
I bite my lip.
“Mostly,” I say. “The guy wasn’t skinny enough, and he was maybe a little taller than Clark? It’s hard to tell when Clark slouches so much. Why?”
“Because,” Blake grinds out. “This is Clark’s gear. The shit he borrows from his Uncle Rog for his little fire shows. I’d like to know why the hell it’s here.”
* * *
I’m left with Ember, soothing the animals, while Blake, Justin, and Rich do walk-throughs to check for any more incendiaries or buried embers that could rekindle the fire.
Doc’s taking photos for assessments already.
He’s not the only one.
Justin’s got his phone out, his brows set in a fierce line as he snaps shots of different burnt areas of brick and wood.
I’d watched Blake show him the note, and his expression settled into a deep, worried scowl while they whispered to each other.
Something’s terribly wrong.
I’m usually a pretty good judge of character. I can’t believe I misjudged Clark.
It just doesn’t add up.
I don’t think Clark would do this.
But considering how highly specialized the pyrotechnic equipment is…
God, I don’t know what to think.
Ember leans in next to me, the two of us keeping each other warm at the shoulders. She watches her husband storm around with her easygoing face drawn tight with worry.
“When does it stop?” she asks softly. “When do we finally get to just…live?”
“I wish I knew, honey,” I answer. “Wish I had some kind of answer for you.”
* * *
It’s hours before we can finally leave.
There’ll be no show at the radio station tonight.
Warren and Haley are next on the scene, because apparently, for now, all the animals are being relocated to Ms. Wilma’s place and the central atrium at the Charming Inn. It’s not a bad plan, but it’s a lot of work getting half of them transferred to Warren’s truck for more space—and I give my Labrador buddy one last scratch behind the ears before he disappears.
Doc and Ember are next, hauling the other beasts. They’ll swing by to pick up her car before heading home to take solace in each other after taking the other pets off my hands.
Then Justin and Rich and Blake. They get on the fire truck.
I barely catch up with Blake, resting my hand on his arm just as he’s getting in.
He looks downright broken.
This massive statue of a man that’s been struck by a metal fist, and cracks are radiating through his soul. Maybe others can’t see them, but me?
I see everything.
And how he’s leaning hard on his right leg, meaning the left one is acting up.
He stops at my touch, looking down at me with his brows drawn together.
I offer a faint smile.
“Hey,” I say. “Drive home with me. Let the guys take the truck back.”
He frowns. “Why?”
I glance past him, at Rich and Justin, lowering my voice. “Do you really want to drive on that leg?”
He bristles instantly. I wait for him to shut down, to thrust me away.
Instead, he groans, looking away and closing his eyes.
I hear the driver’s door slam. He lifts a hand to signal the guys, then looks down at me.
“Don’t know how the fuck I’m gonna fit in that tiny car of yours,” he says, and I grin. “But fine, Miss Broccoli.”
14
Deep Tempo (Blake)
Somehow, I fit into that tiny ass huckleberry car of hers.
It’s close. Tight. Cramped.
I can’t really say it’s much better for this bum leg of mine when I’m all tensed up in the passenger seat, my thigh already throbbing. Still, it’d be worse if I had to wrangle that fire truck back to the station and then drive myself home.
It’s hard to focus on the pain during the drive home.
Hard to think about anything but the fact that this town’s in danger again, and I feel like it’s my fault.
Yeah, so the arsonist has gone after Warren, Leo, Doc.
Not me.
Not yet.
But the fact that the scum are using fire?
Maybe it’s to hurt Leo and Doc and kick up chaos, sure.
It feels like they’re baiting me.
Trying to draw me out, one messy combustion blaze at a time.
It’s like in all the little messages to my friends, there’s a deeper message:
You’re next.
Like hell.
Because if anyone hurts me, that’s gonna hurt Andrea.