“Give me twenty minutes,” I bite off. “I’ll be there.”
* * *
I won’t let Peace come with me to the police station, not even when she looks at me with her big green eyes so wide and soft with worry.
She’s dealt with enough of my ugliness.
I won’t let Holt make it worse.
When I get to the station, he’s pacing in the drunk tank—and favoring a bloody hand that’s been slashed up like he, oh, fucking kicked my door in, punched my windows out, smashed my TV.
And he’s still wearing his construction coveralls, rolled down around his waist over a dirty, blood-smeared shirt.
He’s still wearing those boots.
The moment he sees me, he flings himself at the bars, ignoring Langley’s wince as they rattle. He grasps at the iron, staring at me desperately.
“You never called, asshole!” he accuses. “Andrea. Is she okay?”
For a second, I blink, dumbfounded.
I have to hand it to him.
That’s one hell of an act.
He’s good.
Too good.
I stare at him coldly. “Stop it. You weren’t worried about Andrea. You just wanted to show off what you’d done.”
“Done?” Holt recoils, staring at me. “I haven’t done a damned thing, and why the hell did you send Langley after me?”
I work my jaw, staring at his bloodied hand. “How’d that happen?”
Tell me the truth, goddammit.
Tell me the truth, and tell me you aren’t a total loss.
Holt pulls his bloody, scabbed hand back from the bars, staring down at it. “I was helping out with the reconstruction. One of the old cinder blocks we were tearing out came loose, fell on me,” he said. “I dodged, but it ripped down my hand pretty bad.”
“How convenient,” I growl, fighting to control the black, ugly rage rising inside me. “Considering I’ve got your fucking footprints all around my house after you broke in and ripped my living room to shit.”
He stares at me like I’ve grown a second head. “Wha—what are you talking about, Blake? Broke into your house? Why?”
“You tell me. Why the fuck did you break into my house?”
“I didn’t!” he roars, his voice deepening to a frustrated snarl. “What the hell’s wrong with you?”
“What the fuck is wrong with you?”
I lose it.
I’m slamming myself against the bars, and so fucking help me if not for those rods of iron between us I’d be wringing his chickenshit neck.
“Were you looking for the evidence? Sorry, bub, I already turned it over. And once they find your prints on it—”
“Prints on what?” he demands, only to go still, staring at me, eyes widening, his tanned face going pale beneath his dark five o’clock shadow. “The hell…what the hell? You think it was me. You think it’s been me all this time, with the fires.”
“Tell me it hasn’t been,” I snap. “You’re the only man with motive. And you showed up in town right when it started. Real big goddamn coinkydink if it ain’t you.”
“I told you. I want to help rebuild this town,” he throws back, lips peeling away from clenched teeth.
“But only after you burn it down first, right?” I retort, taking a step back. “You almost fooled me, Holt. Almost made me think maybe you’d changed. But I never trusted you before, and I’m not about to now.”
I turn and walk away then.
I can’t stand to look at him.
Can’t stand to think that the man who’d endanger Heart’s Edge is my own blood.
And I ignore him, even as he calls after me, “You idiot, be careful! It’s not me—it’s not me, Blake! He’s still out there…and he’s going to really hurt someone.”
You already hurt someone, I think bitterly as the door to the station slams shut and I step out into the harsh, unforgiving February wind. You hurt me and obliterated any chance at all for a relationship with any of us.
* * *
I almost wish we could cancel this stupid variety show.
There’s no real reason for it anymore.
We’ve got our perp and evidence to back it up.
Everything points to Holt, even if I don’t want it to.
Now, I just gotta coax Clark into coming out of the woodwork to confess Holt’s the one who took his equipment, and that’ll cinch it. I’m sure Andrea’s wrong about Clark thinking it ain’t him. The boy just didn’t want to tell her and rip his girlfriend’s heart out.
Too bad we’re on the hook with the Heart’s Edge council.
We told them we’d stand up here and entertain them like the big damn heroes they want us to be and let them ask their questions.
So that’s what we’re doing. A town hall question and answer of sorts.
It’s surprisingly warm inside the ice palace. No small feat, really, considering it was put together by a bunch of townies with basic engineering and art.
It kind of looks like the Ice Palace in Frozen, complete with spiraling ice stairs leading up to the stage. Thank fuck they’re textured so we don’t go slipping down like fools as me, Warren, Doc, and Leo stand up here with our mics and big fake superhero smiles.