43
RHODES
I couldn’t seemto 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 sharprock. 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 hewasholding 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 thanlawyer.”
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 fixatedon 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.”
