“You’re hopeless. Both of you.” Shep motioned me toward his truck. “Come on. Let’s get started on the install.”
I knew I needed to follow him, but I couldn’t help stealing one more glance at Rho. To get another hit of that light. But she wasalready staring right back at me. Gone was the teasing expression she’d had for Shep. In its place was raw vulnerability.
“If you ever decide to let someone shoulder the load with you for a little while, I’m here.” She didn’t wait for me to answer; simply turned around and headed back to the guesthouse, taking her light with her as she left.
I watched her go for too long, as though I could see the particles she left in her wake. I wanted to grab each one and hold them close. But they were like fireflies. If you kept them captive, they’d die. All you could do was relish having them swirl around you in the moments they graced you with their presence.
As the door to the guest cottage closed, I forced myself to turn around. Shep waited at my truck, but his gaze was locked on me. His eyes weren’t exactly hard, but they were wary.
A few colorful curses flew around in my brain, all of them directed squarely at myself. This wasn’t me. Staring after some woman I barely knew and feeling like I was missing some fundamental part of myself when she walked away.
Except that wasn’t exactly true. While I didn’t know the ins and outs of Rho’s day-to-day, her favorite color or food, we had shared my only real moments of truth since Greta’s death. She was the only one I’d let see even a hint of my pain.
Because I hadn’t felt like I deserved to let others in on my suffering. Not when the pain was my fault to begin with. But somehow, in those tiny stolen moments with her, Rho had shattered the walls I’d constructed around that pain. She’d made it okay to let some pieces free.
“Tell me what you’re thinking,” Shep said as I approached.
God, he did not want to know the honest answer there. That I couldn’t stop thinking about hissister. A woman who was eight years my junior. Someone he was more than a little protective of.
“I think we need to get a system in place with a world of cameras,” I muttered.
“Anson…”
There was so much there in just my name. A weight I wasn’t sure I could shoulder.
“I need you, man. We need to know what we’re dealing with. If you give Trace your credentials, he’ll let you consult?—”
“No.” The word cracked like a whip. “No one knows.”
It was a minor miracle that no one had figured it out yet. There’d been articles written about me. Primetime interviews. Not to mention the books I’d written on the intricacies of the criminal mind. Only the fact that I’d gone by my middle name as my last had saved me from simple Google searches.
It hadn’t saved me from far darker forces.
“This is my sister,” Shep ground out. “Some sick fuck burned her house and left a threat. We need to find out who did this.”
That weight settled on my chest, the familiar tightness that made it hard to grab hold of even one solid breath. “I’m not sure you want me trying to figure it out.”
Because I’d failed before—when it counted the most.
But even as the thoughts swirled, I knew I wouldn’t be able to look away. Because Rho mattered. Even though I didn’t want her to.
My brain was already trying to put together the pieces. It was searching for patterns and behaviors, triggers and responses. And I couldn’t stop it.
Shep stared hard at me. “You’re the best hope we have.”
Fuck.
That was not what I wanted to hear. I didn’t want to be anyone’s hope. Not with my track record. But I still found myself saying, “Get me the fire crew’s report. Have Trace pull any other fires in the year before or after that weren’t wildfires. I know there are at least three. Butdon’ttell him I asked.”
“He’s already getting me the report for the few you requested earlier, but I’ll ask for any others.”
My jaw worked back and forth. I knew it was a tell. I used to be better at hiding them, but emotion was riding me too damn hard. “What reason did you give?”
“Told him that some of what we were seeing in the rehab didn’tmatch up with an electrical fire. Wanted to make sure we hadn’t missed anything.”
It was a good excuse. It also wasn’t a lie. The fire didn’t make sense. Not the fact that the smoke alarms didn’t wake the family in time to escape, and not how quickly the blaze had spread.
Facts strung together in new connections, like a web of stars in the darkness of my mind.
