by Snow, Nicole
Then a dark silhouette.
Nobody should be here at this time, yours truly exempted.
Shit. Is the arsonist back?
Coming to defile Jenna Ford’s grave some more?
I don’t hesitate.
This time I let that headstrong bullishness send me running through the headstones, ducking low so I don’t draw attention, but not trying to hide myself, either.
That shape is tall, lean, rangy, moving with a sort of gangliness that makes me think of how Peace described the asshole who chased her.
I tense, growling, ready to tackle him—
Until I realize I’m staring at my idiot brother.
Holt’s wrapped himself up in a proper suit coat and a leather jacket, snow dotting his jet-black hair.
He’s not even trying to be secretive about his movements as he winds through the headstones with a bouquet of fresh flowers in his hands, winter azaleas he probably plucked off someone’s bushes and wrapped up in tissue paper.
And there’s a sad, haunted look on his face as he stops in front of Jenna’s grave marker, looking down at the snow-strewn stone still dotted with little heaps of ash here and there.
I stop.
Freeze in my tracks, watching him.
Holy damn hell.
I can’t even process what I’m seeing.
Knowing how he once felt, and that he’d do anything to get ahead...
Setting fires in town like a rat, maybe.
Can’t have a booming construction business in a town this small unless you’ve got shit to rebuild.
It’d be real easy to hire Holt’s company to do the reconstruction work on the fabric shop, or anywhere else that “accidentally” burned down.
And fuck if he wouldn’t have a reason to hold a grudge against the four of us.
He was never really one of us.
First he was the tagalong, the younger brat, always mouthing off for attention ’cause he was used to getting it from Ma. He didn’t like that we didn’t mess with that kind of shit.
Then he struck off on his own to be the playboy, but he always had a sneer for me and Warren and the others.
It’s all coming together real ugly.
How Ma would play us off against each other, the monster she turned him into with that greedy need to always have everything his way without actually working for it.
Plus, the endless competition between us.
My heart can’t take much more, and I don’t want to admit it aches like hell, thinking my own brother could do this.
I wanted us to be real brothers, once, something better than this.
And I guess right now I’m just too raw to totally lose that hope.
“So,” Holt says without looking up. “How long are you going to stand there and stare at me, Blake?”
I wince, looking away. “Didn’t realize you knew I was here.”
“You’re not a little guy. Couldn’t exactly miss you freight-training your way through the cemetery.” With a sardonic sound, he bends and drops the bouquet on Jenna’s grave. “You’re disturbing the dead.”
“Don’t think they mind all that much.” I fold my arms over my chest, growling under my breath. “Sure as hell not like the living being disturbed by all the shit that’s been happening since you rolled into town.”
Straightening, Holt rolls his head toward me with a weary sigh. “Are you really that angry? I made a move on your girl and now you think I’m setting fires here?”
“You’d do worse to get the upper hand.” I force pure frustration through my teeth.
“Maybe.” He shrugs, turning, regarding me with a sort of honesty I’m not used to from him, his tawny eyes unguarded and weary. Holt slips his hands in his pockets.
I cock my head, studying him.
“Sooner or later, you’ll realize you’re the only one playing games. Everyone else is too busy living,” he tells me.
“I have no idea what the fuck you’re on about.” I shake my head.
Holt smiles faintly. “I guess you wouldn’t, would you?” He turns his head then, looking at Jenna’s headstone, eyes lidding. “You ever wonder what she’d think of us now? She was always everyone’s conscience.”
“Not that you ever listened.”
Holt snorts out a bitter laugh. “Nope, I didn’t. Listened too much to myself.” He shakes his head, that laugh trailing into a humorless smile. “Tonight, I couldn’t help thinking I never blamed her for turning me down. And I don’t think she’d like what I’ve become.”
“So you thought Peace would be a better option?” I bark at him.
Holt doesn’t answer for several seconds.
Not till he turns his gaze back to me, his smile softening, something almost warm in his eyes, something confusing I can’t quite process.
“I thought,” he says softly, “she should know my brother’s so head over heels for her that her music moved him to tears.”
I stop like I’ve been whacked across the face.
Just staring.
Staring at my idiot goddamn brother who sees how I feel about Peace when I can’t even face that shit head-on.
“The fuck did you say to her?” I snap, and he laughs.
“Nothing. I didn’t get a chance, since you came charging in the way you did. Smooth, by the way.” And that smirk returns, and along with it the smart-ass prick I know too well. “Let me know if you need some pointers, brother. You never were good with sweet talk, even if you had your share of women.”
I can’t deal with this tonight.
The confusion, the questions, the doubts, wondering if he’s playing me the way he’s playing everyone else with that sociopath mask of vulnerability.
Wondering if I’m gonna be turning my own brother over to the cops.
Wondering if I can bring myself to do it, never mind the shitty history between us.
Nope.
Nah.
Can’t answer that right now.
So I turn around and walk away, leaving Holt—and Jenna—alone, abandoning myself to the night.
* * *
There’s no sign of Peace when I get home.
Just a dim light under Andrea’s door, letting me know my girl’s being good and obeying curfew, and I’m not alone.
But Peace’s door is open, her room empty.
Shit.
Normally, I wouldn’t blame her if she only came back to get her things.
Trouble is, how the hell can I protect her if she’s gone because I can’t even control myself?
* * *
She’s back by morning, thank God.
Sound asleep in her bed, tucked up in a cozy little ball and so frigging guileless she just left her door open.
Like she doesn’t even realize she’s staying with a grown-ass man who’s dying at the sight of her long, sleek legs poking out from the blankets, or the way she clutches the duvet against her chest in a way that makes her tits nearly burst out of her tank top, one slip of fabric away from pulling a Janet Jackson.
Maybe she realizes and just doesn’t care.
Or maybe she knows it and trusts me not to go insane.
If that’s it, the woman’s too kind.
I’m quiet as I gently pull her door shut, then move through the house to usher Andrea out the door to school with some breakfast before I head to work.
Fire crew stuff, today.
My days are honestly erratic; I do what needs doing. It doesn’t matter if it’s welding or construction or safety inspections.
Just as long as I’m keeping busy and helping somebody out.
This time, it’s the Clarendons, barely a few blocks over from my own house. They’ve got a faulty furnace, and I don’t want them risking a nasty carbon monoxide leak. Good thing they replaced the batteries in their detectors last month, or we could’ve been looking at a tragedy.
They evacuated as soon as the alarm went off and called me in. Luckily, they’ve got family in town to stay with.
It
doesn’t take me, Justin, and Rich long to trace the source of the carbon monoxide back to the furnace, though we do a full-house inspection on the ducts to make sure it’s not being funneled anywhere else.
It’s quiet, near-solitary work. We move through the house with our detectors in hand, measuring levels and breathing through oxygen masks.
Then my path crosses Justin’s in the hall.
He’s looking better. A bit brighter, like maybe he’s drinking less and sleeping more.
Good man.
And he actually looks worried about me, as he stops and gives me a long look, brows pinching together above his clear plastic mask.
“Hey, Chief.” His voice filters oddly through the mask, more hollow. “You okay? You’ve been real tense lately.”
“I have? Sorry, just got a lot on my mind.” I pause, pulling my thoughts out of my notes, stopping my pen mid-scratch against my notepad.
“Like Peace?” he teases. “I think everyone tunes into the station just to see if she’ll call in on your nights, now. It’s the town’s favorite show.”
I scowl, my neck heating. “Nope. Not Peace.”
She’s probably still pissed at me anyway.
But Justin’s been on point lately. I’m still trying to make sure he feels included in things, so there’s no harm in telling him when Rich already knows. Another pair of eyes and ears might keep things safer.
I drop my voice, though, stepping closer to him. “Listen, keep this to yourself, but that fire at the fabric shop was set deliberately. And there’ve been a few hints around town of someone trying to start fires and failing. Some asshole leaving nasty notes, too.”
Justin’s eyebrows shoot up. He looks at me in stunned silence.
More than anything, hearing what I just said out loud confirms it for me.
It’s not Clark Patten.
Because Clark does know what he’s doing most of the time.
He wouldn’t fail.
More signs are pointing to Holt.
I sigh. “I can’t pull Langley in on this. Not yet. He’s a wreck with the cases from last year. So I’m just trying to lock it down, keep things safe, and hope I can stop it from happening again.”
Justin whistles softly, his eyes widening. “Chief, that’s fucked. You got any idea who?”
I shake my head.
I have one good guess, and I can’t make myself say it out loud.
So I just shrug. “Local firebug, most likely, but it’s not adding up. So I’m just working the details through. I’ll let you know when I come up with more.”
“Sure thing. I’ll keep an eye out myself and give you a shout if I notice anything funny.” He pauses, then, tapping his pen against his mask. “Hey—we still on for tonight?”
Tonight?
Oh.
Right.
I’d invited him over for dinner.
My own phone saves me from that awkward memory lapse, buzzing in my pocket, and I nod as I fish it out, already turning away.
“We usually sit down around seven,” I say over my shoulder. “Come casual, nothing special. Just hanging out.” Then I swipe my phone, lifting it to my ear and talking awkwardly with it bumping against my mask. “Silverton.”
“Hey, Blake,” Sheriff Langley says. “I just got done talking to that kid. Clark? Whatever happened the other day...he was working at his uncle’s. Got several people to back him up. Why’d you send me after him, anyway?”
“Oh, just making sure he’s safe at the carnival grounds, Sheriff. You know how kids are. I told you about that little dustup. He’s got a smart mouth; I’m just making sure his head’s in the right place with the big event coming up.” I pinch my teeth together, grinding down everything I can’t say.
“Pretty typical boy with a chip on his shoulder and a thing or two to learn. And if I were in your shoes, Blake, respectfully...I’d do the same damn thing with a boy going after my own daughter.”
I swear softly but play dumb and mutter my thanks again before hanging up. The town gossip mill has no chill and no limit.
That’s the final nail then.
Clark’s too young, too good at what he does, too...everything that’s not a reckless arsonist.
Which leaves me with the same suspect, my own flesh and blood.
And, right now, my number one enemy.
* * *
I wonder what it says that I won’t let my own brother into my house for dinner, but I’ll let Justin drop in like he belongs here.
Let’s be real. Justin hasn’t tried to sleep with my wife, doesn’t piss me off at every turn, and isn’t a suspect in a goddamn secret arson investigation.
He’s just somebody who looks up to me, I guess.
It’s a funny feeling, considering my own daughter sees me like the lamest dude to ever walk the earth.
Andrea’s bright as hell tonight, though.
I don’t know if it’s because we’ve got company who’s young enough to be cool but grown-up enough that she wants to impress.
Or is it because of Peace?
She’s acting like last night never happened. Maybe she’s forgiven me, once tempers calmed—or maybe she’s putting on good airs for Justin’s benefit since they’re both guests here.
But she lights up the entire room, this whirlwind of warmth, helping Andrea set the table. I work over a rack of sauce-slathered ribs and a big ass vat of creamy mashed potatoes with plenty of garlic and bacon crumble.
It’s nice.
She really lives up to her name. And no, I don’t mean Broccoli.
Peace brings this glow with her wherever she goes, whether she’s pissed at me or not. Don’t know how I’m ever gonna let her go when it’s time.
No, I don’t own her.
Even if I kissed her ever-loving face off like I do.
I’m just trying to figure out how the hell to ask her if she wants to make a choice.
And maybe give this desperado another chance to find that gold under cold, hard gunmetal.
I don’t feel all that cold or hard now, though, helping them haul the last of the stuff to the table and settle in to serve everyone—though it turns into a free-for-all. The way a family dinner should be.
It’s nice to see Justin laughing as he reaches for the mashed potatoes and his hand smacks Andrea’s. They both burst out laughing.
Yeah, this was a good idea.
Especially when I pass over the potatoes later for his second helping and ask, “So, how would you feel about helping out at the winter carnival?”
Justin blinks, almost dropping the serving dish before clutching it harder. “Me? What do you want me to do?”
“Well, we’ve got some numbsacks around here who like to play with fire too much—” That actually gets a snicker out of my daughter, not a glare, but she’s in a bright mood tonight. “So, I’m thinking a fire safety course wouldn’t be out of the question. You’re young, and the kids like you, so why don’t you lead it? Make it interactive or whatever they’re saying now.”
Justin’s eyes widen, and he grins. “Really? Yeah, I can do that. I mean, is anyone even going to show up?”
“I will,” Andrea says immediately, and I bite back a groan.
I already know what that’s about.
She’s head over heels for Clark. She’ll memorize a whole course on fire control if it means getting closer to his passion.
She just doesn’t want to learn it from me because I’m her stuffy, aggravating dad.
Fine.
Whatever makes her safer.
Justin turns his grin on her, bright-eyed and enthusiastic. He reminds me of a big kid himself sometimes, and I often forget he’s older than Peace.
“That’d be cool, Chief,” he says, then turns to Andrea. “And your friend Clark might be able to help out, right? You want to help, too?”
Andrea sucks in a gasp, her grin broadening. “Oh, yeah, totally! I’ll ask him!”
I feel like I’m watching ping-pong with words.
/> Justin’s just earned himself a friend for life, giving Andrea a good excuse to bring Clark into this.
While the two of them keep chattering away, Peace catches my eye.
And she smiles, something fond and approving in her eyes.
The sly smile I beam back at her sunny face tells me everything.
I haven’t fucked this up just yet.
* * *
I am about to kill Justin if he makes me take another damn photo with him, though.
Yeah, yeah, I know it’s his thing.
Guess it’s how he holds on to stuff, after the way he lost his ma—being able to capture and save the good moments so he’ll have them even when people are gone.
I don’t like smiling for photos.
Feels like I’m grimacing as he herds us into a tight cluster for a few selfies.
Though it doesn’t hurt one bit to have Peace pressed against my side.
He finally lets us go and takes just a few more selfies with Andrea before we all break apart to start the kitchen cleanup. I tell Justin he doesn’t have to help since he’s a guest, but he’s already gathering up dishes.
Whatever.
Like I said, I want him feeling like he’s part of something, even if it’s not quite family.
As he’s helping me rinse dishes and load up the dishwasher, he glances over at me several times. It’s this uncertain look that tells me he’s probably got something emotional to say, but you know how younger guys are.
All ego and pride and being emotionally constipated. Like it’s weird or some shit to just have a feeling in front of another man. Or anyone at all.
Can’t say I have room to talk with the way I seize up around Peace till she splits me open with her sweetness.
“Hey, Chief...thanks,” he manages finally.
It’s gruff, quiet, but there, and he clears his throat, avoiding my eyes.
I don’t push it, just nod, smiling to myself as I scrape the last of the half-burnt sauce out of the ribs pan and into the trash.
“Just dinner,” I say, giving him an easy out so he won’t be too embarrassed. “You’re welcome over any time.”
“Yeah?”
For just a second he’s young again—eyes lit up, eager, head lifting to look at me with something almost like wonder. Then it’s like he catches himself, and remembers we’re supposed to be big tough manly men. He clears his throat again and takes the pan from me to angle it into the lower rack of the dishwasher.
