by Emily Bishop
I’m going to get some fucking answers.
“Thanks,” I say to the fireman, and then I step over pieces of debris as I make my exit.
Naomi watches me this time as I walk back out and head right toward her. “What’s the damage?” Her voice shakes, and she clears her throat as she tries to force a brave face. I’m not fooled… or am I?
Have I been fooled this entire time? I still honestly don’t know, and the not knowing is killing me. Worse, it’s really, really pissing me off.
“I’ll need you down at the station for a report.” I avoid her question on purpose. I’m not going to answer her out here in the open. She’s withholding something from me, and the longer she does, the worse things get.
She lifts an eyebrow at me and takes a step back. “Why? I wasn’t here. I have nothing to report.”
“Are you coming willingly or by force?”
Her eyes widen at my tone, then they narrow. She knows she has no choice. I’ve dragged her to the station before, and I’ll do it again. I don’t care if sex has complicated things—my town is in danger, and it has something to do with Naomi. I want to know why, and I’m tired of waiting for answers.
“Well?” I cross my arms and wait. I’m perfectly willing to cuff her. I won’t. As angry as I am, a part of me wants to comfort her more than anything, to hold her in my arms. When I saw that fire blazing, I thought the worst until I saw her standing there, cold and alone.
I shake off the sympathy and slide into cop mode. There will be time for comfort later, and if the other day was any indication, I thoroughly enjoy comforting Naomi.
She turns to Katie. “I’ll have my phone on me if you need anything.”
“OK, thanks,” Katie says. She stifles a yawn and waves to me as I escort Naomi away from the scene of the crime. She walks ahead of me and opens the passenger side of the cruiser then slides in and slams the door.
A grin tugs at my lip. She wants to set a precedent, huh? Naomi is no prisoner.
Not yet, anyway.
I sink into the driver’s seat and turn the heat all the way up. She may be putting on a brave face, but I can see her trembling even from here. I’m sure it’s a mixture of shock, the cold, and maybe even a little bit of fear? The car ride is silent as we wind our way through country roads back to the station.
I park the car in my usual spot and turn to face her.
“We must stop meeting like this.”
It’s a lame attempt at a joke, I’ll grant that, but Naomi scowls at me. That wasn’t exactly the response I was going for, but perhaps it’s a little too soon to lighten the mood. Her bad disposition rubs me the wrong way, and any sense of companionship dissolves.
“Why did you bring me here?” She stares ahead, avoiding my eyes.
Is she seriously asking me that?
“Well,” I say, drawing out the word. “Let me see here. You were at the scene of a robbery, you were at the scene of a breaking and entering and assault, and now you were at the scene of an arson. You tell me why you’re here. If you can’t figure out, I’m not sure I can explain it to you.”
“You still think this is my fault? My life is ruined!”
Big, fat tears drop from her eyes, and I have a feeling she’s been fighting them for quite some time. My instinct is to comfort her. Instead, I sit back and watch, waiting for her to calm down. I want her to be happy, I do, but I can’t help with that until she tells me what she knows.
If she doesn’t, we’re going to have a problem.
“I understand that losing the restaurant is a huge blow, Naomi. That fireman showed me the gasoline marks—the place was torched. This was done intentionally. You know something that you aren’t telling me, and if you don’t come out with it, you could get seriously hurt or worse. Why won’t you trust me?”
I can’t help the frustration leaking through my voice. She stares at me, her eyes cold. I don’t think my words managed to crack through the rock-hard head she’s got on her. I can’t force the information out. She has to give it. Why the hell won’t she give it?
“A huge blow?” she asks, her voice incredulous. “A huge blow? That’s what you think that was? My entire reason for being is up in flames, and all you can think about is yourself!”
“What the hell are you talking about? I’m trying to save your life.”
“No, you’re not. You’re trying to solve a crime so you can feel less shitty about the fact that you’re failing this town.”
Her words sting. They sound exactly like the ones I’ve said to myself a hundred times. Hearing that I’m failing everyone from another person sends me completely over the edge.
“These crimes wouldn’t be happening if you would tell me what you know! I know you’re hiding something, Naomi. You think I can’t see it every time something like this happens?”
“You think I don’t know you’re looking for a scapegoat? I’m not going to tell you anything, Ben, because even if I did, I’m sure you’d find some way to bring it all back to me. I was right not to trust you. None of you are worth a damn!”
“You want to talk about worth? All you ever cared about was that dingy old restaurant. Why don’t you invest your life in something that matters?”
Like me. I ignore that.
I can tell I’ve hit a nerve with that one. She throws open the door, and a blast of cold air rushes in. When she looks at me, her eyes are filled with fire. “Apparently, I’m going to have to. Are you detaining me, officer?”
She’s asking if I’ll force her to stay. I could do it. If I do, she’ll be partly right—I will be abusing my power.
“No,” I say. “I have no reason to hold you, especially when you have no useful information to share.”
“Good. Then hear this. I never want to see you again. Stay out of my life. Stay out of my business. We’re done.”
With that, she flies from the car and slams the door behind her. I count my breaths as I force myself to calm down. I’ve been in some fights, but this one has left me feeling more battered and bruised than some of the battlefields I’ve fought on.
And that’s saying something.
I consider ignoring her wishes, running after her, and forcing her to see things my way. That will only make things worse.
I guess it was all a dream, after all.
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Naomi
The frosty sea air stings my cheeks as I pull out my phone. It feels good to walk, and I pound each foot into the pavement, imagining Ben’s face beneath my heel.
He will never, ever take my side in this. All he wants is to improve his reputation in this town, and if he thinks that manipulating me to help him do that will work, he has another thing coming. I have almost convinced myself that he’s a jerk, that I want nothing to do with him.
I ignore the part of my brain that reminds me how many times he’s saved my ass.
I press Katie’s name, and her number rings. On the second ring, she answers.
“Naomi? Are you OK?”
I repress a sigh. People have been asking me that question a lot recently. I wish that I had a better answer. I’ve never been more not OK in my life.
“Yeah, I needed to get away from that station. I hate to ask this, but can you come pick me up? I’m walking up Elm.”
“Of course, I can. I’ll be there in two minutes.”
She ends the call, and I keep walking. Images of Ben flash through my mind. Some of them are harsh, like when he detained me the first time, when he questioned me about the yacht. Some of them are wonderful, like the myriad of ways he’s managed to intoxicate my body, if not my mind.
Not completely. Not anymore.
A pair of headlights appear at the end of the road, and Katie honks the horn twice to let me know it’s her. She pulls over, and I slide into the passenger seat. Her car is still cold, and I feel like I may never be warm again.
“Hey,” she says.
“Hey.”
Silence.
S
he pulls the car back onto the dark road and drives. “Where do you want me to take you?”
“Home,” I say, without hesitation.
She casts a sideways glance at me. “You sure that’s the best idea? There could be some damage there.”
“I don’t care. They’ve already done their worst. Chances are they won’t expect me to stay there after what they’ve done.”
“What do you mean ‘after what they’ve done?’ Does Ben think this was intentional?”
It irks me that Ben’s opinion in this matters to Katie, but it’s not her fault. She doesn’t know how cops operate. May she forever be in the dark about the terrible truth.
“A fireman showed him a trail of gas, apparently. This was done on purpose.”
Katie’s cheeks blanch, and her knuckles turn white on the steering wheel. “This is my fault,” she whispers.
“What? Of course, this isn’t your fault. Why would you think such a thing?”
“If Skippy hadn’t come to the restaurant, none of this would have happened!”
A tear falls from her eye, and she wipes it away with a swift swipe of her fingertips.
“Katie, this is so far from being your fault I can’t even see it. Do not try and take any blame for this. You have been a victim here. Don’t blame the victim.”
That gets a small laugh from her, but there’s little humor in it. The rest of the car ride is spent in heavy silence as she pulls into the parking lot next to my house.
“Thanks, Katie. Are you going back to your mom’s house?”
She nods. “Yes. She might force me to move to Florida after this week.”
“Maybe you’d be better off. I bet alligators are nice compared to all this,” I say, waving out the window. There’s something sitting on my chest, and I have to remove it before I leave. “I’m so sorry Katie, for all of it. I should have answered my phone tonight. You shouldn’t have been the one to deal with all this after what you’ve been through.”
Katie shrugs, and when she meets my gaze, there is a strength behind her fear that is beyond admirable. “This place was my fresh start, too. I didn’t want to be cowering at home if I could have done anything to help.”
I reach out and grip her hand, and I give it a squeeze. “We’ll get through this, you and me. We’re survivors.”
“That we are. Naomi? Please lock your door tonight. Please.”
“I will. I’ll keep my phone by my head, just in case.”
“I think everything that can go wrong has, but those are some fatal last words, aren’t they?”
I release a dark laugh. “Yeah, well. We’ll see. Goodnight.”
“Night,” she says.
I shut the car door and watch her drive away, and then I turn and face my little apartment, somehow saved from the flames. I should go back to the hotel, but I need to be here tonight. I need to show myself and Jordan that I’m not afraid.
Or rather, I need to pick up some shit before I flee back to the damn hotel, instead.
I purposefully ignore the building next to my cottage, tattered and charred as it is, and I shove my key in the lock, opening my front door. The place is warm, and I’m enveloped in the reassuring scent of home. I wish I could feel comforted by that, but now I don’t know what to feel. Tomorrow I’m going to have to rebuild my entire life from the rubble. I will have to find a way to rise like the phoenix from the ashes that have burned down my life.
That’s tomorrow. Tonight, it’s time for a drink.
I head to my kitchen and pull out a bottle of chilled white wine from the fridge. I pour myself a healthy glass, then take a sip. The wine is cool against my tongue, and even with that chill a nice warmth burns all the way down as I swallow. My shoulders lower a fraction, though I will never truly relax again.
Not until Jordan is dead, anyway. Even behind bars, the man would be dangerous. Look at what he did with Skippy in jail. He’s capable of many terrible things. I’m left wondering how many of them I’ll get to experience personally.
I lean my lower back against my kitchen counter and stare out into the dark reaches of my own mind. I could leave town. Start a new life, free of Jordan’s influence. I want to get rid of him. I have to shake him off. It’s the only way I’ll be able to live freely once again.
I’m no coward. I don’t want to run away, knowing that he could always be one step behind. I never expected to see him again after Chicago, and yet here we are. If I run, there’s a chance I will always be running.
Besides that, I’ve fallen in love with the town of Stoneport. I’ve made friends here, and the people of this town are starting to accept me as one of their own. Do I want to pick up and leave, just to be the outcast newcomer again?
I take another drink and run my hand along the base of my neck. A headache’s forming there, but I ignore it. My gaze wanders aimlessly around the kitchen and lands on my busted-up camera. I’ve kept it sitting on the tiny shelf beside the spice rack, because I haven’t had the energy to deal with it, yet.
An idea dawns.
Maybe I can salvage the SSD card.
I reach for the camera and pop open the little compartment. The tiny card is still there, and I pull it out and examine it beneath the light. It looks OK to me, but there’s only one way to find out. If there’s one thing that can cheer me up right now, it would be the beautiful pictures I took before my life went south. Maybe I can still use a few for the new restaurant I’m going to have to build.
That thought makes me sad.
I flip open my laptop, get out my adaptor, and insert the little drive. A second later, a folder pops up—woo, my pictures were saved!
“Score!” I whisper. I open up the file and see there are twelve images inside. I start from the beginning, and I smile at a picture of the restaurant, so perfect and shabby. I let myself mourn what I’ve lost, and fresh tears flow freely down my face. I get to the picture of the lighthouse, which came out beautifully, and then I reach the end.
The last picture isn’t one I remember taking. It’s blurry, and all I can see is the image of a man’s arm. Behind him is a tilted ocean and the deck of a yacht.
This picture snapped right before I jumped into the ocean that day. I focus on the arm, because there’s something on it. A tattoo.
Jordan’s tattoo.
I swallow as I stare at the image in disbelief. That was Jordan? The black-masked gunman who held a gun right up to my heart was the same man who has been trying to get me to date him again? My mind reels as I think about Jordan reminiscing about all the great times we had, all the while knowing that he had nearly killed me.
Apparently, now I know what lengths Jordan will go to.
I email the image to myself, then pick up my phone. When I find Katie’s name, I add it to a text and drop the image in to send to her.
I found this on my SSD card. I need you to keep a copy, in case. This might give us some information on who lit the fire. Don’t tell anyone until I can find out more.
I hit the send button and set my phone down. I stare out once more into the nothingness that is becoming a close friend of mine, and I come to terms with the fact that Jordan was directly behind the yacht theft, Katie’s abduction in her own home, and the destruction of my livelihood.
Why am I surprised?
I accused the man of as much. I threw the accusation right in his face, and I was right, the entire time. I have no idea what I’m going to do with this information. I am paralyzed, and Jordan is the man who has hobbled me.
This is the most concrete evidence I’ve ever had. This could eliminate any guilt in his eyes as it relates to me, and give him a solid lead to go on. I could solve all of Ben’s problems with this picture.
I could solve all of my own. I lurch to my feet, clutching my cell. This is it. I’m going to prove my innocence and have Jordan—
My front door opens, and red-hot fear slices through my thoughts.
I forgot to lock my door. I promised Katie I would, and I forgot. Id
iot!
The door closes, and I stare at the hallway, waiting for the worst. When Jordan walks in, I realize the worst has arrived.
“Naomi,” he says, his tone genial. He cocks a gun and lifts it, the weapon pointed directly at my face. “A pleasure, as always.”
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Ben
I sit at my desk and twirl a pencil between my fingers as I stare out into nothingness.
Where did I go wrong?
I thought that maybe Naomi and I could be a thing, possibly. Part of me could never trust her, could never fully let her in. What’s wrong with me? Am I crazy, or are my suspicions telling me something?
Am I right to push her away?
My mind drifts to Skippy, and I consider questioning him. He’s been denied bail on a charge of False Imprisonment, and I’m pretty damn happy about that. After what he did to Katie, to Naomi, I hope he rots in that cell.
I scowl at the series of events that led to this moment. Naomi at the docks. Naomi in Katie’s house. Skippy interrupting my date—with Naomi. And the restaurant burning down.
Is it possible that I’ve been shortsighted in this? That my desire to protect my own heart has possibly destroyed the one relationship that could have worked?
I release a frustrated growl and slam my palms on the desk. I need to get some of this energy out. The best way to do that is to work on Skippy. Maybe the asshole is finally ready to talk.
I step out of my office and walk over to the cells. James glances up at me but says nothing, the only sound is the clap clap of his keyboard as I step into the next room.
The holding cells are barren, as they should be. The walls are white, the florescent lighting bright and uncomfortable on the eyes. Skippy leans back against the painted wall, his face cast in shadows behind the gray bars. He doesn’t look up when I enter.
“What’s the matter, Skippy? Bummed that your friends aren’t coming to rescue you?”
He glares ahead at the ground before him, but his shoulders tense ever so slightly. I’m getting to him. Let’s see if I can make him crack.
