Bone Driven

by Hailey Edwards

  “Sorry to roll you guys out of bed so early, but I heard about the trouble up in Canton and thought you might want to examine the scene.” Her pale blue eyes flicked to mine. “Heard you got Chief ‘I’m Ready For My Close Up’ Timmons kicked out on his wrinkly ass.”

  “He got himself booted out of office.” I drew a circle in the air. “I just painted on the bullseye.”

  Summers cackled before she rubbed a hand down her face and wiped away her amusement.

  “Let me walk you through what we’ve got. The house had a full basement. One corner was a solid concrete box reinforced with rebar that acted as a storm shelter or – considering the fat stack of incident reports on her ex – a safe room.” Mr. Orvis would be the prime suspect, the husband always was when the victim was his wife or kids, and his list of priors wasn’t doing him any favors. “There were two ways in or out. One through the basement, and one through the cellar doors.” She nudged a set of double doors inset into a cement frame with her boot. The heavy chains wrapping the thick handles jingled with each kick. “Ms. Orvis engaged the locking mechanism behind her once they were all in the shelter. The cellar doors aren’t warped from impact or otherwise damaged as far as we can tell.”

  The chains gleamed, and the padlock linking them did too, a stark contrast to the rusted metal door they guarded. “Do we know if this was intentional?”

  “It’s too early to tell,” Summers admitted, but a somber edge had entered her voice. “The bedrooms were all on the second floor. Each room had a window, but there was no emergency ladder we could find. The first floor had two exits, a front and a back door. Those must have been inaccessible to drive them down.”

  “The chains and lock are both recent additions.” The new hardware bugged me, but Ms. Orvis had had four panicked kids to shepherd to safety. Mistakes would have been made, in judgement and otherwise. “Maybe Ms. Orvis forgot the exit was locked or hoped she could knock the door off its hinges.”

  “Maybe,” she allowed. “Odds are good they succumbed to smoke inhalation soon after the interior locking mechanism was activated. That could explain why there was no apparent damage to the door. They might not have made it that far.”

  “I don’t mean to split hairs,” Rixton began, “but if you think this was an accidental fire, then why did you call us to consult?”

  Abandoning the cellar, Summers led us to a pile of debris spread out on a white cloth. “Anything look familiar?”

  Rixton met my gaze over her head, his expression as tight as my pinched lips. I squatted next to the fabric and got a better look at the rusted hunk of metal, untouched by the flames. “It’s a drip torch, similar in size to those discovered at the Hensarling and Culberson fires.”

  Joining me, Rixton glanced up at Summers. “Where did you find this one?”

  “Outside the cellar doors. About where we were standing. I’ve got photos if you want them.”

  “We’d appreciate that,” he said. “Send us copies of all you’ve got, and we’ll do the same.”

  Both our arsonists had been caught red-handed, but it was too early to count this as a third incident.

  “Rixton,” a tight voice called. “Boudreau. Glad you could make it.”

  We stood and greeted Dawson, but he was quick to move past us to Summers. He was eyeing her like a man drowning in shark-infested waters, his gaze pleading for a hand up into her lifeboat. Clearly, the higher ups were applying pressure to find answers before a third tragedy struck Canton.

  Rixton and I left the arson investigators to compare case notes while we walked the perimeter. Nothing stood out as important, but I snapped a few pictures of the area on my phone out of habit.

  “Might as well check out the greenhouses while we’re here,” he said when we’d finished our circuit.

  The walk didn’t take long. As far as morning commutes went, Ms. Orvis had had a good one. We left the intact buildings alone and focused on the damaged ones. Circular burns in clusters on the walls left the siding as spotted as a ladybug in places, though the worst damage had been done to the wooden tables that held inventory. Several plants were blackened or reduced to ash, withered in their plastic pots or dumped on the dirt floor as their stands collapsed.

  A wash of heat swept up my nape, and I tugged at my collar. “Is it hot in here to you?”

  “Half the left wall is missing,” he pointed out. “It’s no worse in here than it was outside.”

  “Must be the long sleeves.” I rubbed my hands up my arms, my skin itching. “I’m roasting in here.”

  “Bou-Bou.” Rixton cornered me near a stand of tomato plants. “You’re pouring sweat. You good?”

  “Yeah.” I mopped my sleeve across my forehead. “I just need some air.”

  He didn’t mention the breeze sweeping through the greenhouse or remind me about the missing wall. He just stepped aside and let me go without comment. I stumbled through a side door that led into a narrow alley between buildings and leaned against the ribbed wall until I could breathe again.

  A hulking shadow broke from the gloom. “Luce.”

  The muscles along my inner thighs quivered at the sound of his voice.

  Cole flared his nostrils. “You smell…”

  “Can we not revisit that conversation right now?” A gnawing hunger sparked by his proximity feasted on my bones. I fumbled within, summoning the cold place, desperate to ice this clawing need, but the heat flaring along my nerves melted away any chance of relief before I could dive in. “Don’t come any closer.” I threw out a hand to warn him away from me, and the fasteners on his bracelet glinted on my wrist. “I’m having hot flashes.” I was cramping, my core spasming, from wanting him. “What the hell is wrong with me?”

  “We’re at a greenhouse.” Low and soothing, he kept his voice calm. “Whatever the plants were at your house, they must grow them here too.”

  Had my motherboard not been fried, I might have come to the same conclusion. “You’re too close.”

  “I haven’t moved.” He eased back a few steps anyway. “Is that better?”

  “No,” I moaned, sinking to my knees. “You’ve got to leave.” A throbbing heat curled up through my middle, and some bastard drove a spike of ice through my left eye. “Please, Cole. Just go. I can’t think with you here.”

  A primal growl vibrated through the space between us, and every inch of my skin lit up as though he had reached out and stroked me. Good Lord, the ache had me crawling toward him on all fours, and he didn’t have the sense to run.

  Why wasn’t he running?

  “Bou-Bou?” Rixton skidded to a stop in front of me. “Are you hurt?”

  The only answer I had for him was the furious roar clogging my throat at having my hunt interrupted. My fingers curved into claws, and the urge to slash out at him, punish him, left me with the phantom sensation of his blood slicking my fingers. I wet my lips and imagined the hot, metallic taste.

  And then I tossed my cookies.

  “Shit.” He leapt out of range of the vomit splatter. “What’s wrong with you?”

  “Allergic reaction,” I rasped through swollen lips.

  Elbows wobbling, I crawled on hands and knees toward the ruined house and away from the nursery. When Rixton offered me his hand, I recoiled. I felt sick. Physically unwell. Mentally ill.

  I had roared at Rixton like I had swallowed a lion.

  I had imagined the weight of his blood coating my hands.

  I had barely restrained myself from committing an unforgivable act of unprovoked violence.

  “What can I do to help?” Rixton hovered over me like a moth. “Should I call your dad? Harold? One of your boyfriends?”

  “Water.” I kept crawling, ignoring his jibe, but I was starting to attract attention. “Need water.”

  Rixton bolted for the greenhouse behind us and returned moments later with a hose pouring icy water. He held it out to me in expectation I would want to drink or rinse out my mouth. I took the thing from him and held it ab
ove my head, showering my entire body with a shock of frigid liquid that extinguished the embers of my earlier desire and the rage at having been thwarted. I sat there under the spray until the weight of several pairs of eyes fell on me, and the soft clicking noises phones made when they snapped pictures cleared the haze.

  “Put your phones down before I smash them, and give her some goddamn privacy,” Rixton snarled at the gathering. “If any pictures show up online or in the paper, I’ll know one of you are responsible. I will find that person, and I will make their life a living hell. Are we clear?”

  The group dispersed after that, a few guys flashing their phones as if to prove they had erased the images, but even more stomped off pissed at being called out for assholish behavior. I reached over to rest my palm on the top of his shoe and croaked, “Thank you.”

  “Don’t thank me for demanding they treat you like a person and not a byline. Jesus, Bou-Bou. Sometimes I wonder what Sherry and I were thinking having a kid. Bringing Nettie into all this ugliness.”

  Sometimes he wasn’t the only one.

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  Rixton didn’t waste his breath suggesting we go to the hospital. I picked myself up, skin too sensitive for contact, and let him bundle me in a blanket he’d stolen from the back of an ambulance. Once he had me tucked in the cruiser, he made a beeline for the nearest drugstore and carved himself out a parking space in front of the sliding glass doors. He came out swinging a plastic bag and got behind the wheel.

  “Drink this.” He jabbed a bendy straw through the foil seal on a bottle of Benadryl and passed it over to me. “We’ve got to get the swelling down.”

  Arguing with him would get me nowhere. I accepted the small bottle and started sipping. “Pretty sure you’re not supposed to chug this stuff.”

  “We are going back to my place,” he informed me. “You are going to shower, you are going to sleep in our guest room, and Sherry is going to mother hen you. I would threaten to cock you, but that sounds both sexual and violent. So just trust me when I say I’ll be getting my rooster on too. You are going to allow this, because we love you, and you almost made me shit myself back there.”

  “Sorry,” I mumbled around the straw.

  “You’ve been acting like a long-tailed cat in a room full of rocking chairs for weeks. Jane Doe, Maggie, the super gator attack. Plus the hot mess with Timmons and his pet vulture. Your dad’s relapse.” A very human growl revved up his throat. “Life is kicking you in the lady bits, hard, and I’ve got no way of shielding you without ending up embroiled in either a sexual harassment or divorce lawsuit.”

  “I’ve got a lot on my plate right now.” I smacked my lips, but the fake cherry flavor burned all the way down. “Things will level off soon.”

  “That’s not good enough, Bou-Bou.” He slashed his hand through the air. “Tell me you’re okay, or tell me you’re not, but tell me the truth. If you’re sinking, if all this is too heavy for you, I’m sticking out my hand. All you have to do is grab on, and I will haul your ass out of that water before you go under.”

  Tears welled, threatening to fall, but I couldn’t find my voice. All I could do was nod my thanks.

  A copper tang soured the cherry aftertaste on my next pull of Benadryl, and I couldn’t swallow hard enough to clear the thickness in my throat. The crimson liquid, viscous and rich, turned my stomach when I licked a sticky drop off my thumb.

  “Pull over.” I clamped a hand over my mouth. “I’m going to be sick again.”

  “Hold tight.” He guided us off the shoulder of the road. “Do you need me to hold your hair?”

  “No.” I fell out the door and collapsed in the grass on my knees as I voided my stomach.

  All those cracks in my façade that had everyone so worried? Pretty sure this counted as one of them.

  Sherry fussed over me for a good hour before tucking me in the twin bed in the guest room with a promise she would call Uncle Harold and let him know I was playing houseguest for the morning. She and Nettie were up for the day, but Rixton was beat, and I was too. Tucked under the covers like I was a kid again, I listened to the clink of dishes in the kitchen and the comforting babble of my goddaughter.

  I was staring at the ceiling, unable to relax into sleep, when a thump at the window drew my attention.

  Cole filled the opening with his wide shoulders, and I turned onto my side to get a better look. I expected him to ask for an invite, but he made no move to raise the glass. Smart man to keep a barrier between us. He brought his phone up to his ear, and mine rang seconds later.

  “Hey.”

  My jaw stretched on a yawn. “Hey yourself.”

  His gaze swept over me from head to toe before settling on my face. “How are you feeling?”

  “Not great.” Talk about an understatement. “This time my reaction was off the charts.”

  “I don’t think we have to worry about a cumulative effect. There’s a good chance it was the sheer number of plants that overwhelmed your senses.” He hesitated. “Has it worn off yet?”

  “Rixton made me drink a bottle of Benadryl, which I mostly vomited right back up, but it seemed to help.”

  “Benadryl is a histamine blocker.” The tight bunch of his features eased into thoughtful lines. “That might explain how it brought you down so fast. I’ll run the possibility past Thom and see what he can mix up to inoculate us against the plant.”

  “It’s a good thing I can’t shift the way you can.” I rubbed the heel of my palm over my heart, as though any cracks forming would fan out from that point. “I made a spectacle of myself. Rixton threatened all the wannabe photogs, but I’m not holding my breath.”

  “That’s not what has you shaken.”

  “I almost hurt him, Cole. I imagined how his pain would feel, how his blood would taste.” I pulled the covers up higher on my chest. “Is this how it starts? Are these the first signs of Conquest rousing? What if she’s been waiting on her sisters this whole time? Now that War is here and Famine is coming, maybe she’s ready to crack me open like a walnut.”

  “You protected him from the urges. That’s what matters.”

  Never one to utter empty platitudes, Cole didn’t say the words I most longed to hear. He didn’t assure me I would never hurt Rixton, didn’t accuse me of overreacting, didn’t promise me Conquest would remain sleeping, but the worst was when he didn’t tell me everything would be okay.

  “I’m scared to nap,” I whispered. “I shouldn’t have let Rixton bring me home with him.”

  “Sleep.” Cole’s fingertips brushed the glass. “I won’t let you hurt anyone, Luce.”

  “You can’t skulk in the bushes all morning. The neighborhood watch will call it in.” I thought about it and then decided. “Or they might skip the police and call Rixton direct.”

  “I have natural camouflage,” he reminded me. “I’ll be back in twenty. Can you hold on that long?”

  Despite the number of times I’d brushed my teeth, I still imagined the taste of copper. “Yeah.” Cole turned from the window, and I sat up to watch him go. “How will I know when it’s safe?”

  With his back to me, I couldn’t be sure, but I’d bet money he was smiling when he said, “You’ll know.”

  A half hour later, he missed his deadline, and I tossed off the covers. I was prepared to suck it up and go without rest, but then the roof groaned overhead. Panic surged in my veins as the math of how much dragon a three-bedroom ranch could support tumbled through my head, but the resulting equation went something like this: Cole plus dragon equals safety.

  Trust was an invaluable commodity, one that could not be bought, and I realized as I closed my eyes that I had given him mine.

  Sherry had washed and pressed my uniform while I slept, eliminating the need for me to swing by the Trudeaus’ before Rixton drove us to work. As much as I wanted to check on Dad, I wanted to get out of my head more, and the fastest way to do that was to bury myself in paperwork.

  Dawson shot us bot
h an update around dinner, but the bulk of his email contained information gleaned from Summers on the Madison fire that she had already shared with us prior to his arrival.

  Over a platter of fajita fixings at our favorite Mexican restaurant, Rixton and I compared our own notes while stuffing our faces.

  The Hensarlings and the Culbersons used different banks to finance their farms. Their insurance policies were carried by separate companies as well. No obvious strings tied the two together on a business level.

  On a personal level, however, each farm employed several family members. A few of the Hensarling employees appeared to be connected to the Culbersons by blood or friendship, scandal or rumor, but there was nothing malicious in those relationships.