Total pages in book: 79
Estimated words: 75656 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 378(@200wpm)___ 303(@250wpm)___ 252(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 75656 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 378(@200wpm)___ 303(@250wpm)___ 252(@300wpm)
“You all right?” I asked, only getting close enough to be heard without yelling.
She was rattled and doing her best to hide it. I was in uniform, and thankfully, she saw me only as the town’s fire marshal, not as the person responsible for destroying her life.
“I’m fine.” She smoothed a hand over the loose wisps of dark hair at her forehead. Her cheeks were flushed with pink, and her lips curved into a tight, forced smile. “I just remembered something I forgot to do.”
Her voice was even, but her big brown eyes were wide and wary as she tracked the sedan’s progress down the street and out of sight. She glanced back twice more before unlocking her vehicle.
At the time, I’d let it go. There was no overt threat. She denied there being an issue, and I didn’t want to linger in her presence.
Now, with a burned building behind me and her empty file folder in my bag, that incident takes on new significance.
She and her son are getting out of her SUV. Her gaze goes immediately to the records building, and as she assesses the damage that’s visible from the front, she stiffens just like she did that day.
When T.J. gets out, Elena hugs him, then sends him toward the entrance. She watches him until he’s inside, and I force myself to watch, too, even though the sight of the boy’s dark head hits like a punch to the gut.
Moon Ridge is a small town, and while I’ve tried to avoid them, our paths have crossed more than once over the past several months.
For better or worse, we’re about to meet again, because Elena has squared her shoulders and is crossing the street, heading straight toward me.
CHAPTER 2
BUCK
“What happened?” Her voice is level. Professional.
“Fire in the middle of the night. The crew contained it to this structure.”
She looks past me, studying the facade. Maybe it’s an occupational habit, but I can’t stop myself from studying her every time I see her, looking for signs that tell me she’s okay. That’s she’s not mired in grief, living in misery.
When I found out she moved here, I was hoping she and T.J. weren’t alone. I tell myself I wish she had a new husband, but that’s not exactly true.
Her eyes are guarded, but there are no dark circles. Her skin has a healthy glow. She looks good in the soft blue turtleneck that shows under her partially-unzipped coat.
I’m noticing more than I should.
Then she looks back at me, and I’m caught. “Are you in charge of this?” Her eyes flicker to the hard hat under my arm and to the logo on my jacket.
“Town fire marshal.” The appropriate thing would be to tell her my name, but I don’t.
“Do you think it was faulty wiring? It’s a pretty old building, but I was assured it was up to code.”
“It doesn’t appear to be electrical.”
She frowns. “Was anyone hurt?” She looks me fully in the face for the first time, and I suddenly feel like I’m wearing a weighted vest.
“No one was hurt.” That’s one small piece of good news I can give her. Likely the only piece.
A worry line on her forehead smooths, but her expression is still tense. “Why the crime scene tape? Is that customary when there’s been a fire?”
“The fire appears to have been intentional,” I say.
She goes still, the line of her jaw set.
“Someone broke in through the rear entrance. Personnel files were targeted.” I draw in a deep breath and exhale sharply, a short burst of white in the cold air. “I’m still investigating, but it appears a file was removed before the fire was started.”
The warm color in her cheeks drains away.
“The file was yours.”
Her breathing turns shallow, but she doesn’t exactly look surprised. “Are you certain?”
“This wasn’t random. Whoever started the fire went in with a mission.”
After a pause, she nods.
“Do you know of any reason someone might have done this? Any disputes with staff or parents?” The image of the black sedan comes to mind again, and I know what her answer will be.
Across the street, the school bell rings, the sound muffled through closed doors and windows. A few children are rushing in late. The wind moves ash across the frozen pavement.
Bypassing my question, she says, “Has law enforcement been notified?”
“Yes.”
She looks past me again and lets out a shuddering breath, and something snaps into place. I’d intended to keep my distance, and told myself it was for her sake, but pretending not to know her is no longer a sustainable position.
“We need to talk privately,” I say.
Her eyes lift to mine. “About what?”
“About whether there’s a reason someone would want your file.”
She doesn’t look away. She holds eye contact for another beat, and when she speaks again, it’s nearly a whisper. “Yes,” she says. “There might be.”