Total pages in book: 64
Estimated words: 59146 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 296(@200wpm)___ 237(@250wpm)___ 197(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 59146 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 296(@200wpm)___ 237(@250wpm)___ 197(@300wpm)
“I’m not asking again.”
He swallowed, nodding rapidly. “Three transactions,” he said. “Same guy each time. Dark hair, in his thirties, and dressed like he had money. He never gave a name, paid in cash, and always paid more than the asking. The first time, he wanted accelerant. Five gallons of the good stuff so it burned hot and fast and completely. He knew what he wanted. Knew the terminology.
“Second time he wanted a stack of burner phones,” he continued. “He paid triple the going rate.” The man’s eyes flicked between us as I spoke. “Last time was Tuesday. Came in just after dark. Bought more accelerant. And…” He paused. Swallowed again. “And he asked for trackers. GPS units. The small, magnetic kind. I had two in stock, and he took both.”
“Did he say what they were for?” I asked.
The man shook his head. “Paid not to ask, remember? That was the arrangement. I don’t ask, he pays premium. Clean and simple.”
“Not so clean,” Tiny said. His hand was still on the man’s shoulder. His voice hadn’t changed. “Not so simple either.”
The man held Tiny’s gaze for a long moment, then looked down at the ground between his boots. “I’m out of the game, man. Whatever this is, I don’t want any part of it. You can have the rest of my stock if you want it. On the house. Just let me walk away from this.”
Tiny took his hand off the man’s shoulder. Stepped back. “Keep your shit. We’re not here for that.”
We turned and walked back to the truck in silence. The gravel underfoot sounded louder than it had on the way in. Everything I’d just learned ran through my mind, trying to fit into some kind of puzzle in my head I couldn’t quite see. Five gallons of accelerant, twice. Burner phones. Trackers. A man confident in what he was doing because he’d done it before. Two years ago. In a storage unit that belonged to an ex-girlfriend. Fuck.
Tiny pulled the door handle and paused with one foot on the running board. He looked at me over the roof of the cab, his face half in shadow from the weak yard light.
“What does a real estate agent need with trackers, Inferno?”
I didn’t have an answer. The question hung heavy with implication between us in the cooling air. Brett had bought trackers. Two of them. Which meant somewhere, on Juniper’s car or on her person, there might already be a magnetic disc the size of a quarter telling him exactly where she was.
Tiny got in the truck. I got in beside him. Neither of us said another word as we pulled out of the yard and onto the empty road that led back toward the river and the city beyond it, where the lights were coming on one by one in the deepening dark.
We took our time getting home. I needed to think and Tiny liked being overly cautious sometimes. Besides, the man was good at reading people. He likely knew I needed a few minutes.
The compound was quiet after midnight. Security lights threw long shadows across the courtyard beneath the camo netting, turning the paths between buildings into a maze of alternating dark and gold. We reported to Knuckles, then I went up to my apartment. Inside, the only light came from the desk lamp, a circle of warm yellow falling across the documents I’d laid there on the scratched wood. The fire marshal stated arson couldn’t be excluded. I know what this is. I just can’t prove it.
Brett Calloway had set a fire once before, and he was gearing up to set another. And I’d bet my life he was targeting the bakery. My phone sat beside the documents. I picked it up and scrolled through contacts until I found the name I hadn’t called in five years. I had no idea if the number was still good, but I needed help. The name I scrolled to belonged to a man who’d stood beside me at more structure fires than I could count, who’d dragged me out of a collapsing warehouse in East Nashville and never once mentioned it afterward. He worked arson now and had for years.
My thumb hovered over the call button. Calling him meant reaching back into a life I’d intentionally sealed shut. It meant admitting I needed something from the world I’d walked away from, and the possibility of hearing the silence on the other end of the line that said I know what you did, and I know where you’ve been, and I’m not sure I want to be associated with you anymore.
The screen lit up with Juniper’s name before I could decide to call him or not.
I answered on the first ring. “Juniper.”
“Inferno.” Her voice was different. The steel was still there, but underneath it, I heard irritation and anger. “The seventy-two hours are up. The broker called.”