Authors: Molly McLain
“Mike Sawyer. I used to work with your dad.”
Josh shook the man’s hand and gestured to the empty seat beside him.
“We got all that settled now?” Mark asked with an amused glint in his eyes. “Am I free to begin?”
Sawyer narrowed his eyes, like he was preparing for an argument, then quickly nodded. “Yeah, sure. Go ahead. I mean, as long as you’re sure.” He turned to Josh.
“I’m sure. Let’s get this show on the road. I’ve been sitting here with my thumb up my ass for five hours.”
Mark gave him a “whine ass” look and shuffled open the file. “As you know, we took your prints earlier. And, as I’m sure you also know, none of them showed up on the lacquer container. And there was no trace of lacquer scent inside the truck. The guys dusted it and came away with several sets of prints that don’t belong to you. So, let’s start with you telling me who’s been around your truck the past few days. Who might’ve touched the bed of the truck, the door handles...you get the point.”
Josh swallowed, already knowing how the rest of this conversation was going to go. “Carissa,” he said flatly. “We went to buy kitchen cabinets yesterday.”
Mark scrawled a notation on a pad of paper, not yet catching on. “Okay, who else?”
“Tony. Ryan. Any of my guys, really. Fletcher. Dan. My old man.”
Mark wrote them all down and moved on. “Tell me about the baseball bat.”
Josh frowned. “What baseball bat?”
“The one we found at the storage garage.”
“I don’t know anything about—” He stopped short, suddenly remembering the bat he’d seen laying on the ground. Dark red. White tape. A dent in the end. “Are you kidding me?” he snarled. “My own goddamn bat? Jesus Christ!” How did he not realize that before?
“Obviously, your prints are a match to the bat. But, like your truck, there are other, unidentified ones as well.”
“I can’t believe this guy’s nerve. Trying to set me up.
Motherfucker!
” Josh leaned forward, resting his elbows on the table as he covered his face with his hands and cursed.
“Listen, Josh, I know you didn’t start the fire. I also know you didn’t take the bat to that glass. But try to be patient with me here. Your timeline the past week and a half is going to help us figure out when this guy got the bat from your property and when he planted the lacquer. If we can figure some of that out, we might be able to start putting together this puzzle.” Mark’s tone was very matter of fact and it had Josh focusing again.
“Okay. What do you want to know?”
“Start with this morning and work backward. Tell me exactly where you’ve been and what you’ve been doing.”
“I got to the clinic at about seven o’clock, same as the other guys. That’s when we saw the smoke and the whole frame went up in flames.”
Mark narrowed his eyes, thoughtful. “There was no time for the perp to start the fire and get the accelerant into your truck before you left the house this morning. He had to have planted it before he started the fire. That means there has to be another container somewhere.” He made a quick note, then gestured for Josh to continue.
“I woke up at 6 am, showered and drove straight to the clinic. Before that...” He paused, craning his neck from side to side, drawing out the inevitable. “Before that, at around 1:45 in the morning, I was at Carissa’s flip. Dropping her off at her car.”
Mark looked up from his notes. “1:45 a.m.? Where the hell did you go cabinet shopping?”
“Hastings.” Which was only a two-hour drive and meant he had a lot of time to account for. “We stopped at the Adams County fair after we dealt with the cabinets. We were there from about seven to just before midnight.”
To that, Mark leaned back in his chair, his pen tapping against the table, his eyes narrow. “Let’s go back to you dropping her off, huh? Tell me about that.”
Josh leveled his gaze on the sheriff, also one of his long-time friends, and swallowed. “There’s nothing more to tell. I dropped her off. She got in her car and drove away. I went home.”
“You sure about that?”
“Yeah, I’m sure,” he snapped, hating that it was gonna go down this way.
“I’m going to have to talk to her too, you know, so you might as well just tell me.”
For chrissake. “If you want me to tell you I fucked around with her before we went our separate ways, I can’t. But if you’d quit dwelling on last night, we could get to Monday night when I
did
sleep with her, okay? Is that what you want to hear?” He slammed his hand against the table, then launched his body back in the chair, irritation zipping along his nerves. His relationship with Carissa was no one else’s business, dammit.
Mark blinked. “Seriously, man?”
Josh threw his hands in the air and swore. “Can you stop being my high school buddy and start being a cop again, please? I’m pretty sure my sex life has nothing to do with this investigation.”
His attorney cleared his throat. “Actually, it might.”
Both Josh and Mark swiveled their heads to the man and waited.
“Dan and Jack said this is the third hit you’ve had in the last week and a half. Two related to the Henry place and now the fire at the clinic. You’re renovating a house for this young lady, correct? A third job site?”
Josh scowled, his patience shot. “What are you getting at?”
Mark cursed under his breath. “He means Carissa's house is the only site active site you have that hasn't been touched. We talked about keeping an extra eye on the place before, remember?” He paused to sigh. “Listen, I don't want to jump to conclusions, but if there's something going on with you two and this guy catches wind of it, his personal vendetta against you puts her in danger as well.”
Josh sat there staring. He’d go fucking postal if something happened to Carissa’s place. She didn’t need that kind of drama right now. Or ever. “I’ll install a security system as soon as I can.”
“And I'll have the guys set up surveillance in the area. I hate that we have to think like this, but if this asshole
is
someone on the inside, at least the amped up security should scare him off. Or, if we’re lucky, he likes Carissa like the rest of us do and he won’t mess with her. He might even come after you directly.”
The double meaning of Mark’s words hit Josh like a shank in his side. "You really think that's the case?"
"This guy knows you. Apparently well enough to know where you keep your baseball bat.”
Josh’s stomach churned. He hoped like hell that the focus
did
shift to him personally. He would never forgive himself if something happened to Carissa or her house.
“Anyway, that’ll be enough for today.” Mark shuffled his notes together. “Go on and get out of here before I change my mind and toss you in on account of your obvious lack in judgment.”
“Thanks for that,” Josh muttered sarcastically. He got that he hadn’t made good on his obligation to talk with Fletcher first, but why did he get the feeling no one thought him good enough for Carissa anyhow?
Because you’re not, asshole. She deserves a man who isn’t chicken-shit about how he feels about her.
“You have Carissa to thank for that,” Mark replied drily, as he stood. “Right now, your secret’s safe with me. But I’ll tell you this, Hudson—you get that alarm system done ASAP, because if something happens to that girl as a result of this case, Fletcher won’t be the only one in line to kick your ass.”
F
our hours and a couple grand on a high-end security system later, Josh turned off the highway, headed toward home. He had all the truck windows wide open, as he sped down the dirt road, in effort to keep himself awake after his hellacious day. Running on virtually no sleep the night before and then with all the day’s drama, he was dead on his friggin’ feet. Nothing would feel better than crawling into bed, pulling the blanket over his head, and catching a full ten hours of shut-eye.
No, that wasn’t quite true. There was one thing that’d be better and that was having Carissa in bed beside him.
But there wasn’t a chance of that happening tonight. Or ever again, if he was smart. Now that he’d told Mark, it was only a matter of time before word got out and they were over.
And the way things looked, Carissa may have preempted the matter anyhow. He hadn’t spoken to her all day and, when he’d tried to call her about the security system, she hadn’t picked up. He’d texted too. No response. Hell, he’d even driven around Cameron looking for her. To warn her, at the very least. If Mark hadn’t told him he’d caught up with her for a brief interview and to suggest she be extra careful, he might’ve been concerned about her well-being. But, as it stood, it seemed she simply wasn’t interesting in talking to him.
Which meant he’d misunderstood the look he’d seen on her face this morning. Misread what must have been disappointment and shock for something far more self-serving and obviously inaccurate. She hadn’t been terrified
for
him—she’d been terrified
of
him.
He cranked the truck into his driveway, parked, and leaned his head against the back of the seat. Why did her avoidance bother him so much? A couple weeks ago, he wouldn’t have expected anything less. In fact, the past couple years, all she’d done was hide from him. He’d hated it. And he hated her hiding from him even more now, because he finally understood why she’d evaded him all that time—she hadn’t gotten over their night together either. And, though he got why she might not want to talk to him in light of today’s events, he absolutely despised that he could lose her yet again over another stupid misunderstanding.
Except...was she ever really his to lose?
He closed his eyes and dug the heels of his palms into his sockets. No, she wasn’t, because, like an idiot, he’d never told her how he felt about her.
Now she, and more likely her house, was a potential target for disaster because of him. She definitely deserved better than that. And if she never spoke to him again, she’d be better off for it.
Pissed at himself on so many levels, he slammed out of the truck and took off on a clip toward the house. But halfway there, he spun around and detoured back to the garage, where he kept all of his sports equipment. He usually left the space unlocked, because living in such a close-knit community, there’d never been a need. That would have to change however, effective immediately.
But when he swung open the door, stepped inside, and saw Carissa’s car parked in the stall, he’d never been happier for his foolish, small-town mentality.
***
H
e was angry.
Because she’d let herself into his house? Or because she hadn’t returned his calls?
Carissa stood by the kitchen sink, watching as Josh barreled out of his truck, got partway to the house and then turned around in a huff and stalked off to the garage.
He probably didn’t want to deal with her right now and she kinda understood why that might be. She took a huge risk, sneaking in like she did, without giving him any warning. She should have answered his calls, but she was so afraid she’d lose it when she heard his voice and so afraid she’d say something she shouldn’t if she texted back. After the day he had, not wanting company would be understandable. Especially from a woman who’d only added to the chaos in his life in the past couple weeks.
Her chest heavy with embarrassment, for more than she could tell him right now, she pushed away from the counter, checked the oven and set the timer for the remainder of the time needed. He wouldn’t have to do anything but take the pan out when it was ready and she’d have some solace, at least, in knowing he wouldn’t go to bed hungry.
She hurried into the living room to gather her things—and to hide the fact that she’d gotten comfortable in the couple hours she’d been there—and was halfway back to the kitchen when the door flung open and a scowling Josh stalked in.
***
H
e walked into the house and damn near wept at the aroma of something delicious and Italian in his kitchen. Soft, bluesy music played somewhere in the background, and the most beautiful woman he’d ever known stood in the middle of his living room, looking absolutely panicked.
“Hey,” she said, in a rush. Her face was flushed a bright, fiery pink that almost matched her loose, flowing top. She held her purse, her phone, and a canvas tote against her chest and her eyes darted from him to the door behind him. “I, uh, hope you don’t mind that I let myself in. I, um, had this crazy idea that you might not have eaten today and I figured you’d be too tired to cook anything for yourself. So I made lasagna. I know you like it. There’s a tossed salad in the fridge, too. And I threw together a quick batch of cookies, you know, in case you wanted something sweet. Dessert or whatever. But now that you’re home, I’ll just get out of your way, okay?”
She opened her pretty mouth as if to say something else, then quickly shut it again, the faintest pout on her lips. “Yeah,” she finally said, trying to reassure herself, “I’ll just go.” Then she bounded forward, sidestepping him in a frenzy to get to the door.
But he extended his arm, snagged her around the waist, and halted her escape. She gasped and he could feel her body trembling against his forearm. Instead of turning into him, she turned away. Which made it easy for him to move up behind her and fold his arms around her in the full, face-in-hair embrace he’d been craving all day.
“Stay,” was the only word he could muster in that moment, because if he tried for anything more, he knew he’d humiliate himself.
Her squeaked, “Okay,” had him tightening his hold and wishing there was some way he could pull her close enough that they’d fuse together permanently and he’d never have to worry about her walking out on him again.
For several drawn-out minutes, they stood just like that in the middle of his kitchen, no words spoken, but so much said. In the long run, they’d both be better off if he let her go and he was pretty sure she knew it. But she stayed and that meant something, didn’t it?
When he finally moved, to nuzzle through her hair and kiss the pulse on the side of her neck, all the belongings in her arms hit the floor and she spun on her bare feet to face him. Her arms slid around his waist so she could cling to him in a way that made him suspect she craved the fusion thing as much as he did. He ducked his forehead down to the top of her head and let her absorb as much of
him
as
she
could.