Total pages in book: 41
Estimated words: 37970 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 190(@200wpm)___ 152(@250wpm)___ 127(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 37970 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 190(@200wpm)___ 152(@250wpm)___ 127(@300wpm)
Chapter Three
Emmett
By the time we get the fire out, and I finish combing through the wreckage, I'm fucking exhausted. I'm also positive the fire was intentionally set. I'm not convinced Nina did it, however. Rivin, our fire dog picked up a trail of accelerant leading away from the house. There's no way she set the fire, went back in, and made it upstairs before getting trapped.
It doesn't make sense. Not to mention, the remnants of the gas cans we found were piled right inside the front door. Whoever set the fire didn't make it much further inside the house than that. The asshole didn't even check to see if it was unoccupied before setting it ablaze.
I'm mad as hell about it.
"Yo, Madden!"
I glance up to see Sheriff Dillon Armstrong striding my way, his cowboy hat pulled down low over his face.
I scrub a hand through my hair, hauling myself away from the tree I've been leaning against to go see what he wants. It's nearly dawn. Too damn early—or late—for his bullshit. "What's up, Sheriff?"
"The neighbor down the street says she saw someone running through the woods about five minutes before the fire started," he says. "Male. Dressed in all black."
I grunt, glancing toward the dense spread of woods running the length of the neighborhood. "Did she get a look at his face?"
"Nah," he says. "She thought it was just one of the neighborhood boys out for a run. Didn't think anything of it until she heard sirens and saw smoke. But she saw two men lurking around twice yesterday. Both tall, dark hair, one with a goatee. They may or may not drive a black sedan. That's about the only description I could get out of her."
"She saw them hanging out around this place?" I ask, trying to confirm.
"Yep. She thought maybe they were family, but when she drove by yesterday and they were lurking around the second time, they made a point of trying not to be seen."
"She didn't call it in?"
He shakes his head. "Said it's not the first time shady motherfuckers have shown up around here, looking for Vincent. She assumed they'd disappear once they figured out he was dead." He rips a sheet off his notebook, holding it out to me. "This is her name and number. Doubt it'll do you any good, but I figured you'd want it."
I glance at it before shoving it into my pocket. "Thanks."
He cocks his head to the side, studying me. "Is this one the same as the other fires?"
I hesitate for a moment, not entirely sure how to answer that question. On the surface? Yeah, it's the same, right down to the amount of accelerant used. But something feels off about this one, and I'm not entirely sure why.
"I'm not sure," I answer carefully.
"Why aren't you sure?"
I scrub a hand through my hair, glancing at the steaming wreckage. If any hot spots flare up, we'll hit them with more water, but for now, the damn thing is out. The only thing left of the house is rubble and charred ruins. I have a feeling Nina won't be thrilled with that bit of news.
"The house wasn't vacant. The other two were."
"Vincent died a little more than a month ago," Dillon reminds me. "I'm sure they thought the house was vacant."
"Maybe, but the other fires were set in the middle of the night. It was what? Eight or nine when we got the call for this one?"
Dillon glances down at his notebook. "Call came in at 8:37."
"Right. So, a good three hours earlier than the others." Arsonists get sloppy. It's usually what gets them caught. Eventually, just setting fires isn't as exciting anymore so they take bigger risks to get the same thrill. But there's usually a more gradual descent down that slippery slope. This feels more like a rolling dive down the damn slope than an escalation of behavior.
"You think this is a copycat?"
Do I think that?
"I'm not sure," I admit. "On the surface, it's the same as the other two. But something just feels…off. I can't put my finger on it. I need to talk to Nina, see what she knows." Chances are that I'm wrong and this is the same motherfucker, but my instincts say I'm missing something. The panic in her eyes when I told her that I had questions…well, she knows something.
"Nina Gregori," Dillon says, nodding.
I eye him sideways. "You know her?"
"Motherfucker, I'm the sheriff. I know everyone in this town."
"What do you know about her?"
He smirks at me, amusement lighting his eyes. "I know that look," he drawls. "I've seen that look, Madden."
"Shut the fuck up. This is strictly professional."
"Uh-huh. I've heard that before."
"You going to answer the question or not?" I ask, refusing to play his game. I know how he operates. His nose is in everyone's business. I swear to Christ, the man spends more time fucking with people around here than he does actually working. I don't know why we keep paying him. Honestly, it'd be less of a hassle if we paid him to sit in his office and not bug the fuck out of everyone in town. It's a kink with him at this point. And I'm not one to kink shame. But Dillon Armstrong? Well, he needs a little shaming. The bastard.