Total pages in book: 104
Estimated words: 100608 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 503(@200wpm)___ 402(@250wpm)___ 335(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 100608 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 503(@200wpm)___ 402(@250wpm)___ 335(@300wpm)
I have to get to him.
The fire is at Dante’s address.
A drive that normally takes five to ten minutes feels like hours. When I finally pass the Wolffish Luxury Condos site on First Street and have eyes on the B&B, my stomach does a somersault.
The gazebo.
I’m thanking my lucky stars that it’s not the B&B on flames, but the brand-new gazebo behind it. The firemen are already at the scene, blasting the flames with water. Pulling into the drive, I put my vehicle in park and rush out, searching for Dante.
He’s standing in the yard, huddled with Shelly and Callan, both of whom are teary-eyed. Dante’s jaw is clenched and worry gleams in his eyes. I walk right up to the three of them, flinging my arms around them.
“Are you guys okay?”
They all mumble out that they are and I reluctantly pull myself away. Dante’s eyes are ringed in dark circles from lack of sleep.
“What happened?” I ask, forcing myself into sheriff mode rather than worried boyfriend.
He’s not your boyfriend, Jax.
“I woke up when my phone app was chiming, indicating activity on the cameras,” Dante grumbles. “When I opened the app, the gazebo was on fire. I immediately called the fire department.”
“Good,” I tell him, clasping his shoulder and squeezing. “I’ll need to take a look at that footage in a bit. Let me see what the fire captain has to say. If there’s evidence, I’ll need to bag it.”
Dante gives me a nod, his eyes flickering with appreciation. I don’t want to feel appreciated, though. Gazebos don’t randomly catch fire in the middle of winter. Someone started this fire. I knew the silence from the vandal was too good to be true. The perp didn’t just move on. No, the person doing this just escalated their crimes. We can add arson to vandalism and hate crimes.
I round the B&B and walk over to the charred and smoking gazebo. Owen James, the captain of the fire department, frowns at me as I approach.
“Bad news?” I ask, already knowing the answer.
He nods, letting loose a frustrated sigh. “Arson.”
“You’re sure?”
He motions a gloved hand at a melted plastic gas canister. “Someone did this on purpose. Question is, why?”
“This isn’t the first attack on this property,” I reveal, scowling at the ruined gazebo. “I think we have a homophobic prick trying to make a point.”
“I didn’t think we had evil in Brigs Ferry Bay,” Owen gripes. “Guess I was wrong.”
I spend the next half hour processing the scene. Brie eventually shows up to take the evidence to the station while I continue the investigation. I’ll need to interview all three Kincaids and any staff members on site. Then I’ll need to look at the video footage.
Shelly and Callan were both sleeping, so there wasn’t much they knew. I had more questions for Dante, though, knowing he went home only a few hours before the fire was started, so he might have more information.
“Let’s go to your office where we can speak privately,” I tell him, gesturing down the hall.
Once he closes the door, I push him against it, crushing him in a hug. He clings to me, his body tense and breathing hard. I kiss the side of his neck and whisper promises that we’ll find this motherfucker. Finally, I break away slightly so I can look into his tired eyes.
“I’m sorry,” I croak out. “I’m sorry this shit keeps happening to you.”
I press my lips to his and kiss him gently in a way that I hope comforts him after such a stressful morning. The kiss is short and I pull away long before I’m ready because we really do need to find out what he knows.
“What time did you leave my place last night?” I stroke his messy hair from his eyes, settling my hands at the nape of his neck.
“Around two.”
“Did you run into anyone along the way?”
His eyes cut away from mine as though he’s afraid to say.
“Dante,” I urge. “If you saw someone, tell me.”
“No one,” he grunts out. “I drove home and didn’t encounter any other cars along the way. When I got here, I didn’t see anyone lurking or anything. Went straight inside and to bed.”
Of course it wouldn’t be that easy.
“Okay,” I say, pecking his lips. “Let’s look at the footage to see what we can find.”
We break apart and he walks over to his desk. I drag a chair around to his side as he pulls up the software. He skims through the movement detector and finds where it started before hitting play.
“There,” I say as a hooded figure creeps along the dark edge of the screen.
A man—it has to be a man based on the size and gait—walks over to the gazebo, a plastic gas can in hand. He empties the contents of the container before tossing it into the middle. Then, he turns his back to the sea where the wind is blowing from, facing the camera to light a match. For a split second, part of his face lights up, and then when he tosses the match, the screen whites out because of the bright blaze. He runs off without looking back.