Chapter Seven
Emmett
I can tell something is wrong the minute I store the pike pole and fire extinguisher and climb back in the truck. Nina is pale and trembling, practically cowering in her seat. Tears make silent tracks down her cheeks.
"What the fuck, baby?" I ask, hauling her out of her seat onto my lap. "What happened? What's wrong?"
"Everything," she whispers, pressing her face up against my throat as a shudder rips through her. "God, Emmett. I don't know w-what to do.""You can start by talking to me."
"I c-can't," she chokes.
"Why not?"
"Because I like you."
"Not seeing the problem here, baby."
She tips her head back, her watery eyes meeting mine. "I can't afford to like you when you have a j-job to do." Her bottom lip quivers. "And you can't afford to like me when it's just going to screw up your life."
Yeah, fuck that. She's lost her mind if she thinks having her in my life could ever fuck it up. She's been in it for all of twenty-four hours, and it already feels a helluva lot fuller than it did even a day ago.
But she clearly doesn't see it the same way. Whatever is in her head is eating her alive. I don't fucking know if it's guilt because she's keeping secrets or fear or what, but enough is enough. I can't help her if she won't talk to me. I want her to trust me enough to do it on her own, but while I'm waiting, she's talking herself out of my life. I can't allow that.
Time for a new plan.
"Is this about your brother?"
Her eyes widen.
"You think he set the house on fire, right?"
"I…I…"
"I can't help you if you won't talk to me, Nina," I murmur gently, thumbing away her tears. "And you're obviously scared out of your damn mind right now, so I need you trust me, and I need you to talk to me."
"It's n-not about that," she whispers. "I do trust you."
"So what's the problem?"
"You shouldn't be involved."
"Yeah, fuck that," I grunt. "I was involved the minute I pulled you out of the fire. So talk, baby. You think he set the fire, don't you?"
She hesitates, and then reluctantly bobs her head.
"Why do you think he did it?"
"B-because my dad owes some very bad men a lot of money," she whispers. "They showed up right after the funeral to collect. S-said if I d-don't pay, they'll k-kill me and Nate."
"Jesus Christ," I growl, fury churning through me. I fucking hate being right sometimes. "Who are they?"
She shakes her head. "I don't know. M-mobsters, I think."
Fucking hell.
"The two who were lurking around before the fire?"
She bites her lip and then nods, reaching into her pocket to pull out her phone. Her hands shake as she pulls up her texts and then turns the phone around to face me.
Unknown: Tick. Tock.
I stare at the two-word message, my blood boiling in my veins.
"One of them j-just drove by, Emmett."
I glance up from the phone, my gaze sharp as it lands on her. "The black Lexus?"
"Yes."
"Goddammit." I saw it out of the corner of my eye, but didn't think anything of it. The car didn't slow or stop as it passed by. I didn't get a good look at the driver, either. I barely fucking noticed the goddamn car. I was busy checking for any hot spots.
"I planned to sell the house to try to come up with some of the money," she whispers. "But Nate was scared. Really scared. We found the insurance paperwork on the house a few days ago, and he made a comment about how losing the house would cover Dad's debt. I told him no, but…"
"But you think he did it anyway."
She nods miserably.
"When did you find the insurance paperwork?"
"Three days ago? Maybe four?"
"Does your brother pay attention to the news, Red?"
"No?"
"Did he mention anything about other fires in town?"
"No? I mean, he knew about the wildfire in Granite Hills because he's been helping rebuild, but that's it."
"Where was he last Thursday?"
"At home."
"Are you sure? If he snuck out, would you know?"
"He doesn't have a car unless he uses mine," she murmurs. "And he snores and keeps me up half the night. I know when he's home and when he isn't."
"What about Monday night?"
"He had a football game in Porter. We didn't get home until after midnight."
I nod, satisfied. "I don't think he set the fire, baby."
She stares at me doubtfully.
"Dillon confirmed that his team had football practice last night that ran late. I still need to confirm with Garrett that Nate was there, but if he was, he has an alibi." I pause for a moment. "He also has an alibi for the last two fires."
Her eyes widen, shock running through them.
"Had you found the insurance paperwork before those fires were set, I'd be inclined to believe that maybe he was behind them. But he didn't know about the insurance until a few days ago, and he has alibis for the last two fires."
"I don't understand," she says, her brows furrowed.
"Whoever set those fires most likely set this one, too. And I'm guessing that person is your father's bookies."
"But why would they set other fires?"
I hesitate for a long minute, reluctant to tell her the grim fucking suspicion taking root. They were trying to cover up her murder by making it look like a serial arsonist on the loose so if Nate decided to talk when we pulled her body out, we'd just chalk it up to a grieving teenager looking for someone to blame. I'm guessing the motherfuckers watched her go into the house that night. They waited for her to go in. And then they set it on fire. The pricks were probably still hanging around when we pulled her out, alive.
"Oh," she whispers, her expression stricken as she works it out for herself. Her voice shakes. "Why…" she trails off, licking her lips. "Why would they do that? I can't p-pay them if I'm…"
"Do you have a life insurance policy, Nina?"
"Yes."
"Is your brother your beneficiary?"
She nods.
"They were probably banking on that. Your father didn't leave anything but the house to you, so they figured they'd take you out and then force him to pay up." I stroke her cheek. "A scared teenager is easier to manipulate than a grown woman who raised a kid and put herself through college when she was just a kid herself."
She stares at me for a long moment, her bottom lip quivering, and then she sighs. "They aren't very nice men, Emmett," she finally says.
And despite the seriousness of the situation, the offense in her tone makes me chuckle. I pull her to me, pressing my lips to her forehead. "No, baby," I agree quietly. "They aren't. But they're fucking done terrorizing you. I'm going to find out who they are, and we're taking care of this."
"How?"
"You let me worry about that now. All you need to worry about is you."
"But–"
I dip my head, pressing my lips to hers. I taste the salt of her tears on her lips, and her sweetness, and groan. "No buts, Nina. You've spent half of your life taking care of everything on your own. It's time for you to learn to let someone else do the worrying for once."
"I probably won't be very good at that, Emmett," she says, sounding worried about it.
"Then it's a good thing you have me to teach you, isn't it?"
I drop Nina off at the hospital for a checkup with Belle, which she isn't thrilled about. She calls me a traitor—which she will be paying for as soon as I get her gorgeous ass home. But she reluctantly agrees to stay and let Belle look her over again for my peace of mind.
Belle agrees to keep her long enough for me to go talk to Dillon.
Fifteen minutes later, I find him in his office, in a one-man war with his printer.
"The goddamn thing ate my report and won't give it back," he mutters, scowling daggers at the machine. He flips open a drawer, peers into it and then slams it closed before flipping open another drawer and repeating the process.
"Use the button on the screen."
"What button?"
"The one that tells it to release the jammed paper."
He peers down at the screen and then starts jabbing buttons. The printer makes a series of clicks before going silent.
"You son of a bitch…" Dillon jabs another button. "Give me my fucking report."
"Jesus Christ. Move, will you?" I nudge him out of the way, glancing down at the touch screen to figure out where the paper got jammed. It takes two seconds to find what I need and locate the correct tray. I pop it open, pull out the wrinkled report, and then slam the tray closed.
"Well, son of a…" Dillon scowls at the printer like it was holding out on him. "Why the fuck didn't I look there?"
"Probably because you can't read."
He flips me off before snatching his report out of my hands.
"You need to reprint it. That's illegible."
"It reads just fine."
"You're afraid to use the printer again, aren't you?"
"No." He shrugs. "Maybe. The fucker hates me. I don't know why the hell I had to get a new one. The old one worked just fine."
I shake my head. "You're too young to be so fucking old, Armstrong."
"Fuck off, Madden." He furrows his brows at me. "Why are you here anyway? Aren't you supposed to be babysitting Nina?"
"She's the reason I'm here. Her brother didn't set the fires."
Dillon freezes in the act of smoothing out his report, his eyes locking on my face. "What do you mean he didn't set the fires? Since when was that a fucking possibility? I explicitly asked you this morning about him being a suspect and you told me that he had football practice last night."
Shit. I guess I owe him an explanation.
"He did, but Nina has been worried he might have been responsible." I shove a hand through my hair. "It's part of what she's been so fucking worried about since the fire. But there's no way he did it because he has alibis for the last two fires."
"You said something was off about this one."
"Something is off about this."
"Are you intentionally trying to piss me off or does it come naturally to you?"
"Depends on the day. Right now, it's natural."
"Jesus Christ." Dillon laughs. "Just fill me in before I decide to tell your Chief to fire you."
"Her dad owed mobsters a fuckton of money before he died. They showed up trying to collect from her and Nate. I'm guessing they set the other fires to keep us from realizing this one was intended to be a murder," I say. "Except they weren't counting on her getting out alive."
"Jesus fucking…" Dillon breathes. "Does she know who they are?"
"She could pick them out of a lineup, but if you're asking if they gave her their names and socials, no," I growl, still pissed beyond measure. "I've got a phone number for one of them, but I'm going to guess it's a texting app that you can't trace."
"Give me everything you've got," Dillon orders, grabbing his notebook.
"The one in charge calls himself Alex. She says he's about 6'1", maybe 230 pounds, short dark hair, cold black eyes, a goatee, has a very slight accent," I recite while Dillon writes. "She thinks it could be Russian, but she isn't sure. No name for the other. About the same height, crewcut hair, hazel eyes, has a scar below his eyes, and a skull tattoo on the side of his throat. They drive a black Lexus, four door sedan, Texas tags. She hasn't gotten a tag number."
"Stolen?" Dillon muses, glancing up at me.
"Possibly." I tug at the roots of my hair. "We need to find her brother, man. Whoever the fuck they are, they're dangerous. They've already set a house on fire with her inside. God only knows what they may try next."
"Is it possible they already have her brother?"
"Jesus. He left a note that said he was camping, but…" I considered the same goddamn thing the whole way over here. What if they already have him, and that fucking note was just bullshit to keep her complacent? She was in the hospital all night. If they saw us pull her out of the house, they may very well have made a play for him. "We have to find him. He's all she's got, man."
Dillon jerks his chin in a nod. "I'll put everyone on it," he promises, worry in his eyes. "If she doesn't already know it's a possibility, try not to let her find out, Emmett. It'll break her fucking heart."
"Yeah, I know."
"You need me to put someone on her?"
"She won't be leaving my sight."
He jerks his chin in a nod. "I'll ask the sheriff in Granite Hills to step up patrol in her neighborhood until we find these motherfuckers."
"Find them quick," I growl. "They already tried to kill her once. We're not giving them another goddamn chance."
"Agreed," he says.