Chapter 4
Chapter Four
Colby cut the engine and let his hand rest on the keys for a moment, eyes on the ruins in front of them.
In the dark, the fire had been a monster—all rage and heat and hungry light.
In daylight, it was worse. There was nowhere for it to hide.
No smoke to soften the edges. No shadows to blur the details into something abstract and manageable.
Just blackened beams reaching toward the sky like broken fingers, twisted metal that had once been fixtures and railings, and the stark line where a life had stopped.
Beside him, Sabrina sat very still, both hands wrapped around the strap of the borrowed bag Bree had dropped off that morning. Her knuckles showed white against the canvas.
"You up for this?" he asked.
She didn't look at him. Her gaze stayed fixed on what used to be the Norman House Inn. "I need to see it."
That was not what he had asked, but it was answer enough.
"All right," he said. "We'll take it slow."
He got out and walked around to her side. She had already opened the door by the time he reached it, her hand still gripping the frame like she needed the anchor. Her feet hit the gravel, landing a little too carefully, like she wasn't entirely convinced the ground would hold her weight.
He stayed close, just off her shoulder, as they moved toward the yellow tape that still cordoned off the property. He kept his hands to himself. She didn't need guiding. She didn't need someone steering her toward what she already knew was there.
She needed a witness.
In daylight, the damage sorted itself into layers he could read like a language.
He picked out the black ribs of old beams, some still holding their shape despite the destruction.
The collapsed weight of the second floor lay in a heap where the lobby had been.
Scattered bones of furniture jutted from the ash—the corner of a dresser, the curved arm of what might have been a chair, shapes too burned to identify.
The stone steps at the front still stood, blackened and bare, leading up to nothing but sky.
Sabrina stopped at the edge of the tape.
Her shoulders went rigid beneath the borrowed jacket Bree had included in the bag.
He watched her profile. The shadows under her eyes had deepened since last night, purple bruises against skin that had gone pale. The set of her jaw looked like it cost her something to maintain. She was holding her breath without meaning to—he could see it in the stillness of her chest.
"You good here?" he asked quietly.
"No," she said. "But I'm here."
He could work with that.
A vehicle rolled in behind them, tires crunching on the gravel.
He glanced back and saw Diaz climb out of a Copper Moon PD SUV, a manila file folder tucked under her arm.
Her uniform looked crisp despite the early hour, but her face carried the same tired lines everyone wore after a night like the last one.
Her gaze skimmed the scene, taking in the same details he had cataloged.
She joined them at the tape. "Morning."
Colby nodded. "Sergeant."
Sabrina answered, softer. "Hi."
Diaz's attention went first to Sabrina, assessing. "You look like you got some sleep."
"She did," Colby said.
Sabrina shot him a sideways look that carried a hint of her old spark. "Some."
Diaz didn't debate it. She flipped open the folder, paper edges catching the morning light. "Fire investigation team finished their initial report. Lab fast-tracked the samples we pulled."
Colby watched Sabrina's fingers tighten on the bag strap, her knuckles going even whiter.
Diaz glanced down at the page as she spoke, her voice taking on the flat, professional tone of someone delivering facts.
"The accelerant dogs alerted in several areas corresponding to where the lobby was located.
Lab confirmed petroleum-based accelerant—gasoline, most likely—on the samples we collected.
Burn pattern matches that assessment. Multiple points of origin, spread in a way that suggests deliberate placement. "
Sabrina's eyes stayed locked on the ruins.
Diaz lifted her head, meeting Sabrina's gaze directly. "It was arson. That's official now."
Colby felt the words hit Sabrina like a physical blow. She swayed almost imperceptibly, her weight shifting backward for just a fraction of a second. He moved a half step closer, ready to catch her if she lost her balance, but she stayed upright through what looked like sheer force of will.
He watched her swallow, hard, like she had a stone lodged in her throat.
She had known this was likely. She had heard Anderson hint at it earlier, standing in this same spot while the crews finished their work. She had whispered about her ex in a hospital room that still smelled like antiseptic and smoke, her voice thin with fear and exhaustion.
Hearing it named now, with lab results and official reports behind it, carved the truth deep.
"Arson," she repeated under her breath. The word came out hollow.
Diaz's voice lost a little of its harder edge. "Yes. That designation will be included in the formal report. It matters for the insurance file and for the investigation going forward."
Sabrina nodded once. The motion looked automatic, disconnected from anything she was actually feeling. "Okay."
Diaz's gaze shifted to Colby for a moment, then back to Sabrina. Something in her expression changed—not softer, exactly, but more careful. "There's something else you need to know. We received an anonymous call last night. The caller suggested you had motive to set the fire yourself."
Sabrina's tired eyes went wide, shock cutting through the numbness. "I didn't set the fire. I would never do that. I love—" Her voice cracked, splintering on the word. "I loved this place."
Colby stepped closer, his hand hovering near her elbow without quite touching. He wasn't sure if contact would help or hurt. Wasn't sure what she needed from him in this moment.
"Sabrina." He kept his voice low, steady. "Anyone who knows you knows how much this place meant to you. Nobody who matters believes that call."
She hiccuped, trying to control her breathing, her chest rising and falling in uneven jerks. Her eyes—red-rimmed and bright with unshed tears—held Diaz's gaze. "I didn't do it."
Sergeant Diaz nodded once, the gesture carrying weight. "I hear you. I'm not treating you as a suspect. But I needed to tell you about the call, so you're aware. Anonymous tips have to be documented, even when they don't hold water."
Sabrina stared at her for a moment, processing. Then she turned back to the ashes, to the place where her life had been destroyed, while someone tried to make it look like it was her fault.
"If you remember anything you didn't tell me last night," Diaz added, her tone gentling, "anything at all, you call me directly."
"I will," Sabrina said.
Diaz closed the folder and tucked it back under her arm. "I'll let you have your time here. Take as long as you need."
She gave Colby a brief, understanding look—one professional to another, acknowledging that he would handle things from here—then turned back toward her SUV.
He waited until the sound of her boots on gravel faded and the engine started, watching the vehicle pull away down the service road. Then he glanced at Sabrina. "You need to sit down?"
"No."
Her voice was thin but firm.
He let his arms hang loose at his sides, fingers flexing once before going still. "Talk to me."
Her gaze didn't leave the rubble. "She said it was arson."
"She did."
"So someone did this on purpose. Deliberately. They walked onto my property, poured gasoline on my grandmother's floors, and struck a match."
"Yes."
The wind shifted just enough to pull up a stale whiff of burned wood and something chemical underneath. He saw her flinch at the scent and then force herself still, refusing to give the reaction any more ground.
"Last night," she said, "I kept trying to tell myself maybe it was faulty wiring.
Or an old heater someone left running. Or something I missed during my last inspection.
" She dragged in a breath that shuddered on the way out.
"That would have been awful. I would have blamed myself for the rest of my life.
But at least there would have been a reason.
Something that made sense. Something I could point to and say, 'That's where it went wrong. '"
He let her talk. Better out than locked inside, eating at her.
"This?" She lifted a hand slightly, fingers trembling as she gestured at the ruins. "There's no sense in this. There's no lesson. There's no way to fix it or prevent it next time because there was nothing I could have done."
He followed her line of sight. An old iron bedframe lay twisted across what used to be the lobby, its scrollwork warped by heat into something unrecognizable. A section of railing he recognized from the upstairs hall stuck up from the debris at an angle, like a broken bone jutting through skin.
"If I had checked every outlet a hundred times," she went on, her voice gaining a raw edge, "if I had replaced every bulb and rewired every wall and hired someone to inspect every inch of this place, it would not have mattered.
Someone walked in and decided to destroy it.
That was their choice. Their decision. And I had no say in it at all. "
Her voice cracked on the last word.
Colby's jaw tightened. Heat crawled up the back of his neck, the same anger he had been carrying since he first saw her on that smoke-filled landing. He swallowed it down. Anger would not help her stand here. It would not give her what she needed.
"That someone didn't win just because they managed to burn a building," he said.
"It was more than a building."
"I know."
"I don't think you do."
"Then tell me."
She was quiet for a long beat. He waited her out, watching the way the morning light caught the edges of the debris, turning ash into something that almost glittered.