Chapter 9
Chapter Nine
Colby saw Diaz's name flash across his phone screen just as he set two mugs of coffee on the counter.
Morning light streamed through the kitchen window, catching dust motes in the air and painting everything gold.
He'd been up for an hour already, moving quietly through the house, making coffee, checking the locks he'd installed the day before.
Old habits from the firehouse, the inability to stay in bed once his body decided it was time to be awake.
He glanced toward the hallway. The bedroom door stood open now, the soft sounds of movement drifting out.
Sabrina sat on the edge of the bed, her back to him, tying her hair up in that loose knot she favored.
His T-shirt draped over her shoulders like it had been made for her, the faded Copper Moon Cup logo stretched across her back, the hem hitting mid-thigh.
Something in his chest turned over at the sight. Domestic. That's what this was. Domestic in a way he hadn't experienced in longer than he cared to count.
She caught his eye in the mirror propped against the wall and lifted her brows in question, reading the tension in his posture.
"Diaz," he said, holding up the phone. "I'll put her on speaker."
Sabrina rose and padded down the hall toward him, bare feet silent on the wood floor. She'd gotten used to moving through his space already, navigating around the boxes and the mismatched furniture as if she belonged here. Maybe she did.
He hit the speaker button and set the phone on the counter between the coffee mugs. "Sergeant."
"Morning, Landon." Diaz's voice came through brisk and alert, the cadence of someone already two cups of coffee into her day and halfway through a mental checklist. "Is Sabrina with you?"
"Yes," he said. "You're on speaker."
"Good. Saves me a second call." There was a faint shuffle on the other end, like Diaz was moving somewhere more private, away from the background noise of the station. A door closed. "I went down to Main Street yesterday after you called. By the time I got there, Hartley wasn't anywhere in sight."
Sabrina's shoulders tightened, the muscles in her neck going rigid. She wrapped her hands around the back of the nearest chair, knuckles whitening against the wood.
"So he was just... gone," she said. "Vanished."
"Looks that way," Diaz said. "I talked to the barista you mentioned, the one at the café.
She remembered him. Said he paid for his drink, smiled at her like they were old friends, then stepped away to take a call on his cell.
She got busy with the morning rush. When she looked up again, he wasn't there anymore. "
"Did she hear what he said on the phone?" Sabrina asked. Her voice was steady, but Colby could see the tremor in her fingers where they gripped the chair. "Any of it?"
"No," Diaz said. "Sorry. She said he walked toward the alley while he talked, probably for privacy.
By the time she thought to look for him again, he was gone.
I'm going to pull what I can from the city cameras, but I'll be straight with you: there are a lot of dead angles on that block.
Budget cuts hit the surveillance system hard a few years back. "
Colby met Sabrina's gaze across the counter. Her eyes were too bright, that particular shine that meant she was holding back tears through sheer force of will.
"I wanted you to know I went down there," Diaz continued. "And I'm looking. For now, I need both of you to assume he's still in the area until we know differently. Don't get complacent. Don't assume he left just because we can't find him."
"Copy that," Colby said.
Diaz's tone softened slightly, losing some of its professional edge. "How're you holding up, Sabrina? And I mean really, not the answer you'd give a stranger."
Sabrina let out a breath that shuddered on the way out. "I've been better. But I'm... here. I'm still standing. That counts for something."
"That tracks with what Colby told me," Diaz said.
"You're tougher than you think, Sabrina.
Don't let anyone convince you otherwise.
" She paused. "Listen, I know seeing Hartley shook you.
I get it. But I don't want you jumping to conclusions about the fire yet.
He's on my list, but he's not the only name on it. "
"Right." Sabrina's mouth flattened into a thin line. "The list keeps growing. That's reassuring."
"I know it doesn't feel that way," Diaz said.
"But more names means more angles to work, more chances to find the truth.
Motives usually come down to three things: money, revenge, or something personal.
In your case, you've got land that's worth a small fortune to the right buyer, an ex-husband who didn't want you to keep the place, and a business that brought strangers through town every single week.
We're working all of it. I don't have anything solid yet, but when I do, you'll be the first to know. "
Sabrina swallowed hard, her throat moving visibly. "Thank you. I mean that."
"In the meantime, stay put at Colby's as much as you can. Keep your phone charged and with you. And if you see Hartley anywhere, anywhere at all, you call me immediately. Don't approach him. Don't engage. Just get somewhere safe and dial."
Colby nodded even though Diaz couldn't see him. "She's not wandering Main Street alone. I've got her."
"I figured as much," Diaz said, and there was something in her voice that might have been approval. "All right. I'll let you two get back to your morning. I'll be in touch when I have more."
The line clicked off, leaving silence in its wake.
The quiet settled between them, heavier than before, weighted with everything Diaz had said and everything she hadn't needed to.
"Money. Revenge. Something personal," Sabrina repeated, her voice hollow. She released her death grip on the chair and slid into the seat like her knees had suddenly forgotten how to hold her up. "That's comforting. Really makes a girl feel special."
Colby powered down the phone and turned to face her fully, leaning back against the counter. "It's Diaz. She's being straight with you because she respects you enough not to sugarcoat it."
"I know." Sabrina stared at the worn surface of the table, tracing a knot in the wood grain with her fingertip.
"It's just weird hearing my life summarized like a true crime podcast. Here's our victim.
Here are all the fascinating reasons someone might want her dead or homeless or ruined.
Coming up after the break, we'll explore which theory is most likely. "
His chest tightened at the word. "You're not a victim."
"Feels like it," she said quietly, not looking up. "Sometimes. Right now."
He moved around the counter and sat next to her, close enough that their knees almost touched under the wood, elbows braced on his thighs. "Let's talk it out. What are you thinking? Walk me through what's in your head."
She rubbed her thumb along the wood grain, back and forth, a repetitive motion that seemed to help her think.
"Okay. Land value first. You heard what Kara said at the site.
Developers were already circling before the ashes cooled.
Vultures with checkbooks. If this fire was about the land, that means someone wanted Norman House gone so they could get at the parcel underneath it. "
"Which would be stupid," he said. "Because you won't sell."
She let out a humorless breath that might have been trying to be a laugh.
"Arsonists aren't exactly known for their brilliant long-term planning.
Maybe they figured I'd be so devastated I'd take the first offer that came along.
Or maybe they didn't think about the aftermath at all. Just wanted the building gone."
"Some are," he said. "Known for planning, I mean. Diaz said whoever did this knew what they were doing. Picked the right accelerant, the right time of night, and knew where to hit for maximum damage. That's not some random idiot with a match and a grudge. That's someone who studied."
"Great," she said flatly. "So, a focused idiot. That's so much better."
He watched her fingers drum against the table, quick and restless, energy with nowhere to go. "What about the personal side? Gavin."
Her mouth tightened, the muscles in her jaw flexing.
"He hated that I kept Norman House. Hated it.
He called it a money pit, a sinkhole, an emotional crutch.
Said it was sentimental and weak to hang onto a building just because my grandparents had lived there.
Every time something broke, every time I had to call a plumber or replace a roof shingle, he'd get this look on his face and say, 'See?
This house is trying to tell you it's done. It wants to die. Let it.'"
Colby's jaw ticked, a muscle jumping beneath his beard.
"When I finally left him and moved into the inn full-time, he was livid," she continued.
"Absolutely furious. He'd been so sure I'd sell, take the money, invest it in something 'smart' that he could manage for me.
When I chose the house over his plans, he told me I'd never make it.
That I'd come crawling back inside a year, begging him to fix the mess I'd made.
" Her voice dropped. "I didn't. That probably made it worse. "
"Does he know your insurance situation?" Colby asked, keeping his tone even despite the anger building behind his ribs.
"Of course he does." She pitched her voice into a clipped imitation, the words coming out sharp and condescending.
"'Let me look at your policy, Sabrina. Someone has to make sure you don't make emotional decisions.
' He went over every line when I renewed.
He knows exactly what I'm covered for, exactly what the payout would be, exactly what my options are. "
"And he's already tried to make you feel like the fire's your fault," Colby said. "Spinning it before anyone even asks."