Chapter 22 #2
Sweet, fresh air teased my nose. I tried to drag in a breath and choked on it, rolling to my side, lungs heaving, desperate for oxygen.
A shadow fell across my face, and I blinked up at a firefighter in uniform, his face grave.
He looked across me at someone else. I turned my head to see Jim, one of West’s deputies, staring down at me.
“Thought you were smarter than this, Avery,” he said. “You need medical attention?”
I shook my head slowly, my lungs finally relaxed enough to pull in air.
I lay flat on my back on the pavement, staring up at the blue sky and the clouds of smoke billowing from Wild Haven Brewing.
Firefighters streamed into the building.
More sirens wailed in the distance. I forced myself to focus on Jim, still leaning over me, a look of disgust on his face that I couldn’t process.
“On your feet,” he said.
I wobbled as I stood, not quite understanding what was happening.
I was alive and breathing fresh air, while behind me, Wild Haven Brewing burned.
It had happened so fast. I’d only been in the building for minutes.
How had they gotten here so quickly? I hadn’t called, too focused on getting out before the smoke and flames took me.
I straightened, drawing in a breath, and my lungs caught. A second later, I doubled over, hands on my knees, hacking, tears streaming from my eyes. When I thought I could talk, I rasped out, “How did you get here so fast?”
I straightened, and a hand closed over my wrist. Jim.
He grabbed my other wrist, slapped on cold, metal cuffs, and said, “Call came in ten minutes ago. A trespasser at Wild Haven Brewing. Someone saw a tall, dark-haired woman unloading gas cans from the back of her vehicle.” He looked over to my car and the three red gas cans sitting behind it on the pavement.
“Those aren’t mine,” I said, blinking stinging tears from my eyes.
“Sure,” Jim said. “But considering I got a report of arson and found you here with gas cans by your car, I’m going to arrest you, and we’ll let the judge sort it out.”
I froze, struggling to understand what was happening as he roughly grabbed my arm and led me to his cruiser. “I didn’t—I just got here. Bob texted me.” I was babbling, but I couldn’t get my head around what the deputy had said.
The call came in ten minutes ago? Had I even been here ten minutes ago?
Maybe, but barely. How? There definitely hadn’t been a fire ten minutes ago unless—I felt like I was in a puzzle someone had tossed in the air, the pieces falling everywhere, and I couldn’t put them together to make a picture that made sense.
“I didn’t set a fire,” I said. “I just got here.”
“Save it.” Jim splayed his hand over the top of my head and pushed me into the back seat of his cruiser, closing the door with a thunk.
“Don’t I get a phone call?” I asked as soon as he got in the driver’s seat.
“Later,” was all he said.
I craned my neck to see another fire truck pulling into the parking lot. I hoped they could save Bob’s brewery. Whatever was going on here, I was pretty sure he was an innocent victim, just like me.
“This is absurd,” I said. “I didn’t set that fire, and if I did, I wouldn’t have been stupid enough to leave gas cans right behind my car.”
“You would if you didn’t think you were going to get caught,” Jim said. “Bad move, locking yourself inside.”
“I didn’t lock myself inside,” I said, trying to control the temper that wanted to fill the space left behind by adrenaline. I needed a shower. To see a doctor about the raw scrape of every breath I took. Instead, I was cuffed and locked in the back of a police cruiser.
Jim let out a sigh and met my eyes in the rearview mirror.
“Avery, I’m not in the habit of helping arsonists.
But since I know our chief has a soft spot for you and your brother’s a good guy, I’m going to tell you this: keep your mouth shut.
We have you at the scene of a reported arson with three empty cans of gas next to your car, and you were the only person on the property.
It doesn’t look great. If you’re innocent, you’re going to have to hope someone can sort it out for you.
But right now, every word you say can only make things worse. Do us both a favor and shut up.”
I nodded, in shock, but with it enough to listen.
He made a good point. I wasn’t an arsonist. I also wasn’t a lawyer.
Or a cop. If I knew the right thing to say to get these cuffs off my wrists, I’d say it.
But I didn’t. All I could do was wait for my phone call or for someone to tell West I’d been arrested.
And then I remembered what happened when my father died.
Someone had seen Ford driving away from Heartstone Manor, in a rush, looking angry.
They’d found his shoe prints outside the window and the murder weapon in his closet.
That was enough. He’d spent a year in prison because even with that shitty evidence, he hadn’t been able to prove that he didn’t do it.
Just like I couldn’t prove I hadn’t set the fire.
Fuck. My gut turned cold, and my heart raced.
Ten minutes before, I’d been hoping I didn’t die in the fire.
Now, I wasn’t that much better off. I was alive, and that was something.
I’d take it. But someone had set me up for arson.
And the last time that happened to my family, the victim had gone to prison.
Ford only got back out because whoever set him up wanted him somewhere he was easier to kill.
That was our best guess, at least. So, what did that mean for me?
I gritted my teeth and let out a long breath. I hated being helpless. I hated not being able to solve my own problems. And here I was, in the back of a police cruiser, my hands cuffed, and there wasn’t a goddamn thing I could do about it. Not yet.
The police station wasn’t a long ride. Jim led me into the building, one hand tight on my arm.
Did he think I was going to run? Booking went by in a blur—the mug shot, the fingerprints—and then the cuffs came off, and I was shoved into a holding cell.
The Sawyers Bend Police Station only had a few cells.
Today, they were all empty, except for one on the end that had a big guy snoring on a bench, probably picked up the night before for being drunk and disorderly.
I sat, braced my arms on my knees, and prepared to wait for rescue.