Chapter 25
Rachel
I’m folding laundry in the living room when the guilt hits again.
It’s been happening more frequently since we moved in. These moments where I stop mid-task and think about what I’m doing. Who I’m doing it with. How wrong it should feel, but doesn’t.
Three men.
I have feelings for three men.
Not casual feelings. Not friendly affection. Real, deep, complicated feelings that make my chest tight when I think too hard about them.
Cole makes me feel safe. Protected. Like nothing can touch me when he’s around.
Theo makes me feel light. Happy. Like life can be more than just surviving.
Marco makes me feel seen. Understood. Like he knows exactly who I am and accepts it without question.
And that terrifies me.
Because what kind of person has feelings for three people at once? What does that make me? Greedy? Selfish? Damaged in ways I haven’t fully processed?
Normal people pick one person. Build a life with them. Don’t sit in their living room folding laundry while wondering which of three men they’ll run into shirtless next and trying not to think about how that makes them feel.
My brain short-circuits every time I see them shirtless. Every time, I have to remind myself that I’m a grown woman who can see an attractive man without falling apart.
Every time, I fail.
And then there’s the guilt. Not about the attraction—I can’t help that. But about what people would think if they knew. What Jake would think. What would this town say about the single mother living with three men?
She’s desperate. She’s using them. She’s setting a terrible example for her son.
I can hear the whispers already. Can imagine Patricia Westbrook’s face if she found out. Can picture the comments online if this ever got out.
Of course, she’s with all three of them. Probably can’t decide which one to manipulate next.
I fold another shirt with more force than necessary.
“You’re going to tear that.” Marco’s voice makes me jump.
He’s standing in the doorway with his laptop and a stack of files, still in his work clothes: dark pants, badge on his belt.
“Sorry. Just thinking.”
“About?” He sits in the armchair across from me, opening his laptop.
“Nothing important.” I set down the laundry. “How’s the investigation going?”
“Actually, that’s why I wanted to talk to you.” He pulls up a document on his screen. “My assistant, Phoebe, made some connections today. Connections we should’ve seen earlier.”
“What kind of connections?”
“Dorothy Williams.” He turns the laptop so I can see. “She’s the link between all three fires.”
I lean forward. “What do you mean?”
“First fire: café. Dorothy was there minutes before it started. She left early, you stayed late. Fire happens.”
“Okay.”
“Second fire: library. Dorothy was scheduled to volunteer that afternoon and called in sick. You went to get Tommy’s book. Fire happens.”
“Third fire. Her house. Where I was visiting.”
“Exactly.” Marco pulls up another file. “Three fires, Dorothy’s the common factor. She was supposed to be at all of them. But she wasn’t.”
“Except the third one. She was home.”
“Right. Which is why that fire happened at her house specifically.” He looks at me. “Someone’s targeting Dorothy Williams. You keep accidentally being there instead.”
I sit back, processing. “Who would want to hurt Dorothy?”
“That’s what we need to figure out.” He sets the laptop aside. “Phoebe ran backgrounds on everyone in Dorothy’s life. Family, friends, church members. Only one person stands out.”
“Ryan.”
“Ryan.” Marco nods. “Dorothy’s grandson.” I think about Dorothy’s voice when she talks about Ryan. The worry. The disappointment. The way she always makes excuses for him, even when she knows he’s lying about where the money goes.
“She complains about him constantly,” I say quietly. “Every time we talk, she mentions the gambling. The money he keeps asking for. How he gets angry when she suggests he needs help.”
“How angry?”
“I don’t know. She never gave specifics. Just said he’s been volatile lately. That he stormed out last time she refused to give him money.”
Marco writes this down. “When was that?”
“A few weeks ago? Before the first fire, I think.” I try to remember. “She mentioned it at the café one Tuesday. Said he’d been by asking for rent money, and she finally told him no.”
“And then the café burned down that night.”
We both go quiet.
Marco closes his laptop. "We're building a solid case. I have enough evidence to be confident Ryan is our guy, but I need more before we can make an arrest that sticks."
"What kind of evidence?"
"I can't share details of an active investigation." His tone is professional but not cold. "What I can tell you is that we're close. Very close."
"But you're sure it's him?"
"Yes. The evidence points to Ryan. He had motive and opportunity for all three fires." He stands up. "What I need from you right now is to stay vigilant. Keep your doors locked. Don't go anywhere alone if you can help it."
"You think I'm in danger?"
"I think you've been present at three fire scenes. If Ryan realizes you might have seen something—anything that could identify him—you could become a problem, he wants to eliminate."
The words hit like ice water. "You think he'd come after me?"
"I think desperate people do desperate things. And right now, Ryan Williams is very desperate." Marco moves closer. "Which is why you stay here. With us. Where we can keep you safe."
I nod, even though my hands are shaking.
"Rachel." His voice softens slightly. "We'll figure this out. We'll catch him. But I need you to trust me. Trust that I know what I'm doing."
"I do trust you."
"Good." He picks up his laptop. "I'm going to call Phoebe. We need to coordinate the next steps of the investigation. We're getting close to closing this."
He heads toward his office, leaving me alone with the laundry and my thoughts.