14. Boone
Boone
T his girl doesn’t belong here–not really. But you wouldn’t know it from the way those two look at her.
Jonah trails her through the house like he’s half-tethered to her. Finn can’t go ten minutes without throwing her a look full of love she hasn’t earned. And Ani? She laps it up.
I can see it written in every move they make this morning. Hell, I didn’t even need to see Jonah come out of her damn room at the ass crack of dawn to know.
Something’s changed between them.
And I fucking hate it.
She’s been here for almost a week. Still won’t meet my eyes. Still won’t correct me when I call her Annie. Still acts like she’s bracing for impact when I’m around.
But she’s got Finn wrapped around her finger and Jonah walking around catering to her every need. How am I the only one who can see through this bullshit?
I slam the back door on my way out.
I need distance. A task. Something to take my mind off of her.
The drive to the fire station doesn’t help. I turn up the music but thoughts of her still invade my mind.
We took her in. Fed her. Let her sleep under our roof. Gave her access to Mae. And she’s given us nothing. We can’t even look into her background, confirm her story, make sure she hasn’t done something that could blow up in our faces. Because she won’t give us her full name.
I walk into the station through the back entrance, ignoring the greetings from the shift crew still hanging around. I’ve got a head full of heat and no outlet. I head into my office, looking for a distraction.
My desk is a mess. The stack of overdue reports is still waiting.
I drop into my chair, roll my shoulders back and try to get my brain to cooperate. Paperwork has never been my thing, but it’s a task I can control—and right now that’s what I need.
I get through a couple of reports before the front door buzzer sounds.
The man who steps inside isn’t anyone I recognize. Tall, clean cut, dressed too neat for someone local. He moves with precision. There’s a black leather folder in his hand.
There’s a pause; then I hear one of the guys call out, “Can I help you?”
“I’m looking for a–”he checks his folder, “Boone Caldwell.”
Another set of boots scuffs the hallway. Jefferson swings his head in my doorway. “Hey, Cap? You got a visitor.”
I sigh and follow Jefferson back out to the lobby.
Up close it’s even more obvious this man doesn’t belong.
Tall, mid-forties maybe. Dressed in a dark coat and tailored pants.
He’s clean-cut, every part of him crisp and pressed, from the exact part in his hair to that black leather folder he’s practically white-knuckling.
“I’m Boone. What can I do for you?”
“Morning. I’m looking into the fire at the Valley View Motel. Heard your crew was first on scene.”
I keep my expression neutral. “We were. It’s in the report.”
“I read it. Just had a few follow-up questions. Do you have a minute?”
I nod once. “This way.”
He follows me back into the office without a word. I close the door behind us to give us some privacy, but I know my boys are probably listening outside the door.
I sit back down, motioning toward the chair across from mine. He doesn’t sit. Instead, he flips open the folder and slides a photo across the desk.
The moment I see her face, my body goes still.
It’s Ani.
She’s younger in the picture. Different hairstyle. And with bright red lipstick on. But it’s her.
“This woman,” he says, tapping the corner of the photo. “We believe she may have been at the scene of the motel fire earlier this week.”
I keep my expression neutral. “And you are?”
“Just following up on behalf of a concerned party,” he replies. His smile is polite. “They want to ensure she’s safe.”
I don’t blink. “Was there reason to believe she wasn’t?”
The man doesn’t answer that. “Were there any witnesses who saw where she went after the fire?”
“No one stuck around once they were cleared to leave,” I say.
He nods, then looks through the folder, obviously looking for something else.
I lean back slowly. “You said you’re following up for a concerned party. You want to give me the person’s name?”
He offers that same thin smile again. “I can’t divulge that information, Mr. Caldwell.”
My hands fold on top of the desk. Every inch of me is screaming to throw this man out, but I don’t move. Not yet.
There’s a beat of silence. Then he opens the folder again and slides out another page. It looks like a report, but it’s not one I’ve seen in regards to this case. I press my lips together and open my hands, wordless, making it clear I’ve got nothing for him.
“This woman,” he taps Ani’s picture like I haven’t already stared a hole through the image, “was last seen near the motel prior to the fire.”
“And?” I tilt my head, keeping my tone even. “There were several people who checked in only hours before the place went up. You going to track all of them down, too?”
“She checked in under a false name. Paid cash.”
I narrow my eyes. “And you think that means what, exactly?”
“There’s mounting evidence she may have been behind the fire. We’re not accusing anyone. Just gathering information. It’s possible she panicked. People make irrational decisions under pressure.”
“I don’t see how that could be,” I say, my jaw tight. “The fire inspector already ruled it was faulty wiring.”
“That was an early assessment.”
“No. That was the report. Final and filed. I saw it myself.”
His expression doesn’t change. Just a slight purse of the lips, like he’s testing how far I’ll push back. “These things have a way of evolving,” he says.
“They don’t, actually. They’re usually pretty cut and dry.”
The flicker of calm behind his eyes hardens, but only for a second. “I wouldn’t know anything about that.”
I lean back just enough to feel the wood press between my shoulder blades. “I don’t have anything else to tell you.”
There’s a beat of silence. Then he closes the folder, taps it twice with his fingers, and slides it back into the crook of his arm.
“Well. If anything comes to mind, here’s my card.”
He hands me a card which only has a phone number on it and lets himself out. The door shuts with a click.
The second he’s gone, I let the panic emerge.
It’s not fear for Ani.
It’s Mae I’m thinking about. I’ve worked too damn hard to keep her world stable, to make her life safe.
And now there’s a man with a leather folder and a government voice suggesting we might’ve let danger walk through our front door.
My boots hit the floor hard as I stand. I pace my office. I shove a hand through my hair and stop at the window.
Faulty wiring. That’s what the report said. I’ve seen enough of them to know what an electrical fire looks like. And the inspector called it quick. Clean. No sign of accelerant, no suspicious patterns.
I know that girl didn’t start the fire.
So, why the hell are they trying to claim she did?
I rub my sternum, trying to ease the pressure that’s been building there since he pulled out that damn photo.
I need to clear my head.
She said she didn’t have anything. That she didn’t have anywhere else to go. We believed her. Finn did more than believe her, and now Jonah has too. And me? I’ve kept my distance. For good reason.
I’m getting to the bottom of this bullshit once and for all.
I grab my keys, the instinct to protect flaring too hot to ignore. I need answers. But first, I need to make damn sure she hasn't put us in the kind of danger I can’t talk my way out of.
And if she has?
Then we’ve got a much bigger problem.
I come through the front door, my boots loud on the entry floor. I want them to know I’m home. We’re doing this. Right. Fucking. Now.
The living room lights are low. Ani is curled on the edge of the couch with a book open on her lap, but she’s not reading. Her eyes are distant, stuck somewhere far away until the sound of the door snaps her back.
She straightens quickly. I haven’t said a word yet, but she already looks cornered.
“What did I do now, Daddy Boone?”
The words are meant to be light. A joke. She even tries to smile, but it falls flat.
I step further into the room.
“You want to tell me what you’ve brought into my town?”
Her smile falters. “I don’t know what you mean.”
“You don’t?”
Her mouth opens, then closes. She swallows. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“This is about the man who walked into my station asking questions about the fire. This is about your picture being slid across my desk with accusations of arson attached to it.”
She presses her lips together. Her knuckles turn white against the fabric of her pants.
“You want to stay here, near our kid?” I’m fighting to keep the venom out of my voice but failing. “Then I need to know what kind of danger you’re inviting into our lives.”
“I haven’t invited?—”
“Don’t,” I cut in. “Don’t lie. Not now.”
Her chest is rising rapidly now and she won’t meet my eyes.
I take another step forward. “You haven’t given us your last name. Hell, I don’t even know your real first name. You haven’t told us anything at all. And now someone’s showing up asking if we’ve seen the girl who vanished after the fire at that motel.”
Her lips part in a silent breath. I watch her shoulders collapse, shrinking like she wants to disappear. I know that posture. It’s not guilt. It’s fear.
“What did you bring to our door, Ani?”
She looks up then, her eyes directly on mine.
“I didn’t start the fire,” she says. “I didn’t hurt anyone.”
“I know that,” I snap. “What are you running from?”
She hesitates.
“What are you running from?” I ask again, more slowly this time.
“My family.”
The answer is so quiet I almost miss it.
“What about them?”
“I just wanted my own life.”
I stare at her, waiting for more. She doesn’t give it. That’s such a bullshit answer. She hasn’t told me a goddamned thing.
“You don’t get to play vague and wounded right now,” I blurt out. “You put my family at risk. You put Mae at risk.”
She shakes her head and starts stuttering nonsense, but I cut her off. She stands up as if she’s getting ready to escape.
“You’re hiding something, and I’m done pretending not to see it.”
“I’m not hiding?—”
“You are.”
I take a step forward.
“I’m going to ask one more time—what the hell did you bring into my town?” I move toward her.
“I don’t?—”
“Bullshit!”
Her eyes go wide. Panic flashes across her face. She steps back fast, like I’ve struck her. She doesn’t look defiant or manipulative or smug or calculating. She looks small. Terrified.
She blinks fast, like she’s trying to hide how close she is to breaking.
Shame surges up in my chest.
Fuck.
I step back and rake a hand through my hair. “I didn’t mean?—”