Chapter 7 #2
“Fuck no,” she blurted, stepping back from him with a hollow laugh. “No insurance company would touch a place built this deep in the flood plain.”
He nodded toward the upturned snapping turtle. “You have a few amazing sculptures.”
She huffed. “Great.”
“And your tank.”
Staring at the tank on the mud, she shook her head. “It’s worthless without my tools. And they’re fried too.”
“You packed a backpack. And what about that book you grabbed? That was obviously special.”
As the flames climbed up to the roof, a new horror hit her. “Oh shit! Dad’s will. I hadn’t even started looking for it.” Her voice broke. “If it was in there, I’ll never know what his wishes were.”
Tears spilled from her eyes.
“Oh, Frankie.” The impossible note in his voice wrapped around her heart, and she crumbled into his chest again. As she fought the sobs burning in her throat, he ran his hand over her hair, comforting her in a way she’d never felt in her life.
Every inch of her body vibrated with anger, and grief, but also with a primal awareness that told her she was about to enter the biggest fight of her life. Yet she wasn’t scared, because she had a feeling Stone wouldn’t let her fight that battle alone.
For some crazy reason, she liked that idea.
She pulled back from his chest and looked up at him. Really looked.
He watched her with a strange kind of intensity that was so raw and fierce that she didn’t know what to do. It was like he had her all figured out. Meanwhile, she was still scrambling to understand him.
“What?” she asked, clearing her throat.
Stone gave her a crooked half-smile. “Nothing.”
She narrowed her eyes. “That’s not a nothing look.”
He shrugged. “Okay, I was just debating whether you’re incredibly brave or plain crazy.”
She cocked an eyebrow, waiting for him to elaborate.
He gestured toward the acetylene tank in the mud at their feet. “You risked your life to save that. Sane people usually run away from burning buildings.”
“I didn’t want my home ruined by an explosion. Fat lot of good that did.” She glanced at the smoldering ruins and dragged her gaze back to him.
Stone nodded, his brow furrowing. “Hmm, yep, I’m going with brave and a side of crazy.”
A hoarse laugh escaped her lips, catching her completely off-guard. It hurt. Everything hurt. Yet his attempt at a joke seemed somehow necessary.
She shook her head at him. “You followed me into that blaze. I’d say you’re the crazy one.”
“I was trying to save your ass.”
“My ass was just fine, thank you.”
“I know.” A tiny smirk teased his lips as his gaze locked with hers. His intense look sent a delicious warmth fluttering through her stomach.
Jesus. Half of my brain must’ve been fried.
She exhaled hard and rolled her shoulders, trying to relieve the knot in her spine.
With a thunderous boom, the last section of the roof collapsed in a burst of flames, showering embers everywhere.
She straightened her shoulders and wiped roughly at her face. “Those bastards are going to pay for this.”
Dragging her gaze from the blaze, she glanced down at her father’s leather-bound notebook.
Dad’s secrets. The only valuable item I have left.
Stone cleared his throat. “So I’m guessing that notebook was your father’s.”
She was certain it contained the reason why he was murdered, she just hadn’t figured out his notes yet. She sucked in a tight breath, and unable to speak, simply nodded.
“How long ago did he pass away?”
Swallowing the lump in her throat, she blinked up at him. “Five weeks ago.”
His jaw slackened as shock and sorrow filled his stunning blue eyes. “Christ, Frankie. You’ve been through hell.”
“You could say that.” She tried for nonchalance, but her voice cracked.
“I’m so sorry.” He pressed his hand to her shoulder, and the warmth of his palm seeped through her soot-stained shirt. His unexpected gentleness made her mind whirl.
You don’t even know him, for fuck’s sake. Just hours ago, you thought he’d killed your father.
She shot him a sideways glance, trying to ignore his infuriatingly stunning profile. “What for exactly? Why are you sorry?”
He waved at the flaming mess of her home. “For that. And for your loss.”
A fresh wave of grief blazed through her, but she forced it down, clenching her fists and digging her nails deep into her palms until the pain gave her focus.
“I promise I’ll make this right.”
She rolled her eyes. “You shouldn’t make promises you can’t keep.”
“I don’t.” His tone was hard as metal, yet he was impossibly gentle as he brushed a clump of dirty hair from her face. “I promise you that I’ll make those fuckers pay for this.”
The rage in his eyes took her breath away. Not because it scared her, but because it perfectly mirrored the firestorm burning inside her own chest.
Despite everything, she absolutely believed him.
As he held her gaze for a long moment, an unspoken understanding passed between them. The intensity in his crystal blue eyes made her throat dry.
Stone broke the contact, glancing back at the house where flames consumed the last of her memories.
“We should move,” he said. “Those bastards might circle back.”
He reached down and grabbed her father’s notebook from the top of her backpack.
“Hey. Don’t touch that.” The words burst from her before she could stop them, protective instinct overriding everything else.
“I was giving it to you.” His voice remained calm as he handed her the book.
Clutching the book to her chest, she lowered her gaze.
“Sorry,” she murmured, embarrassed by her reaction. “It’s just—”
“You don’t need to explain.”
His understanding only made her feel more messed up.
“Want me to carry your pack?” he asked, his tone careful, like he was approaching a wounded animal.
She bristled at her stupidity. “No. I’ve got it.”
Stone sighed, running a hand through his dirt-streaked hair. “Damn it, Frankie. I’m on your side. We’re partners, remember?”
Forcing a smile, she nodded.
“Okay then, partner.” She tried for casual, but the word felt strange on her tongue. “What do we do now?”
Relief flickered across his face.
“We’re going to make these fuckers pay, that’s what.” He swept his attention toward the river. “First up. We need another boat. Any ideas?”
She slipped the notebook into her backpack and zipped it up. No more tears. Not now. She would grieve properly after she’d hunted down the bastards who had murdered her father and destroyed her home.
“Yeah. Weasel Walters.” Her voice came out steadier than she expected, surprising herself.
Stone raised an eyebrow. “Weasel Walters? Sounds like a cartoon character.”
She brushed her hands on her denim shorts.
“Worse. He’s a creepy son of a bitch who’s always spying on me and poking his nose in my business.” She glanced around the bayou. “I’m surprised he’s not here now, watching the show. The stupid bastard meddled with my crab pots once.”
Stone sucked air through his teeth. “Let me guess. You rearranged his nose.”
“Yep. He has no idea who he’s messing with.”
Stone’s mouth curved into a smirk.
“What?” she demanded, self-conscious under his gaze.
His eyes crinkled at the corners. “I like it when you talk dirty.”
She giggled, and an unexpected flutter danced through her stomach that had no business being there.
Not with her home still burning behind them.
Not with her father’s murderer still roaming free.
But whether she liked it or not, she was stuck with Stone.
For now. She could easily give him the slip when she was ready, she knew the bayou’s hiding spots better than anyone.
Forcing a lighter tone into her voice, she said, “You’re lucky that line worked. Any other day, I’d have punched you.”
He winced, and his hand hovered near his groin. “On that note, any chance you could leave my balls alone?”
She shrugged and swung her backpack onto one shoulder. “No promises.”
“Oh, come on, that’s not fair. We’re partners.”
She couldn’t stop a hint of a smile touching her lips. “Just saying, don’t piss me off.”
“Right. Mental note not to piss off Daisy Duke.” He dusted his hands on his cargo pants. “You sure you don’t want me to take your pack?”
“Nope.”
Why does he have to be so nice?
Despite everything, she found herself liking him.
Even with his awful jokes and ill-timed charm, there was a steadiness about him that made all the bullshit feel a little less impossible.
It was just a damn shame they’d crossed paths now, when her focus needed to be on finding out who murdered her father.
“So, partner,” he said, sweeping his gaze to the thick vegetation behind them, “which way?”
“This way.” Turning from the flames, she took a step, and sharp pain lanced up her shin. She winced, stumbling slightly.
Damn it. I forgot about my twisted ankle.
“You okay?” Stone asked.
She shot him a glance over her shoulder. “I’m fine,” she mumbled. “All good.”
“Uh-huh. Sounds like it.”
“Shut up,” she muttered, but couldn’t stop her smile as she led him deeper into the swamp.
Their view narrowed to dense shrubs, ancient cypress trees, tangled vines, and the gentle swoosh of water lapping at the edge of the creek.
Her boots squelched through the mud, and thankfully, the air grew cooler beneath the canopy.
She moved by instinct, following trails that weren’t on any map.
With every step, her thoughts spun on an endless loop: the fire, her father’s unblinking eyes, his leather notebook, what they saw at Blackwater Deep . . . and the man walking close behind her.
She’d lost her home. Her father. Her gear. Her career. Every fucking thing. But the swamp was still hers. These waters had shaped her, taught her to listen, to fight, to survive. Walking through the wild landscape was like having nature wrap around her and protect her.
The men who had done this thought they could scare her into silence, but they didn’t know who they were dealing with.
They should’ve made sure I died in that inferno.
Because now, Frankie wasn’t just searching for answers.
Now, she was hunting for revenge.
And, thanks to those assholes, she had absolutely nothing left to lose.