Chapter 5
Madeline
Madeline leans into Wes, his solid frame the only thing holding her up now. Beneath the odor of his smoke-permeated clothes,
she finds the woodsy tang of the cologne he wears. Her best friend is dead. Wes could have been killed too. In one fell swoop
Madeline could have lost the two people who love her most in the world. And the baby. What would have happened if that jagged
shard of metal had struck her just a few inches to the left or right? She can barely stand to think about it.
“ATF?” Wes asks. Madeline feels him tense. “But why? It was an accident.”
“We’re often called by local law enforcement to investigate explosions,” the agent explains. “Someone died on your property.
We need to know why.” Madeline’s stomach lurches, and she buries her face into Wes’s shoulder. “I know this has been a traumatic
night for you both,” the agent says, “but the sooner we’re able to talk to witnesses, the better.”
“Sure, yes, of course,” Wes says, nodding vigorously. “We’ll do anything we can to help.”
“Great. Thanks,” the agent says. “Please sit.”
Madeline gingerly returns to her chair, and Wes lowers himself onto the doctor’s stool.
He rolls it close to Madeline, slips his hand into hers, and rubs her cold knuckles.
She’s exhausted, any earlier adrenaline from the day has seeped from her body.
All she wants to do is go home and crawl into bed.
But that’s not right, not when Johanna has died and so many others were injured.
It’s selfish. Madeline sits straighter, focuses her gaze on the agent.
He’s tall and slim with dark hair, cut close at the sides, longer on top. Day-old stubble on his face can’t hide the deep
dimples in his cheeks. The agent isn’t dressed as she expects. She thought federal agents only wore white shirts with dark
suits and ties. Not this one. He’s wearing khaki pants and a long-sleeve black high-performance T-shirt with a small circular
ATF logo on his chest. On his feet are a pair of retro black-and-white Vans Sidestripes. Apparently, the man interviewing
them was a skateboarder back in the day.
Agent Saldano pulls a small notebook from his back pocket but doesn’t open it. He takes them through the timeline of the evening.
He asks what they saw, what they heard, whether there was anything unusual or unexpected about the evening. Wes takes the
lead.
“It was a great night, everything was perfect until . . .” Wes says, shaking his head. “Everyone was having a great time until
that second explosion.”
“So you definitely heard two separate explosions?” the agent asks.
It all happened so quickly, but Madeline is certain that there were two explosions: the truck one hundred yards in front of
her, and then the barn behind them. “Yes,” Madeline says. “Definitely two explosions.”
“I agree,” Wes says. “It doesn’t make sense. There’s no possible reason the barn would explode. It was nowhere near the truck.”
“What was stored in the barn?” the agent asks. “Anything flammable?”
“Sure,” Wes says, shrugging. “It’s a storage barn. There were propane tanks, gas tanks, kerosene.”
Madeline’s stomach drops. “You think that the truck explosion might have somehow triggered the barn fire?” she asks. It’s the only scenario that makes sense to her. So it was their fault.
“That’s what we’re trying to find out,” the agent says mildly.
“No,” Wes says, releasing Madeline’s hand. “No way. We were careful. Tannerite is perfectly safe.”
The agent gives a slight smile, his dimples making another appearance. “In many cases, yes. In others, no.”
Madeline knows what the agent is referring to. She’s seen the news stories: the grandmother who died when a piece of shrapnel
from an old refrigerator stuffed with Tannerite and a can of diesel fuel blew up; the wildfire caused by Tannerite exploded
in tandem with a firecracker; the gender reveal that caused a fire that destroyed over forty-five thousand acres of woodland,
leaving only a jagged burn scar across the landscape.
“Who prepared the Tannerite?” the agent asks.
“No,” Wes repeats, getting to his feet. “We didn’t cause this to happen.” Madeline knows he is avoiding mentioning his brother’s
name, because it was Dix who mixed the Tannerite with the pink chalky powder.
“Do we need a lawyer?” Wes asks. “We want to help, but I think we should call our attorney.”
“I didn’t mean to give you that impression,” the agent says. “I simply wanted to get your initial thoughts. Once the sun comes
up, we’ll investigate the cause. Can you think of anyone who might hold a grudge? Would want to hurt you or any of your guests?”
“No,” Wes says with finality. “No one.”
“Sully Preston—” Madeline begins, but Wes gives a little shake of his head, and she claps her mouth shut. Wes isn’t going
to give this man anything. But why? Why wouldn’t he want to know what caused Johanna’s death?
If Wes’s reluctance to share information is suspicious, the agent doesn’t show any indication but simply moves on. “How about security around the property? Any cameras?”
Wes takes a breath and lifts his eyes to the ceiling as if thinking. “We have cameras at the front and back of the house and
around the stables and the equestrian barn. We also have alarm systems for the house and stables. If someone got on the property
who wasn’t supposed to, we’d know.”
“How many acres?” the agent asks.
“Three thousand, give or take,” Wes says, impatiently. “Listen, can we do this later? My wife needs to get home, and I still
haven’t found my brother.”
“I understand,” the agent says. “Please, go get some rest. I’ll check in with you in the morning.” He holds out his hand,
his eyes intently examining Wes.
Madeline can’t quite name the expression on the agent’s face. A prickle of fear runs through her. Could this really have been
all their fault? Could Wes really go to jail? Could she? Wes reluctantly shakes the agent’s hand, then quickly releases his
grip.
“Mrs. Drake,” the agent turns to Madeline, grasps her hand. His fingers are strong and warm, reassuring. “Congratulations
on the baby girl. I’m glad you’re okay. I’ll be in touch.”
“What did he say his name was?” Wes asks once the agent steps from the hospital room and gently closes the door behind him.
“I can’t remember,” Madeline says, numbly. “Saldano, maybe? Please, can we go home now?” She can’t hold it together much longer.
“Yeah,” Wes says, distractedly as he scrolls through his phone.
Madeline doesn’t have to ask what he’s looking for. She knows he’s searching his contacts for their attorney’s number.
“Wes, please,” she says, trying to keep the irritation from her voice. It’s been a terrible night for them all. “Can’t you call him later? Besides, we don’t even know what happened yet.”
“It doesn’t matter,” Wes says, as he helps Madeline to her feet. “The fire was on our property, and whatever caused it, we’ll
be on the hook. We can be sued for all we have. And why do you have to question everything I do? I know what people are like.
And why would you bring up the Prestons? The last thing we need is for people to think we’re blaming them. It’s only going
to hurt our business. From now on, just let me talk.”
“But how can you think about that right now?” Madeline asks, horrified. “Of all things, you’re worried that someone is going
to sue us? And that poor girl who got burned so badly. If it’s our fault, of course we have to help her out.” Her voice is
shaking, and a tightness forms in her chest.
“What girl?” Wes asks.
“The waitress. Mellie something,” Madeline says. “We shared an ambulance to the hospital. She’s pregnant too.” She looks down
at her lap.
“I fucking don’t care about some pregnant waitress, okay?” Wes says with a vehemence that surprises Madeline. “Can’t you just
stop talking right now? I have to think.” The shock must show on her face, because Wes lowers his voice. “I’m sorry. All I
want to focus on is you and our baby. That’s all that matters to me.”
Madeline looks down at the hospital scrubs she’s still holding and doesn’t know if she has the energy to put them on. With
effort she shrugs out of the robe, and pain shoots through her lower back, and her breath hitches.
Instantly, Wes is at her side. “I’m sorry.
You’re right, let’s not talk about that now.
Here, let me help,” he says. Madeline stays seated while Wes unties her hospital gown.
She is self-conscious of her nakedness, of the strangeness of her pregnant body, but she is too sore, too tired to protest. Wes tosses aside the hospital gown, then gently pulls the scrubs over her head.
He gets down on his knees in front of her, presses one large hand on her belly.
“I can’t believe I could have lost you,” he says, looking up at her. His eyes are wet. “Both of you.”
Madeline runs a hand across the top of his head. His hair smells of smoke and is dusty with ash. “We’re okay,” she says, and
Wes wipes his eyes. He guides each of her legs into the scrubs and carefully pulls them up over her bandages.
“How are the horses? Pip?” Madeline asks with another surge of worry.
“I don’t know,” he says, voice grave. “That’s why we have to get home. And I have no idea where my brother is. My phone’s
dead. Do you have yours?”
“No, I lost it,” she says, looking down at her bare feet. She lost her shoes in the explosion too.
“Jesus, Madeline,” Wes says. “You’re always losing your phone. I’m going to check with the nurse to see if she knows anything
about Dix,” Wes says. “I’ll only be a few minutes.”
“Yeah, of course. Go ahead,” Madeline says. “I’ll meet you at the front doors.”
“You can walk okay?” Wes asks.
“I’m fine,” Madeline assures him, thinking of Mellie, possibly burned, somewhere in the hospital.
After a few minutes, Madeline gets painfully to her feet and limps from the room. Down a long hallway, she sees a hunched
figure moving toward Wes. It’s Dalton Monaghan. A sob escapes her throat. Poor, poor Dalton. Madeline expects Wes to embrace
Dalton, to offer him some comfort. Instead, he just stands there, hands hanging helpless at his side. Voices rise, but the
distance keep the words from reaching her. Are they arguing? But as quickly as the encounter began it is over.
Dalton moves down the hallway with the deputy while Wes storms off. That’s when Madeline notices the ATF agent leaning against the nurses’ station. He also witnessed the exchange between Dalton and Wes.
Could the explosion really be their fault? Madeline knows how conscientious Wes is about safety. With the horses and the equestrian
center, they have to be. Yes, blowing up an old truck was over-the-top, but Wes had overseen nearly every aspect of the setup,
except for placing the pink powder and the explosive inside the truck. That was left to Dix and one of their ranch hands.
Could they have made a mistake?
Madeline makes a slow trek to the emergency room exit. She glances into an open doorway and catches sight of a familiar face.
The young waitress from the party. Madeline hesitates, a little voice in her head telling her to not get involved—she has
enough to worry about as it is—but they bonded in that ambulance ride. Both scared, injured, pregnant, and in that moment
very much alone. What harm could come from peeking in and saying hello?