Chapter 21
twenty-one
“This is how the fire starts. This is how we burn.” - Libba Bray
Jocelyn’s doubt was a fortress built over years of letdowns and being chosen last. But the earnestness in Cole’s expression sent a tremor through its foundation, and she wasn’t sure she could patch it back up if it cracked.
Having him along on her investigation could be a boon. People weren’t exactly forthcoming with her. No matter her roots, in their minds, she was not the prodigal returned. More like a traitor slinking back.
She’d thrown a lot of suspicion toward Cole’s family, so his motives might not have been as clear-cut as he claimed.
It kept her doubt deeply entrenched. “Do you even want to know what really happened?”
She expected a reaction, but Cole only crossed the room to retrieve the coffee he’d splashed on himself. To buy himself time?
He even sipped before answering. “Like you said, there are some big question marks.”
She shouldn’t have been entertaining this. Finding out about his father’s secret had rattled him badly, and despite what he thought, she didn’t want to hurt him.
“What if you don’t like the answers?” she challenged.
He lowered the mug, steady though the faint flicker in his eyes betrayed him.
“This is your town,” she insisted. “The people here are your people, your community.”
Cole set the coffee down and moved closer. “You think I’d rather protect this place and let a murderer walk free?”
There was something feral in the way he closed the distance between them. It sent a shiver down her spine—part unease, part attraction. She expected a smirk to dance around that sexy slash of a mouth, but it never appeared as she backed up. The window sill stopped her, and still he kept coming.
“I don’t know, Cole,” she said, breathless. “People always say they want the truth, but not when it hurts.”
He stopped only inches from her, but there was no victory in his expression, only intensity.
“I’m no stranger to pain, Jocelyn,” he said, voice rumbling and low. “I’d rather dig it up myself than have it hurled at my back.”
She searched his face for the proof that he meant it. “Just make sure you know what you’re yourself getting into.”
His gaze narrowed just a fraction. “Oh, I know what I’m getting myself into.”
The air thickened between them, and a foolish, impulsive part of her brain whispered it wouldn’t hurt to just push up on her toes, lay her mouth over his, put a match to the gasoline swirling between them.
It was such a blistering heat that seared in the sliver of space that separated their bodies that she stupidly thought giving in might make it easier to douse the flame after.
Cole seemed locked in his own violent war with himself. He didn’t step back, but his muscles were clutched so tightly, the energy to keep them frozen made a warmth radiate off of him, adding to the building pressure.
Her mind screamed, Just kiss me—and maybe she’d whispered it, because suddenly his mouth was on hers.
He pressed against her, hands firm but not wandering, only cupping the back of her head as his tongue tangled with hers.
She clutched his shirt as the fire caught low in her body, flaring every nerve ending to screaming life.
She was dangling at the edge of a precipice, and he was the only thing keeping her from falling.
A knock at the door snapped them apart.
“Cole?” A man’s voice called, dousing Jocelyn in cold reality.
“Shit.” Cole’s mutter brushed her ear before he called, “Hang on, Heath.”
Heat still burned in her cheeks when Cole opened the door to Sally’s husband. Heath stood there, exhaustion etched into every line of his face, the acrid smell of smoke clinging faintly to his clothes. His gaze snagged on Jocelyn standing across the room.
“Oh. You have a guest.”
Cole redirected by asking about the hotel.
“Yeah, that’s why I came by,” Heath said, attention shifting. “Wanted to see what you and me could do ourselves before we get quotes from contractors.”
“Oh, sure.” Cole glanced at her. “I’ll be there in a half hour.”
Heath nodded, looking dazed, like he didn’t know what his life was any more. Tragedy could sure do a number.
“We can walk over with you,” Jocelyn offered. “I want to chat with Sally anyway.”
Heath shrugged, relief evident in his expression.
She ignored the look Cole shot her. He wasn’t done with what had just happened between them. Neither was her body, but logic dictated that she put distance between them before she lost all sense.
“We’ll meet you over there, Heath,” Cole amended pointedly.
Heath’s brow furrowed, but he nodded and headed back down the steps.
After he shut the door, Cole turned on her, the same wild light in his eyes as before.
Before he could say a thing, she headed him off. “If we do this—”
“This what?” His demand cut sharp through her words.
She pretended not to hear him. “There can’t be any more kissing.”
His jaw clicked shut, then he exhaled through his nose. “Fine.”
She studied him, suspicious. “You agreed quick.”
He scowled. “The investigation’s what matters, isn’t it?”
“Yes…”
“Then there’s nothing to think about.” He held the door for her, surly but resolute.
They decided to drive separately, the tension between them loud as thunder as they got into their vehicles. Jocelyn replayed their conversation over and over, wondering if the regret she felt stirring was from letting him in or putting up such strict boundaries.
The Hollow Inn came into view, leaving no more room to analyze.
On the outside, little seemed damaged. But inside, with the tarp covering the ruined wing and the smell of smoke clinging to every surface, Jocelyn stumbled under the weight of old memory.
Cole seemed to falter, too, but he recovered quicker as they approached the front desk, where Sally and Heath’s daughter Remy sat.
She looked older than her seventeen years at the moment.
“Your mama around, Rem?” Cole asked. “Jocelyn’s here to see her.”
Jocelyn tried not to be annoyed at his take-charge attitude as Remy nodded. Her blonde ponytail bobbed as she slipped from her stool to head into the back, returning a moment later with a frazzled Sally Anne in tow.
“Oh, Cole, am I glad to see you,” Sally Anne said. “Heath said you’d be by. He’s off that way with the insurance man.”
Cole nodded at her gesture and tossed Jocelyn one last look before he went in search of Heath.
“Let’s talk in my office,” Sally said, brushing loose curls from her face. “Oh, Jossie, it’s so awful. I’ve been canceling reservations all morning, rearranging accommodations, and refunding all the guests stayin’ in the right wing. Oh, I need to refund you for your stay!”
Jocelyn waved her off. “I used the room, didn’t I? I’ve got a place to stay from here on out, so you just worry about everyone else.”
Sally Anne eyed her as she led her into the cramped office, its walls crowded with family photos, licenses, and awards. “I heard you went up to Joe’s.”
Of course she had. Jocelyn squeezed into the lone chair, knees bumping the desk, while Sally Anne slid behind it, her hands lacing neatly together.
“It’s amazing what he did with the place,” Jocelyn said.
“It is.” Sally’s smile was faint and brief. “So, what is it you wanted to talk about?”
Jocelyn took the hint. “Any guesses how the fire started?”
Sally Anne’s mouth flattened. “Electrical’s what they’re sayin’. But they’re still lookin’ into it.”
“Electrical,” she repeated. “Does that sound right to you?”
Sally Anne hesitated, wary. “When we renovated, we redid everything—wiring, plumbing, the works. Paid special attention to it because of the buildin. But the fire started in a utility room where all that’s hooked up. Could’ve been something we missed. Modern don’t mean perfect.”
“Who was the last person in there?” Jocelyn pressed.
“We got a maintenance guy, but Heath’s just as nosy about that stuff as anyone.” Sally Anne tilted her head. “Why are you askin’ me this, Jocelyn?”
Jocelyn made a face.
“You think it wasn’t an accident,” Sally Anne said flatly.
“I don’t think anything yet,” Jocelyn deflected, though they both knew it was a lie. “But it’s suspicious this fire happened now. In the hotel where I’m staying.”
Understanding dashed across Sally Anne’s face. “That’s why you were askin’ about Ned. You really don’t think your mama’s death was an accident, either.”
Jocelyn didn’t answer. She didn’t need to.
“But why?”
“You were her best friend, Sally. Didn’t it ever strike you as odd? Mama never drank that much. She never would’ve left a candle burning next to those curtains.”
“They found the wine glass.” Sally Anne’s voice carried doubt, but not conviction.
“One glass, on the windowsill. They think it was wine on the curtains that made them torch so fast. But how did it spill there when she was found across the room?”
“Even if there was somethin’ off about that fire, why would it be connected to this one?” It sounded like she was mostly asking herself the question.
Something like triumph lit inside Jocelyn then. “What do you remember about that night?
Sally Anne faltered, her gaze drifting upward as if memory lived in the ceiling. “Lord, it was so long ago. I was workin’ at the Nail back then—before I met Heath.”
“The Nail?” Jocelyn asked.
“Way before it was Cole’s, it was this beat up old place. Had its regulars. Still does. Some of those guys still give me a little nod when we come in for dinner sometimes.”
“Who?”
“Donny Shankman, Jack Friedl, Frank Leone…” Her voice slowed.
Jocelyn sat forward at that. “Was Frank there the night of the fire?”
Sally Anne nodded. “Soon as he got off work, like usual.”
“Except when he was with Mama,” Jocelyn murmured.
Sally Anne considered. “True. And now that you say it, I remember thinkin’ it was odd. It was her night off.”
Jocelyn’s pulse raced. “How did he seem?”
“He was… down. Wouldn’t say why. Just seemed off. Sat there sulkin’ most of the evening, suckin’ a beer.”
“Talk to anyone?”
“Not really. Lydia Abbott said somethin’ to him that lit him up for a minute.” Sally Anne rolled her eyes. “That woman could chap the hide off a fence post.”
Jocelyn didn’t smile. “Then he left?”
“Must’ve. I wasn’t payin’ close attention, but he wasn’t there when I got the call about the fire.”
The eagerness under Jocelyn’s skin nearly had her bolting out the door to find Frank. Instead, she forced her focus back. “Thanks, Sally. Do you know if I can get my things from my room?”
Regret painted Sally’s face. “No, Honey. Your room took heavy damage. Most of that wing did. We’ll get you money from the insurance—help you replace what you lost.”
“I’ve got it covered.”
“But—” Sally Anne stood just as Jocelyn did.
Jocelyn touched her arm. “You just focus on getting this place back on its feet.”
Sally Anne still looked dazed when Jocelyn slipped past her, the weight of new information burning hotter than the fire that had started it all. The cramped air had been stifling, but stepping into the hall didn’t loosen the knot in her chest. If anything, it cinched tighter.
Frank Leone.
He’d been there. Acting off. And Sally Anne had remembered enough to make Jocelyn’s suspicions sharpen to a point. It flew in the face of what he’d told her.
Cole was waiting near the desk, his arms folded, that steady gaze locked on her when she came out. He didn’t ask a thing, but the weight of the kiss still lingered between them, humming in the air like static.
She pushed past it. “I need to find Frank.”
His jaw flexed, a muscle twitching in his cheek. “Now?”
“When the hell else?” Her voice came out clipped, urgent.
For a beat they just looked at each other, the air charged, not with heat this time but with something heavier—determination, maybe even fear. Cole’s hand brushed along her elbow, light but anchoring.
“Then I’m comin’ with you,” he said.
The words should’ve steadied her. Instead, the mix of his nearness and the urgency burning in her veins left her even more off balance. Still, she didn’t argue. She couldn’t. Frank was the thread she needed to pull, and Cole had just tied himself to it.