Total pages in book: 41
Estimated words: 37970 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 190(@200wpm)___ 152(@250wpm)___ 127(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 37970 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 190(@200wpm)___ 152(@250wpm)___ 127(@300wpm)
"But you think he did it anyway."
She nods miserably.
"When did you find the insurance paperwork?"
"Three days ago? Maybe four?"
"Does your brother pay attention to the news, Red?"
"No?"
"Did he mention anything about other fires in town?"
"No? I mean, he knew about the wildfire in Granite Hills because he's been helping rebuild, but that's it."
"Where was he last Thursday?"
"At home."
"Are you sure? If he snuck out, would you know?"
"He doesn't have a car unless he uses mine," she murmurs. "And he snores and keeps me up half the night. I know when he's home and when he isn't."
"What about Monday night?"
"He had a football game in Porter. We didn't get home until after midnight."
I nod, satisfied. "I don't think he set the fire, baby."
She stares at me doubtfully.
"Dillon confirmed that his team had football practice last night that ran late. I still need to confirm with Garrett that Nate was there, but if he was, he has an alibi." I pause for a moment. "He also has an alibi for the last two fires."
Her eyes widen, shock running through them.
"Had you found the insurance paperwork before those fires were set, I'd be inclined to believe that maybe he was behind them. But he didn't know about the insurance until a few days ago, and he has alibis for the last two fires."
"I don't understand," she says, her brows furrowed.
"Whoever set those fires most likely set this one, too. And I'm guessing that person is your father's bookies."
"But why would they set other fires?"
I hesitate for a long minute, reluctant to tell her the grim fucking suspicion taking root. They were trying to cover up her murder by making it look like a serial arsonist on the loose so if Nate decided to talk when we pulled her body out, we'd just chalk it up to a grieving teenager looking for someone to blame. I'm guessing the motherfuckers watched her go into the house that night. They waited for her to go in. And then they set it on fire. The pricks were probably still hanging around when we pulled her out, alive.
"Oh," she whispers, her expression stricken as she works it out for herself. Her voice shakes. "Why…" she trails off, licking her lips. "Why would they do that? I can't p-pay them if I'm…"
"Do you have a life insurance policy, Nina?"
"Yes."
"Is your brother your beneficiary?"
She nods.
"They were probably banking on that. Your father didn't leave anything but the house to you, so they figured they'd take you out and then force him to pay up." I stroke her cheek. "A scared teenager is easier to manipulate than a grown woman who raised a kid and put herself through college when she was just a kid herself."
She stares at me for a long moment, her bottom lip quivering, and then she sighs. "They aren't very nice men, Emmett," she finally says.
And despite the seriousness of the situation, the offense in her tone makes me chuckle. I pull her to me, pressing my lips to her forehead. "No, baby," I agree quietly. "They aren't. But they're fucking done terrorizing you. I'm going to find out who they are, and we're taking care of this."
"How?"
"You let me worry about that now. All you need to worry about is you."
"But–"
I dip my head, pressing my lips to hers. I taste the salt of her tears on her lips, and her sweetness, and groan. "No buts, Nina. You've spent half of your life taking care of everything on your own. It's time for you to learn to let someone else do the worrying for once."
"I probably won't be very good at that, Emmett," she says, sounding worried about it.
"Then it's a good thing you have me to teach you, isn't it?"
I drop Nina off at the hospital for a checkup with Belle, which she isn't thrilled about. She calls me a traitor—which she will be paying for as soon as I get her gorgeous ass home. But she reluctantly agrees to stay and let Belle look her over again for my peace of mind.
Belle agrees to keep her long enough for me to go talk to Dillon.
Fifteen minutes later, I find him in his office, in a one-man war with his printer.
"The goddamn thing ate my report and won't give it back," he mutters, scowling daggers at the machine. He flips open a drawer, peers into it and then slams it closed before flipping open another drawer and repeating the process.
"Use the button on the screen."
"What button?"
"The one that tells it to release the jammed paper."
He peers down at the screen and then starts jabbing buttons. The printer makes a series of clicks before going silent.
"You son of a bitch…" Dillon jabs another button. "Give me my fucking report."
"Jesus Christ. Move, will you?" I nudge him out of the way, glancing down at the touch screen to figure out where the paper got jammed. It takes two seconds to find what I need and locate the correct tray. I pop it open, pull out the wrinkled report, and then slam the tray closed.