“Ledger,” Mal’s voice calls out again, sharper this time. I glance over to see him gesturing for me, his face grim. “I need to talk to you.”
“Stay here,” I murmur to Galeana, giving her shoulders a gentle squeeze before I let go. “I’ll be right back.”
Promptly, I reach Mal, who’s talking in low, urgent tones to one of the firefighters and one of the security guys who was at the wedding.
“What’s going on?” I ask, my voice clipped.
Mal glances at me, his expression hard. “They don’t think this was an accident.”
The words hit me like a gut punch, but I’m not surprised. This didn’t seem like just some weird accident.
“What do you mean?”
“Let’s just say that there’s proof that this wasn’t an accident,” he states.
“Just like that?” I don’t believe him.
He points toward the security guy. “He’s a former FBI agent like me. We’ve seen this before.”
I clench my fists at my sides, my jaw tightening. “Who would do this?”
“That’s what we’re going to figure out,” he replies. “But until then, you’re not staying in town. Do you still have your place in Seattle?”
I glance toward Galeana. She remains where I left her, staring at the house with wide, haunted eyes. I don’t know who did this. I don’t know why. But someone wanted her out of that house—or this town. What if it was about me though?
And the thought of anyone trying to hurt her—of anyone even thinking about hurting her—makes my blood run cold.
“Ledger, focus,” Malerick snaps. “You need to leave. Is your place in Seattle livable, or do I need to find somewhere for you?”
Before I can answer, another car pulls up—a sleek black truck that crunches to a stop on the gravel driveway. I know who it is before he even steps out. Hopper.
He climbs down from the cab, his boots hitting the ground with a solid thud, the man looking every bit the cowboy he’s become. His dark coat flaps in the wind as he strides toward us, his expression grim, a half-hearted attempt at calm not quite covering the concern etched on his face.
“Fuck,” he mutters, taking in the flames devouring what’s left of the house. Then he glances at me. “You okay?”
“We’re fine,” I say, my voice clipped.
Hopper doesn’t look convinced, his gaze flicking between me and Galeana, who’s still standing where I left her. “You can come to my ranch. I’ve got plenty of room. It’s quiet. Out of the way.”
It surprises me that Hop is offering his place. He’s pretty detached and never lets anyone close to his house—or his daughter. I barely get to see my niece because he doesn’t want the toxicity of the Timberbridges to get to her—or some crap like that.
“Thank you?—”
“No.” Malerick shakes his head, the tension radiating off him in waves. “They can’t stay at Mom’s place either. Not after this. That’s the first place anyone would look, and we don’t have time to sweep for risks.”
Hopper jumps back in, “The ranch?—”
“I said no.” Malerick’s voice is firm, resolute, as he looks at Hopper. “It’s too exposed. You don’t want to put your kid in danger, do you?”
“You’re exaggerating. Where the hell are you planning to send them?” Hopper demands, frustration creeping into his voice.
“Probably Seattle,” Malerick says, his tone brooking no argument. “This wasn’t an accident.”
“Are you sure?” I push because maybe he’s just paranoid.
“I am. Someone did this, and until I know who, you’re out of here,” he presses. “I can’t protect you if you’re standing in plain view.”
The flames crackle louder in the distance, casting long shadows that flicker across all of us. I glance at Galeana, her face pale, her lips pressed into a thin line like she’s barely holding herself together. My chest tightens at the sight of her—shaken, unsure—and before I can think, I’m at her side.
