I lunged upward, heedless of my bare and burned feet. Lindsey’s hands tried to stop me, but they fell away. Still, she ran across her house behind me and stood at my side as I yanked open her front door. The neighbors also gathered at their doors,on their driveways, garbed in robes, in slippers. Staring. Always staring toward my house.
Brilliant flames scorched my eyes. The stench of burning gasoline, of hot metal, crisped my nostrils. My classic truck, which I’d worked for years restoring, burned merrily in my driveway.
Austin had struck again.
Chapter Five
Lindsey
I flat refused to make coffee this time.
Police, firefighters, the twin arson investigators, Carlson and McAdams, filled my house, tripped over boxes, muttered swear words I clearly heard, and questioned Brody until I suspected he’d go stark raving insane.
“I told you,” he snapped, “Austin Rivers threatened me. He thinks I stole his dope. Go talk to him, for fuck’s sake.”
“We can’t find him,” Carlson said mildly. “He’s not at any of his known hangouts.”
“Then go find him,” Brody roared. “You’re the police. Protect me. He’s the fucking crook, not me.”
“What else can you tell us about him?” asked a police detective.
“Nothing,” Brody shouted. “Until he showed up at my work, I hadn’t seen him for five fucking years.”
The questions wore on. On my nerves, on Brody’s, maybe even on theirs. On my occasional trips to the kitchen, not for coffee, I gazed out my window onto my backyard and wondered if I should move again before I’d even unpacked.Easy enough to load the boxes into a U-Haul. Repack. Hit the road, find someplace new. Escape this shit hole.
“An elderly neighbor said she saw a black Lincoln stop at your house just before dawn,” the detective stated. “Sound familiar?”
“Oh, I’m sure Austin drives black sedans,” Brody replied with a harsh laugh. “Isn’t that the standard vehicle for drug dealers?”
“I dunno.” The detective shrugged. “I know one dealer who drove red Land Rovers. Who knew?”
Brody covered his face with his hands. “Look,” he said, obviously vying for patience. “Just go arrest him. Question him. Get him off the streets.”
“If we can find him,” McAdams murmured. “He’s got tons of connections all over this town.”
“Great.”
I wished I could rub Brody’s tense shoulders, offer him soothing words. Looking at his bowed back, his face hidden, I wished I could dosomething. Anything. I didn’t know him well enough. I dared not touch him, give these police ideas that we hadn’t met just two days ago. With suspicion uppermost in their heads, they’d surely think the worst.
I had my own enemy to contend with.
The detective left his card. “Call if you think of anything.”
McAdams and Carlson left their condolences on the loss of his truck. “Let us know if we can help.”
The cops and the firemen trickled out, perhaps miffed I never offered coffee. The smoking and blackened hulk of his prized truck sat in his driveway, the neighbors’ speculations leaping from house to house. And not one came to offer help, to console, nor to even gain intel for the gossip circuit.
Brody breathed deeply, then sat back against my couch. “Fuck.”
“I quite agree.”
“Maybe I should get away, head for the mountains. Let Austin break his neck trying to find me.”
“Might be a good idea.”
He rolled his head on the leather to meet my eyes. “Can I borrow your car?”
My tension since I’d read the e-mail overflowed, broke. I snorted laughter, then it burst its dam, out of control. I laughed until the tears flowed, until my breath hitched in my chest and my throat burned. Brody laughed with me, holding my hand, his anger, his fears, his tensions bolting from him like a runaway horse.
