First, he searched her shop, then he set fire to it, then he sent Thomas away. Just how much had this man she’d met only twice affected their lives over the past months? And all because he’d left a piece of paper in his coat?
More blood rushed in her ears, and she sucked in thin, shaky breaths, but they were as big as her constricting chest would allow. “You’ll never get away with this. Isaac will start an investigation, and Thomas will come back at some point. They’ll find out what happened. They already know the last fire was an arson. They’re already looking for you.”
He took another lamp, shattering this one against Isaac’s desk, soaking the papers atop it with oil. “Precisely why thisoffice needs to be torched—along with a pretty little woman who knows more than she should.”
He walked behind her, disappearing from view, but another crash sounded a second later.
She wriggled against her bindings once more, and the rope gave just a bit. If she kept the man talking, could she get free before he set the place on fire?
Footsteps sounded behind her, and the stench of kerosene grew even stronger. Then the man appeared in front of her. His hand dipped into his shirt pocket for a moment, and he pulled out a flask.
“Why?” Her breath hitched, and more sweat slicked her forehead. She pulled at her ropes, but more out of instinct than a belief she’d free herself while he stood a foot away. “If you’re going to kill me, at least give me an explanation.”
He unscrewed the top of the flask, but instead of spirits wafting into the air, the odor of more kerosene filled the room. He splashed some at her feet near the spilled oil from the lamp. Then he hunkered close, his wheezy breath brushing her face in another rush of sour air. “It’s like I said, I don’t got no choice but to take care of things before anyone else learns too much.”
Her breathing hitched, and her heart pounded against her ribcage.
He reached out with a thick finger, damp from the spilled lamp oil, and trailed it down her face.
She tried to lurch away from his touch, but her bindings prevented her from moving more than a few inches.
A feral grin crept across his lips. “Aren’t as keen on my touches as you are on your husband’s, I see. Maybe if I had more time, iffen we were at your apartment instead of this office, we could have had some fun.”
Bile rose in her stomach, and she pulled at her bindings again. “Let me go.”
His laughter filled the air between them with his rancid breath. “It’s too late for that.”
“It’s not too late for anything!”
He stood and pulled a box of matches from his pocket, then tipped the bottle of kerosene, creating a trail of fuel as he walked backward toward the door.
“Wait, no! I promise not to breathe a word of anything about you, not even to Thomas. If you would just…”
His deep chuckle choked out her words. “Sure, princess. Anything you say.”
An icy sensation filled her. He was going to start the fire from the door, where the flames would head straight toward her. It wouldn’t take more than thirty seconds before her dress caught fire.
She screamed, loud and long. What difference would a shattered jaw make if he was already going to kill her?
“Ah, deciding to scream anyway, are you?” The man laughed again, bold and cruel. “Reckon it’s not worth the time it’d take to break your jaw, not when you’ll be dead in a few more minutes.”
“No,” she gasped. “Don’t kill me. Please don’t.” She couldn’t lose her life over a piece of paper. Of all the foolish, ridiculous reasons to die.
But oh, the things she would have done differently had she known. She’d have welcomed Thomas with open arms when he’d first arrived in Eagle Harbor. She’d have spent more time with her daughters. She’d have put more effort into the things that truly mattered—the things that would outlast her own short life—rather than earning money.
The man slid the deadbolt behind him, then opened the door. A rush of bitter winter air filled the shop, warring with the scent of kerosene. Then he opened the matchbox and withdrew a single match.
“Don’t do this,” she choked through the panic climbing from her chest into her throat. Her eyes grew damp, her breathing more erratic as she struggled against the ropes a final time.
He struck the match, and a tiny flame appeared at its tip.
Chapter Twenty-Five
Jessalyn sucked in a breath, what would assuredly be one of her last, as a tiny flame flickered at the end of the match.
The man grinned again, the look both wild and disturbing. “You best say your final?—”
A second person lunged through the door, tackling the man from behind, the rush of movement taking out the flame from the match. The match in the man’s hand hit the floor along with him a moment later, but only a faint curl of smoke rose from it.
