The arsonist refused to give it, but Yuri didn’t care. The man would spend at least one night in jail, and Jonas was quite good at interrogating criminals. They’d likely have the man’s name before morning.
“I’m just glad we were in the office when they came.” Yuri tried to brush the mud from his sleeves. “Can you imagine if we had been in bed?”
Alexei rubbed his jaw. “I was thinking the same thing.”
“I’ll give you one guess who’s behind this,” Mikhail muttered.
“Maybe so, but let me take this one to the prison to see how much information I can get out of him.” Jonas hauled the arsonist to his feet and jerked him forward. “We’ll handle the rest in the?—
Whump!
A burst of light flared in the back corner of the shipyard, flames erupting from the base of the lean-to.
“No!” Mikhail yelled.
The fire caught fast, racing over the dry stacks of wood with a crackle that soon turned to a roar.
Sacha ran toward the blaze, uncoiling the hose over his shoulder as he went. Yuri raced to help him, then grabbed the end of the hose and aimed it at the base of the flames.
Sacha released the lever on the nozzle, and seawater gushed out, causing the lumber to hiss and smoke.
But the fire had already spread to the next stack of lumber.
27
“You have the most beautiful hair.”
Rosalind felt a tug on the back of her head, then turned to look over her shoulder at where Freya sat behind her, running a brush through her dark gold tresses. She still couldn’t believe her father was allowing her to be here, but he hadn’t even hesitated when she’d asked for permission to pack an overnight bag, walk to Millicent’s, and stay the entire night.
Millicent had transformed the parlor at the top of the stairs into a girlish dream, with pillows scattered across the floor, a roaring fire in the hearth, and a tray of pastries and hot chocolate resting on the low table between them. At the moment they were taking turns brushing each other’s hair, something that made the time it took to brush their usual one hundred strokes go faster.
“Thank you, Freya.” Rosalind glanced over her shoulder again at her friend. “But your hair is far prettier than mine. It’s so light.”
“It’s lighter, but it’s fine and thin. Yours is wavy and thick.” Freya’s brows furrowed as she worked through a snarl near the bottom of her hair.
“She’s right, Rosalind,” Millicent said from where she sat braiding Jane’s already-brushed hair. “It’s prettier than all of ours combined. Mr. Vandermeer is going to melt when he sees it down for the first time.”
The warmth that had been filling her chest evaporated, never mind the heat from the fire. What would her friends say if they knew Leeland had already seen her with her hair down?
If they knew he’d been more taken with the idea of stopping her from breathing than he had with the thickness of her hair? She pressed a hand to her throat, where her bruise hadn’t quite faded.
“Oh yes,” Freya agreed. “He’ll love your hair.”
“Are you counting down the days?” Jane asked.
Rosalind blinked. “Until my wedding?”
“Until your wedding. Until your fiancé returns. Any of it.”
“I know Mr. Vandermeer is older than you, but he’s so big and strong. He’s almost like one of those characters from a dime novel.” Millicent sighed dreamily.
A hard ball settled in Rosalind’s stomach. He was big and strong, yes, but he didn’t remind her of some dashing hero in a novel. If she had to pick someone who reminded her of that, it would be Yuri Amos.
After all, he was the one who agreed to get her away from Sitka, and now she only had two days to go.
“Oh, some of these dresses are so pretty, I swear you could wear one for your wedding. Here.” Jane handed her a magazine opened to a fashion plate. “What do you think of this one?”
Rosalind took the magazine and studied the page. The bride wore a fitted bodice with pearl buttons, and the skirt was layered in delicate lace that trailed into a long train. “It’s lovely, but I don’t think it would survive Sitka’s muddy streets in May.”
