“Ryan was just like him.” Laura jerked her chin at Landry, who had gone very still on the floor. “Thought he owned me. Thought he could control me.”
“So what happened?”
“He deserved what I did to him,” Laura snapped, face twisting. “Just like Landry deserves this. Just like that bitch deserved what she got.”
Maggie faltered. “What bitch?”
“His wife.” Laura spat the word like it tasted bad. “Ryan’s wife. She tried to keep us apart. Said I was unstable.” Her laugh was high, jagged, and not altogether sane. “Guess she was right about that.”
Oh, God. Laura had killed before. More than once. And she’d manufactured an entire identity around her victim’s name. Sarah Drummond wasn’t a random alias—it was Ryan’s wife’s name.
“Laura,” Maggie said, mouth dry, mind reeling. What could she say to stop this? “Put down that knife. You don’t have to do this. We can get you help.”
“I don’t need help.” Laura looked at the box cutter, then snapped it closed. “But you’re right. A knife is too good for him. It was just meant to scare him. I have a better idea.” She strode to the supply cabinet and rummaged through the shelves. She emerged with a large plastic container and unscrewed the cap.
“Paint thinner,” Laura explained, and grinned at Landry. “Perfect for removing unwanted stains from your life.”
How could anyone regard another human life so callously? Even Landry’s. “Please, stop.”
“Why? He tortured you, scared you for years. He’s the worst kind of stain.”
What a fucking hypocrite.
Maggie took a moment to swallow back her fury so her voice came out even. “Yes, he is a stain, but I don’t want him removed like this. I want him to face the consequences of his actions.”
If Laura heard her, she gave no indication and upended the container over Landry’s head. He writhed on the floor, screaming behind his gag, the chemical turning his eyes and skin red.
“You know, your boyfriend gave me this idea. Anson? He had it right, setting that warehouse on fire in Virginia.” She tossed the empty container aside and pulled a box of matches from her pocket. “Fire purifies. Cleanses. It’s the only way to make sure Landry never hurts you again.” She struck a match, the flame casting dancing shadows across her face.
Maggie lunged forward. “No?—”
But Laura was already smiling as she dropped it.
forty-three
The first thing Anson saw was smoke.
Black and thick, billowing from the detached garage at the back of Haven House. Flames licked through the broken windows of Maggie’s workshop inside, orange and hungry, and for one frozen second his vision tunneled. The warehouse. Virginia. The screams.
Then Boone slammed the truck into park, and the spell broke.
“Maggie.” Her name ripped from his throat as he threw open the door and ran.
Knox was standing in the driveway, shouting into his radio something about a structure fire and two potential victims.
No.
Maggie was not a victim.
“I’m going in.” He tore across the driveway, engine noise swelling behind him as more Valor Ridge trucks pulled up, spitting gravel.
“Anson, wait!” Knox caught his arm. “The fire department’s three minutes out. We need to wait for?—”
He yanked free. “She’s in there.”
“You don’t have gear. The smoke will?—”
But he couldn’t wait. Wouldn’t.
