My stomach churns and tears well in my eyes. “I was willing to let my brother go on-duty alone because I wanted to get laid.” It hurts to say it.
But it’s true. I’m an asshole.
Her hand touches my arm and I shake it off, not wanting the comfort I feel when she touches me. “You didn’t know.”
My head comes up, pain ripping at me. Tearing at my insides like a vulture rips apart a meal. “I knew it could happen. I’m not an idiot,” I snap. “We had some strange fires going on around here and I should have been on-duty. I should have been there. But I needed some fucking pussy,” I spit out like it tastes dirty in my mouth.
She flinches away from me and I’m glad. I don’t deserve her sympathy, her sweet touch.
“He hit that night. Hit a barn just outside of town. Place went up like dry tinder. My brother…”. My voice breaks and I choke on the welling emotions rippling up in my chest. “He went in. Heard that there was a damn dog in there and went in to see if he could find it.” Tears trickle out of my eyes but I can’t stop now.
“He never made it out. The damn building came down on him. The guys tried like hell but they just couldn’t get in to even retrieve his body until the next morning.”
I say it cold, clinical. Like it doesn’t matter.
“We finally tracked that son of a bitch down at one of the fires. He didn’t get away fast enough. I went in a burning building after him when he tried to run in to kill himself.”
She gasps and when I look up at her, she’s so damn white she looks like she’s ready to pass out. Her hand trembles over her pale lips.
“That fucking bastard wasn’t about to get off that easy. Not after what he did,” I bite out.
I dragged his ass out on fire and beat it out with my fists and a blanket.
It didn’t help.
“He went to jail for arson and for killing my brother. There’s no fucking way he should be out yet. He got thirty years.”
“What about parole?” She asks.
“Yeah. He is eligible at some point. But surely not yet.” I’m already reaching for my phone. Pulling it out to call my best friend.
“Jasper. Do you know if Frank Murtaugh got parole?”
“I thought you knew. He broke out of prison six months ago. Stole a truck from a psychologist that was there. Turns out that she’d helped him plan it. But he left her to take the fall. She’s going on trial in a few months.”
“How the fuck would I know?”
“You’re a victim. They should have notified you.”
“They didn’t.”
“Well, he is. Why?”
“I saw him.”
“Shit,” he hisses. “Where? When?”
“This morning. The fire. He’s the guy.”
“Dammit!”
My thoughts exactly.
“He’s here. And he’s pissed at me. For not letting him die,” I whisper, my eyes following Mercy as she paces by the window.
“So you be extra careful and don’t go anywhere alone.”
“It’s not me I’m worried about.” I hang up and eye her slim body. She’s my weak link. The one thing that Frank could take away from me that would fucking destroy me.
