Whize tilted his head. “Connection?”
I stared at my empty glass for a second before explaining how every location had some kind of tie to Amos Anderson.
Whize’s body went rigid, and when I was done speaking, he was paler than before. “You’re trying to tell me that you think the Shadow Stalker is behind the fires?”
He shook his head like he didn’t want it to be true.
I lifted a shoulder. “We can’t be certain, but we’re taking precautions anyway. It’s worth investigating that angle.”
Whize’s sigh was heavy and long. “I guess you’re right.”
He took a big gulp of his beer. “The FBI has been on his case too, but we can’t catch even a whiff of the bastard. It’s like he disappeared into thin air, and now you’re saying he could be here in Ember Hollow, right under our noses?”
“I think we should be prepared for anything,” I said.
“Anderson has set fires before,” Nolan reminded him.
I nodded. He’d set Emersyn’s house on fire years ago when he was after her. Burned the place to the ground.
Whize drank more of his beer, his jaw tense.
“I think for now, it would be wise to watch the places that had—or could have—significant meaning to Anderson in town,” I offered.
Whize narrowed his eyes, and I could see how red-rimmed they were up close. “How do we determine that?”
“My brother Graham is compiling a list of potential targets,” I said. “I’ll send it your way.”
Whize nodded, seeming a little relieved. “I’ll request some extra patrols be put on those locations once I get the list.” He rubbed a palm over his chin. “Is there anything else I should know about?”
I shook my head. “Not at the moment but I’ll keep you informed, if you do the same.”
Whize drained the last of his beer. “I can do that.”
After that, he went up to get another round for the table, and the conversation shifted into something more casual.
The other guys started to talk about sports, the upcoming charity event for the coffee shop, and other random shit that normally wouldn’t have bothered me to sit through.
But I barely heard any of it.
I drank my beer and thought about Palmer.
Guilt was a tangled knot of briars in the pit of my stomach as I thought about kissing her. About how soft her mouth had been under mine. I realized I’d wanted to kiss her for a while. I’d wanted her almost since the first day I’d dragged her in from the snowstorm.
I should be focused on the fires. On Anderson. On keeping my head straight.
Instead, all I could think about was her—how badly I wanted to see her, and how wrong it felt to want that so much.
Whize eventually left after our third round of beers, leaving me buzzed and exhausted while Shawn and Nolan remained unusually talkative. I glanced at them, knowing I couldn’t stay any longer yet dreading going home to an empty house. My eyelids weighed a ton, and all I wanted was to close them. Maybe I would manage to catch some sleep tonight after all.
The bar’s ambient noise seemed to fade in and out as exhaustion crept deeper into my bones. Everything that had happened the past couple of days had left me running on fumes. I took another swig of my beer. The thought of returning to my silent house made my stomach clench.
Shawn frowned at me. “I’m surprised you’ve sat here this long,” he said, studying me. “You’re normally itching to go home any time we manage to talk you into having a round with us.”
I grunted. “Yeah, well, there’s nothing to rush home to.” The words came out bitter and sharp-edged with loneliness.
Nolan and Shawn exchanged a look.
“What happened to your nanny?” Shawn asked.
