Page 33 of Grant’s Heat

I knew that woman. As warped of a playground as Rio’s mind was, I had a relatively easy time following the path that wove through it. She already blamed Sebastian for Sean’s death and would continue doing so. Subsequently, a giant chasm would form between her and Abbigail. That would lead to her being all alone in the upcoming weeks. Rio’s anger with the Sharks would affect my relationship with them, as well. But I wasn’t willing to give up either party, so I’d be caught right in the middle of their feud.

Great.

But my dread brought forth a new epiphany—and then sparked a new plan. As soon as the car pulled up in front of my building, I directed the driver deeper into downtown, toward the financial district. I was hoping my theory was a long shot, but while I was this close, I needed to check it out.

There was a side to Rio Gibson that had a flair for the dramatic. It lent fire to her humor and dazzling flair to her culinary creations, but it also made her an impossible whirlwind to be around at times. Right now, it was the nexus of the clue I followed. It would be just like her to zero in on the scene where her husband was killed. She’d want to open the proverbial wound at its most visceral level—to emotionally bleed where he had bled. Let her heart break where his heart had stopped beating.

From the information Elijah had shared with me earlier about the accident, I had a general idea where on the job site the incident had occurred. The entire property was usually lit up like an international airport twenty-four hours a day, but with a death happening on the scene, OSHA had shut down all activity until they could thoroughly investigate. Security lighting was still in place, but it was much dimmer than what I had seen when making other nighttime visits. Trying to stay on the well-worn walkways, I made my way to the taped-off place Elijah described. Sure enough, as I approached, I could hear her.

She was on the ground, sitting back on her heels, looking like a little girl instead of a grown woman. She was wearing the same clothes as when I found her at the kitchen this afternoon—an old T-shirt with some band logo I didn’t recognize and a pair of jeans—but now the knees were torn out of the denim, and muddy patches stained her ass and hip.

Protective fire rose within me at the thought that she’d probably fallen at some point. I instantly wanted to rush over to her, but I stayed in the shadows and simply watched, trying to give her some privacy. But no way in hell was I leaving altogether. I’d keep her safe, whether she liked it or not. The promise was ingrained in my soul and would never change.

Her face was dirty too. I moved closer, trying to make out what she was saying in a low and sultry tone. When I got closer, I realized her voice was rough from crying. Probably yelling, too. Tear streaks had dried tracks into the dust on her cheeks. The bandana she had in her hair earlier was bunched in her fist. Her hair stuck out in twenty-two different directions, as if she’d been pulling on it in frustration. I knew that move really well by now.

“I’m going to fix this. I’m going to fix it all for you,” she muttered. “This won’t happen again, I promise you.” She kept busy while she talked, but I couldn’t make out what she was doing. “That bastard’s greed…his controlling bullshit…it all stops tonight. I’m going to make sure no one else pays the price you did. No, I know. I know. But I won’t get caught. There’s no one here. I made sure of it.”

With that promise, a sly grin spread across her lips. She sat back again, seeming to admire whatever was in front of her.

Moving under the protective covering of one of the overhanging beams, I was able to get in a little closer. The steel skeletal structure of the building was almost complete, and the ground floors’ support posts were wider than my entire body. I stepped behind the next one to my right, bringing me that much closer to where she knelt.

I could likely move over by one more pillar, but that one had a large fire extinguisher mounted to the girder, so I wouldn’t have the same protection. But even from this position, I had a clear view of what she was working on.

She had dug a shallow pit in the dirt—and judging by the filth that coated her fingers and palms, she’d used her own hands to do so. There was a lot of loosened dirt, gravel, and pebbles next to her earthen bowl. In the pit, she was piling construction debris. Stakes, paper, fistfuls of dried grass, and weeds that sprouted up along the orange safety fencing were also in the pit.

Jesus. Christ.

No.

The next fifteen seconds were like every bad thriller or action movie sequence I’d ever watched on cable television—slow-motion special effects and all.

Rio pulled a box of wooden kitchen matches from her bag. With fluid efficiency, she struck the two-inch stick along the side of the box. With anticipation that took visible hold of her posture, she held the mini-torch close to her face and watched the flame dance in the light breeze.

I sprang into motion.

I didn’t even consider the reaction I’d instigate from her.

Which, of course, was the first thing I should’ve done.

“Don’t do it!” I shouted as I lunged and tried to bat the flame from her fingers. But my little Blaze was too goddamned quick. Without hesitating, she tossed the match onto her carefully built pile. In seconds, the small nest lit up like a dried-out Charlie Brown Christmas tree. Within seconds after that, I knew why. While wrapping my arms around her and yanking her back, I caught a potent whiff of accelerant—gasoline, probably.

Shit, shit, shit.

No, no, no.

“Fuck! Rio! What are you doing?”

She looked up at me—no, she looked through me—before scrambling upright and then focusing back to the makeshift fire pit and grinning.

Fucking grinned.

“It’s done now,” she whispered.

“It’s not done, damn it! Help me put this out!” I lurched up and kicked dirt over the fire. But she’d apparently spilled gas across the surrounding ground, too, because my actions made the flames shoot higher.

I spun back around as Rio stood too. I was prepared to grab her again, but she was as still as a statue in a church fire. The only thing not eerily frozen about her mien was her face, twisting tighter and tighter with utter confusion.

“Grant?” Her query was soft and stammering. She peered around with more wonder until the growing fire distracted her again. She halted in place, openly appreciating the blaze.