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Then the knife came out—four inches of pitted steel, handle wrapped in tape, edge stained and uneven. Waddell flexed it once, gave a little nod toward Brandon, then set his back against the workbench, one hand on the handle, the other braced on the wood like he was steadying a boat in rough water.

Brandon didn’t bother going for his phone. He kept his hands where Waddell could see them, palms open, just enough distance between them, knowing that a lunge might mean they both walked away bleeding.

He braced for whatever was coming next. His whole body felt electric—adrenaline, fear, and the pounding memory of the last time he saw his father before that fateful 9-1-1 call.

He wasn’t sure if he was ready to finish this, but he didn’t have a choice. He stared Waddell down, refusing to blink.

Waddell didn’t move for a long second, just tracked Brandon up and down with a flat predator’s stare. “Why are you here?” Waddell asked, voice thick with hate.

Brandon’s eyes narrowed as he widened his stance. “Because of what you’ve done. But it ends tonight.”

Waddell’s mouth twitched. “You think this is some movie, boy? You think you have it in you to end anything?”

Brandon didn’t move. “You torched half of Sweet Bloom, ruined generations of farmers, and nearly killed a building full of children. Not to mention what you did a decade ago. You’re done, Waddell.”

The man smiled, and it was an ugly thing. “You talk just like your old man. You got his mouth, and I’ll bet you got his pride. But I broke his, and I’m going to do the same to you.”

Brandon’s jaw went tight, but he didn’t let it show how much the other man’s words enraged him. He remembered everything Desiree had told him about not letting the suspect dictate tempo. He tried to keep his voice bored. “My father’s dead because of you. I’m going to see to it that you pay for that.”

Waddell’s eyes flicked up, just for a moment, to the ceiling, then back. “No. He’s dead because he couldn’t leave well enough alone. He stopped the deal—do you know that? Thought the world owed him for putting on a badge. Just like you.”

Brandon stepped closer, slow and deliberate, hoping to make Waddell uncomfortable enough that he’d make a mistake. “You’re the one who set that fire. You’re the reason my mother had to bury my father with nothing left but a badge and a bundle of bone fragments.”

The knife lifted half an inch. Waddell’s thumb was pressed to the spine. “Truth is, Chief, your old man had it coming. He thought he was authority in a town that was built on people looking the other way. People like me, we know how the system really works—we thrive on it. All people like you do is think wearing a uniform and badge makes you better than everyone else.”

Brandon wanted to hit him, but the knife made it clear he had to wait. He leaned back on his heels, pushing down the urge.

Instead, he worked the angle. “So, what’s the plan? You torch this place, run for Mexico, get a new name? That how this ends?”

Waddell shrugged. “Why run? This is a free country. Last I checked, no one around here has the stomach to take me down.” He edged sideways, closer to the wall where a pile of blue plastic jugs was stacked, their contents unlabeled. “But I do have a plan, Chief. See, when the smoke clears, nobody’s gonna care that another Holloway’s in the ground.”

Brandon’s heart hammered. He risked a glance at the jugs—industrial solvent, by the look. A dozen ways this could go south in a hurry, but he didn’t care. What mattered was avenging his father. “You have a choice, Waddell. Walk out or get dragged out.”

Waddell snorted. “Nobody drags me anywhere.” He braced his foot, weight shifting. “But you—you got a limp—courtesy of me via one of my fires.”

Brandon ignored the barb and focused on finding an opportunity to disarm him. “I can still take you, even with a limp. You’re not as good at reading people as you think.”

Waddell’s eyes narrowed. “Oh, really, so you don’t mind that after I finish you off, I go after that pretty arson investigator who stayed the night at your place last night? I wonder if she’ll scream when I put my knife to her.”

The threat against Desiree burned through Brandon. He didn’t wait for his brain to catch up. He lunged, catching Waddell by the knife wrist, both of them slamming into the bench. The knife flashed close, slicing Brandon’s sleeve open, cold air stinging the skin beneath. Waddell twisted, drove an elbow into Brandon’s ribcage, hard enough to make him see stars. But Brandon didn’t let go—he used his weight, forcing Waddell’s arm down onto the wood, the knife grinding a groove in the top.

Waddell brought his knee up, caught Brandon in the hip, then shoved backward. The world spun around him—Brandon’s bad leg buckled, dumping him down to one knee.

Waddell was able to tear loose, raising the knife again.

Brandon rolled, driving his shoulder into Waddell’s gut, knocking them both into the row of solvent cans. They clattered to the floor, one rolling under the bench, another bursting and leaking a clear puddle. The chemical stink doubled. Brandon got a hand around Waddell’s wrist again.

For a second, they were face-to-face. Waddell was grinning, but his eyes had gone wild. He leaned in, hissing through his teeth, “You’re gonna die just like he did. Alone, and stupid.”

Brandon answered by twisting the wrist hard, trying to dislodge the knife. Waddell howled but didn’t let go. He slammed his forehead forward, catching Brandon just above the brow. Everything went white, then red.

It was the sound of Desiree’s voice that snapped his focus back.

“Brandon,” she called out from behind him. The panic in her voice cut through the air like a fire alarm. A door banged open, then he saw her, framed in the doorway, phone in one hand and a flashlight in another, already moving toward them.

Waddell’s head pivoted toward the sound. For that half-second, his grip faltered. Brandon shoved with everything he had, knocking Waddell off balance. He took that moment to try to grab for the knife, but it was too late.

Waddell didn’t waste the second chance—he twisted free, scrambled up, and bolted for the nearest exit. He ducked around Desiree, gave her a shove that almost knocked her over, then hit the side door and vanished into the dark.