Looking poleaxed.
Who could blame him?
“That girl’s going to be trouble when she grows up,” I mutter playfully, and Blake’s wide eyes slide to me.
“When?” he chokes out.
Suddenly, we’re laughing.
And it’s good, and right, and while I know we need to talk, not right now.
Not now, when I don’t need a fancy name for this thing between us.
I just know that being with him feels good.
At the moment, Blake’s music is all I need.
16
Stay for the Encore (Blake)
It’s funny how every time shit goes wrong, we turn the Charming Inn—and specifically Ms. Wilma’s kitchen—into our war room.
It’s just like when that fucker Nash kidnapped Deanna Bell and left poor Leo hunting for her before her sister, Rissa—now his wife—lost her ever-loving mind.
Only now we’re all gathered at the kitchen table—me, Warren, Gray, and Leo—around those three scraps of blue paper with their ominous words.
Nobody’s touching their food.
I don’t think anybody’s got any appetite. We’re too busy staring at the scrawled, scratchy handwriting.
You and your merry band of assholes aren’t as smart as you think, you scarred freak.
Jenna was the real hero, Warren.
And you can’t even protect her memory.
If only you’d kept your germs to yourself, Doctor. Heart’s Edge wouldn’t catch fever.
I’m warming my hands against a cup of coffee, the thick omelet Ms. Wilma laid out in front of me left untouched. The others are the same, bracing black coffees like it’s the only thing holding us up.
“So we’re sure,” I say, “that this has nothing to do with those fucks at Galentron?”
“It doesn’t have their smell,” Leo growls, his tattooed and scarred hands tightening against his coffee mug to the point I’m worried he’s gonna crack it. “They leave a real stench. Patterns. We’d see strangers in town posing as tourists, standing out just a little too much. Strange happenings. People spending too much money. Fuchsia Delaney.”
Everybody goes still, a nervous hush settling over the room.
Doc actually looks over his shoulder. “Can we not say her name this time and invite Count Dracula’s mistress in?”
I look up and grin. He’s hardly exaggerating. That woman’s a black cat.
Bad luck to anyone who crosses her path.
And somehow, she always seems to materialize not long after you mention her, usually bringing trouble in her wake.
But Fuchsia’s ghost aside...it’s just us in the kitchen, which is always sunny and light-filled even in the dead of winter. Cozy enough to banish the memory of that witchy woman but not enough to remove the dread silence.
“All right.” Warren’s the man who finally breaks it. “I made a few calls. Nothing to do with the old drug ring, either, or any leftover bad business here in town. I thought maybe someone was coming back for a little revenge after we busted everything up and ruined their cash flow, but they’d have to be pretty dedicated to get this whole vengeful stalker thing down in this detail.”
“So it’s personal, it’s local, and we have few options for who it might be,” Doc says in his flat, even monotone that says his temper’s on the verge of bursting. “Other than a minor who really has no reason to go to such extremes.”
“I have one idea,” I growl. “And y’all won’t like it.”
They all wait, just looking at me. I feel like they’re already bracing for what I’m about to say.
“Holt. My brother.”
War immediately sighs, pressing his face into his hand. “I can’t believe that brat’s back in town.”
“And still a brat. Just bigger and more dangerous,” I say. “I’m keeping him busy right now pretending to be the good uncle, and Andrea’s snooping for any leads. But he’s not stupid. He wants to keep up appearances. Still, right now, he’s the one who stands to benefit the most from new construction contracts on the buildings he’s burned up.”
“He won’t be getting my business,” Doc snaps. “Not even if he’s innocent. You’ve told me how slipshod he was in high school. I won’t have that kind of work on my clinic, a place of rest and healing.”
I can’t help a smile at that, even if it’s tired. “He’s...I don’t know, man. I don’t want to believe my own brother would do that, asshole that he is, but who else has a grudge against all of us who isn’t connected to either the drug gang or Galentron?”
“Occam’s Razor,” Leo grunts. “The simplest, most obvious solution is usually the right one.”
“Unless we’re overlooking something,” Warren adds, cracking his knuckles.
“But what?” I ask.
I’m only answered with blank looks and spread hands.
Leo shakes his head. “The question is, if it’s Holt, what do we do about it?”
“Flush him out,” I say. “He clearly wants to humiliate us, hurt us, get under our skin. This is a game to him. One where he wants recognition, and it’s fucking eating him alive that we’re the heroes of the town. Sooner or later, he’ll do something showy.”
“Shit. The thing coming up, the ceremony,” Warren says. “He’ll want to sabotage it, won’t he?”
“Exactly,” I snarl.
Everybody trades awkward looks over the table.
None of us wanted this damn ceremony at the carnival.
It’s not worth it.
Some kind of prideful circus the town council threw together for morale or something. Really, it’s just making a big hoopla out of the hell we’ve been through over the past couple years and acting like we did anything other than try to make sure Heart’s Edge survived along with us.
I can’t stand it.
The way folks look at us, gab about us. Like they wouldn’t do the same if they were under pressure. This town’s full of good people.
We ain’t special.
We’re just the guys who got tossed in the pressure cooker and had to come out the other side.
But Holt wouldn’t miss a chance to show the town who we “really” are.
The people he still sees.
The big kids who didn’t give him enough attention. Because if I know Holt, I know some part of him is still holding old grudges.
Doc cocks his head, watching me keenly over the top of his glasses. “Then the plan is to lure him out at the ceremony?”
“The plan’s to keep him away from the ceremony,” I correct. “He’s gonna try to set some kind of fire, if his pattern holds up. So far it’s been juvenile-level prank shit. Easy to pass off as one of the kids. No one really gets hurt. But so many people at the winter carnival...he fucks one thing up, and we’ve got a lot of casualties.”
“So what do we do?” Warren asks.
I grin.
“Easy,” I say. “We give him a bigger target.”
It doesn’t take us long to come up with a plan.