Page 48 of Her Ohio Old Flame

A spark of anger flared in Zane’s chest. That wasn’t an admission, and it was what the boy had told them, too. He glanced at Asha, whose lips were pressed into a thin line, her expression unreadable. He shifted his gaze back to Latoya, who looked like she might crumble under the weight of her own words.

Maddy knelt beside the girl, her voice soft but steady. “Latoya, you’ve been so brave to tell us this. Thank you. We’re going to figure this out.”

Chapter Twenty-Three

After leaving Latoya in Maddy’s and Asha’s capable hands, Zane followed Lou out of the school, the weight of the past hour pressing heavily on his shoulders. The late afternoon air hung thick with humidity, a sluggish breeze doing little to offer relief. Neither man spoke as they climbed into Lou’s cruiser, but they didn’t need to. It was time to face Tate MacCready.

The drive to the MacCready residence was steeped in a tense silence. Lou handled the cruiser with the kind of calm that came from years of practice, his hands steady on the wheel, his gaze locked on the road ahead. Beside him, Zane stared out the window, his thoughts a storm of doubt and anger. Familiar streets blurred by—the corner diner with its flickering neon sign, the park where kids squealed on swings—but the mundane scenes didn’t penetrate the cold dread and fury eating at his insides.

When they turned onto the quiet cul-de-sac, the MacCready home came into view. A neat little house with flower beds framing the porch, it looked every bit as unassuming as the man they were about to confront. Zane squared his shoulders as Lou killed the engine.

They both jumped out of the car and strode to the front door.

Lou knocked, his usual commanding presence more subdued. After a moment, MacCready answered, his expression shifting from pleasant surprise to mild concern at seeing them both on his doorstep.

“Lou. Zane. What’s this about?” MacCready asked, still exuding that familiar resonant warmth.

“We need to talk,” Lou said. “Outside. Away from your family.”

MacCready frowned and glanced over his shoulder toward the living room where muffled laughter filtered through. “I don’t have secrets from my family.”

Lou’s jaw tightened. “I don’t think you want them to hear this.”

Something in Lou’s expression must have pierced MacCready’s confidence because he hesitated, furrowing his brows. Without another word, he reached over to a small junk jar on the side table, pulled out a keyring, and stepped out onto the front porch. He shut the door behind him with a quiet click, pocketing the keys as they headed toward a little bench in the front yard.

“What’s going on?” MacCready sounded tense.

Lou stopped a few steps away from the bench, looked over his shoulder, and ensured they were out of earshot of anyone inside. “We’ve received serious allegations against you, Tate. About inappropriate conduct with your students.”

MacCready blinked, his face a mask of disbelief. “What the hell are you talking about?”

Lou didn’t waver. “We’ve spoken to victims. Multiple individuals have come forward, Tate, and these allegations, combined with the targeted arson cases, paint a troubling picture.”

MacCready narrowed his eyes, tightening his hands into fists at his sides. “This is ridiculous. I’ve dedicated my life to teaching and mentoring those kids. These accusations—whatever they are—are baseless lies.”

Zane crossed his arms, his sharp gaze fixed on MacCready. Before any of them spoke again, the door behind them flung open, slamming against the frame. A small boy barreled out, his face blotchy with tears and flushed with anger.

“You liar!” the boy screamed. “I know what you were doing! With Sophie! How could you, Dad?”

The words struck like a hammer, and before Zane or Lou could react, the boy launched himself at his father, tiny fists pounding against MacCready’s legs and stomach. One stray punch landed squarely in his crotch, and MacCready doubled over with a grunt of pain.

“Whoa, hey!” Zane pitched forward to grip the boy around the waist and pull him back, his small frame writhing and shaking with heart-wrenching sobs. “Easy, buddy. Easy.”

The boy twisted in Zane’s hold, tears streaming down his face. “He hurts Sophie! Goes into her room. I can hear her crying when he does! He’s a bad man!”

MacCready’s face had gone pale, his eyes wide with shock. “Elliot, that’s enough!” he barked, but his voice wavered.

Lou moved first, stepping closer to Elliot, speaking low and steady, the way you’d talk to a spooked animal. “Elliot, you’re upset, and I get that. But we need to?—”

“No!” The boy’s small chest was heaving, and he turned his glare to his father, his words cutting through the night air with icy precision. “No, Dad. It’s not enough. I was the one setting the fires. I did that. Because I hate you!”

Zane’s breath caught. The quiet, venomous confession hit like a punch to the gut. For a second, everything stilled—the distant hum of crickets, the faint rustle of leaves—all swallowedby the weight of Elliot’s words. The kid’s shoulders were squared, his face twisted with a pain that didn’t belong on someone so young.

“Elliot,” Lou tried, his tone firm but softer this time. “This is serious. You understand what you’re saying?”

Zane shifted, his instincts pulling him toward Elliot, though he wasn’t sure if the boy needed comfort or restraint. He settled for keeping his response calm, measured. “Kid, setting fires isn’t just dangerous. People could’ve been hurt.”

Elliot flicked hi gaze to Zane for a heartbeat before returning it to his father, his expression hardening. “Good. Maybe he would’ve felt what it’s like to be hurt.”

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