Page 88 of Pain in the Axe
I jumped out and jogged over to Chloe, who was standing with Chief Souza.
JJ and Karl, who was wearing Cookie Monster pajama bottoms, were standing at the edge of the lot as firefighters cleaned up debris and checked the other buildings.
“It’s out,” Chloe said, looking up at me, her face etched in fear. She was wearing sweats and was bare faced, that fiery hair pulled back into a low ponytail. She looked young and small and vulnerable without her heels, makeup, and fancy black clothes.
Thanks to the expensive lighting we’d installed last year, the parking lot was bright, making the devastation on her face obvious. More than anything, I wanted to scoop her up in my arms and make everything better. Hold her and comfort her. Fix all this shit so her life would run smoothly forever and she never had any reason to look so terrified again.
“Are you the owner?” Warren Mitchell, the fire chief—dressed in his turnout gear, with his helmet under his arm—strode our way. The Lovewell fire department was tiny. The staff consisted only of the chief, two full-timers and a stable ofvolunteers. But their response times were excellent, and they were good people.
From the concerned look he was wearing, it was clear things were bad.
“Yes,” Chloe said, reaching out her hand to shake his. “Chloe LeBlanc. Do you know what could have happened?”
“Normally, I’d wait for the results of an official investigation,” he said. “But this one’s pretty easy. It appears as though someone wanted to send a message.”
She gasped, and I clenched my fists and bit back a curse.
“We found containers of accelerant in the woods nearby. Lt. Vargas confirmed it. We’re not a big enough department to have a dog, but the investigation team will use canine detection as well.
I took a step back, forcing air into my lungs. This was bad. Really bad. I’d need to get in there, assess the damage, and figure out what was salvageable.
When Sam arrived a few minutes later, he was distraught.
“Can I get in there?” he asked, his hands shaking.
“Not yet,” Chief Souza said firmly. “We need to assess for structural damage. But you’re welcome to take exterior photos. The fire was confined to one side of the building.”
Relief washed over me. My father had spared no expense when he’d built this shop, so the place was enormous. Hopefully, the damage was minimal.
Sam and I moved closer to the structure, leaving Chloe to speak to the police, both of us shaking our heads, silently trying to make sense of all of this.
“We responded quickly,” Jake, one of the firefighters and a buddy of mine from high school, explained. “Those state-of-the-art alarms likely saved the rest of your property.”
Two other firefighters were taping off the entrance as we approached. The shop was a large steel structure with garagebays lining one side. The roof was partially collapsed, and there was debris everywhere, but it was impossible to see the extent of the damage, even beneath the bright lights. We’d have to wait until morning to take inventory.
“What was parked in the big bay?” I asked Sam, hands on my hips, praying it was nothing terribly expensive. Whoever did this knew which side of the building would do the most damage.
Sam’s face fell. “The feller.”
Fuck. As reality set in, I had to fight not to punch something. The feller was one of our largest and most expensive pieces of equipment. We’d sold off our other one last year and were planning to get through the next few seasons with just this one.
Sam roughed a hand down his face. “Do you think it’s someone on my team?”
“No idea,” I said.
Sam oversaw the guys out here. There were only a few left, but they were loyal employees. Sure, hours had been down recently and there had been some turnover, but he had good instincts.
“But,” I continued, “that’s the cops’ job. We need to focus on saving what we can and repairing the damages.”
It was daybreak by the time we disbanded. Both the police and the fire department had done their work. We’d pulled security footage for the cops, and Sam and I had taken as many photos as we’d been allowed.
We’d put in the security cameras last year—thank fuck Owen had insisted on it—and while a person appeared on screen, between the dark clothing and hood, I wasn’t optimistic that we could identify them. And I didn’t have a lot of faith in the local cops.
I’d already arranged to have a dumpster delivered later in the day, and I’d texted our field crews to come in. We had a lot of cleanup and cleanout to do.
My plan was to go home, shower, change, and take care of Clem. After that, I’d head back for cleanup and damage control. But first, I needed to check in on Chloe.
I found her sitting on the grass, staring out at the mountains.
