Page 83 of Slow Burn
The hairs on Cole’s neck stood up. Eric Ward was no longer asking, and under different circumstances, he might’ve been curious about why. But something was off.
“Go ahead,” he said, turning to reach for his phone on the bar top. “I’ll meet you up there.”
“Sorry, Cole.” The man’s tone had shifted—stone heavy and dark. “Leave the phone where it is. I’d like you to come with me.”
Cole turned slow. The gun in Ward’s hand wasn’t a surprise, but his gut still dropped.
He forced a shaky laugh. “Eric, come on.”
Maybe it was a joke. God, he hoped it was. But the ice in Ward’s gaze said otherwise.
“Upstairs,” Ward ordered. Then added as an afterthought, “Know what? Go on and hand me that phone. Might help us make sure that Murphy girl comes back in a timely manner.”
Ice hit Cole’s veins. That Murphy girl.
The words slipped out before he could stop them: “You killed Bonnie.”
Ward’s eyes hardened, cold now. “The phone.”
Cole didn’t move, his mind racing. What would Eric Ward have against Bonnie Murphy?
“Why?”
“Why what?” Ward snapped.
“Why kill Bonnie?”
“I didn’t—” He huffed, snatching the phone himself.
He dialed a number, pressing the phone to his ear.
That stumble of denial—I didn’t—told him plenty. Even if it was an accident, Ward had been involved.
He spoke into the phone, but he watched Cole. “Meet me at the Nail. I have a job for you.” So he wasn’t calling Jocelyn. Not yet. He hung up without saying goodbye and jammed the gun into Cole’s side. “Up the stairs.”
Cole swallowed, legs carrying him forward. He wasn’t stupid—he’d play along for the moment. Ward was strong, trained to haul bodies out of burning buildings. Cole couldn’t take him head-on, not yet. But he might get an opening if he paid attention, and that meant biding his time.
As they reached the stairs, Cole glanced at the phone in Ward’s hand. One chance, maybe. Dangerous with a gun in the mix, but he’d take whatever edge he could get.
His only comfort was that things between him and Jocelyn had been left unsettled. Maybe unsettled was enough to keep her from walking straight into the trap Ward had waiting.
thirty-one
“He who sits by the fire and thinks he is safe is the most in danger.” - Plautus
Jocelyn’s mind circled as she drove back toward town, her grip so tight on the steering wheel it hurt.
She should’ve asked Daniel where Lydia was. Should’ve asked him where his wife had been that night. But she hadn’t been able to think clearly.
We drove by a lot.
Natasha’s words echoed in Jocelyn’s head.
One day it was there; the next day, it was gone.
Lydia’s brother was the fire chief—just a lowly member of the crew back then, but he knew fire. Would Lydia have picked up enough to start that fire? Or had she asked him to cover for her?
Motive, means.
