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Wait, he knew the doorman by name? Apparently so, because the dark-haired guy instantly bounded forward with an “Absolutely, Mr. LeBlanc,” response on his lips.
“Royal, we need to get to my bar, ASAP.” Beau spun back for the limo.
She grabbed his arm. “What is happening? Who got away?”
“The SOB who just torched my bar.”
Her heart seemed to drop straight to the pit of her stomach. “What?”
“Dominic, get her up to the room!”
Dominic crept closer. “If you’ll just come with me, ma’am.”
“Dominic, please go back to your post. I appreciate the offer, but I am not going anywhere with you.” A crisp response from her. Then she lunged past Beau and jumped into the limo. “Royal, could you please haul ass? We need to get to Beau’s bar. Now.”
She saw Royal rush to the front of the limo.
Beau didn’t get inside. He did lean low over the open door and glare at her. “Sweetheart, what in the hell do you think you’re doing?”
“Going with you?” That should be obvious. “We literally just shook on our deal like five minutes ago.” Why did this need an explanation? Fear and adrenaline pumped through her. “We both know this isn’t random. My house was set on fire last night. Now your bar? Come on.” She leaned forward and snagged his wrist. “We are wasting time. The arsonist is getting away!”
Beau finally jumped into the limo. He yanked the door shut behind him. “The bastard already got away. Lane chose to save my bar and the sonofabitch fled.” Fury vibrated in every word. Such raw rage. “We will find him.”
She caught his hand. Curled her fingers around his fist. “Yes, we will.”
The limo pulled to a stop. Beau was out of the door before Avalon believed that Royal had even fully braked the vehicle, and she was right on his tail. She hopped out and saw the fire truck with its lights blazing. Firefighters were already inside LeBlanc’s. The scent of smoke hung heavily in the air.
“Can’t go inside!” A bark from one of the firefighters as he hurried past. He was in full gear, decked from head to toe, and his mask bounced over his head as he rushed toward the entrance of the bar.
“I can go any damn place I want,” Beau snapped back.
Uh…
A man stalked toward them. Tall. Dark hair. Soot covered his white dress shirt and khaki dress pants. As she stared at him, recognition flooded through her. “OhmyGod.”
“Hardly.” A mocking response from a nearby Royal. “More like the devil. But you do you, sunshine.” He saluted her. “I’m going to search the periphery.” Then he vanished.
But the devil closed in. The devil, otherwise known as… “Lane Lawson,” Avalon said.
He’d stopped right next to Beau. Actually, he’d stopped right in front of Beau. The better to block Beau’s path and stop him from running into the bar. Yet at her words, Lane’s head turned toward her. His head inclined. “Avalon Trahan.”
She blinked. “I’ve been trying to get an interview with you for weeks.”
“And I’ve been denying that interview. Will continue to do so, by the way.”
Lane Lawson.
The man had been a suspected serial killer. One of the best profilers in the business had gotten Lane locked away—only later, that same profiler had worked to prove Lane’s innocence. And when Lane’s sister had been threatened, Lane had broken out of jail to help her.
Eventually, Lane had been cleared of all charges. The real killer had been identified. And Lane had become a celebrity in true crime circles.
And he was standing in front of Beau. Covered in ash.
This was Beau’s new BFF? The one Royal had mentioned when he was warning her about Beau’s tendency to pick up dangerous strays?
Lane’s gaze had returned to Beau. Grimly, he said, “The prick was right behind your bar counter. He disabled your main alarm, but I guess he didn’t know about the secondary system you had in place. I was upstairs in the PI office,” Lane added. “I got the alert on my phone and rushed down as fast as I could.”
“I got the alert, too,” Beau muttered. “But I was…distracted and didn’t realize it at the time.”
