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She made her way to the den. Froze in her tracks. Her piano had burned. Her books were ashes. And her white bookshelves that she’d carefully painted? What remained of them was a scary, darkened husk.
“Rebuild,” Beau promised, voice grim but determined. “We absolutely will rebuild. Picture it the way it will be, sweetheart. This will be gone.”
So many things were already gone. The piano that she’d loved. The books that she’d had since she was a teenager. She and her mom had bought most of those classics after the fire. Because the first fire—the one in New Orleans—had also taken away her cherished books. And her mother’s beloved piano.
That monster fire had taken the whole house.
This time, the fire had been limited to the ground floor. Primarily to the den. The books were gone. The photos on the shelves that she’d had of her family were gone. Pictures from childhood—gone. And the piano. Gone.
She turned around, frowning. “The things that mattered the most to me.”
Beau was near the remnants of the piano. At her words, he frowned over at her. “I can get everything back.”
She knew he wanted to, but…the childhood photos? They’d been given to her by her grandparents. All of her other photos from when she’d been a kid had been lost in the Garden District fire. Yes, they could buy more books. They could buy another piano.
Don’t get hung up on this stuff. He lost his bar. Beau isn’t bitching and moaning when he lost the thing that mattered most to?—
Her breath caught. She spun back to stare at the bookcase. “He took the things that mattered most to both of us. Targeted. Deliberate.”
A loud creak came from upstairs.
Her head whipped back as she looked up.
Another creak.
Was the ceiling about to cave in? Beau had mentioned being worried about the structure of the place but?—
He was running for the stairs. “Beau!” she called out.
“Someone is up there!” Beau paused only long enough to yank a knife from his boot. He’d had that strapped to his ankle?
Avalon snapped her mouth closed and gave chase behind him. His feet pounded up the stairs. So did hers. Whoever was up there had to hear them coming. At the landing, Beau didn’t hesitate. He immediately turned for her room. The door was partially open.
He shoved open that door fully. She heard a gasp. A thud. Avalon rushed inside.
Beau had a dark-haired man pinned to the wall. The man wore blue coveralls, black safety shoes, and a safety helmet tilted to the side on his head.
Beau’s knife was at the man’s throat. “Who the hell are you?” Beau demanded. “And what are you doing in her house?”
Chapter Eighteen
The intruder’s eyes doubled in size. Blue eyes that were about to bulge right out of his head. “S-searching?—”
“Searching for what?” Beau scanned the bedroom. “You leave something behind in the house the first time you were here, bastard?”
The tiniest shake of the intruder’s head. If he’d shaken more, the knife would have sliced him.
“Arson…” A gasp.
“Yeah, we fucking know that,” Beau snapped right back.
“In…investigator!”
“Beau.” Avalon touched his shoulder. “Pull back the knife. I think he’s saying that he’s the arson investigator.”
A quick nod. “Yessssss.” A long hiss. Like a balloon deflating.
“Show me the ID,” Beau snapped. But he did pull back the knife.
