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She and Beau had both made it out twice.
“Don’t go for a third time.” Colton’s gaze dipped to Beau. “It won’t be the charm for either of you. It might just be a death sentence.”
Beau shut Avalon’s car door. He walked slowly around the front of the Jag and tossed a wave to the arson investigator who stood on her porch and watched him.
Colton didn’t wave back. Shocking.
Colton did pull out his phone and make a call. Yep, that guy was not going to be forgetting the scene with the knife anytime soon. That “no harm done” bit? Total BS.
Beau opened the driver’s side door, slid inside, and even before he’d pulled his door shut—“So, at the end there, was he threatening us,” Avalon asked as she gave a little wave to the watching investigator, “or trying to offer friendly advice so that we stayed alive?”
The engine growled to life. “Very hard call to make.” But I’d probably go with option one.
“Uh, huh.”
He got them on the road and away from her house.
“You think he’s phoning Cunningham?”
“Oh, I am one hundred percent sure of that.” Now that was hardly a difficult call to determine.
“Did you know that Cunningham worked the majority of arson cases in town?”
“Not until about five minutes ago, no, I didn’t know that very important fact. Makes sense, though, seeing as how he was the detective questioning you the morning after the fire at your house.”
“Cunningham probably knows a lot about fires. How to start them. How to get away with setting them.”
Beau dipped his head forward. “Again, I am now one hundred percent sure of that fact.” He turned to the right and pulled to a stop on a small cul-de-sac. Quickly, he fired off a text to Lane and Ophelia. He definitely wanted to know more about their arson investigator. The arson investigator had set off Beau’s inner alarms for a variety of reasons. No sign of your car. You were digging in the bedroom. You never told me why you were up there. And I swear, I heard the twang of New Orleans in your voice once or twice.
“You did pull a knife on him,” Avalon noted. “Maybe that’s why he wasn’t quite so cooperative at first.”
She’d gotten the guy to open up. By being all casual and non-threatening. Batting those gorgeous eyes of hers. Pulling on his sympathy. If the man had actually been sympathetic. Beau didn’t trust him for a second. At this point, he was sure most of the world was just hiding behind a mask. “Don’t like that he was in your bedroom.”
“Maybe he was being thorough.”
“Yeah, or maybe he was checking to make sure Slater hadn’t left anything behind that could tie back to him. Maybe—” Beau’s phone rang, cutting through his words.
At first, he thought the call might be from Lane or Ophelia. A response to the text he’d just sent. But, no, the pic flashing on the scene was of Kai. What the hell did his bouncer want at this time of the day? Kai worked nights. Normally. When there was, you know, a bar to actually work at.
What is happening now?
His finger swiped over the screen, and he put the phone to his ear. “Kai, you had better not be calling to tell me that something else is burning. Because I am not in the mood to hear that news.”
“Detectives spent the last hour grilling me,” Kai responded flatly. “I came to LeBlanc’s in order to take a look around. Thought I’d make sure we didn’t have anyone trying to break inside and steal anything.”
“Uh, is there anything left to steal?” Doubtful.
“Not much. Sorry, boss. Shit’s gone to hell here.”
Beau grunted. He’d figured that out when he watched the place burn. “No employees were hurt. That’s what matters.” The fire had been during the day, when the bar was usually closed up tight. The arsonist had counted on no one being there.
But you didn’t count on Lane, did you? He was upstairs. He almost caught you. Almost. So the arsonist had fled the scene…
Or had he?
“You always take good care of your staff.” Kai exhaled on a hard breath that carried over the phone. “That’s why I’m here now. You gave me a place when I needed it. I don’t buy any of the bull that Detective Cunningham was spewing. I know you didn’t burn down your own bar just to collect insurance money.”
Beau’s left hand rose to squeeze the bridge of his nose. “Tell me that’s not the theory.”
