Unfortunately, Jimmy had been all-too-human. But Hunter had given her son something irreplaceable—a way to see his dad in himself. “Your dad was something special, funny and smart and brave—just like you. I love you.”
Sean mumbled an “I love you, Mommy.” Fiona leaned over and kissed him on his head.
Gathering up his dirty clothes and wet towel off the floor, she started down the stairs. Halfway down, she sank to a sitting position, dropped her head into her hands and let the tears fall she’d been holding in all day. She’d gotten used to one empty pillow, one missing piece of their family. She wouldn’t have survived another one.
When Sean was born, Jimmy had given her a tiny gold disc with Sean’s first initial and his birthstone to wear around her neck. She never took it off. She wrapped her hand around that pendant, as if by clutching it in her palm, she could somehow keep him safe. This fire had brought back so many feelings that she’d thought she’d buried.
Fear, doubt, grief.
A soft knock at the door jerked her head up. She swiped at her cheeks with the back of one hand, leaving the pile of clothes where she sat on the stairs. A quick peek through the peephole told her it was Hunter. He had his arm propped on the wall beside the door. The line of his body said he was as tired as she felt. She pulled open the door. “I have coffee made. It looks like you could use some.”
“Mrs. Davenport sent you some lemon squares.” The plate was in one hand. He held out her keys with the other. “And I brought your car back.”
“I don’t think so.” She pretended to consider him. “In fact, definitely no. I like the blue truck. It makes me feel tall.”
He gave an overdramatic sigh, but his eyes were serious as he studied her face. “You doing okay, Red?”
She didn’t meet his eyes, instead reached for the plate of lemon squares and headed for the kitchen, ignoring his question. “I really appreciate you taking care of things at The Reading Nook after I left with Sean. I knew the stores on Main probably wouldn’t open, but I was afraid one of the ladies might show up.”
“And you were right, but I think Mrs. D. just wanted to pump me for information.”
“About the fire? Do you know anything?” Fiona slid a cup of coffee to him.
He took a swig from the mug and reached for one of the brownies she put on the plate with the lemon squares. “I walked through the scene with your Uncle Mickey this afternoon.”
“And?” She kept pouring coffee as if his answer didn’t mean anything to her. As if her whole world hadn’t changed two years ago when an arsonist set fire to an abandoned building on the outskirts of town.
“We’re still analyzing the evidence.” He looked down at the coffee in his mug and she knew he wasn’t telling the whole truth.
“Tell me, Hunter. You’ve always been straight with me.”
* * *
He looked up, into the blue eyes he’d fallen in love with as a teenager. They’d been inseparable growing up, best friends from the fort-building days all the way through the growing pains of middle school, both swearing off dating in favor of crabbing from her family’s dock.
But somewhere along the way, things had changed for him. He’d realized that his red-haired playmate had turned into a red-haired beauty. His plan was to meet her at the dock and ask her to the freshman ball. That plan was derailed when she came running down the pier after school, starry-eyed because Jimmy Cobb, the cutest boy in school, had asked her to the dance.
She was full of dreams and he…just kept his mouth shut. Jimmy had been the kind of guy that everyone liked. Funny and irreverent, he was always up to something. And their inseparable twosome became three.
Hunter pushed away from the table and paced to the counter. So, technically, no. He wasn’t always straight with her. He’d buried those feelings long ago in favor of something more important. A friendship that had sustained both of them through some tough times. His dad’s inability to find and keep a job, her mom’s battle with cancer. Jimmy.
She walked up beside him, leaning one hip against the cabinet. “Come on, you know I’ll find out anyway.”
He turned his head to look at her. “I can’t say for sure, but—”
“It’s him. Oh, Hunter, why is he back now?” Terror streaked across her features. “Is it Sean? Is he after my son?”
Hunter put his hand over her two. “There’s no indication of that, Fiona.”
“I know, it’s a crazy thought.” Her eyes filled and she fled the room.
He followed her into the living room. She was folding a load of towels that had been left on the couch, her hands full of nervous energy. She’d always preferred to do something. He was the one who dwelt on things.
But she looked up from the laundry, her eyes filling again. “I can’t quit thinking about Betsie, how she looked on that gurney. She saved Sean’s life and now she’s fighting for hers.”
He picked up a towel and looked for a place to put it. The coffee table was covered in books. He shoved over some and made a place for his stack. “What happened today is even harder for you because of what you’ve been through before. But this new fire means new evidence, a new chance that the arsonist made a mistake.”
His eyes were on the picture on the mantel. The photo of his friend, Jimmy. “We’re going to find whoever did this and make sure he pays for what he did.”
“Before someone else gets hurt?” Fiona made room for a stack of hand towels next to her pile on the coffee table.
Hunter chose another towel to fold, the clean, fresh smell of the laundry wafting around him. He frowned. His towels didn’t smell like this. “How do you make these smell so good?”
She stopped midmotion. “What?”
“My towels smell like towels. Yours smell good.”
She stared at him like he’d just grown two heads. “It’s called fabric softener, Hunter. Stop trying to change the subject.”
“If only it were that easy.” He put the last towel on the pile and stood, dropping a kiss on the top of her head before walking toward the door. He turned around.
He couldn’t answer every question, but he could tell her one thing with certainty. “I promise you—he’s not getting away this time.”
* * *
Fiona walked down the hall toward Betsie’s hospital room with a handful of gerbera daisies that reminded her of Betsie’s bright style. She’d dropped off Sean at school and thankfully, she hadn’t had to haul in either her cousin Liam or Hunter for show-and-tell. At Betsie’s room, she paused. Voices drifted out through the partially open door.
One of the voices was easily recognizable as her brother, Douglas, Fitzgerald Bay’s police captain. The other sounded familiar, too. She’d practically grown up at the precinct. She tried to place the voice.
Her brother said,
