Page 7 of The Fire Went Wild

“You’re making me uncomfortable,” I tell him, which isn’texactlytrue but isn’t exactly a lie either.

To my annoyance, he grins. I’m sad to report that it is devastatingly handsome. “I do that,” he says. “Just ask Maggie.” He tilts his head toward the waitress.

“Well, could you stop?”

“Not until you answer my question.” His blue eyes bore into me. If we knew each other better, if he was a friend of a friend, orif this was some art gallery in California and not a redneck diner in Louisiana, I’d probably want to take him home with me. I’ve always had a taste for intense, socially maladjusted assholes of both the male and female variety.

“What question was that?” I look over at the waitress. Maggie. She’s flirting with the cowboys at the bar while she refills their coffees.

“Why are you in the marsh?”

I sigh and settle back in my booth. Jaxon just keeps watching me, waiting for my answer. And I realize—I should just tell him the truth. I might as well start my investigation now.

“My friend disappeared three months ago,” I tell him. “I’m trying to find her.”

Jaxon’s brow furrows. Then he turns around and drops back into his booth just as Maggie comes back over with my water.

“Really,” she says. “Don’t mind him. He’s like this with everyone.”

“Shut up, Maggie.” His voice drifts up from his booth, but Maggie just laughs.

“We’re all used to him,” she says. “Now, what can I get you?”

I order a hamburger since that’s what’s on the sign outside, and I figure it’s probably the best thing on the menu. Maggie talks me into some curly fries, too. As she leaves, she calls out to Jaxon, “You behave yourself.”

He doesn’t respond.

I slump down in my booth while I wait for my food. Jaxon doesn’t bother me anymore, and I’m not sure if I’m grateful for it or not. He’s strange. But I like strange.

I pull out my phone and go over to CrimeSolvers, skimming through the latest updates. There’s nothing interesting. Nothing new. I force myself to stop doomscrolling, only to pull up the screenshot of the symbol that I took when I was talking to Edie. I’ve stared at this picture hundreds of times, trying to figure outwhere Edie was when we were talking. Not the campgrounds—if there had been a huge occult-esque symbol painted on the walls of any of the buildings, the nerds at CrimeSolvers would have known about it. So she was somewhere else. Maybe she was in Roanoke and just came back to the camp to meet Scott. Or maybe she was somewhere nearby.

Somewhere with a killer.

“Here you are.” Maggie’s voice drags me away from my phone. I look up at her as she sets down my plate: a big, greasy burger and a mountain of crispy, golden, perfectly seasoned curly fries. “Everything look okay?”

“Everything looks amazing.” I move to set my phone down, but something stops me. Jaxon clearly wasn’t a good place to start my investigation, but maybe Maggie is. “Actually, can I ask you a question?”

Maggie gives me a smile. “Depends on what it is.”

I pull up the symbol again and show it to her. “Do you know what this means?”

Maggie frowns, then shakes her head. “No, I’ve never seen that before. You should ask Jaxon, though. He’s into all that creepy stuff.”

The top of Jaxon’s dark head pops up over the edge of the booth seat. “Stop volunteering me for shit.”

“Oh, you can’t take five seconds to look at a picture? It’s not like you’ve moved from that booth in about two hours.” Maggie winks at me like we’re in on some game together. That game being annoying the crap out of Pellerin Parish’s apparently only artist.

Jaxon gives an exasperated sigh but does, to my surprise, slide out of the booth. It’s my first time seeing him—reallyseeing him—and my dumbass pussy reacts in its usual dumbass way of wanting to jump his bones even though he’s a weird, somewhat creepy asshole.

He’s got that soft yet muscular body I’ve always liked, with strong artist’s arms and thick thighs and the faintest hint of a belly. He said he works in mixed media, but he looks like might do welding or metalwork—those types always have a particular type of strength to them. His hair really is gorgeous: black and straight and silky, a stunning contrast against his golden-brown skin. And, of course, the blue eyes, currently scowling at me and Maggie.

“What?” he says.

Maggie shows him my phone, completely unfazed by his attitude. Unfortunately, Iamfazed by his attitude in that the bitchiness just makes him hotter to me.

See, this right here is why I never judged Edie for being married to Scott Hensner, the king of the douchebags.

Jaxon stares down at the picture for long enough that excitement sparks in my chest, because I’mcertainhe recognizes it. His expression doesn’t change, but he studies it like it’s a stolen answer key and he’s an eighth grader who’s about to fail algebra.

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