Page 235 of Waiting Game

“Less sexually aggressive. Well, physically. But he started being more suggestive.”

“Verbally?”

“Yes. All round, he was more of a bully. Once, I saw him denigrating a male staff member and I gave him a warning that I wouldn’t take that from him anymore. The next time he tried it, I banned him. I guess I pricked his ego.”

“No offense, Mia, but it’s a major upgrade from bully to arsonist.”

“I saw him in the crowd.”

“That’s why you think it’s him?”

“It’s the only reason I think it’s him. I have no idea why anyone would want to do this if it’snothim.”

Rachel flicks a look at Cole. “And that’s why I’m here.”

His nod is small.

Even I can see this doesn’t look good.

Especially without the trading card collection as backup.

I could have arranged this beforehand. Could have even?—

He seems to sense that I’m spiraling because he pulls me into him so that our foreheads are resting atop one another. “You didn’t do this. You’re a fighter. You were fighting for Chuck’s. Rachel is only here becauseI’mfighting for you. Do you hear me?”

“I do,” I whisper, but I’m not given the opportunity to say anything else because Officer Brownhill makes an appearance.

He was a jerk to me last night, but he withdraws a bundle from under his arm and shoves it at me. “We were collecting evidence and came across this.”

I gape at the signed Gretzky jersey. “How did this survive!”

“Gretzky’s always been a miracle worker,” Brownhill mutters.

“Thank you so much,” I whisper, eyes filling with tears as I open it up.

Though the frame obviously didn’t make it, it’s pretty much intact—only a very strong scent of smoke lingers in the fabric.

The next few minutes drift by in a blur as, leaving the jersey with a drooling Cole, I’m guided into an interview room by a new face, Detective Garcia, and reminded of my rights.

“I’d like to know why my client has been brought in for questioning as if she’s some kind of criminal when she’s clearly a victim of arson,” is Rachel’s initial sally.

The offensive start tells me how she’s going to tackle this interview and it makes the butterflies in my stomach settle down some.

With that one statement, I know that Cole’s right—Garcia wishes he were on Rachel’s pay grade.

“The same could be said for why your victim has hired a known criminal defense attorney such as yourself, Ms. Laker.”

“Hiring a defense council isn’t a privilege, officer,” Rachel practically purrs. “My tab is being picked up by her boyfriend. The NHL player… You might have heard of Mr. Korhonen.”

“Just because she’s dating a wealthy man doesn’t mean she’s incapable of committing a crime.”

“Perhaps not, but it would make more sense for her to ask her wealthy boyfriend for a loan than to commit insurance fraud, wouldn’t you think?” Her brow arches and scorn etches its way into her expression. “It’s a ridiculous premise, in fact. If you look into my client’s bank account, you’ll find savings that cover her outgoings, enough to make even a simple mind question her motive behind setting fire to a bar that’s been in the family for generations.”

Though I blink at her words, I keep my gaze locked on the cuff of the Stars’ hoodie Cole swathed me in earlier when we got the call from the cops. It’s ten times too big, but it smells of him and laundry detergent and it covers me better than a blanket—I feel like I’m wearing one of his hugs.

He, of course, loves it because it’s got his name and number on it.

That’s when I realize I’m as bad as Betsy!

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