“You okay?” I asked Griffin.
He looked shell-shocked. “Yeah. I’m fine.”
I hooked an arm through his and led him out of the ruins of the kitchen. I was getting a headache from the mix of the charred remains and the chemicals.
Anger simmered as I saw the destruction once more. Water was nearly as devastating as fire. I’d hoped that we could close off the kitchen and still keep the taproom open, but that was impossible now.
Beckett and Kira were climbing the steps from the patio.
Kira’s eyes were red, but there were no tears. Or they’d come and gone.
“What did he say?”
Kira’s jaw was tight. “Arson. The cooktop was covered in oil and grease. They found the discard bin under the grilling station.”
“Absolutely not. Dawn is as crazy as Kain is about getting the kitchen decontaminated.”
“I know, Len. I know.” Kira caught my hand in a quick squeeze. “But the proof was there. And an accelerant on top of it.”
Griffin paced away, his hands laced behind his head. “This is all my fault.”
Beckett frowned. “We don’t know that.”
“You fucking do.”
“With what proof? I can’t even go to the cops with what we have.” Beckett raised his voice.
“At least it would be on record. No one is taking this seriously because everyone in my band is too damn afraid to own up to what is going on.”
“What the hell are you talking about?”
Griffin stalked back with his hands fisted at his sides as if he was going to start brawling. “My old bandmate showed up this morning. It’s worse than we even imagined.”
“How bad?”
“Bad.” His voice was little more than a whisper. “And I brought this here. Brought it to you.”
I curled my hands around one of his fisted hands. “You didn’t. How could you know? We still don’t have proof.”
“What are you guys yelling about out here?” Kain’s flip flops announced him before he came into the main dining room. “I can hear you from the garage.”
Well-aware I was going to piss him off, I drew in a steadying breath. “Griffin’s in trouble.”
Kain’s dark eyes went shark-flat. “How so?”
Griffin shot a hard look at me.
“What? We can’t do this alone anymore. Not when it’s not just us that she’s doing this to.”
“Who?” Kain’s voice was a rumble of thunder.
I squeezed Griffin’s hand. “Please tell them.”
“Baron came to see me this morning. Marc, the singer from my band, was hurt a few weeks ago. A motorcycle accident. The cops there think it was just an accident and that Marc is overreacting. Not out of the realm for him, I’m afraid. He doesn’t exactly keep it cool at the best of times.”
Beckett rocked back on his heels. “You think it’s legit?”
“I think it was the same girl who tried to run me off the road a few days ago,” I said in answer.