Page 7 of Echoes and Oaths
Had they known his mother and Lana were inside?
Yes.
The answer was yes.
Metal bars had been shoved through the latches of the doors, locking them inside. Even if they’d fought through the smoke and flames, clawed at the exits, screamed for help … there had been no way out.
Jinx had never made it to the college exam he’d been studying for that night. Instead, he’d started searching. Obsessively. Relentlessly. The police had no leads, but Jinx did.
Lana had been offered a substantial sum of money for the land. A corporation had sent representatives multiple times, pressuring her to sell, but she’d refused. The land had been passed down to herby her father, and the work she did at the shelter was her life’s mission. At sixty-seven years old, she had no intention of selling or walking away.
So, Jinx had started there.
He’d used every skill he had, every trick he’d learned in college, to dig into the corporation. The internet had led him down a rabbit hole, a maze of corporate dealings that, at first glance, seemed legitimate. But beneath the surface, patterns had emerged. Ones that were impossible to ignore.
In Montana, ranchers had lost their water sources after someone had diverted the flow from their land. Unable to sustain their cattle, they’d been forced to sell.
In Florida, entire orchards had mysteriously caught fire. The land that just so happened to be part of a development deal the corporation had been pursuing.
And then, in California, an animal shelter had been reduced to ash.
Jinx had thought he was chasing a theory, but the deeper he’d dug, the more undeniable it had become. It wasn’t coincidence. It was calculated destruction.
Then had come the biggest shock of all.
Lana had left the land to him.
Jinx had had no idea she’d named him her heir,but she had. Which meant the corporation that had killed her wanted what was his.
When the offers started rolling in, he’d responded with interest. He’d told them he’d consider selling, if he could meet the person in charge of land acquisitions.
That had been the beginning of his end. Within three weeks, Jinx had an appointment with Dante Driver, the man who’d spearheaded the corporation’s most controversial dealings. Every bit of research had led back to him. Every unethical land grab, every case of destruction in pursuit of profit.
Jinx had never showed up to the meeting. Instead, he’d followed Driver home. The man had lived alone. A fortunate thing, for him, at least.
Jinx had watched from the shadows as Driver had locked his front door for the night, completely unaware death had just arrived at his doorstep. Jinx had waited. Patient. Controlled. Then, under the cover of darkness, he’d moved. He’d secured the doors, binding them shut, trapping Driver inside. Then he’d set the house on fire.
The moment the flames had taken hold, and alarms had shrieked into the night. Jinx had known he was on borrowed time, but he didn’t leave. He’d stood there, watching, waiting.
Smoke had curled from the windows, fire licking at the roof. It was the same nightmare his mother and Lana had endured, and for the first time, Driver had been forced to experience that same helpless terror.
Desperation had driven the man to action. With flames raging behind him, he’d thrown himself through a second-story window, crashing onto the ground with a pained, gasping wheeze. He’d coughed, lungs full of smoke, blinking up at Jinx in dazed confusion.
Jinx had walked toward him, slow and deliberate.
Driver had groaned, scrambling to push himself up on shaking arms.
“Are you all right?” Jinx had asked, voice almost gentle.
Driver had let out a raspy laugh, the kind only a man who’d cheated death could manage. “Yeah … yeah, I … I couldn’t get the doors open.”
Jinx had tilted his head. “That’s exactly how my mom and Lana Masterson felt.”
Recognition had dawned on Driver’s soot-streaked face, his mouth opening to speak, but no words were uttered.
The knife had slid between his ribs before thebastard could make a sound. Jinx had twisted the blade, watching the life drain from the man’s eyes.
When the cops had found him two weeks later, the knife had still been in his possession. He hadn’t run. He hadn’t hidden. He’d done what he’d come to do. He’d been arrested and charged with murder.
