Page 86 of Slow Burn
She turned then, her eyes snagging on Eric Ward’s gun first.
thirty-two
“The fire you kindle for your enemy often burns yourself more than them.” - Chinese Proverb
Eric Ward ushered them both up the stairs, his steps and breathing steady as he followed after them. Jocelyn didn’t look back, but her awareness of his gun kept a constant tingle on the back of her neck, her pulse jumping at her throat.
Where was Cole?
The fear coiled in her stomach, and she cringed at every creak of the stairs as they walked. Maybe Cole wasn’t here. Maybe they’d lied to her, and he was out preparing for the festival that would kick off in a few days.
The hope was faint, but she fought to cling to it.
“Go in,” Eric directed as they reached the door.
Frank stumbled through first, and Jocelyn scanned the apartment as Eric pushed her in afterward.
She spotted Cole by the couch, curled on his side with his hands tied behind his back, feet bound. There was blood on the wood floor beneath him, and panic clawed through her insides, threatening to rip her apart.
Ward snagged her arm just before she rushed over. “He’s alive.”
She jerked to look at the older man, taking in the hardness of his expression. But there was also resignation and a bone weariness that made no sense.
“What did you do to him?” she demanded.
“Won’t matter soon enough.” He shoved her forward, and she stumbled, catching herself at the island to keep from falling.
Ward locked the door behind him before turning to Frank, who wiped his running nose on his sleeve. His grief and pain still marred his face with blotchy patches of red, his eyes puffy from crying.
“I did what you asked,” Frank said, his voice weak. “Now let her go.”
Ward frowned like Frank’s words disappointed him. “That wasn’t our agreement. But you did play your part nicely.”
Jocelyn looked from Ward to Frank, who refused to meet her gaze. “What is he talking about?”
The weight of Ward’s stare made her skin prickle, but she kept her attention on Frank.
Realization dawned when the two remained silent. She’d thought Lydia had started the fire, and at most, Ward might’ve helped cover her tracks. But it was him all along.
It didn't make sense. He’d never been anything to her mama. Jocelyn had never even heard of him before her investigation.
“Why?” she asked.
“I like fire. Always have.” Ward spoke through his teeth like he hated the fact. “All it took was a perfectly placed candle near a curtain splashed with a trace amount of accelerant. Didn’t know then that Bonnie’d be lyin’ half-dead in there later that night.”
“When?” Frank cut in.
Ward rolled his eyes. “Before either of you were even there, Leone. After my sister had come to me about the affair.”
So Lydiahadknown about Daniel and Bonnie. And it washeranger that had been the catalyst. But was she in on it? Had she begged her brother to help her get revenge on the woman who threatened to end her marriage, ruin her reputation, and destroy her family?
Jocelyn’s heart ached for Natasha. “Does Lydia know what you did?”
“No," he snapped. "And if I’d known she’d baited Frank, here—" he tipped his head—“I might’ve done things different.”
Jocelyn glanced at Frank, who seemed to get smaller the more her shock and horror grew.
“When I found out she’d died in it, it didn’t take much to figure who might’ve been responsible for her bein’ there at all.”
