Page 87 of Slow Burn
As if she wouldn’t be. They lived there, hardly ever stayed anywhere else. But maybe Ward had banked on Bonnie seeing the fire and getting them out before it became a problem. Or maybe he hadn’t cared at all.
Frank’s hands became fists. “Sure sat on it, lettin’ me believe it was all my fault foryears.”
“Itwasyour fault, damn it,” Ward snapped. “Ididn’t kill her.”
“Didn’t you?” Jocelyn asked.
Anger flashed across his face. “It was an accident. And I covered it up nicely for you, Leone. No one’s come to bother you except your own conscience.”
“She still died because of you,” Jocelyn accused, drawing Ward’s attention back.
“I didn’t know!” He slashed at the air with his gun, then took a breath to calm himself. “If you hadn’t come back here asking those damn questions…”
The sentence hung in the air as he glared at her.
Chest heaving, he gestured at Frank with the gun. “Tie her up.”
Frank’s red-rimmed eyes went round. “What?”
“Tie. Her. Up.” Ward stepped forward with each word, pressing the gun to Frank’s temple.
Jocelyn’s stomach lurched up her throat.
Frank hesitated, then took the zip tie from the counter behind him, shoulders slumping as Ward walked with him to Jocelyn, keeping the barrel at his temple.
There was an apology in Frank’s eyes as he took her wrists. Then he spun her, tying them together, pulling the plastic tighter. But not tight enough. Her heart stuttered as his fingers squeezed her arm like he was communicating something. Like he’d left the tie loose on purpose.
Before she could turn around to confirm it in his face, though, the blast of the gun had her flinching as a scream ripped up her throat. She spun as Frank hit the floor at her feet. Blood sprayed her shoes, jolting her backward.
She jerked to look at Ward, stomach heaving. His mouth was pulled into a tight line of displeasure as he stared down at Frank.
When he shifted back to her, she caught the determination that edged out the desperation in his eyes. “Sadly, Frank’s guilty conscience got the better of him." His voice was flat, overly controlled. "What a sad ending to the story of that Murphy girl.”
Each word dropped into her stomach like a stone, heavy and jagged. A sad ending. He was going to kill them and pin it all on Frank. She cut a look at Cole across the room. Was he even breathing?
When she focused on Ward again, she tried to find the psychotic glint that had to be in there somewhere. But he looked resolved, grim. Burdened.
Pulling ever so slightly at her bound wrists, she asked, “So what's your plan? Make it look like murder-suicide?”
“Covered by fire. I’ve got his confession all written up.” He gestured to the couch. “Have a seat.”
Despite Frank’s body at her feet, she struggled to believe that this was really happening, that Ward would go through with it. And maybe he wouldn’t if she resisted. He didn’t seem happy to be dealing with the whole scenario. Maybe he could even be reasoned with.
He moved toward her when she remained where she was. The threat in the movement made her step back, which seemed to incite his anger.
“I’m not a violent man, Jocelyn.” The edge in his voice chilled her. “It didn’t have to come to this.Youleft me no choice.” His gaze flicked to Cole. “You couldn’t just let it go.”
He shuffled forward again, and she recoiled, expecting him to hit her or throw her onto the couch himself, but he’d stepped up to Cole, the gun poised at his head. Her stomach torqued as his finger shifted to the trigger, violence a prickle in the air, his intent clear.
“Sit.”
A vice tightened around her chest as she complied. Air seemed to grind through her lungs like it was filled with gravel, and she fought for every breath. Ward’s gaze scraped along her skin as he moved toward the door. A bag rested on the floor there, and he crouched beside it, his eyes never leaving her as he reached inside.
A big bottle of lighter fluid came out of the bag, and it slid home what was going to happen, that this was real. That this man had killed her mama, and he was going to kill her, too.
Her chest hurt from how hard her heart threw itself against her ribs, and her blood pumped hot and fast through her.
Looking down at Cole, so still, she saw the rise and fall of his chest that proved he was alive. Her eyes squeezed shut as she counted the seconds that ticked between his inhale and exhale, tuning herself to him. If she didn’t concentrate on his breathing,she would hear the splashing of the fluid as Ward poured it around the room.
