Ruthless Regret (Ruthless Games Duology #2)

Chapter 11

CHAPTER ELEVEN

ZAIN

I drive around aimlessly for a while, my head full of questions. None of which I can answer. Not without digging deeper into the past. Once, I would have talked it through with Jason, and worked out what my next move should be.

My laugh, breaking the silence inside the car, startles me.

Can’t have a conversation with my best friend. If Jason was alive, I wouldn’t be trying to figure out who killed him.

You also wouldn’t have married his sister.

My eyes drop and lock on the wedding band around my finger.

I should go and check on her. Make sure she’s okay.

Give her back her cell phone. Apologize for trying to ruin her life. Promise you won’t do it again.

Somehow I don’t think she’ll believe me.

And if she does? What then? Ask if she wants to play happy families? Offer her a divorce? Rip up the contract you made her sign?

I don’t think she’ll be interested in any of that either. Well, other than the contract destruction, anyway.

Refocusing on the road, it finally dawns on me where I am, and I pull over. The house across the road is in darkness, with no sign of life.

Another laugh breaks free.

Why would there be? The last time there was any life in that house was fourteen years ago. Before the murders. Before my prison sentence. Before my entire life turned into a nightmare.

The only thing left inside those walls is death and memories.

Why are you even here? Haven’t you tortured yourself enough?

I’m just about to drive off, when I see movement. My head turns, and I scan the darkness, trying to figure out what caught my attention.

Is someone at the house?

Unclipping my seatbelt, I carefully ease the door open and step out, ducking down so I can stay out of sight. If someone is here, I don’t want them to spot me before I find out who it is, and what they’re doing. But the second I’m away from the car, and close to the drive, a shadow detaches itself from the wall, and comes toward me at speed.

The impact as they hit me knocks me backward, and I lose my balance, crashing into the wall. By the time I’m on my feet again, they’re a distant figure … and I have more important things to worry about … like the orange glow licking its way up the front door.

“Fuck.” Digging my cell out of my pocket, I call 911 while I run back to my car to see if there’s anything in there I can use to put the fire out.

With my phone wedged against my ear, I explain to the woman on the line what’s going on, and throw open the trunk. She asks for details, then tells me that the fire service is on route. I cut the call, and throwing out thanks to any god who’s listening, I grab the small fire extinguisher my dad must have put in there, and jog back to the door.

Pointing the nozzle at the fire, I squeeze the trigger. It barely has any impact, but I have nothing else, so I keep at it, until I hear the sirens. When the fire truck comes to a stop outside, neighbors begin to step out, watching from a safe distance. They’ll have formed their own stories about what happened by morning, I’ve no doubt. They stand there, whispering, glancing at me, at the flames, at each other. Maybe they know who I am. Maybe they don’t. Maybe they’ll try to claim I set the fire. It doesn’t matter. What matters is that someone set this fire on purpose. It’s not random.

The fire crew exit the truck, their movements quick and efficient, as they pull out hoses and start dousing the flames. I step back, staying out of the way, and letting them do their job. The blaze hisses and spits, but slowly goes out. Once it’s safe, two of them go inside. The beams from the flashlights bounce off the walls, giving me brief glimpses of the hallway. There are scorch marks on the walls, and the front door is nothing but ash, but the house is still standing.

It could have been a very different outcome, if I hadn’t ended up here.

I look around, at the crowd gathering along the edges of the street, at the firefighters talking just in front of the house, scanning faces. I don’t recognize anyone. Fourteen years is a long time, and I didn’t interact with the neighbors much when I lived here. But I look anyway, searching for any hint that one of them is the figure I saw, even though logically, I know that they’re probably long gone by now.

I should call someone. My parents, maybe. Tell them what I saw. But I don’t. I’m not certain there’s any point. I don’t think I need to call the sheriff’s department, I’m sure they will have already been notified by now.

“Are you the one that called it in? Is this your house?” One of the firefighters comes up to me.

I nod.

“Did you see who did it?”

“No. They ran when I got here.”

“But you saw them set the fire?”

“No. I saw someone on the drive. They ran. And when I turned to look, the door was on fire.”

“Zain.” The familiar voice of Sheriff McFadden sounds from behind me.

I sigh, and turn to face him. “Who called you?”

“It’s standard procedure when there’s a house fire. It’s been a busy day for you.” His voice is unreadable.

“It’s been a busy week.”

“Why don’t you go home? I’ll assign someone to investigate the fire.”

“What’s the point?”

I can predict how things will go. The fire will be put down as an arson attempt, and I doubt the investigation will go anywhere. They’ll say it’s because of my history. That someone is trying to drive me out, because they don’t want either an ex-con or a murderer living in their neighborhood.

“Setting fire to the house is a step up from the brick through the window, though. Could it be linked to the attack on Ashley?”

“I doubt it. You’re a trouble magnet right now, and that interview will have increased your visibility.”

“Speaking of interviews, what happened with Detective Holson?”

“We let him go. There wasn’t anything we could hold him on. Incompetence isn’t a crime. You don’t still think he’s responsible, do you?”

I don’t, but it doesn’t mean he isn’t involved somehow. He’s the only person that makes sense, and I’m not ready to let go of that lead yet.

“Maybe you should let me talk to him.”

“You know I can’t do that. We have to do this the right way.”

“That doesn’t seem to be working so far.”

“Give me time. It’s only been a couple of days. There’s a lot to look through in the case files. Trust the process.”

“Trusting the process lost me years of my life. You’ll have to forgive me for not being comfortable with that.”

“I understand, but it’s different now. There are new evidence discovery methods. We have all the information from the case. It’s just going to take some time to go through it.”

I snort. I know for a fact that the case files he has access to don’t include half the investigation. I can’t tell him that though.

“You also have someone setting fire to my house, and someone attacking Ashley. And no fucking idea who it was.”

“Go home, Zain. I’ll call you tomorrow, if I have any updates.”

I give brief thought to arguing some more, but there’s not really much point, so I go back to my car.

I’m halfway back to my house, when I change my mind about where I’m going, spin the wheel and head for Esme Trumont’s place.