“Just us,” Sin replied.
“Are you sure?”
“The club was closed for the holiday. I’m the owner, so yes, I’m positive, unless the person who set this blaze is still inside.”
“Let me tell my crew.” The firefighter informed his team, then returned to Sinclair. “How do you know it’s arson?”
Sin showed him the text. The wind shifted and the acrid smoke burned his lungs.
“I’ll get the arson detective down here. In the meantime, get your hand looked at, then move away from the building.”
After clasping Sin’s hand, Evangeline ushered him toward the ambulance, the normally dark street made bright by the flashing lights and emergency vehicles.
“I’m fine,” he argued, but she ignored him.
The EMT cleaned his hand, then wrapped it in gauze. “Doesn’t look like you’ll need stitches.”
The spark of revenge Sin carried around with him burst into flames as high as the ones billowing from his building. When the detective arrived, Sin showed him the text.
“Any thoughts on who might’ve sent that?”
“No,” Sin said, choosing to hold back his initial suspicion that Uncle Charlie could have started the fire.
“We’ll have to bring you both in to take your statements,” said the detective.
“We can do it now,” Sin said. “I can’t stand to watch my club burn.”
“I’ll drive,” Evangeline said.
On the way, Sin called his dad. “Sorry to wake you.”
“What’s wrong?” Warren Hott asked.
“Someone torched my club and we’re on our way to the police station.”
“Who’s with you?”
“Evangeline Worthington. She’s FBI.”
“Text me the station and I’ll get there as soon as I can.” His dad hung up.
Evangeline pulled into the parking lot and cut the engine. “You ready?”
The anger that lived inside him morphed into full-blown fury. “That son of a bitch took this to a whole new level when he involved you,” Sin bit out. “He picked the wrong person to fuck with and he’s gonna pay with his life.”
“You’re angry.” She ran a comforting hand down his arm. “You don’t mean that.”
“Like hell I don’t,” he replied.
* * *
At twelve thirty in the morning, Evangeline was ushered out of the interrogation room and escorted back to the lobby. Sinclair, and a man she assumed was his dad, were waiting. Both rose to greet her.
After introductions, Warren told her he would represent her if she needed any legal help.
“I’m not a suspect,” she said. “But I appreciate the offer.”
“The important thing is that you’re both okay.” Warren regarded his son. “I know you, Sinclair. Let law enforcement do their jobs. Don’t go after this guy.”
