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“Come on, kid ”
“I don’t.” Gabriel couldn’t look at him. He was dangerously afraid he might cry if this guy kept pushing.
“We know you used lighter fluid to start them. How much of that are we going to find around your house?”
“None. I don’t know.” They might have some in the garage.
Would that make him look guilty?
A pause, a tap of the pen against the folder. “Why don’t you tell me about the pentagrams?”
Gabriel lifted his head. “The what?”
“Is it a cult thing? Some kind of initiation?”
Now a chill had hold of his heart. “What pentagrams?”
“Don’t play stupid, kid. The pentagrams drawn in lighter fluid.”
The door cracked open, and a uniformed officer stuck his head in. “Jack. Can you step out a sec?”
Gabriel glanced between them. “What pentagrams?”
The marshal was picking up his folder and his coffee mug.
“What pentagrams?” cried Gabriel.
But Marshal Faulkner was already stepping through the door, leaving Gabriel with all the questions.
CHAPTER 36
Gabriel wanted to pound on the door and demand answers.
Unfortunately, that uniformed officer was standing there, obviously guarding him until the fire marshal returned.
Funny how being under guard made him feel more dangerous instead of less.
Gabriel chewed at his lip and stared at the floor, trying to reason it out. Pentagrams usually meant someone had called the Guides, had reported that Elementals were living in a specific house. Pentagrams were a target and a warning. Had there been pentagrams painted on the doors of the burned houses? He’d never gone in the front, so he had no idea. He and his brothers were the only full Elementals in town well, until Hunter and Becca had shown up.
Right?
No, they had to be. Becca’s father would have known about others.
Hell, Seth and Tyler would have known about others.
But why else would there be pentagrams?
The door opened, and he jerked his head up. Marshal Faulkner was in the doorway. He didn’t look happy. “Someone is here to see you.”
Gabriel straightened. Relief almost knocked him out of the chair. Michael had come. He’d figure out what to do.
He cleared his throat. “My brother?”
“I wish I were that lucky, kid.”
“What does that mean?”
But the marshal was ignoring him, gesturing to the officer on guard. “Come on, Joe. I’ll buy you a cup of coffee.”
