The Beast Within (The Elite Series) - By Jonathan Yanez Page 0,34

two black eyes and Randolph screaming in the background.

“I guess I came to at some point and called you. Now I’m in the hospital,” she said, turning to Connor.

The two sat silent for a moment as Connor’s mind battled to accept Katie’s story and Katie in turn dealt with memories she knew would haunt her for the rest of her life.

“I’m so sorry, Katie.” Connor felt sorrow and anger at the same time. Her father was a good man; Connor had the pleasure of getting to know him over the course of the two years he and Katie had dated. To think he was gone forever was a shock. He could hardly picture what Katie must be going through.

“I couldn’t have imagined that though, right? Or did I?”

Connor adjusted his seat on the bed, careful not to disturb any of the tubes attached to her and pulled her in closer. “I know you have a lot of questions right now. The most important thing is that you get some rest. The doctor said you lost a lot of blood.”

Katie nodded and nuzzled herself into Connor’s strong frame. “I should never have let you go,” she said, closing her eyes. In minutes she was asleep. Connor gently stood and arranged her in the most comfortable position he could.

It was dark now. Between the time he’d time spent with Morrigan and then Katie, the day was almost over. It was near eight o’clock and the clouded sky offered a healthy dose of rain. It wasn’t a downpour, not yet at least.

Connor was exhausted from the day’s events, but he still had one more stop to make before he went home. He had to stop by his mother’s shop to apologize for being absent from work, and find out more information about his father. He knew it was crazy but he couldn’t help but think knowing about his father and his past was the key to unraveling everything. If all else failed and his mother couldn’t help him, he would head to Morrigan’s. She would know what to do.

Driving through the rain, he saw several police officers and fire trucks. Twice he was forced to pull over to let them pass. Through the rain and dark sky, he could see a cloud of smoke rising from the same street his mother’s shop was located.

Pushing his truck to dangerous speeds, he took out his cell phone and dialed his mother’s number. There was no response; he dialed again. No reply.

Nearly fishtailing onto the street, he was prepared for the worst. Sure enough, there was an army of police cars and firefighters gathered around not only her store, but three or four of the other connected shops

From what he could see, the damage to his mother’s store wasn’t extensive, nearly all of it being contained to the back wall near the loading zone. The fire was completely out now, and the back of the store was charred but still intact. It looked as though the other stores had borne the brunt of the fire’s anger.

He parked his truck in the middle of the street and ran to the front of the building past the police caution tape. He heard shouts behind him. Ignoring them, he kept going. He had to make sure his mother was safe. Bursting through the doors, his eyes met a variety of people: police officers, detectives, fire fighters, but Rebecca Moore was nowhere in sight.

“Hey,” a gruff voice said behind him. “You’re not supposed to be here.”

He was met with a middle-aged, stocky police officer sporting two bushy eyebrows that matched his mustache.

“My name is Connor Moore. My mother owns this shop. Was anyone hurt? Is she here?”

A look of forgiveness passed over the officer’s face as he grasped the situation. “No, you can rest easy, son. There was no one here when we arrived. One of our officers is on the phone with her now, explaining what happened.”

Connor breathed a sigh of relief. “How did the fire start?”

“Arson, most likely. Just waiting for the detectives to give the final word.”

“Consider the final word given,” a female detective said, walking toward the two. She was shorter, with rounded shoulders and a matter-of-fact attitude. “This one was easy: we found evidence of molotov cocktails in the store. You said this was your mother’s shop?”

“Yes.”

“Any idea of who could have done this?”

“No, I have no idea.”

He exited the area, making a beeline for his truck. It all fit. Katie’s mystery attacker, the conversation