What You See (Sons of the Survivalist #3) - Cherise Sinclair Page 0,87
his brothers. Probably not even that. “Old man?”
“Means he’s a bossy bastard,” Hawk growled.
“What information?” Gabe walked over.
So did Bull.
“I was in the bathroom, and I heard the windows break, and something—several things—landed inside, and then everything was burning.”
“Sounds like they tossed in Molotov cocktails.” A firefighter joined them. “From the scorch marks and stink, I’m guessing they splashed gas on the outside around the windows and doors.”
Those three men had wanted her to…to burn? Her knees buckled, and Hawk grabbed her. Held her up.
Bull pulled a blanket out of the back of his cab and wrapped it around her. “I’ll take her, bro. Thanks for watching her for me.”
“Yeah. Sure.” Releasing her, Hawk moved away.
Feeling chilled as cold air wafted over her burned skin, Frankie pulled the blanket tighter.
Bull pulled her back against his chest. His right arm crossed over her breasts and the other around her waist. So strong, so warm.
She leaned back against him, and he didn’t even rock as he took her weight. He bent to whisper in her ear, “You all right?”
Her hands curled over his scarred forearms, holding him to her. Here was safety. “Thanks to you, yes.”
“You think the weird militia group did this?” the firefighter asked.
“I don’t think they’re with the Pissers.” JJ joined them.
“The…what? Pissers?” The firefighter laughed.
Gabe snorted. “Lot of people refer to Patriot Zealots as PZs, and somehow—I’m blaming my niece—that’s been transformed to Pissers. Don’t tell anyone, but I rather like it.”
As the fireman snickered, JJ sighed. “Regan started it. And after laughing my ass off when she said it the first time, I lacked the moral high ground to tell her to stop.”
Gabe gave Bull a half-smile before asking her, “Any idea why the cabins would be burned?”
“I don’t know.” She studied the three guys on the ground who appeared more like gang members than the PZs. “Dante had a fight with some renters a few days ago. He kicked them out.”
“Fishermen did this?” The firefighter lifted his eyebrows.
“The renters were a bunch of Anchorage’s gangsters. They got high and started shooting up everything, including the other cabins. Someone called Dante”—JJ’s frown showed what she thought about the police not getting called first—“and he showed up with a shotgun and booted them out. Insults and threats were exchanged.”
“Gangsters versus redneck veteran.” The firefighter grinned. “Go, Dante.”
JJ told Gabe, “The state troopers are on the way to take them. Caz will have time to splint that arm.”
Gabe studied Frankie for a moment, then told Bull, “She can leave. I’ll get a formal statement later.”
“I’m good with that. Just let us know what you find, Chief.” The firefighter scowled at the burning cabins. “Good thing it rained yesterday, or we’d be battling a forest fire, too.”
“Chiquita.” Caz stepped in front of her. “Where are you burned or hurt?”
“I…” Was she hurt? She wasn’t sure. “I-I think I’m all right.”
“Let’s be sure, sí?” With someone holding a flashlight for him and Bull blocking anyone’s view, the doc was gentle, but thorough, finding burns on her left arm and leg. At least the right side wasn’t too bad; she’d been half inside the bathroom when the Molotov cocktails exploded. Being pulled through the window had scraped up her shoulders, back, arms, and even her butt.
He listened to her lungs, mentioning the other renters would be spending the night in the Soldotna hospital. She’d gotten lucky there, having closed the bathroom door quickly enough to avoid inhaling much smoke.
“All right, Frankie.” The sympathy in Caz’s dark eyes and voice was incredibly soothing. “Shower, then apply antibiotic ointment to the scrapes. You can use an aloe vera gel on the burns—or nothing. Cover any blisters that might get irritated.”
“I will. Thank you, Doc.” The need to leave, to get away from all the smoke and burning and violence filled her until she started to shake.
Only where could she go to shower? What would she wear? She stared at her cabin that was still aflame.
My clothes are…gone. So was her laptop and her purse and her credit cards and…everything. How could she even get a hotel room with no ID or money?
It was…was too much. I can’t do this. Tears burned her eyes. No, don’t cry; don’t cry. “D-do you think the bed and breakfast will take me on credit until I c-can get—”
“You’re coming home with me, sweetheart,” Bull interrupted.
“But… We aren’t…” He didn’t like her any longer. He thought she was—
He pulled her close and kissed the top of her head. “We’ll