Page 115 of Get A Fix

Ash nodded.

“Since Riggs was dead, and in the car already, it only made sense to use his body. They had already doused the car in gasoline earlier in the day, the carpet, the seats, everything, and there were several full gallons in the trunk. All they needed was an explosion, which they got from throwing a lighter into the back of the car.”

“So it caught fire, then exploded.”

“That’s right.”

“It must have burned for quite a while.”

“It did.”

“At least we know how it happened,” I muttered.

“It’s good to know Riggs didn’t suffer, that he was dead before the car burned. And that was a helluva ballsy thing he was trying to do.”

“Yes, it was,” Ash agreed, then took a breath. “If this were a movie, he would have made it.”

“Which is why we love them,” I said, taking hold of his hand. “Because we can change the ending and make it however we want.”

He squeezed back tight.

“Okay, so what happened to the bodies of Abernathy and Ing?”

“They were buried in the bush behind the motel in shallow graves.”

“And how did Mr. and Mrs. Voss leave the crime scene?”

“In Riggs’s car that they drove back to San Francisco and abandoned in the Tenderloin. They then paid cash at a car lot and left the state.”

“That’s insane, and it’s funny, but Mrs. Voss said to me earlier when she was holding a gun on me, that all of it was a big mistake. She said everything got out of control.”

“And it did, but she’s half responsible for all of it with her husband. They planned to kill Bob Abernathy and ended up killing three men instead.”

“But why did they come after me?” I asked my boss.

Ash gasped, and when I turned to look at him, he was pale.

“Honey?” I asked gently.

“How could I forget about you?” Ash asked, and a strangled sob escaped him, and he put his face in his hands.

It was a lot. First, he heard what happened to his friend, and in the middle of that, for a moment, he’d forgotten that all of it wasn’t over. That there was more to tell.

“Listen,” I said, taking gentle hold of his wrists. “You didn’t forget about me, but it’s like the story caught up to where we came in, so we both thought it was over.”

He was trembling, and I could hear the muffled sobs.

“Please stop,” I whispered, leaning my forehead on the back of his hands. “You know I’m okay. If you’re crying for Kit, then yes, good. Do that. But if you’re crying over me—don’t. I know what I mean to you.”

Dropping his hands, I saw the tears, how red his eyes were, and heard the continual catch of breath.

I lifted my arms for him. “C’mere.”

He lunged at me, and I wrapped him up tight, rocking him, kissing his cheek, and then there was the graze of his stubble over mine before I sighed deeply.

“I know you kind of like me,” I soothed him. “Just like I kind of like you back.”

He whimpered, and it sounded like surrender, which was good. He needed to let go of his worry and trust that I knew him.