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I stepped aside, watching as a part of the roof caved in.
“Security footage?” I asked Cruise.
“Don’t know yet,” Cruise said.
“What about nearby businesses?” Jono asked the captain, as despite the sergeant's orders he walked over to us.
“We’ll canvas once we’ve got this contained,” Reynolds replied. “Given the hour, most places are closed. Footage might be scarce.”
My anger buzzed beneath my skin. This was a message—a war declaration. Coombes was escalating, moving from threats to outright attack.
“How’s Trixie?” I asked Cruise.
“En route,” he replied. “She nearly had a heart attack when I called.”
As if on cue, a black SUV screeched to a halt. Trixie emerged, her perfect hair now askew, face ashen. She ran to us, eyes never leaving the blaze.
“My girls,” she whispered, voice tight. “Are they all right?”
“Three with smoke inhalation, but they’ll be fine,” I said. “Mack, the security guy, has burns but nothing critical.”
Trixie’s tears caught in the glare of the fire. “I just finished redoing the VIP rooms,” she said, the mundane detail making it sting harder.
I put an arm around her shoulders. “We’ll rebuild. Better than before.”
“Damn right,” Jono said, voice hard. “This building isn’t the business—our people are.”
Trixie squared her shoulders. “Any idea who did this?”
“We have suspects,” I said, voice low because Hargrove had followed the captain.
Hargrove snorted, crossing his arms. “Suspects or nightclub drama? Want me to file charges against you lot while you’re at it?”
“Back off, Hargrove,” Jono growled.
At that moment, a firefighter jogged up. “Captain, got a minute?”
Reynolds excused himself and he and the sergeant followed the man toward a truck. I watched him go, then turned back to the wreckage. More of the roof caved in, sparks drifting into the night.
“Too coordinated,” Cruise observed. “First Matty, now this.”
“Harold Coombes is sending a message,” I said. “He offered me hush money yesterday to step away from Matty. When I said I'd think about it, he warned things could get…complicated.”
“Burning our top-earner is a hell of a complication,” Jono muttered. “Digger’s been watching Coombes’s burner phones. He tracked a call right when the fire started.”
My phone buzzed—Matty.
Are you okay? What’s happening?
Club’s a total loss. Everyone’s alive. Stay inside.
This is my fault, isn’t it?
I sighed when I read his reply.
No.Harold’s fault. Never yours.
I stared at the phone, wanting to reassure Matty more thoroughly, but this wasn't a conversation for text messages. "I need to get back to him," I told Cruise. "He's blaming himself."