Page 15 of The Perfect Hosts

Of course, Weston Drake didn’t recognize Jamie because when he found him, Jamie looked less than human. For a long time, Jamie had misplaced hate for Wes Drake. Why hadn’t he come upon Jamie earlier when there was still a chance they would be able to find Juneau? Why hadn’t Wes found his sister too? Wes saved Jamie’s life that night, and over the years, Jamie had wondered what would happen if they ever met again. Would Jamie want to thank Wes for saving his life or punch him in the face for not letting him die?

Chapter 5

Madeline

Madeline leans into Wes, his solid frame the only thing holding her up now. Beneath the odor of his smoke-permeated clothes, she finds the woodsy tang of the cologne he wears. Her best friend is dead. Wes could have been killed too. In one fell swoop Madeline could have lost the two people who love her most in the world. And the baby. What would have happened if that jagged shard of metal had struck her just a few inches to the left or right? She can barely stand to think about it.

“ATF?” Wes asks. Madeline feels him tense. “But why? It was an accident.”

“We’re often called by local law enforcement to investigate explosions,” the agent explains. “Someone died on your property. We need to know why.” Madeline’s stomach lurches, and she buries her face into Wes’s shoulder. “I know this has been a traumatic night for you both,” the agent says, “but the sooner we’re able to talk to witnesses, the better.”

“Sure, yes, of course,” Wes says, nodding vigorously. “We’ll do anything we can to help.”

“Great. Thanks,” the agent says. “Please sit.”

Madeline gingerly returns to her chair, and Wes lowers himself onto the doctor’s stool. He rolls it close to Madeline, slips his hand into hers, and rubs her cold knuckles. She’s exhausted, any earlier adrenaline from the day has seepedfrom her body. All she wants to do is go home and crawl into bed. But that’s not right, not when Johanna has died and so many others were injured. It’s selfish. Madeline sits straighter, focuses her gaze on the agent.

He’s tall and slim with dark hair, cut close at the sides, longer on top. Day-old stubble on his face can’t hide the deep dimples in his cheeks. The agent isn’t dressed as she expects. She thought federal agents only wore white shirts with dark suits and ties. Not this one. He’s wearing khaki pants and a long-sleeve black high-performance T-shirt with a small circular ATF logo on his chest. On his feet are a pair of retro black-and-white Vans Sidestripes. Apparently, the man interviewing them was a skateboarder back in the day.

Agent Saldano pulls a small notebook from his back pocket but doesn’t open it. He takes them through the timeline of the evening. He asks what they saw, what they heard, whether there was anything unusual or unexpected about the evening. Wes takes the lead.

“It was a great night, everything was perfect until...” Wes says, shaking his head. “Everyone was having a great time until that second explosion.”

“So you definitely heard two separate explosions?” the agent asks.

It all happened so quickly, but Madeline is certain that there were two explosions: the truck one hundred yards in front of her, and then the barn behind them. “Yes,” Madeline says. “Definitely two explosions.”

“I agree,” Wes says. “It doesn’t make sense. There’s no possible reason the barn would explode. It was nowhere near the truck.”

“What was stored in the barn?” the agent asks. “Anything flammable?”

“Sure,” Wes says, shrugging. “It’s a storage barn. There were propane tanks, gas tanks, kerosene.”

Madeline’s stomach drops. “You think that the truck explosion might have somehow triggered the barn fire?” she asks. It’s the only scenario that makes sense to her. So it was their fault.

“That’s what we’re trying to find out,” the agent says mildly.

“No,” Wes says, releasing Madeline’s hand. “No way. We were careful. Tannerite is perfectly safe.”

The agent gives a slight smile, his dimples making another appearance. “In many cases, yes. In others, no.”

Madeline knows what the agent is referring to. She’s seen the news stories: the grandmother who died when a piece of shrapnel from an old refrigerator stuffed with Tannerite and a can of diesel fuel blew up; the wildfire caused by Tannerite exploded in tandem with a firecracker; the gender reveal that caused a fire that destroyed over forty-five thousand acres of woodland, leaving only a jagged burn scar across the landscape.

“Who prepared the Tannerite?” the agent asks.

“No,” Wes repeats, getting to his feet. “We didn’t cause this to happen.” Madeline knows he is avoiding mentioning his brother’s name, because it was Dix who mixed the Tannerite with the pink chalky powder.

“Do we need a lawyer?” Wes asks. “We want to help, but I think we should call our attorney.”

“I didn’t mean to give you that impression,” the agent says. “I simply wanted to get your initial thoughts. Once the sun comes up, we’ll investigate the cause. Can you think of anyone who might hold a grudge? Would want to hurt you or any of your guests?”

“No,” Wes says with finality. “No one.”

“Sully Preston—” Madeline begins, but Wes gives a little shake of his head, and she claps her mouth shut. Wes isn’t going to give this man anything. But why? Why wouldn’t he want to know what caused Johanna’s death?

If Wes’s reluctance to share information is suspicious, theagent doesn’t show any indication but simply moves on. “How about security around the property? Any cameras?”

Wes takes a breath and lifts his eyes to the ceiling as if thinking. “We have cameras at the front and back of the house and around the stables and the equestrian barn. We also have alarm systems for the house and stables. If someone got on the property who wasn’t supposed to, we’d know.”