“In a grave, you mean,” I said, my voice dead.
Chad struck a match. “Don’t test me, Marcus. One spark, and this whole house goes up with the evidence.”
“Do it,” I whispered, taking another step closer. “Burn the truck. Burn the house. You can’t burn away what’s in that pit, and you sure as hell can’t burn away a life sentence.”
Chad hesitated—just for a second. That split second was all Sheriff Donnelly and the deputies needed. A tackle from the side sent Chad sprawling into the azalea bushes, the gas can flying wide, its contents splashing harmlessly onto the grass. The match hissed out in the dirt.
Veronica collapsed onto the manicured lawn, clutching her head as the handcuffs clicked onto her wrists. She didn’t fight. She just stared at the brand-new pickup truck, then at her dream home, watching it all turn to dust in real-time.
