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of Gillespie, your male relatives had an impromptu welcome-back party for him when they ran into him at the pub. Luckily for them, Gillespie refused to make a complaint.’
    Jenn swallowed back herhumiliation. ‘If Jim had issues with Mark, he’d have it out with him face to face, as he apparently did with Gillespie, not inflict wanton destruction.’
    ‘And what about you? You were there, and it could be said that you have motive, too.’
    His goading words sparked her overload of stress and frustration into barely contained rage. ‘Detective,’ she said coldly, choosing her words with care, ‘I’m an experienced journalist. In the same way that you most likely know how any number of corrupt actions
could
be taken, although you wouldn’t take them yourself, I know exactly how the reputation of a man like Mark Strelitz could be dragged through the mud and left there, whether the police investigation finds him lily-white or not. So, believe me, if I wanted to destroy Mark, I’d choose a far more effective way than setting fire to his house.’
    Before Fraser could answer, his phone beeped and a single glance at the screen wiped the smug grin from his face. With a quick apology he excused himself and moved away to take the call.
    Jenn dropped her head into her hands at the table and fumed. That damned cocky, good-at-his-job detective had undermined her control with a few well-placed barbs. And she’d let him rile her and probably come across as a vindictive bitch, although she’d meant to stress the opposite. There
were
strategies she would never take. Not even if Mark proved to be a lying, manipulative bastard, responsible for Paula’s death.

    The bright white lights of the hospital blurred Mark’s vision after the half-hour drive in the darkness, his tired eyes gritty from smoke and his gut churning. Now the buzz of engines and pumps and voices in his ears had become machine beeps and the clattering of medical trolleys and the low urgent voices of the emergency department, dealing with someone in crisis.
    The elderly woman sleeping on one bed, and the child with a wrist brace sitting up inanother clearly weren’t the crisis. It took him a moment to locate Jenn, standing by a wall, staring at a curtained-off cubicle, her arms wrapped tightly around herself and her face as white as the bandage on her hand.
    Once, he would have simply taken her in his arms and hugged her. Now, he stopped two paces from her, with no idea how she would react to him away from the urgency and commotion of the fire.
    ‘Jenn?’
    Deep in her thoughts, she turned her head slowly. ‘Mark.’ She bit at her lip. ‘He’s deteriorating. Skull fractures. Major brain damage. Paul’s …’ She nodded towards the cubicle. ‘Paul’s saying …’ Her face crumpled into grief, and she held her hand against her mouth to halt her pain from overflowing, unable to say the word.
    Saying goodbye.
A hard lump formed in his throat, his mouth dry and tasting of ashes. He reached a hand out to touch her arm, but Jenn flinched and turned away, struggling for composure.
    The rejection tore at him even as he understood it. His own sorrow at her news added to the other losses twisting painfully in hischest, and he wanted to strike them away, pound out his frustration, shout a denial. Not Jim. Proud, hard-working, knowledgeable Jim. He should have retired soon, had years yet to play with his grandkids, see his youngest son reform and do him proud like his eldest. Not this.
    One of the monitors in the cubicle began an insistent beep and the curtain billowed outwards as people moved within. Jenn took a hasty step forward, but then stopped as a woman said, ‘He’s arresting again. Get the crash cart.’
    ‘Paul?’ Another woman spoke gently.
    ‘No. He wouldn’t want it.’ Mark almost didn’t recognise Paul’s voice, low, harsh, cracking. ‘Let him go.’
    Jenn’s shoulders shook, and when Mark put his arms around her this time she turned into him,