Free Slow Burn by Ednah Walters

eyes
searched his, as though she could see through his feigned
indifference to the pain and regret within him.
    “I’m sorry for putting you in such an awkward
position with my questions. You lost someone you loved that night,
too, and I had no business bringing it all back.”
    “Let it go, Ashley.” Why did women insist on
analyzing everything? He was through tiptoeing around. He had to
know if he could count on her. “There’s something else we need to
discuss, the reason I’m here.”
    She opened her mouth as if to argue, then
closed it. A frown settled on her brow. “What is it?”
    “I need your input on something.” He pulled a
folded, brown manila envelope from his back pocket and offered it
to her.
    She scowled instead of taking it, mistrust
evident in her eyes.
    “My mother received them this morning.
Someone left the envelope at her gate. I was at a conference in San
Diego this week, but she called and asked me to come home because
of this. Unfortunately, after going through its contents, she
wasn’t in the right frame of mind to discuss anything with you. I
want you to look at the pictures and tell me what you think.”
    Ashley’s suspicious gaze shifted from the
envelope to Ron’s face, then back to the envelope. “What
pictures?”
    “Just open it, please.”
    She took the envelope, opened the flap and
pulled out the contents. Her eyes widened and a gasp escaped her
lips when she saw the top photograph.
     
    ***
    “It can’t be,” Ashley whispered. The envelope
and the other photographs slipped from her nerveless fingers and
flitted to the floor, as she sat on the nearest stool.
    “What is it?” Unease filled Ron’s voice.
“What’s wrong?”
    Everything was wrong. She recognized the
photograph she’d taken ten years ago. It was from a film she’d lost
the night her parents had died. Obviously, someone had removed it
from her camera. But who? Why?
    Ron hovered over her. “Talk to me. Knew I
shouldn’t have sprung this on you like this,” he berated himself.
“I should have warned you.” When her gaze stayed riveted on the
photograph, he stepped back, picked up the others and the envelope
from the floor and rejoined her at the counter. “I thought seeing
their picture wouldn’t matter after all this time, but… Talk to me,
please.”
    She heard his voice, the concern lacing his
words, but emotions had seized her throat, making speech difficult.
Her eyes bounced back and forth between her father and her mother’s
face. They looked so real, so…so alive. The sparkling eyes, the
full smiles and the love shining from their faces were all
unforgettable. Her hand trembled, as she gently stroked the cold,
glossy paper.
    “It’s mine,” she finally whispered, her voice
hoarse and foreign to her ears.
    “What?”
    She cut Ron a look, and saw the same
confusion in his voice mirrored in his eyes. Biting hard on her
lower lip, she took a deep breath, then another. When she had some
modicum of control, she stared straight at him and said, slowly and
clearly, “ I took this picture. It’s mine. I want to know who
sent it, Ron.”
    “There’s no return address on the envelope or
signature on the letter. What do you mean you took the photograph?”
he asked.
    She slanted him an impatient glance. “I
lifted the camera, pointed and shot it.” Her voice was edgy, harsh.
“It was the night of the…,” she swallowed, then her chin went up,
“the night of the fire.”
    Ron rubbed his nape, a puzzled expression on
his face. “How’s that possible? How did someone get a hold of them?
It doesn’t make sense.”
    “I know.” Nothing made sense anymore,
including why all this was happening to her now. She could accept
Ron’s mother’s hatred, work around Ryan Doyle’s bid, but the sudden
appearance of a picture from the roll of film she thought was lost
threw her off. Could Ron be right? Did someone start the fire?
    She closed her eyes and pinched the bridge of
her nose. Ron was