by Skye Warren
“It might not be someone in this room,” Damon says, dark with meaning.
My father trembling with the effort to remain upright, even with the cane to lean on. Nina, eyes filled with tears. Uncle Landon, inexpressible sorrow.
I shake my head. “Who else could it be?”
Damon says nothing, his expression as hostile as I’ve ever seen him. Gone is the good humor that accompanies his every sly request, the cheerfulness that infused even his most serious demand. This is the dark side of him, the one that makes him feared in the city.
“These people might have loved her,” Gabriel says. “But she loved someone else.”
“Jonathan Scott,” I say, gasping.
And that’s the fatal flaw in my deductions, the missing piece of logic from my strategy, an overlooked piece in my chess set. So many people loved my mother. And when she finally fell in love, I thought it would be reciprocated. Except what if it wasn’t? What if she fell in love with someone who had dangerous intent?
Someone willing to play games with her mind—with her life?
Nina coughs, shaking her large frame. The sound tears at my insides. It’s hard to believe she can make that and not rip apart her lungs.
Uncle Landon tilts his head, expression bemused. “Do you smell that?”
I close my eyes with chagrin. “I kind of threw up.”
He shakes his head. “Not that, dear girl. It smells almost like—”
“Smoke,” I say, voice high with panic.
The sound of shouts drifts upstairs, along with panicked shrieks and feminine screams.
“Get everyone out of the house,” Gabriel says to Damon, who nods.
Damon looks around before narrowing his gaze on Uncle Landon. “You. You’re going to help me clear this place. If even one person burns, you’re going to pay, understand?”
Uncle Landon looks affronted. “I didn’t start the fire.”
“I don’t care,” Damon says, leaving the room with a determined stride. After a brief, panicked look at my father, Uncle Landon follows him quickly, apparently taking the threat seriously.
Between the two of them I hope that they can get the downstairs empty. Uncle Landon knows the layout of the place as well as anyone, and Damon Scott has an authority that won’t be questioned.
My father stumbles, a hoarse cry of grief coming from him. I run to his side. Even with the weight he’s been losing, it’s more than I can support on my own.
“Help me,” I beg Gabriel.
He glances at Charlotte. “Can you take care of your mother?”
Nina coughs, struggling to speak. My legs shake under the weight of my father, ready to crumple.
Charlotte waves us away, looking calm and composed except for the glint of worry in her dark eyes. “Take care of him. I can help her downstairs.”
Gabriel pauses, clearly torn. In the end he gives me a terse nod. “Let’s go.”
We make our way downstairs, navigating the stairs with stark efficiency as the heavy smoke increases around us. My father begins coughing, and I realize Nina’s cough will only get worse. Charlotte said she could get her downstairs, but she isn’t used to dealing with smoke.
I glance back, but the landing is still empty. Where are they?
“I’ll go back for them,” Gabriel says, following my line of worry.
Fear nips at my ankles as we hobble outside, struggling to carry my father through the heavy flow of panicked people in tuxes and gowns. Discordant strains of music rise over the sounds of hysteria. The harsh whir and crank of strings in distress. The musicians running for their lives? The instruments trampled in the rush? It matches the frantic melody of our escape.
With a low growl, Gabriel hauls my father over his shoulder and carries him from the house. I trail after them, worried that the position will hurt my father worse. It’s with surprising carefulness that Gabriel deposits Daddy on the grass a few yards from the house.
“Stay with him,” he orders before disappearing into the house again.
I check on my father, who’s coughing even more, unable to speak. After a moment flames leak out of the roof, breaking through the high shingles. Smoke pours out of the top as if the house expels a deep breath. The flow of people out the door slows to a trickle.
Uncle Landon bursts from the house, helping a white-haired woman to the grass, before joining us. “I think we got everyone.”
Damon appears, looking haggard. “Where is he?”
“Gabriel?”
“My father.”
The sea of people mill around the lawn, looking frightened, pale with shock. A few are clearly excited, their cell phones out to snap pictures and post them online. This is the most excitement Tanglewood society has seen in years. “I haven’t seen him.”
Damon curses under his breath before charging into the crowd, clearly determined. Except that I know everyone isn’t out. Nina Thomas and her daughter aren’t anywhere to be seen.
I turn to Uncle Landon. “Gabriel is still upstairs.”
He shrugs. “He’s stronger than me. If he can’t get down, then I can’t help him.”
Fury washes through me. “Fine.”
Then I’m back through the door, Uncle Landon’s shout of protest trailing after me.
I make it halfway up the stairs before I pass Charlotte. Nina leans against the wall, almost falling down the stairs while Charlotte tries to support her.
“She’s having some kind of attack,” Charlotte says, fighting tears.
I help them down the last few steps. “Where’s Gabriel?”
“He came back for her, but the fire moved so fast. Maybe it was the open walls, I don’t know. But the ceiling started coming down on us. He pushed Mom out into the hallway before a flame blew through the room.”
My heart stops. “Oh my God.”
Any trace of the cool, calm businesswomen has been replaced by a heartbroken girl. “I tried to get him out, but he yelled at me to go. I’m so sorry.”
I take the steps two at a time, faster than I’ve ever moved through the house. I see what Charlotte meant, the cascade of flames that have consumed the wall. Is he already dead inside? Already burned?
“Gabriel,” I shout.
I don’t hear anything, but there’s not a chance in hell I’m leaving him here. With a deep breath, as if I’m about to plunge into dark water, I jump over the flames—praying that the floor isn’t weak enough to send me crashing down to the first floor. I stumble and fall, a large gash on my forearm making me cry out.
And then I see him. Gabriel, held down by a beam across his chest, fighting to push it off.
His eyes widen. “What the fuck are you doing here?”
“Saving you.”
“Get out of here, Avery. Right now.”
“I’m not leaving without you.” But the beam is too heavy for me to lift—clearly, because he would have been able to remove it himself. “On the count of three.”
Even though he looks furious with me, he says, “Three.”
I force all my weight into it, all the grief and rage and love I have for Gabriel. He struggles too, his breath coming harder as the beam pushes down on him. Are his ribs broken? My arms quiver with the force I’m using, but the beam barely budges.
Smoke swirls around us, filling my lungs. I cough, shoving uselessly against the beam.
Gabriel manages to grasp my arm. “Avery, listen to me. It’s too late. Go outside. Wait for the fire department.”
I shake my head, eyes stinging with smoke and tears. There hadn’t been any sirens outside. “After the looks we got at the courthouse from the cops? With my family’s reputation in this city? I don’t think they’ll be rushing to my address anytime soon.”
“I don’t give a fuck,” Gabriel says furiously. “You need to go.”
And like the fire brought down the walls around us, like the marble chess piece smashed into the Sheetrock, I can see right through to the heart of him. To his doubt and his power. His love, the
kind that makes him do terrible things.
“I’m not leaving you.”
He must see the determination in my eyes because something like panic crosses his. “You once told me that if I care about you at all, to tell you the truth. And I did, Avery. I did it, even knowing it would bring us here. It would endanger you.”
My heart clenches. “Yes.”
“And now I need something from you. If you care about me at all, leave. Now.”
I kneel at his side, placing a kiss on his cheek. “I care about you, Gabriel. And that’s why I can’t leave you here.”
Then I pick up the small table, knocking the chess pieces to the ground. I shove the circular edge under the end of the beam, creating a lever. The wood in the table cracks but the marble chess base holds steady, lifting the wide beam by an inch.
Gabriel grunts, his expression impassive, but I know the pain must be intense. It will only hurt him worse as I push the beam farther. It’s the only way to save him.
Using the carved base of the table, I deepen the angle beneath the beam. I push down with all my strength, able to use my weight pressing down on the lever. The beam shifts with a creak while Gabriel swears profusely, sweat slicking his skin.
The beam slants more sideways, but Gabriel looks deathly white, unable to slide the rest of the way out. And even if he were able to move to the side, the beam would follow him down to the floor.
A pop from above is the only warning before the ceiling rains down on us. I throw myself over Gabriel’s face, shielding him.
“It’s too heavy,” he says, teeth gritted. “Go. Now.”
My mother risked everything for a man who played her. I should be wary of sacrifice by now, but this is one I have to make. “No.”
“Avery,” he says, words coming sharper, shorter. He can’t breathe well. “If you don’t leave now, I’ll never forgive you. I swear to God, I’ll never speak to you again.”
“But you’ll be alive,” I say, moving beneath the beam’s end. It’s higher now, after the table did its work. “Isn’t that what you told me? The ultimate victory? I’m not going to let you be the martyr, Gabriel.”
It isn’t martyrdom I’m worried about and we both know it. It’s him—Gabriel Miller in all his wild, fierce glory. Maybe my mother and I are fated to fall in love with dangerous men. I just hope that mine won’t destroy me, too.
I shove against the beam with all my might, panting at the effort.
Someone appears at the door, cursing at the lick of flames. Justin.
Gabriel speaks through obvious pain, the evenness of his voice forced. “Get. Her. Out.”
“I’m not leaving until he does,” I tell him. “So you might as well help me.”
Justin glances from Gabriel to me, his expression solemn. Then he jumps into action, pushing off his suit jacket and joining me beneath the beam. Together we manage to force it higher, maybe an inch, enough for Gabriel to draw in a rough breath.
With a pained shout, Gabriel heaves himself back. His legs just clear the space before my knees give out. Justin swears and drops the beam. With a crack, the other end falls through the floor, revealing a small peek at the ballroom beneath us.
Gabriel closes his eyes, clearly fighting whatever’s happening inside him.
I hurry to his side, helping him stand up, finding more strength somewhere inside me. We do what we have to. With his hard-packed muscle and large frame he’s much heavier than my father. Justin joins him on the other side, helping to support him. And with struggling, halting steps, we make our way across cracked wood and down broken stairs.
Chapter Thirty-Four
While I’m waiting for the doctor, someone knocks on the door. I look through the peephole, thinking maybe it will be Damon. Or maybe the cops. Instead I recognize Will from the Rose and Crown Motel. He looks out of place with the lush green and wooded stretch behind him, so different from the concrete forest I know him from.
I open the door. “I can’t believe you were spying on me.”
Even though I can believe it. I know how persuasive Gabriel can be.
Guilt forces his gaze to the side. “I’m sorry.”
I move back to let him in. “I just hope you charged him enough.”
He steps into the hallway gingerly, as if expecting to be tossed back out. “He didn’t pay me anything, I swear.”
“Well, then you definitely didn’t charge him enough.”
“I asked for something more important than money.”
“What?”
Is that a blush? His cheeks look a shade darker.
“Come on,” I say, wheedling him. “You betrayed me to get this thing that’s better than money. The least you can do is tell me.”
He’s silent a moment. “Fine, I’ll tell you. But you can’t tell anyone. It’s a matter of national security.”
“National security?” I say doubtfully.
He nods. “I served in Afghanistan. A guy in my division. God, I hated his guts. Despised him. Wouldn’t have seen him while we were on leave, but we both went to this wedding for another teammate. And I met his wife.”
My mouth opens on a silent O.
“Got to talking to her. Felt bad that she was married to such a jackass. Everyone knew he was a douche, but even I didn’t think he would sleep with one of the bridesmaids. He snuck off and left his wife at the reception. She was embarrassed but not surprised. So I stayed with her. Nothing happened,” he adds like that’s important.
“It would be better if something had,” I say, meaning it. “He didn’t deserve her loyalty.”
“He didn’t,” Will says. “But she had kids at home. Two girls. Twins.”
“Oh, Will.”
“Then the fucker went and got himself blown up. That probably would have been the best case for her, honestly. Except it came out that he wasn’t supposed to be in that supply store, that he’d been selling supplies and weapons to the locals.”
“Oh shit.”
“It shouldn’t have mattered to Karen. She should have still gotten full survivor benefits. Without the ability to adjudicate his case while he was alive, he would be considered to have died honorably—no matter what was uncovered after.”
“But?”
“But he slept with the major general’s wife. So the guy made sure he wasn’t just tried for dishonorable conduct, like would usually happen, but treason. There’s no statute of limitations on treason. He was found guilty—because he was—and there are special rules for espionage and treason.”
“So she didn’t get his benefits?”
“Even with two little girls at home, after living on base and moving around for years, living the army life, they got kicked out with nothing. No family either.”
My heart sinks. “So what did you ask for?”
“For him to be reinstated. The case will be reviewed by a board and overturned. Technically he’s guilty, but it never should have gotten that high. They shouldn’t suffer for his mistakes.”
“So she’ll get full benefits and you’ll still be sleeping outside of a shitty motel?”
“Doesn’t matter what happens to me.”
“It does matter. If you had asked for money, you could have gone to her, been with her.”
“And what? Pay her to be with me? Force her to do what’s best for her kids? I’d never do that to her.” He shakes his head. “Besides, the stain of treason would follow her everywhere. Her girls, too. It’s better this way.”
“You can still go to her. Now. She’ll have the benefits, whether she wants you or not, so she won’t feel obligated. You can be together.”
A short laugh. “I don’t know whether she was even interested in me. And like you said, I’m sleeping outside of a shitty motel. Not exactly good boyfriend material.”
“Is she here in Tanglewood?”
He nods.
My eyes narrow. “That’s why you’re here, isn’t it?”
“Leave it alone, Avery. It’s done. She’s getting wha
t she deserves, and I’m getting what I deserve.”
“And what do you deserve?”
“To be alone.” His nod has finality. “I only need to confirm it’s done with Miller.”
I press my lips together, unable to say goodbye.
He hesitates. “Are you…?”
He wants to know if I’m okay. Whether he hurt one woman to save another. “I’m good here.”
I set out to save my mother’s house, because I thought it was her legacy. Something she passed down to me in a final motherly act. It was a myth I believed because I needed it, the allure a burning desire for love, the threat a cold realization that love wouldn’t be enough.
In the end I’m left not with a house or a diary, not with any assurance of my mother’s love. Instead I have only what’s in front of me—the opposite of myth. I have truth.
Chapter Thirty-Five
As mansions go Gabriel’s home is understated. It doesn’t have a bowling alley, a skating rink, or an Olympic-sized swimming pool. No solid-gold molding. The elite of Tanglewood want more pomp and circumstance for their millions.
Instead the house has an unassuming front, two white columns the only adornment. Inside it’s spacious but dimly lit, giving the appearance of being cozy.
The library is dark, only embers in the fireplace. I cross the rug to where Gabriel reclines in one of the wide leather armchairs beside the chess set, his posture innocuously casual. You might not guess that he had bruised three ribs and punctured a lung in the house.
He refused a hospital, choosing instead to be seen by his personal doctor. A doctor who had warned me that our patient was particularly stubborn. Watch for shortness of breath, muscle weakness, fatigue. He probably won’t tell you when he gets tired, but he needs to rest.
He looks the opposite of tired, lounging with leashed power.
“Gabriel. Can I get you something?”
His eyes burn with accusation. “What did you have in mind?”
“Tea. A blanket.” I had known he would be angry, but I refuse to let him push me away. “It’s only fair that I help you heal.”
