Pros & Cons

by Sydney Logan

  “The woman’s killing me.”

  “I’m pretty sure the feeling’s mutual. She’s barely said two words since you guys walked into the room.”

  I quickly swallow my drink. “Well, that’s two more than she’s said to me since we left Tennessee, so you guys should consider yourselves lucky.”

  Coop leans on the railing and gazes out at the city. “I have to say, I was surprised when Abby told me the two of you were in Tennessee. It was all the proof I needed.”

  “Proof of what?”

  “That you’re in love with this girl.”

  I try to deny it, but my mouth refuses to cooperate.

  “I need another drink.”

  “You don’t need another drink,” Coop says, taking the empty glass from my hand. With an infuriated sigh, I turn away from him and stare out at the New York skyline. “You need to talk to her.”

  “Yeah, well, she won’t talk back, so . . .”

  “So what?”

  “So I’ll deal with her later. For now, I have to get my head in the game since Stavros is being a complete pain in my ass and putting a rush on this heist.”

  I can tell Coop’s about to argue, but he glances down at his watch and nods reluctantly before giving me the details about tonight’s job. Maria, one of the Wonder Twins, has dealt with the museum curator before, so that’s our in. We’ll meet the two of them on the sixth floor of an abandoned building on Calico Road. Once the exchange is made, the five of us will take the ring and meet her brother at the plane.

  “This seems like an easy drop that the twins could handle on their own. Why include us?”

  “Stavros said it was a peace offering, of sorts. He knows he’s screwed us in the past. Plus, he wants to introduce the twins to the North American scene, and he’s trusting us to take care of any problems that might arise from the twins’ inexperience.”

  “Sure. Let’s train them so they can be our competition?”

  Coop shrugs. Of course he doesn’t care. He’s getting out.

  Just then, the balcony door opens, and I turn to find Abby smiling at us.

  “Guys, it’s time to go.”

  Coop and I follow her back into the room. We do a last-minute check of our radios, and I sneak subtle glances at Jenna. She doesn’t say anything, but I can tell by the frown on her face she’s not happy with this set-up. Her nervousness shows when her trembling fingers fumble with the knobs on her radio. It’s only when we’re ready to get into the vehicle that she finally voices her concerns.

  “I don’t trust Stavros,” she says.

  “Neither do I.” With a heavy sigh, I turn to her. “Listen, I want you to promise me something. If anything seems off, or if something seems suspicious, I want you to take Abby and get the hell out of there.”

  I expect a fight, but she surprises me by nodding in agreement. Things could get crazy, so Coop and Abby walk away to have a private moment while Jenna and I stand awkwardly next to the vehicle. All I want to do is hold her. And maybe kiss her. But I don’t dare. She starts to get in the SUV, but I reach out for her, grabbing her by the arm and gently pulling her back to me.

  “Promise me you’ll be careful.”

  She nods. “I will. Promise me, too.”

  “I promise.”

  My hand slides down her arm, and our fingers entwine. It’s the first time we’ve touched since the cabin. The sweetest blush rises in her cheeks, and I can’t resist pulling her close to me and pressing a soft kiss to her forehead.

  “You and I are going to have a very serious conversation once this is all over,” I tell her. And I mean it. I’m sick of this wall between us, and I am determined to tear it down.

  Jenna looks up at me and smiles just as Coop announces it’s time to go.

  It might be a straightforward operation in the eyes of the average person, but the simplicity screams of potential problems. I can’t shake my apprehension, especially when we get word that the curator only wants to deal with Maria and “the men.” Jenna and Abby have been asked to stay behind in the car—a request the girls aren’t happy about at all.

  “This is bullshit,” Jenna mutters.

  “I agree.” I look at Coop, who gives me a nod before I turn to the girls. “Listen, why don’t you two get out of here? Head back to the hotel—”

  Jenna snorts. “Yeah, that’s not happening.”

  “No, it’s not!” Abby reaches for Coop’s hand. “I’m not leaving you, so please don’t ask me to.”

  Her eyes brim with tears, and I know Coop won’t be able to tell her no. If Jenna looked at me like that, I wouldn’t say no, either.

  My partner shoots me a pleading look, and I sigh heavily.

  “Fine, but get back into the vehicle. And no matter what, do not follow us into that building.”

  The girls nod and rush back toward the car while Coop and I make our way into the abandoned building. As per the plan, the elevator takes us to the sixth floor.

  “I don’t like this.”

  Coop nods, his face tight with worry.

  The elevator doors open, and just as we step into the hallway, the electricity goes out.

  Coop mutters a curse.

  I reach for my flashlight and switch it on. “Blackout?”

  “Maybe.”

  It’s not as if we can’t work in the dark, but when you don’t know the layout of the building, a little electricity certainly helps.

  Coop turns on his own flashlight. “Let’s find Maria and get the hell out of here.”

  The sixth floor contains a group of empty offices, and Maria and the curator are supposed to be in Room 626.

  I shine the light on the first door I come to.

  604.

  “I’ll go in the opposite direction,” Coop whispers, pointing to the hallway behind us. “I’ll radio if I find it.”

  I nod and adjust my earpiece. “Me, too.”

  Gripping my flashlight tightly, I continue down the dark corridor. I keep an eye on my watch. Nearly ten minutes pass without a word from Coop or a sign of Room 626. Suddenly, I find myself in front of a set of windows, and I stop abruptly.

  “What the hell?”

  Lights flicker in the windows of an adjacent building . . . and the one right next to it.

  Not a blackout.

  All the dread and anxiety that’s been building throughout the day finally bubbles to the surface and crushes my chest.

  I growl into my radio. “Coop, it’s a trap. We’ve been set up.”

  No response.

  “Coop! Can you hear me? Find an exit and get the hell out of here!”

  An eerie silence fills my earpiece, and in that moment, I’ve never felt so alone.

  “Something’s not right,” Abby whispers, reaching for the door handle.

  “Don’t you dare! We’re supposed to wait here. Do you want to completely blow this entire operation?”

  She begins to rock back and forth in her seat. “Why is it so dark in the building? That wasn’t part of the plan.”

  No, it wasn’t part of the plan.

  I glance at the surrounding buildings. They all have power.

  Suddenly, Abby begins to cry uncontrollably.

  Abigail Moore is the perfect partner. Her instincts are solid, and she always has an uncanny ability to detect when something isn’t quite right. Her sixth sense has saved our asses many times. But this reaction—and these tears—are completely out of the ordinary, and it scares the shit out of me.

  “Abby, what is it?”

  “I don’t know,” she says, rocking faster. “I don’t know.”

  No amount of money is worth this. Nothing.

  “Abort!” I scream into my radio. “Do you hear me, Summers? Abort!”

  Abby gasps with relief. We wait for his reply.

  “Summers? Ethan?”

  All I get is static.

  “Abby, try yours.”

  She does.

  No response.

  “Screw this. I’m going in.
” She’s out the door in a flash.

  “Abby!”

  I quickly jump out of the car. She’s faster, of course, and just before she enters the building, she abruptly stops in her tracks and turns toward me. The look on her face is a mixture of grief, defeat, and acceptance.

  “Abby?”

  “Love you, Jenna Michelle.”

  My blood runs cold.

  “Abby, what—?”

  But she doesn’t let me finish. She races into the building just as the first explosion shakes the ground.

  “Abby!”

  Flames erupt from the upper windows when I hear the second explosion . . . and then a third, the last of which sends me spiraling from the entrance of the building and back onto the pavement. My head lands with a crashing thud. My vision blurs as I try to focus on the billowing flames that fill the air with acrid smoke, causing me to choke and gag as I desperately try to catch my breath and stagger to my feet. I manage to stand for a second before falling to the ground once again. Paralyzed with panic, I watch helplessly as the flames burn higher and brighter. I faintly hear sirens, and suddenly, I’m surrounded by voices.

  “Miss, are you okay?”

  “I have to get in there.” I beg the man holding a flashlight close to my face. “My friends—”

  “Your friends are in the building?”

  I nod, but the motion makes me want to puke. “Three of them . . . a girl. Two guys . . . Abby.”

  “Miss, I’m sorry . . .”

  Why is he sorry? Why isn’t he helping?

  “I have to find them.”

  My voice is a whimper as I struggle to my feet. Someone immediately lifts me into their arms and places me against something soft. More people surround me . . . poking and prodding the tender flesh on my head.

  “My friends . . .”

  The man’s voice rings in my ears. “We’re sorry about your friends, miss.”

  I feel myself drowning in voices, pain, smoke, and flames.

  “Love you, Abigail Rose.”

  Tears trickle down my cheeks, and I pray for the flames to swallow me whole as I close my eyes.

  I’m disappointed when I wake up.

  Dean, one of the paramedics, hovers over me, but I ignore him and watch the firemen do their jobs. The flames are all but gone now, but the smoke remains . . . a filthy, thick blanket that makes my eyes burn. But I keep my gaze fixed on the building’s entrance, and I wait.

  “Jenna?”

  I slowly turn my head toward Dean. How does he know my name? Did I give it to him? Did he give me his? Why can’t I remember?

  “They’ve recovered two bodies. A male and a female. Late twenties? Probably around your age.”

  Male and female. My age.

  “I thought you’d want to know.”

  That’s when I remember Maria and the curator. They were supposed to be in the building, too. A sick, twisted part of my heart grows hopeful.

  “The female,” I whisper weakly. “Brunette or blonde?”

  “The fireman said she had blonde hair.”

  Not Maria.

  “The man was blonde, too.”

  Of course he was. Even in death, they refused to be separated.

  I wrap my arms around my middle and rock back and forth. I alternate between burning up and freezing to death. Dean keeps saying I’m in shock. He stays right by my side, talking to me calmly and gently, as if the tone of his voice can somehow make this better. As if being sweet and kind can take the place of my friends.

  Abby and Coop are dead.

  Summers . . .

  Abby . . .

  Ethan. Where is Ethan?

  “Did the firemen find anyone else? Another man around my age? Dark hair. Blue eyes.”

  He doesn’t get the chance to answer before I double over and quietly puke on the pavement.

  “They were found together,” Dean says. Even vomit doesn’t scare him off. “The first thing the fireman noticed was the ring on her finger. Not sure if that makes it better or worse . . .”

  Nothing can make this better.

  I shift on the gurney and take a deep breath, trying to force my mouth to form a coherent sentence.

  “What about my other friend?”

  “They’re still looking.”

  With a nod, I watch what’s left of the front door, and I wait.

  “What was her name?”

  I hesitate for a minute. It’s pure instinct to keep our identities a secret. But then I remember it doesn’t matter now. Nothing matters anymore.

  “Abby. Abigail Rose Moore.”

  He doesn’t seem to recognize the name. Instead, he asks me about her next-of-kin. She never really talked about her parents. It dawns on me that I have no idea how to contact them. She was my best friend. Something seems monumentally wrong with the fact that I don’t know how to reach them.

  “What about siblings?”

  “A brother. His name’s Jason.”

  “Jason Moore?”

  I nod.

  Dean finishes writing down what little information I have about Abby’s brother. As far as I know, he still lives in Texas. He then asks me about Coop—and if that’s a first name or a last.

  “First. His name’s Cooper Donovan.”

  I wrack my brain. Ethan mentioned Coop had a sister, but I can’t remember if he told me her name. Thinking about Summers makes my vision swim.

  Why haven’t they found him?

  I don’t ask about Maria or the curator. Despite the pounding in my head, I have enough sense to realize they were never in the building. There was no heist. It was a trap, and when I find him, Stavros Peri is a dead man.

  “The firefighters are still looking for your other friend,” Dean says. But I can hear it in his voice. Nobody could have survived those explosions. One explosion, maybe, but not three.

  Just me.

  Why me?

  “Your blood pressure is still higher than I’d like it to be. I wish you’d let us transport you to the ER.”

  I shake my head. I don’t need a hospital. I need to get away from this fiery hell and try to figure out what went wrong tonight. With watery eyes, I gaze up at the remaining wisps of smoke as the reality of the situation hits me like a wrecking ball.

  Abby and Coop are dead. Ethan is nowhere to be found.

  And I am all alone.

  I climb down from the gurney.

  “Jenna?”

  “I’m leaving.”

  Dean insists again that I go to the hospital, but he finally accepts my refusal and offers to call me a cab instead. Our car is . . . somewhere, but I know I’m in no condition to drive. I just want to get out of here. I want to go back to the hotel and cry until I’m all cried out. And then I’m going to find Stavros.

  “You know the cops will want to talk to you. I’ve tried to keep them away.”

  I look around. Police swarm the area, but they aren’t paying any attention to me.

  “I won’t leave town. You can give them my name if they ask.”

  “What about an address?”

  I give him the name of the hotel and my cell number. When the cab arrives, Dean helps me into the back seat. He throws the driver some cash and gives him the name of my hotel before promising to call and check on me later.

  “Thanks, Dean. For everything.”

  He smiles kindly. “Don’t give up hope. I’ll talk to you later.”

  I thank him once more before the cab speeds off into the night.

  It doesn’t take long to reach the hotel. Unbelievably, my key is still in my jeans, and with fumbling fingers and wobbly legs, I finally make my way inside.

  The first thing I see is Coop’s leather jacket hanging across the back of the desk chair. But it’s Abby’s pink overnight case—with her name embroidered on the side—that sends me racing to the bathroom. My legs buckle beneath me before I even reach the toilet. The dry heaves are a welcome pain compared to the overwhelming guilt and misery that consume me.

  Wh
en I can finally stand, I brush my teeth before stripping off my filthy clothes and stepping into the shower. Under the scalding spray of the hot, punishing water, I allow the tears to come. I cry and cry until I’m sure I have no tears left, and then I cry until the water runs cold.

  I climb out of the shower and numbly dry off. Reaching for the hair dryer, I sit down on the toilet and flip the power switch.

  “You should really let your hair dry on its own from time to time.”

  Abby was always telling me that. Something about the prolonged exposure to heat causing damage to my follicles. I never really paid attention. Why hadn’t I paid attention?

  I yank the hair dryer cord out of the wall and grab a towel instead.

  Dizzy and aching, but too mentally exhausted to rest, I hastily unzip my bag and look for something to wear. Tucked inside is Ethan’s T-shirt—the same one I wore just yesterday. The same shirt he wanted to take off me.

  That memory causes a fresh wave of tears.

  I lift the shirt to my nose and inhale deeply. My citrus shampoo is there, but I can smell him, too, and the scent is comforting despite the excruciating pain in my heart.

  As I climb into bed, a thousand different scenarios play through my mind as I try to piece together the events from tonight. The more I think, the harder my head throbs, and the guilt and shame threaten to suffocate me.

  Why was my life spared? Why am I the only one who made it out alive?

  Ethan.

  Coop and Abby.

  In spite of the distance and uncertainty of our lives, Coop and Abby had found love, and they were close to having everything they’d ever wanted. They would have moved far away, had a dozen kids, and lived happily ever after. Instead . . .

  Instead.

  I use the hem of Ethan’s shirt to dry my tears.

  My broken heart drums frantically as I remember our last few days together. Ethan Summers had charmed the pants off many women throughout his career. It was his claim to fame, but as his fortune grew, so did his reputation as being one of the finest criminal minds of our time. Somehow, I’d resisted his flirtatious advances even when my body screamed for me not to, and through the years, our relationship had turned into this thrilling cat-and-mouse game that neither of us wanted to see come to an end. But over the past few weeks, our relationship had changed, and our vacation in the mountains had shown me a side of Ethan Summers I’d never seen before. He and I understood each other on a level that would be completely foreign to anyone else. He got me. And I never told him.