by Olivia Rush
Stepping through the smoldering debris inside the warehouse, I found what I was looking for. The fire had started on the first floor, just like with the others. And the burn patterns seemed to indicate that it was, like the others, rigged up to look like an electrical fire gone out of control. I asked one of the construction workers how the wiring in the building was, and he said that he couldn’t believe it’d gone up like that—the electrician was a pro.
“Freak accident,” he said in a rough Brooklyn accident. “Had to be.”
I thanked him and headed off, certain that this was no accident, not by a long shot.
After spending the better part of the day on the site, I was about as hungry as it gets. A nearby diner seemed to call out to me, and once the Queens crew let me know that they had the situation under control, I headed over to grab a quick bite before heading back to the station.
About halfway through my burger, though, a figure appeared out of the corner of my eye. Keeping my gaze fixed forward, I watched with my peripheries as the figure grew closer and closer.
Then it, or he, slid into the booth across from me. I didn’t even need to look up from my food to know it was one of the men responsible for the fire. Up close he was even uglier than the glimpses of him that I’d caught. His chin was weak, his eyes were beady, and the scar on his face was ragged, as though he’d been picking at it as it healed. He was dressed in a black and white tracksuit, his head covered in a black Yankees cap.
“Afternoon, Mr. Stokes,” he said, his voice as creaky as an old car engine, his accent something out of a New York decade long passed.
I set my food down and glared at him hard.
“Tell me right now why I shouldn’t walk over to those cops in the other booth and let them know you’re the man they’re looking for.”
“Do you really need me to answer that stupid fuckin’ question?” he said. “Because there is no ‘man they’re looking for.’ They’re ready to write all of these fires off as fuckin’ accidents, believe it or not.”
He sat back in his seat and folded his hands across his belly.
“But not hero fireman Stokes. Or his plucky little sidekick.”
I was about ready to strangle the cock at the mention of Chloe. “You’d better be really careful with what you say about her,” I said, my voice razor-lined.
“Or what, you’ll leap across that table and beat the hell out of me? I’m sure the cops would love to hear your explanation for that one. Maybe someone might record it and put it on the internet. Might be a good companion piece to your other stunt.”
“Then tell me why you’re here.”
He smirked, his smile just as ugly as I’d expected.
“I’m here because I wanted to see you up close and in the daylight,” he said.
I clenched my teeth and worked my jaw hard, fighting back the urge to slug this asshole.
“Your boys saw me up close and in the dark,” I said. “And I’m sure you know how well that worked out for them.”
He waved a veiny hand through the hair, waving away what I’d said as though it were the most trivial matter imaginable.
“I pay those two for a few very select jobs, and one of them is being punching bags when necessary. They’re back on their feet and ready for more fun, if you’re that concerned about them.”
“You don’t know what would’ve happened if I’d had a few more minutes,” I said.
“So freaking noble,” said the man.
“You wanted to kill her because she’d be able to name you to the cops,” I said.
The man snorted. “Little did I know that the cops would be doing the work for me,” he said. “Didn’t even need to go to the hassle after all.”
I wasn’t interested in hearing any more of this cock’s yammering. “Tell me why you’re here,” I said. “And tell me why I shouldn’t put you in the hospital for what you’ve done.”
He sat back and folded his hands on his stomach, seeming like he didn’t have a care in the world.
“I’m here to give you a warning,” he said. “Because it’s not just me you need to worry about. It’s the very powerful people that I’m currently on payroll for. They’re very, very aware of what you’ve been up to, and you oughta be thanking your lucky stars that you’re such a high-profile person.” Then he leaned forward and narrowed his eyes menacingly. “Too bad we can’t say the same about your cute little teacher playmate.”
By instinct, my hand shot up and toward the man. But I stopped myself mid-motion, knowing I’d do nothing but attract attention.
“Good boy,” he said. “You’re a fast learner. Woulda thought a tank of a guy like you wouldn’t be too loaded up in the brains department. Now, if you’re really a brainy sort of guy, you’ll understand just what I’m implying by this.”
I gritted my teeth so hard that I felt for a moment like I might smash them into shards.
“And what’s more, I did a little homework—I know all about your history in the service, and how you couldn’t hack it when your men’s lives were on the line. You’ve been pretty fuckin’ lucky putting out our little fires so far. But as they say, you need to be lucky every time…we only need to be lucky once.”
I clenched and unclenched my hands under the table, more than anything wanting to drive one of my fists right into this asshole’s face.
“So,” he said, getting ready to slide out of the booth, “if I might leave you with one thing, it’d be this: You’ve got a lot of responsibility on your shoulders right now—your men, your girl, everything. You’ve got some choices to make, and you’d better make them good. Because whatever happens from here on out is all on you, Stokes.”
He tipped his hat and moved out of the booth. Moments later the bell above the door jingled as he left.
The man was right—I had decisions to make. But I knew exactly what they had to be.
20
CHLOE
It was the evening and I was at Ethan’s, curled up in one of the big, overstuffed chairs in his study, reading some trashy novel I was more than a little surprised to find on his bookshelf tucked in among the military autobiographies and history books about medieval warfare.
A glass of wine sat on the stand next to my chair, and sip by sip, I drank it down.
In short, I was trying to relax but failing miserably. I hated that there was a fire more or less “scheduled” for tomorrow, and there wasn’t a damn thing Ethan or I could do about it. The cops didn’t care, the school didn’t care, and the owner of the damn shop seemed more annoyed than anything.
But my kids were at risk. If that fire started during the day, it could easily jump over to the school and then… I didn’t even want to think about it. I took another nervous sip of my wine, wishing more than anything that Ethan would come back, that he’d have some brilliant plan to get these assholes turned into the cops.
We had to do something, anything. But time was running out.
I drained the last bits of my wine over the course of the next hour. Once the glass was empty, I checked the time and saw that it was nearly ten o’clock. I hadn’t heard a word from Ethan, and I was becoming somehow even more worried than I already was.
I knew that another glass of wine was totally unnecessary, but I needed something to calm my nerves. Scooping the glass into my hand, I heaved myself out of the chair and started toward the kitchen. Once there, I poured myself a fresh glass and opened up the fridge. Ethan’s lasagna was still there, and I felt a pang of hunger just looking at it.
Comfort food sounded great, so I pulled the tray out of the fridge, set it on the counter, and pulled the foil back. The mere smell of the food brought back memories from last night, memories of how Ethan had shared something with me that he clearly rarely, if ever, spoke to anyone about. His expression of regret had said it all.
I poked a fork into the lasagna and brought it to my mouth, happy to find out that it was just as delicious cold today as it was hot yesterday. A heroic fireman who co
uld also whip up a mean lasagna? I knew I’d found a keeper. The events that had brought us together, however, made it impossible to enjoy whatever this was that Ethan and I shared.
I took a few more bites, washing them down with a long swig of wine. As soon as the food was back in the fridge, however, that same sense of gnawing dread returned to my stomach. Fear boiled in my gut and spread outward.
Something bad was about to happen—I just knew it. The sudden urge to call Ethan and tell him to drop whatever it was he was doing gripped me. But before I could turn my thoughts into actions, the sound of glass shattering somewhere in the apartment rang out.
I froze in place, not knowing what to do. For a moment, I tried to convince myself that the shattering sound had come from outside, that it was just some careless person tossing a pane into a dumpster or some such—a frequent sound in the city.
The footsteps on the wood, however, made it clear that this wasn’t at all the case. My eyes widened, and my gaze shot down to my hand that held the wine glass, now shaking, the wine coming close to sloshing over the rim.
The steps grew closer and closer, and by the time the trio of shadowy forms appeared from the hallway that led to the office, I already knew just who they belonged to.
“Evening, gorgeous,” said the man with the scar as he stepped into the living room, his goons at his side.
I wasn’t about to stand around and wait to see what they had in mind for me. With a quick motion, I whipped the glass of wine through the air at the men, the wine spilling out in a great red arc. The men stepped away from the glass as it smashed into the ground, and I took advantage of the confusion to rush toward the front door.
But it was locked. I struggled against the thing, frantically trying to remember the proper procedure for this particular set of locks. My heart pounded, and I pulled in panicked breaths. I’d never been more frightened in my life.
Before I could make any headway, a massive hand came down on the door. My eyes shot to the side and I saw that the man with the scar was now standing mere inches from me, a wicked smile on his face.
“I wouldn’t bother, sweetheart,” he said.
I staggered away from the door, feeling as though I might pass out from fear. My mouth opened to let out a scream, but nothing came out. My rear slammed into the bar countertop, the pain radiating through my body.
“I wouldn’t bother calling out for help,” said the man with the scar. “These old brick lofts might as well be soundproof. You scream and all you’re gonna do is annoy the hell out of us. And believe me, that’s not something you want to happen.”
“What…what do you want?” I demanded.
“First of all, I want you in a place where you’re not gonna cause me any trouble.”
He snapped his fingers toward his men, who responded by rushing to my sides and grabbing my arms. I struggled as best I could, but they were too strong.
“Come ’ere, you nosy bitch,” said one of them as they dragged me toward the living room couch.
With a heave, they tossed me onto it. The man with the scar strode as casual as could be across the room until he stood at opposite side of the couch. Once there, he looked me over slowly. I couldn’t tell if he was ogling my body or sizing me up for a pair of cement shoes. Either way, I didn’t like it one bit.
I took deep, full breaths, trying to calm the adrenaline working through my body. Horrible images of what these men had in store for me flashed through my mind, and more than anything else I wanted Ethan to come home and finish what he’d started in the alley.
“Your boy Ethan’s out playing detective,” said the scarred man. “We got him good and distracted, so don’t put too much faith in him making another heroic rescue.”
I supposed that him rescuing me twice would be too much to ask for. Still, I closed my eyes and said a silent prayer that he’d come home.
“What do you want with me?” I hissed, my voice laced with venom.
The three men exchanged looks, chuckling at one another.
“What do you think we want?” said one of the goons. “We want you out of the fucking picture.”
“It’s been cute watching you and hero-boy play detective over the last couple of days,” said the scarred man. “Actually, it’s been more than ‘cute’—you two’ve made more progress with this shit than the NYPD.”
“But enough’s enough,” said the third man.
“To put it fucking lightly,” said the other goon.
“What then?” I asked. “Are you going to kill me or something?”
“Nah,” said the man with the scar. “We’ve got something else in mind for you, something a little more, ah, special.”
“Yeah,” said the third man. “We’re gonna give you a nice little front row seat for our next performance.”
I closed my eyes and said another prayer.
“Yo!”
The harsh voice of the scarred man brought me back.
“Earth to teacher lady!” shouted the second man.
I blinked hard a few times and shook my head. Looking around, I saw that there was no Ethan, no signs of an effortless fight. I was alone.
I pulled my mouth into an angry sneer. I was getting madder by the second and starting to wonder if I had the strength to take all of these assholes out. Maybe I would give them all a quick trip down to the street through the window—but with no air mattress to break their falls.
“So, here’s the plan,” said the scarred man. “You’re gonna come with us. We’ve got some big plans in mind for you, and I’m not interested in putting them off any longer. But one squeak out of you, one scream, one anything, and you’re not gonna like what happens. Got it?”
I said nothing, already formulating a plan.
“All right, boys,” he said. “Scoop this bitch up, and we can get the hell out of here. I’m tired of screwing around.”
The two men, sinister expressions on their ugly faces, moved in to take me. But I wasn’t about to go down so easily. As soon as they reached my sides, I made my move. My fist shot through the air and hit the man on the right square in the jaw. Pain radiated through my fingers at the impact, and the man stumbled back.
“What the fuck?” he said, shaking his head as though he couldn’t believe what had happened.
“Come here, you ornery little brat,” said the other man, grabbing onto my arms.
But as soon as his forearm was in biting distance, I went in for the attack. My teeth sank into his skin, and a pained yell left his mouth. He let go of me and staggered backward, his opposite hand on the bite.
“The bitch bit me!” he shouted.
The scarred man shook his head as he slipped something out of his pocket.
“Goddammit,” he said. “Do I really have to do all of this shit by myself?”
I was ready for whatever this fucker had in mind. I glanced down at his hand and saw he had something that looked like a hard, metal weapon.
“Last chance, cutie,” he said, moving toward me.
“Fuck off!” I yelled.
I didn’t care—I was ready to go down fighting.
Apparently, so was he. As soon as the scarred man cut the distance between us, he swiped his hand through the air toward my head.
A dull explosion of pain was the last thing I remembered before blackness covered my eyes.
21
ETHAN
“Chloe?”
Panic tinged my voice as I rushed up the stairs to my apartment. I cursed myself for spending more time at the scene of the fire after the meeting with that scarred asshole. Though what he’d said was intended as a warning, I realized that a man like him couldn’t be trusted to play by any sort of rules. Cold panic ran up my spine as I realized that he was likely lulling me into a false sense of security.
My stomach dropped as I reached the top of the stairs and saw that the door to my apartment was slightly ajar. I grit my teeth and stepped slowly toward the door, mentally preparing myself for whatever was on the
other side.
“Chloe?” I called out again, knowing the odds of getting an answer were slim.
Sure enough, nothing but silence.
I placed my hand on the door, took a deep breath, and pulled it open.
Nothing. There was nothing on the other side.
“Chloe?”
Still nothing.
I stepped carefully into the apartment, looking around as I did. Sure enough, there were signs of a struggle. Papers I’d left piled on the counter were strewn here and there, knickknacks were knocked from their places, and the rug was crumpled up in front of the couch.
I felt a cool breeze from down the hallway and followed. As I approached my office door the low howl of the evening wind sounded. I looked at the window and it was shattered, glass all over the floor, and my eyes rested on the fire escape outside the window.
I made my way back into the living room where I spotted a broken wine glass and an arc of red wine made it clear this wasn’t a simple spill—it had been thrown. This was no accident.
It didn’t take much brain power to realize what had happened. The men had broken into my apartment and taken Chloe. The scarred man had given me a warning, but he’d already known just what he had in mind for her and me. Why had he even bothered? Just to distract me?
I clenched my fists and brought them to my forehead. Fuck. They’d taken Chloe and they sure as shit were going to pay.
I knew I couldn’t stand around waiting any longer. If they’d taken Chloe, that meant that they’d likely moved their plan to torch the business up a day, just to throw anyone off the scent. I had to move, and I had to move fast.
Fifteen minutes later, I arrived back at the station. Mitch rushed up to me as soon as I entered, as if a sixth sense had told him there was something very, very wrong. He tagged along, staying close behind as I made my way to Chief’s office.
