The Exposé 4

by Sloane, Roxy

  THE EXPOSÉ 4

  By Roxy Sloane

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  Copyright © 2015 Roxy Sloane

  Cover Design: British Empire Design

  Cover Photography: Perrywinkle Design

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents either are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  Table of Contents

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Epilogue

  CHAPTER ONE

  ZOE

  I can’t breathe.

  I cough, desperately wheezing for air as I try to figure out what’s going on. One minute, I’m crawling into my bed to nap, and the next...?

  It’s dark. Smoke billows, acrid, and I can hear the crackle of flames.

  The apartment is on fire.

  “Help!” I scream, dragging another lungful of air. I have to make sure Tasha’s ok. “Tasha?” I yell. “Where are you?”

  I drop to the floor and crawl to the bedroom door. I pull it open -- and get hit by a wave of heat, like stepping into a sauna for the first time. But a sauna isn’t filled with smoke, and I can see flames in the living room, blocking the exit.

  “Tasha?” I yell again in panic for my roommate before I remember: she’s gone home to visit for the weekend.

  I try to focus on breathing, staying low to the ground like they taught us back in all those safety classes in school, but even on the floor the air is hot and smoky, burning my chest and throat with every inhale. My heart is pounding with terror, I feel totally paralyzed, but I know I have to keep it together if I’m going to get out.

  My phone.

  I crawl back to the bed and grab it, but the screen is black. Dead battery. Fuck! My window has been jammed all year, and the landlord refused to fix it, so I have no way to get air.

  Air. Suddenly, it’s all I want in the world.

  Grabbing a sweatshirt, I hold it over my mouth to block the smoke and head to the doorway again. Outside, the flames are roaring, licking up the curtains and along the cheap carpet. Beyond them, the front door is shut and locked. My one chance at freedom.

  I brace myself and crawl closer, down the hall. The heat from the fire scorches the bare skin on my hands and arms. I yank down my sleeves, but it’s not enough.

  I’ve never felt heat like this before. It’s terrifying, the roar of the flames and the smoke sucking all the oxygen from the room, but I force myself to keep crawling.

  I have to get out. I don’t want to die.

  CRASH.

  The ceiling lamp suddenly smashes to the ground. I jerk back and curl against the wall, stifling a scream. But I have no choice – I have to keep going – there’s only one way out.

  Bracing myself, I tug the blanket off the back of the couch and pull it around me. Then I crouch, tense my body, and lunge for the door, leaping just past the flames. I crash into it but I don’t care, all I feel is relief right now as I reach for the handle, shoving with all my weight—

  The door doesn’t open. Something’s blocking it from the outside.

  I can’t get out.

  Tears sting my cheeks, and my eyes burn with the smoke and my own fresh panic. I can’t breathe.

  I crawl back to the bedroom, the furthest I can get from the flames. I’m sweating under the blanket and dizzy from lack of oxygen, but I curl up on the floor beside my nightstand and press my cheek to the carpet, taking a few breaths and trying to clear my head.

  As I look around the room, desperate for a way out, my eyes fall on the heavy lamp that sits on my nightstand, just above my head. I get to my feet, ignoring a wave of nausea, grab the lamp and swing it at the window with everything I’ve got.

  A crack appears.

  I’m faint now with the smoke and the heat and the lack of air, but I keep swinging, over and over until finally the window smashes and cool, crisp air comes rushing in. Thank God.

  But my relief is short-lived. The fire is raging outside in the apartment, the flames getting closer with every second. I look outside, but we’re on the sixth floor, and there’s no way down, no escape ladders and nothing I can jump onto besides the concrete sidewalk far below. I see no cops, no fire engines, not even someone who could call for help. Fuck.

  I have air up here, but for how long? And how am I going to get out?

  I’m completely panicked. I sink to the floor by the window, hugging my knees to my chest. I don’t know what to do. A million thoughts race through my mind, but for some reason, they’re all about Dax.

  His strength. His determination. The way he never backs down.

  The way nothing else mattered when his body was slamming hard into mine.

  I’ve only just begun to know him. I can’t give it all up yet.

  I feel myself fading, everything in my line of sight going dark at the edges, and I slump to the floor. I can hear a banging noise, as if from far away, but when I open my mouth and try to yell, to tell them I’m right here, nothing comes out.

  The last thing I see is figures moving through the flames. Firefighter yellow. Muffled calls.

  Then everything is black.

  CHAPTER TWO

  DAX

  ‘You don’t care who you destroy. You won’t feel so powerful when someone you love gets hurt.’

  The note is waiting for me in the mail when I get into the club office, just like the other two. Anonymous. Cryptic. But this one sends a chill straight through my body.

  It’s a threat.

  I leap up. “Griffin!” I yell. A moment later, my office door swings open and my head of security looks in.

  “What is it?”

  “Another one,” I growl, shoving the paper at him. I reach for my cellphone and dial Zoe’s number, but there’s no response. She left my apartment just a few hours ago; we have plans for dinner tonight. Our first official date.

  The phone goes straight to voicemail.

  This is Zoe, leave me your number after the-- BEEP.

  I hang up and speed-dial again, calling my friend Maria this time. She answers on the third ring, and I hear noise in the background; Luca playing nearby.

  “Are you OK?” I demand. “Where are you?”

  “At home.” Maria sounds confused. “Why, what’s going on?”

  “Nothing, I don’t think.” I force myself to sound calm. The last thing I want to do is cause unnecessary panic, especially coming so soon after her last encounter with one of my business rivals. Then, she wound up in the hospital. It was technically an accident, but it would never have happened if some brute hadn’t shown up to give her a scare. All to get to me.

  What else might happen this time?

  “There might be a situation here at work,” I tell her, trying to be vague. “I’m going to send Griffin over to look after you.”

  I make eye contact with him across the room. He nods.

  “You don’t need to do that,” Maria laughs. “We’re fine.”

  “Humor me, okay? He’ll be there in half an hour. Don’t answer the door until he calls. And lock the windows too. You have the security system turned on?”

  “Dax, th
is really isn’t—” she tries to interrupt me. I cut her off.

  “He’s on his way.”

  Maria pauses. She knows better than to try and stand in my way when I’m determined like this. “OK. I hope you work it out, whatever it is.”

  “It’s probably nothing,” I lie. “I just want to be sure.”

  I hang up. Griffin heads for the door. “Call me with updates every hour,” I instruct him, grabbing my jacket. I follow him out. “Anything suspicious, you let me know.”

  “Will do, boss.” Griffin is curt. He did time in the military, Navy SEALs, so I know Maria will be in safe hands. “What about you?”

  “I need to reach Zoe,” I dial her again. Voicemail. Dammit. “There’s no answer. I’m going over to her place.”

  “You taking protection?” he asks.

  It takes me a minute to realize he means a gun.

  I think about it for a second, then shake my head. “No. It won’t come to that.”

  Griffin raises an eyebrow, but doesn’t argue. “Good luck,” he says.

  Luck won’t come into it. As I get in my car and break every speed limit on my way to Zoe’s apartment, I think again about the anonymous notes and how much is at stake.

  They arrived out of nowhere several weeks ago, and despite assurances from Griffin that the person behind them would show their hand, there have still been no demands, just cryptic threats.

  If it was Nikolai, my main suspect, then he would have made a move by now. I already know his agenda: using my knowledge from the club to blackmail a politician, Andrew Landsley, in a land deal that could make him millions. He’s already asked me to sell Landsley out -- and I’ve refused.

  Is this him making a point?

  Just how far will he go to get what he wants?

  I head up 55th towards Zoe’s place just as a fire truck comes screaming past. Another blares after it, causing traffic to come to a stand-still. I use the break to try Zoe again, but it’s straight to voicemail again.

  Why the hell isn’t she picking up her phone?

  I turn down her block.

  What the fuck.

  The fire trucks are clustered outside her apartment building; a crowd of people being held back on the street as fire marshals head inside.

  Smoke billows from a window on the sixth floor. Fuck. This isn’t happening. Which apartment is Zoe in? And where is she? I scan the street, but I don’t see her.

  I screech the car to a stop by the sidewalk and charge through the people standing around.

  “Hey, you can’t go back there!” A marshal tries to stop me.

  “What happened?” I demand. “Is anyone hurt?”

  “Just wait with the rest of them.” He takes my arm. I violently shake him off.

  “I have to find her. Zoe?” I yell, looking around. “Zoe, are you here?”

  Then I see her. Sitting in the back of an ambulance, an oxygen mask strapped over her face. She’s pale, too fucking pale. So fragile, in spite of everything.

  But she’s alive.

  I stride over and leap up into the ambulance. Zoe’s eyes widen as I pull her into a hug, cradling her body to my chest as relief pounds through me.

  “Sir, you can’t be here—” an EMT starts to say.

  “It’s OK.” Zoe pulls away, then coughs. “He’s with me.”

  I sit her down again and take her hands, kneeling beside her in the back of the ambulance. “Are you OK? What happened? Were you inside?”

  Zoe answers in a rasping voice. “I don’t know. I was sleeping, and then when I woke up, the place was on fire. I tried to get out, but...” she coughs, and I shush her, stroking her hair.

  What the hell happened?

  “Let’s get you to the hospital,” I soothe.

  “No need,” the medic interrupts. “I’ve checked her over, it’s nothing but a little smoke inhalation.”

  “She still needs a full exam.” I glare.

  Zoe rolls her eyes, putting the oxygen mask down. “He said I’m fine. Really, I’d barely even passed out when they got into the room.”

  Passed out?

  I picture her up there trapped in the flames. Scared. Alone. She’s a survivor, through and through.

  But she should never have been in this position to begin with.

  “You’re staying with me,” I decide. “Get your things, you’re coming home with me right now.”

  Zoe opens her mouth to argue, then closes it again. She nods. That’s when I know she’s really shaken up, because she doesn’t put up a fight. “I don’t know if they’ll let me back up,” she says instead.

  “They will,” I answer grimly. I want to take a look around myself - and get some answers. “You wait here, I won’t be long.”

  I go find the chief marshal, and convince him to take me up to the scene of the fire. He can probably tell by my tone, I’m in no mood for fighting tonight.

  The apartment door is busted down off its hinges, and inside, the place is dripping wet, charred and sooty. Everything is destroyed.

  “We tracked the source of the fire to a faulty wiring box, here.” The marshal shows me to a spot in the living room in the center of the charred wreckage. “Spread to the carpet, the curtains... Blazes like this can escalate fast.”

  “Wiring?” I don’t buy it. “So it was an accident?”

  The marshal is reluctant to answer. “The junction was jammed. The wires looked pretty frayed, it could have been wear and tear, you know, older apartments like this...” he looks away.

  “Or?” I demand.

  “Or, someone did it intentionally. I won’t know until our investigator does a full work-up. There was one other thing...” he pauses. “When my guys arrived, they found this under the door.”

  He pulls a small wooden wedge from his pocket.

  I frown. “I don’t understand.”

  “It was blocking the door from the outside.”

  My fists clench at my sides, and the marshal takes a step away from me, holding up his hands in defense.

  “Now look, it could have been a coincidence,” he adds. “Someone passing in the hall, maybe kicked it accidentally. We don’t know that anyone wanted to harm your friend.”

  Not to harm Zoe – but me.

  I fight to keep my rage under control. Just standing here in the middle of the fire scene, looking around at all this destruction, seeing the lengths someone was willing to go to just to make a point. Hurting her. Even killing her...

  “Oh my God.”

  Behind us, Zoe is standing in the doorway, looking around in disbelief. “Tasha’s going to kill me! We’re never going to get our security deposit back!” she wails.

  A few hundred bucks is the least of my concerns right now. “Why don’t you see what you can save?” I tell her. “Pack it up and we’ll move you over to my place,” I say, wanting to keep her out of the conversation I’m having with the marshal.

  But Zoe sees right through me. “Why? So you can talk about the arson behind my back?”

  I sigh. “I’ll fill you in later,” I tell her, before turning back to the man. “Keep me updated,” I tell him, passing him my card. “I want to know the minute you find anything.”

  He nods, then heads back out.

  I brace myself for Zoe’s questions, but instead, she’s looking sadly around at the wrecked, burned furniture. “I can’t believe this really happened,” she says, looking teary. “Everything’s ruined.”

  I go straight to her. “So we buy you new things. What matters is that you’re okay.” I kiss her gently, holding her close.

  “I was so scared,” she whispers, hugging me tightly. As I breathe in the smoke that clings to her hair, look around at the burned furniture and soot-blackened walls, I realize how close I came to losing her.

  How terrifying that prospect really is.

  “It’s over,” I promise her. “I’ll protect you. I swear, I won’t let anyone hurt you again.”

  CHAPTER THREE

  ZOE

>   Dax fills me in on what the fire marshal said on the drive over to his place. Somebody could have set the fire on purpose -- and trapped me inside?

  I can’t believe it. Suddenly all the digging around and asking questions I’ve been doing seems dangerously real.

  “There was a guy, I passed him on my way upstairs.” I pause, trying to remember. “He was dressed normally, but he had his hat pulled down so I couldn’t see his face. Do you think he might have been involved?”

  “I don’t know. I’ll pass it on to the investigator.”

  Dax answers in short, curt sentences. He’s gripping the steering wheel tightly, his anger and stress clear to see.

  “I’m sorry,” I murmur, feeling guilty.

  His head snaps around. “What the hell do you have to be sorry about?”

  “All my snooping, the investigating—this is my fault too. I went and asked the wrong questions, maybe someone saw me—” I start to say, but he cuts me off.

  “No. This isn’t about you. Somebody’s trying to get to me.”

  “How can you be so sure?”

  Dax doesn’t reply.

  “Did you get another note?” I guess.

  He darkens. “What kind of sick coward runs around hurting a defenseless woman, instead of just facing me like a man?” He slams the steering wheel. “I hate that I couldn’t look out for you.”

  “I’m not defenseless,” I point out. “And there’s no way you could have possibly known what they were planning.” But even though I’m putting on a brave face, I still feel shaken up. When I think about how scared I was, how hopeless I felt...it feels hard to breathe again.

  Dax can see through my bravado. He pulls up outside his place, then takes my hand. “You don’t have to be brave with me,” he says quietly. “You don’t ever need to pretend.”

  I suddenly feel overwhelmed, on the edge of tears. I squeeze his hand, and try not to cry. “It’s been a long day,” I say instead. “I just need a shower and a good night’s sleep.”

  He nods, and holds the door open for me as we head inside. “Did you manage to salvage much?” he asks, nodding to my overnight bag.