Love in Smoke

by Holly Hall

  Minutes bleed together as I focus on breathing through my growing panic. It’s almost impossible to tell how much time has passed when a sudden notification startles me out of my comatose position. It’s coming from the coffee table, where my electronic tablet is resting.

  My tablet! How did I miss that a way to call for help has been sitting two feet away from me this entire time? I scroll through the contacts synced with my phone and call Dane, covering up the front-facing camera so my tear-stained face won’t be the first thing he sees. When he answers, my words tumble out of my mouth as an incoherent ramble.

  “Whoa, whoa, whoa. Raven? Is that you? I thought maybe you didn’t get my message.”

  “Dane . . .” I sob, my voice hoarse.

  “What’s going on? Where are you?”

  “I’m at home,” I hiccup, doing my best to get a hold of myself. “Can this call be traced?”

  “No. I don’t think . . . Wait, why? I’m coming over.”

  Desperation lances through my chest. “No! You can’t! There were men here. They said they would know if I called for help!”

  “What? Who?” His words become more forceful, and I can hear him moving around on the other end of the line.

  “I don’t know, they had masks. They took my keys, my phone. They broke in, Dane! They told me they’d know if I called the cops.”

  “What happened? Are you hurt?”

  “No. Not really.” The throbbing in my cheek protests that statement, but my injuries are minor compared to what they could have been.

  “Where are you? Are you safe? Grab whatever you can and go upstairs. Lock yourself in your bedroom and hide somewhere. I’m coming to get you.”

  Adrenaline shoots through my veins, taking over my muscles, and I push up off the floor, slipping on the hardwood of the stairs as I climb them faster than I should.

  “Dane, listen to me,” I say, forcing myself to sound as assertive and convincing as possible. “You cannot show up here. There are two of them. They could still be out there.”

  “I can handle it. Do as I said and hide. Do you have a gun? Take it with you, and don’t be afraid to use it.”

  “No, I don’t have a gun!” I shrill, locking my bedroom door behind me. I didn’t even think to grab a knife from downstairs.

  “All right, it’s too late to worry about that now. Is there a window in your bathroom?”

  “Yes.”

  “Go there now. Lock that door too. It’s the best chance you’ve got. Listen carefully, and if anyone enters the house again that isn’t me, you’ll have to go out that window. Get as far away as you can as soon as you hit the ground. Don’t worry about anything but getting yourself out of there. Do you understand?”

  I’m looking around for anything I can use to barricade the door, but there’s nothing. The pedestal sink, toilet, and inherited plastic trashcan are all I have, and they won’t do me any good. I climb into the shower and close the curtain.

  “Raven! Do you understand?” His voice blasts through the speaker, startling me. It incites a flashback to earlier when the intruder used some of those same words.

  “Yes. Yes, I got it,” I say, squeezing my eyes shut, though I’m only saying it to reassure him. I don’t know if I can do any of those things. I’ve never had to save someone’s life, much less my own. The assailants in my self-defense class always seemed to be based in superstition, and it felt like we would never be put into a position to use what we learned. It’s the unprepared ones that you hear about being assaulted on the news.

  “I’m coming to you now. Stay where you are. Do not move unless someone is trying to get in the door or you hear my voice saying it’s okay. All right?” His voice is steady, succinct. I don’t know how to keep it together the way he does.

  Tears well in my eyes, and I bite the inside of my cheek. I nod, then realize he can’t see me. “Yes. I got it.”

  Almost as if he senses my impending breakdown, his voice softens. “I’ll stay on here with you until I get there, okay?”

  “Okay,” I manage to say, my voice thick with emotion. The porcelain tub is as cold as a tomb, and I shiver. A combination of the chill and the shock.

  “I won’t let anything happen to you. You know that, don’t you?”

  “Yes,” I whisper. Because although I hardly know this person, there’s sincerity laced in his words and genuineness I can sense all the way down to his soul. It’s become apparent how easy it would be to get lost in him. I didn’t think I wanted that. I fought it at every turn. But now? Now it would be nice to forget about the things that have happened and allow every part of myself to dissolve into him.

  I know it’s wrong. I know it’s unhealthy and unmaintainable. But even I can’t fight the allure of letting go. At least for a little while.

  “Dane?” I say, cursing how weak I sound.

  “Yeah?”

  “Get here soon, please.”

  “I will. I promise. I’m coming as fast as I can.”

  NINETEEN

  The minutes seem to drag into hours, but it couldn’t have taken more than fifteen for Dane to arrive. He’s checked to make sure I’m still okay periodically throughout his seemingly endless journey, and then I hear the huff of his breathing as he treks through the woods to come in through the back. He didn’t want his truck to be seen outside my house, so he’s taking the long way around. He truly thought of everything.

  I didn’t know it was possible to feel relief and anxiety in equal parts, but as I imagine Dane nearing my house both feelings writhe together, one unable to be distinguished from the other. I hope, for Dane’s and my sake, that the men didn’t mean it literally when they said they’d be watching. But if I’ve come to learn anything about Dane tonight, I can assume he’s prepared for anything.

  Dane relays each action to me as he performs it. To reassure me, I think. He’s coming in through the back door. Up the stairs. He tells me he’s going to knock just before I hear the beats through the thin walls. I yank the bathroom door open, then do the same with the bedroom, colliding with him instantly. In a fraction of a second, he takes me into his arms, cradling my head against him. I grip him as hard as I can, as if he could slip through my fingers like oil if I didn’t.

  “Shh. It’s okay. It’s okay, I’m here. I won’t let anything happen to you.”

  The tears come steadily now, dampening the front of his shirt. When I graze something hard near his lower back, tucked in his waistband, I don’t have to ask what it is. He holds me for what feels like several years, and then he’s separating us, but only enough to wipe away my tears.

  “I need to know everything that happened, but not just now, all right? Where’s a bag? We need to get some of your things. Pack anything you might need for a week, or . . . I don’t know how long. Just the necessities, okay?” His speech is even and steady, but I see how his eyes scan the room, the windows and doors, searching. For a possible threat, maybe.

  I’m hesitant to leave the security of his embrace, but it will be safer to get away from here, wherever he plans on taking me. I feel around under my bed until I locate a duffel bag. Without putting much thought into it, I grab an armful from each of my drawers until I’m sure I have underwear and socks, a few shirts and pairs of pants. Whether they match or are weather appropriate is low on my list of concerns. I focus more on my work uniforms, making sure I select enough coordinating sets of scrubs to get me through the week, though mundane things like work seem like they belong in a reality separate from this one.

  “From the shower,” Dane explains when he reappears from the bathroom holding a handful of brightly-colored bottles.

  I offer a nod of thanks before bypassing him to grab a towel, tossing it, and my toiletries, into the bag. I tuck my work shoes beneath my arm, meeting his eyes. He takes the bag from me and leads the way down the stairs.

  In the entry hall, I stoop down to scrape my scattered belongings back into my purse. Dane scrutinizes the scene, the look in his eye and the
set of his jaw making me think he’s trying to imagine what happened. It’s been replaying in my mind on repeat.

  “Did they take anything other than your keys and your phone?”

  “I don’t know. I don’t think so, but I haven’t had time to check.”

  “We can figure that out later. You ready?” When I bite my lip and nod, worry probably written all over my face, he takes my cheeks in his hands and leans his head closer.

  “My truck is just down the road. Once we make it there, we’ll get somewhere safe.”

  I close my eyes tightly, trying in vain to summon some of his strength to get me through the next hour or so. His thumb brushes over my cheekbone once, and he gives me a curt nod. It’s effective; I know I can do this.

  After checking through the blinds, Dane takes my hand and leads me out the back door. I don’t know when he pulled his gun out, but it gleams menacingly in the distant porch light as we jog across the yard, headed toward the woods that back up to the house. I vaguely wonder why we aren’t running full-out, but I take it as a good sign that we don’t have to.

  Dane is silent and focused, scanning our surroundings once we break through the tree line and slow to a brisk walk. The path through the woods in the dark isn’t an easy one; I trip over fallen tree branches and twisted roots, my pants snagging on thorny undergrowth. Dane’s grip on my hand is the only thing that keeps me on my feet. But we persist until we reach a place he seems to recognize. He stops me with the barest pressure on my hand, stepping back behind a tree. I cower behind him, holding my breath. I’m not sure what to look out for, other than the obvious. Dane peers through the darkness, seeming to wait for something. Craning to look around his shoulder, I spot his truck parked in an overgrown gravel driveway that I know, from seeing it during the day, hasn’t been used in years.

  When he decides it’s safe, we run.

  My breaths rush past my teeth, and my body aches with every stride. He tucks me into the passenger seat first, then rounds the hood and climbs in behind the wheel. I half expect someone to appear just beyond the window, black-masked and sinister, but nobody does. The rest of the town is asleep. It’s not until we’re flying down the highway that I release the breath it feels like I’ve been holding the entire night.

  Dane grips my hand, squeezing it as if to reel me out of my dark thoughts and remind me that we are here in the truck, safe. “Are you sure you’re not hurt?”

  “I’ll be okay. I’m not injured.”

  His look of concern remains. “All right. The place isn’t ready, but it’ll have to do.”

  I glance out the window, but there is nothing distinguishable from the infinite black of the sky. I’ve never feared the dark, but now it has power over me—the capability of hiding a multitude of evil. I swallow hard. “Where are we going?”

  “There’s a house I’m restoring, just outside of town.”

  I turn back to him, but his focus is trained forward, grim lines etched across his forehead. It looks like he’s aged years since that day we were flirting right under Lynn’s nose, when he gave me the secret bouquet of wildflowers and I wondered when he’d steal me away. Here we are, together, and I don’t think circumstances could be any worse. Fate can be a cruel bitch.

  When the truck finally slows and Dane pulls onto a pitted gravel drive bordered by thick clumps of trees, I search the shadowy yard until my eyes land on a ghostly white house. The headlights briefly illuminate its aged façade before Dane cuts them and coasts around the back. I climb out when he does, and I can immediately understand why he would think to bring me here.

  The house is decrepit. Worse than mine by a mile. The front walk is choked with weeds, and what looks to be a rusted swing-set is all that overlooks the overgrown front lawn. If he told me this place was haunted, I would believe him. Under tonight’s circumstances, I’d say it’s perfect.

  We walk through a screened-in porch with more holes than screen, and Dane unlocks the back door before ushering me inside. I wait while he uses his phone to light his way to a work lamp, switching it on. We’re standing in a kitchen. Or what used to be a kitchen. I can see straight through some of the walls where they’ve been demoed, and the countertops and appliances are missing. There’s new, blond cabinetry that’s recently been installed, but dirty concrete serves as the floor, and plastic sheeting hangs around the borders of the room to keep in the dust.

  “It’s a work in progress,” Dane remarks, and I hardly have the energy to shrug.

  “It doesn’t matter.”

  “I’ll show you upstairs.”

  I’m grateful to follow behind. Exhaustion has rendered me useless at making most decisions anyway. The steps are raw wood, but they look solid and new. The flight takes us up to a square landing bordered by four doors. My feet sink into carpet, and I smell fresh paint. Dane chooses the farthest door on the left. It’s a bedroom, and luckily, there’s power. He’s already flipped on the light, and a ceiling fan whirs to life above our heads. The only thing in the room is a bed; a mattress atop a simple iron frame.

  “What is this place, Dane?” I ask, shrugging out of my purse. He gave me the bare-bones explanation earlier, but it’s still unclear how this inconspicuous house just conveniently exists, or why it’s available to us now.

  “This . . .” He looks around, sucking in a lungful of air and exhaling. “This is my way out. It’s in my buddy’s name, so nobody knows it’s mine. I plan on selling it when I’m finished and using the profit to settle with Trey and get out of here.”

  I’m still having a difficult time wrapping my head around the idea. “How? How does no one know you’ve been out here working on this place for . . . how long?” Dane watches as I walk the perimeter of the room, peeking out the blinds of an east-facing window.

  “A year, so far. I’ve worked my ass off for Max, and when he bought the property and told me what kind of potential it had, I asked him to set aside a good chunk of my wages to put directly into this place so I could buy it from him and flip it for profit. Max knows more about my situation than most everyone, except you. All Trey knows is I work for his construction company. In that line of work, the worksite changes so much it would be a waste of time for him to try to keep track of me. There’s no way he could connect us to this place.”

  I hope with everything I have that he’s right. There was a time when I thought Heronwood was placid. Safe. It seems like every impression I had of this town has been turned on its head.

  Once my fears have quieted, I feel drained, like they were the only things left propping me up after the adrenaline subsided. My face hurts, my head is pounding, and my back aches from where that asshole’s arm pinned me against the wall. My shoulders are screaming in pain, and I swear I can hear each of my joints groan when I move. There’s only one thing I can think to do. I head toward what I hope is the bathroom, feeling around for the light.

  The woman staring back at me from the mirror is a stranger. Already, much of the left side of my face is starting to swell, courtesy of the up-close-and-personal meeting I had with the pantry door, and a bruise is blossoming on my cheekbone. I don’t know what the rest of my body will look like over the next few days, but I’m strangely unconcerned about it. All I want right now is to sit in the shower and allow the water to beat away all traces of tonight’s ordeal. The floor is a dizzying array of octagonal tiles that probably look elegant and trendy on a good day, but at the present send my mind into a tailspin. I grab for the cultured marble countertop to stabilize myself.

  Dane is at my side in an instant, his large hands spanning my ribs to steady me. Once he’s sure I’ll remain stable on my own two feet, he rotates me so I can rest against the counter. Taking my chin gently in his hand, he tilts my face toward the light, examining my cheek. “That one’ll hurt. I’ll go get some ice.”

  I close my eyes when he leaves, up until the silhouettes of shadowed men flash before my eyes. When I snap them open, there’s nothing there but the dazzling white of the ne
wly-restored bathroom. It’s all in your head, I tell myself. But no matter how many practical thoughts I run through, my over-stimulated brain is still stuck in panic mode.

  A sigh of relief is on the edge of my lips when Dane returns, but I don’t want him to know how afraid I am. How memories of those men will probably lurk in the corners of my mind forever.

  “Mini fridge turned out to be pretty damn convenient,” he says, holding up a grocery bag of ice. He wraps it in a white work towel and holds it up to my face. I flinch at the cold, but I grit my teeth through the first few moments of frigid pain. Numbness will be better than what I’ve got going on now.

  “You said you weren’t hurt,” he murmurs.

  “I said I wasn’t injured. They just roughed me up a little.” When his eyes flash with something like rage, I shake my head at him. “They didn’t do . . . that. I think they just wanted to scare me.”

  “Did they say anything to you?” I nod. “What did they say?” He’s determined, but his tone is also laced with dread.

  I close my eyes for a moment to recall the short conversation spoken so close to my ear I could smell sour breath and feel every word against my skin. “They said to stop fucking around. That you’ll have to pay your dues with something other than money, or something like that.”

  His nostrils flare as he takes a breath, and something much more sinister than anger takes over his expression. But just briefly. He’s a master at controlling his feelings, but I can see he’s struggling to keep it together.

  “What could they be talking about?” I finally ask.

  “They must be referring to my deal with Trey.”

  “Trey did this?”

  “I don’t know for sure if he gave the order. It could’ve been him, or someone closely associated with him.”

  “But who else is so concerned with your life that they would do something like this?”