Love in Smoke

by Holly Hall

  “So let me tell you how this is going to work. Your brother told you your girlfriend here was paid a visit by her ex-husband, and records of your text messages will prove that. For the past couple of months, you’ve been harassing Raven about her superstar ex-husband, which, as you know, didn’t go over so well with our firecracker, Ms. Sutter. Turns out that fuck-around Dane Cross just can’t measure up to the great Jenson King. So, you cooked up a plan. You broke into her place and scared her a bit, threatened her life if she refused you. As if that weren’t enough, you broke into her place of employment with one of your shithead buddies and stole the nitrous, stashed it at your place for safekeeping.” He juts his chin toward the house.

  My eyes widen reflexively at the revelation of that news. Mike was in on the break-in, too. He’s even more entangled in this than I thought.

  “We’ll find that, of course, once we’re combing through the ashes for evidence. And we have an eyewitness to prove it all—your accomplice, Cooper Epstein. You paid him a visit only a few hours ago, didn’t you? Used to run in the same circles until things went bad between y’all. Well, ol’ Cooper was only too happy to help us out and offer to testify about this plan of yours in exchange for a little cash. Seems he’s fallen on tough times and was that desperate for his next hit.”

  I look back at Dane to see if what Mike is saying holds any weight. From the rage brewing in his eyes, I know it’s bad. My stomach sinks to my feet.

  “Anyway, where was I? Oh yes, you contacted Raven and asked her to meet you out here to talk. Promised you would leave her alone if she’d only give you another chance. You said all this on the phone, of course, no text records to prove your innocence on that one. Turns out, you were in a rage of jealousy and you set her up. You lured her into the house and lit it up.” He chuckles spitefully, the barrel of the gun jabbing my skin. “Trey caught wind of your plan and showed up to interfere. An altercation took place, and you shot him with this pistol, registered to you. The same pistol used to kill Dalton Briggs all those years ago. Thank goodness I showed up to put a stop to your insanity, or else Raven would’ve lost her life. Now you go away and I get the credit for bringing you in and closing both cases. Ain’t that somethin’?”

  My throat thickens, and I silently plead with Dane to find a loophole, anything he can say to disprove this wild narrative Mike has created. Dane is rigid, undoubtedly running through the facts himself.

  “And how does Trey fit into this?” he rasps, angling his head toward his brother. “Why’d he have to go down for this?”

  “Besides the fact that this shit-storm was his idea? Tried tellin’ him there were a lot subtler ways to wipe you off the map, but he was so fired up. He heard you were digging around and thought it was just a matter of time before you found out the truth about him and Briggs and reported the evidence. So now we’re here. You can thank him for that.” Mike spits in Trey’s direction. “He was the only other person who knew the truth. I’ll take it to my grave, and, well, nobody will believe your word—the man who assaulted the good Mayor of Heronwood—over mine,” he mocks with gusto. That he’s manipulated the pieces of this story enough to justify his actions disgusts me.

  I clear my throat. “I know the truth. And I wouldn’t testify against Dane no matter what,” I say through gritted teeth.

  “Well, lookie here, seems little miss has found her voice! You’ll be rethinking that statement, right about now.” With a jerk, Mike redirects the gun to Dane, and I see his finger twitch on the trigger.

  “Don’t!” I scream, fighting his grasp. “Stop!”

  Mike chuckles beside my ear. “That’s what I thought. Nobody’s asked for your opinion on the matter, but I want to hear it now, and I’ll only ask once. Do you want him to see him walk or drag himself into prison?”

  I bite back a sob, tears stinging my eyes.

  Mike brandishes the gun at Dane again. “Make a decision!”

  “Fuck you,” a voice that isn’t mine answers, then there’s a flash in the darkness, just to the left of Dane, accompanied by the piercing sound of gunfire.

  I recoil from the noise, and almost instantly, Mike’s grip on my neck loosens as he falls to the ground. I gasp for a few moments, watching as dark blood spills from a grisly wound in the sheriff’s head. It’s something I’ve never in my life wanted to see but I can’t look away from. He was just here, standing beside me with a gun to my temple, taunting me and threatening Dane. And then he wasn’t. I stagger away from him, unsure if he’s really dead, realization crashing down that there are flecks of something warm on my skin that I know are parts of Mike.

  And then I see Dane. He hardly looks over his shoulder to see who it was that delivered the shot that killed Mike Branson before he’s rushing to me, sweeping me up in his arms and crushing me to him. I sob into his neck, hot tears and sweat plastering hair to my face.

  I’m making more noises than words, but at this moment, I don’t even care. I sag against him, drained of strength. Then he’s taking my face in his hands and kissing me, warm lips covering mine and conveying his own relief.

  Our quiet reunion doesn’t last long. A man steps out of the darkness, crisp white shirt glowing when he strides into the pool of moonlight bathing the clearing. He steps over Mike and kneels when he reaches Trey’s side. It’s the eldest Cross, checking to see if there’s any life left in his son. But there isn’t. We know it, and I’m sure he knows it because he gently grips Trey’s shoulder and bows his head. I wonder what’s going through his mind right now, being the father of a son who meant to murder the other. I have no idea about the state of Ben Cross’s moral compass, but I’m sure the lines between morality and basic humanity are a little blurred when it comes to a situation like this.

  Dane holds me while we watch the exchange. Or while I watch the exchange. When I look up at him, his focus is fully on me. One arm is holding me against him while his other hand is smoothing my hair back. I wince when he grazes the place where Mike’s gun struck me. It’s going to be one hell of a goose egg.

  After an indeterminate amount of time, Ben Cross rises from the ground and dusts off his pants, now all business. If Dane is shocked by his dad’s arrival, he doesn’t look it, but I know he has a lifetime of experience in concealing turmoil.

  I cling to Dane’s shirt while I try to think of what to say. Thank you just wouldn’t sound right in this situation. After all, it was his involvement in this business that led Trey to this, in a way. All he wanted to do was care for his sick wife, and he lost a son in the process. His business partner. I don’t know if it’s right to feel grateful he still has the other.

  Ben steps closer, and he and Dane’s gazes burn hot across the few feet of dirt separating them.

  “I didn’t think it would come to this. He’s been acting . . . off . . . for weeks. Maybe longer. Paranoia.” Ben Cross clears his throat, his voice gravelly with age.

  “There’s a long road between paranoia and murder,” Dane says firmly.

  Ben ignores that, rubbing his goatee with a thumbnail. “I had one of my guys check up on him. Turns out, he’s been having your girl followed. He was tipped off that she knew about the gun and he freaked, thinking if you’d told her, you were planning on going to the cops. Try to turn this thing around on him and get out before he pinned it on you. I had a feeling there was a connection between him and Dalton Briggs, but I only recently heard something concrete. Once I found out he’d sent someone over to have a chat with your girl here”—Ben angles his head in my direction—“and, in turn, scare you into cooperating, I demanded for him to end it. I threatened to cut him out, sever his ties with everyone in the business.” Ben shakes his head, his eyes dropping to his older son. “He told me it was nothing, just talk. That he needed to stay informed is all. Send you a message.”

  “And you believed that? After everything he did, all the risky moves he made that could’ve ruined you, destroyed your relationships with partners, you really thought he’d stop at gather
ing information?”

  The skin around Ben’s eyes crumples as he narrows them. “He’s made some mistakes, but I never thought he’d resort to fratricide. I paid off one of the whores he was seeing to let me know of anything urgent. She didn’t know the details, of course, but the second I heard a plan was in motion, I came right over. I thought I could talk some sense into him, but it was too late. I saw Mike’s car parked off the road in a ditch, so I left mine down a-ways and came in on foot.”

  “You knew he and Mike were working together?” Dane’s nostrils flare; the mask is slipping. I see mistrust brewing in his eyes. Just now, distant sirens begin to wail. It’s about damn time.

  “I suspected he was paying him off to cover for Briggs’s murder, but I didn’t know how close they were. I didn’t know how it all tied back to you. I’ve given him more control over the past year, finally taking my last steps out. I’m getting too old to deal with this shit.” Dane’s father nudges Mike absentmindedly with his toe, then picks up the gun. Dane’s gun. He palms it, examining it thoughtfully.

  “I should’ve expected it would start to go sour when he stopped telling me things. Filled me in on mishaps weeks after the fact.”

  Dane doesn’t respond to that. His eyes tighten, as if he’s thinking. “How did you know to come here? How did Trey know to come here?”

  “Tracking device, I suspect. You’ll probably find it somewhere in your undercarriage. You quit working at the shop, and Trey couldn’t stand not knowing where you were and what you were doing. Like I said, paranoia. I think he was using more than he was running, in his final days.”

  His words sink in slowly, like rainwater on saturated ground. There’s too much to absorb right now. I heard one man die, and watched another, and somehow Dane and I survived in the middle of it. The womp of the sirens grows closer with each passing second.

  It’s Dane who speaks up and asks the all-important question. “So what happens now?”

  Ben holds up the pistol, flexing his fingers around the handle. “We tell them everything. I come clean and declare your innocence. I tell them what I know about these two, how they implicated you in Dalton’s murder and used that as collateral for cash. We’ve got a dead cop on our hands, but that was self-defense. Our testimonies might not carry much weight, but Raven’s will. I have no problem handing over the names of the guys Trey used to carry all this out. They’re all pussies, anyway. They’ll be singing in exchanged for a plea deal.”

  Dane shakes his head, not understanding. “But . . . bringing them down will cause all sorts of shit. It won’t be long before they’re sending guys after your head. Not to mention the investigation this will spark with the feds, the things they’ll find out about the business.”

  Ben’s lips thin, and he spreads his hands casually. “It was never supposed to be this way, son. I did the things I did for your mother. Now she’s gone, and so is one of the sons I was trying to protect through it all. I never wanted Trey or you to end up in the business, but once he was in, I couldn’t just throw my cards down and back out of the game. I had to keep an eye on him. For him. For you. Now’s your chance to be free of this damned place and make something of yourself. Take it, Dane. Take it and run with it, and don’t look back.” When Dane’s mouth gapes, his father holds a hand up to halt his response. “Do it for your mother.”

  With those five words, Dane’s protests die on his lips. Red and blue revolving lights flash through the trees, and headlights skip over us as emergency vehicles turn down the gravel drive. Ben nods at Dane, Dane wraps his arm tighter around my shoulders, and we start back the way we came: toward the burning house instead of away from it.

  It’s amazing how much damage a fire can do in such a short amount of time, though it feels like we were in the woods for hours. The top floor of the old house is blackened and caved in, and the fire still feasts on the lower story. Nobody notices our odd party of three until Gulliver barks, alerting them to our presence. He bolts out of a firefighter’s grasp and darts over to Dane, wiggling and leaping and whining in happiness. Dane drops to his knees and scratches Gulliver’s fur, burying his face in the dog’s neck. It’s an emotional moment that’s interrupted only by the approaching police officer. I flinch when his hand lands on his belt. On his gun.

  “Stop right where you are and put your hands up! You, drop your weapon! I said drop your weapon!”

  I try to get a handle on the anxiety sparking my pulse. My hands automatically go up, and my eyes find Dane’s. He is steady and strong and determined. With a quirk of his mouth, just a trace of his charming grin, calm seems to rinse the fear from my veins. And here, in the middle of the chaos I swore to myself I’d avoid, I begin to feel the first shred of reassurance that everything will be okay.

  We’re questioned well into the night about the events that took place at Dane’s house. I don’t hold back any details regarding what I know to be true, leaving out what I’ve only heard from conversations with Dane. I’ll leave those parts to him. I begin with the break-in at my house, along with the threats, admit to my stolen keys and phone, and recant everything that happened last night. Warnings including terms like “obstruction of justice” are relayed to me in regards to my white lie, but I hardly hear them. And fortunately, all our stories corroborate—after all, we agreed to tell the truth.

  Dane is held a lot longer, which is understandable. He does have over a decade of firsthand witness accounts of what he went through with his brother. I wait in an uncomfortable plastic chair at the police station, numbly sipping stale coffee. I asked earlier about the firefighters who were battling the blaze at the house, and the only thing I was told was that nobody was injured. That’s reassuring, at least.

  At some point in the early hours of morning, when the filtered light of dawn is fighting to cut through the thick fog outside, I’m offered a donut by one of the officers coming off the night shift. I tear the bread off in little balls, eating a few of them while I wait. They’re as tasteless as paper on my tongue. Time seems to stand still, but I can see by the growing shaft of light slicing through the door that it’s not.

  My head is leaned back against the wall when I hear a door closing and two sets of boots tracking toward me. I open my eyes almost as an afterthought, already accustomed to being disappointed each time I see it’s just another staff member, but my breath catches when my eyes land on Dane. He doesn’t look heart-achingly handsome despite the circles beneath his eyes and his soiled clothing, but rather because of them. Because I know what every mark on his clothes and skin means. It is just a physical depiction of the hell he’s been through. Even now, I can’t fully understand what kinds of marks his soul bears.

  I don’t think I’ve ever felt so relieved to wrap my arms around him. Maybe when he showed up at my house after the break-in, or last night, after his father shot Mike and I knew the danger was done. Maybe it will always be a relief to fall into the arms of someone who feels like home, knowing he’ll catch me every time.

  Home.

  I know now that I’ve found it, in the last place I ever expected to.

  TWENTY-SIX

  “Nope, it’s still crooked. Might need to drop that right side about a centimeter.” Lynn elbows me in the side, stifling a giggle. It’s the third time she’s asked Dane to adjust the sign hanging over the entrance to her store.

  “You sure you’re growing a baby in there and not a future tyrant?” Dane snipes over his shoulder, wiping sweat off his brow. August in Tennessee is stifling, but the view isn’t half-bad. He’s up on a ladder, his hip resting against the top while he adjusts the sign that proudly announces the name of Lynn’s new shop: Reclaim. Lynn and I have been directing the manpower for the past few hours, and this is the final bullet on the to-do list for her store opening this weekend. As for the rest of the designing . . .

  “Are y’all getting anything done out here besides harassment?” Serena goads through the glass door. Her eyes are narrowed shrewdly, but I’ve come to accept that
’s just her standard expression, especially when it comes to dealing with me.

  “Did you bring us those popsicles I asked for from the store?” Lynn shoots back, eyebrows arched in defiance. It’s a face-off I would not like to be caught in the middle of, though I know they’re only messing around. Mostly. Lynn took to Serena instantly, Serena’s sharp remarks rolling right off her thick, couldn’t-give-a-damn skin, but the clash of their strong personalities sometimes makes for terrifying confrontations.

  “Like hell I did. The last thing we need is a popsicle party pushing back this opening, and the way you two are moving, I don’t think we’ll even need the popsicles for that to happen.” Serena lets the door slam behind her, disappearing into the shop.

  “She is a force to be reckoned with,” Dane murmurs, dusting off his pants. He ascends the ladder and wipes his face with the hem of his shirt, giving us an eyeful of toned abdomen. After two months of mostly-uninterrupted, somewhat-normal dating, I can’t say I’m tired of him yet. I take that as a good sign.

  I nod in agreement. “Truer words have never been spoken.”

  After Lynn gave Serena her wholehearted approval for the designs, Serena dove into planning mode. She gave us input on different rental spaces and presentation ideas, and when I asked her to be here to help prepare for the opening, it seemed to seal the deal on our new-and-improved relationship. There is no changing her smug, I-know-better-than-you attitude, but I won’t be greedy. It’s a miracle we’ve come this far.

  Serena emerges through the door, carrying a crate. “Here, make yourself useful,” she says, handing it off to me. “Those are for the ladder. Make it look pretty. And Dane, can you help me with something inside?”