“Well, you can make it up to me by not doing that reality series. Sort of surprised you didn’t show up with a film crew.” Jules made a show of peeking out the window. “Nope. Not there.”
“As if Sloane would let that happen without your okay. I didn’t tell anyone I was on my way over except your mom. And that was when I was parked a block away, already here. I mean, Tabitha knows. It was her idea I talk to you—”
“Why would Sloane—” Jules didn’t care. Sloane had more sway in Hollywood than Jules might, if she was honest. Given the number of times Jules’s name had been thrown into the online marketing campaign for Mason and Olivia’s pregnancy reality show, she shouldn’t be surprised that Sloane and her legal team had stipulations for how her name was used.
The doorbell rang. Wes had been out of sight but possibly not out of hearing range of their conversation. He didn’t glance over as he made his way to the door.
“It’s late,” Olivia remarked. “I hope I didn’t start a trend.”
Jules hoped Rhys had returned. That he’d been gone this long didn’t bode well.
“Jules.” Wes hustled from the front entryway. “Let’s go.” He grabbed her by the elbow. “Come on.”
Olivia rested her hand on her stomach, outlining the baby bump. “What’s—”
Dad rushed into the living room, half dragging Abigail, half pushing Mom. He made eye contact with Wes. Mom held her phone out as Dad prodded them along. The security camera’s live feed was streaming, but Jules couldn’t tell what was happening.
From the front living room, glass shattered. An alarm blared.
“Go,” Wes commanded, unholstering a weapon tucked under his shirt. “Now.”
Glass shattered again. Jules pivoted toward the back of the house.
“Now!” Wes shouted.
Jules snagged Olivia by the arm, leading the charge.
The alarms screeched. Their neighbors would call the cops, though the system had already notified authorities. All they had to do was make it upstairs.
She faltered. What if this were a fire? The safe room wasn’t a fireproof vault.
Rushing boots stampeded behind them. Wes shouted. Noise crackled, and gunfire popped. Then something whizzed over her head—not a bullet.
But their group collided, tripping and falling over themselves to get up the sweeping staircase.
That noise sounded again, hissing and thumping. Thick, acrid smoke surrounded them. An unbreathable cloud blanketed them. Her eyes watered. She couldn’t breathe. The taste assaulted her tongue. Bile swilled at the back of her throat.
They rushed up the stairs, tripping as they climbed.
Olivia is pregnant.“Pull your shirt over your face.”
They reached the second floor. Jules stumbled, blinded by the smoke. Tears raced down her cheeks. She couldn’t hear Dad or Wes. “Is Mom behind us?”
Gunfire popped.
Abigail lumbered with Mom up the stairs.
Olivia faltered. “I can’t—”
Jules yanked Olivia, who bent over and retched.
A rough hand grabbed Jules’s shoulder. “Wes. Get her—” She tried to hand Olivia off, but couldn’t catch her breath. Dizzy, she couldn’t make her arms listen. Her brain’s commands glitched. A hand slapped over her face. Jules couldn’t take another breath.
She clawed at the arm, fighting against the hold. She tried to inhale but couldn’t.
As she blinked, black dots danced in her peripheral vision, obscuring the smoky, awful haze. The dots and the white smoke mingled until the dark shadows overtook the white clouds.
Then her world snapped to black.
