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For a moment I stand there, and I can breathe again. The doorbell rings, a third time and I hurry across the room and down the stairs. I reach the door and peek out of the window. Sure enough, it’s Kasey. I open the door and motion him inside. “I thought you were going to call?”
“My phone died, and I didn’t have a charger on me. Are you hungry?”
“I am. Where do you want to go?”
“Freda’s?”
“Oh yes. I love that place. What do you think about ordering in so we have more time to talk?”
“That sounds good.”
We head to the kitchen, and I find the number for Freda’s. Once our order is placed, Kasey comments on the decor. “I love the place. And don’t you have an amazing studio here? I’d love to see it. I watched you grow up. This stuff makes me proud.”
“Of course. Come on.” I motion him forward, and we head up the stairs.
…
Nick
I am the luckiest fucking man on the planet. After Faith hangs up, I’m relieved. I’m so damn relieved, and considering I’d been jogging when she called, trying to calm my fucking mind, I head to the shower. I make it fast and dress in the closest pair of jeans I can find and a T-shirt from the Art Forum. I open the nightstand drawer and pull out the velvet box there, opening it to display the ring: classic, round, elegant, and one of a kind, just like Faith. The important item, the ring, goes in my pocket. I’m proposing now, tonight.
I’ve just pulled on my boots when Beck calls. “Listen and listen carefully. I just pulled my man off Faith’s house. I had no option. Jess Wild is in play. He’s a bad dude, and while my men are good, they don’t have his skill or nastiness. I can’t risk one of them without the other with this guy. But he’s the dangerous one. We have him in our sights. Faith will be fine.”
“Jess Wild meaning the ex-CIA flag guy?”
“Yes.”
I’m already walking toward my car. “Tell me what the hell you’ve been working on.”
“My CIA pal connected us to the right people. Turns out the agency has had eyes on Jess and Bill for a while now, but Jess went off radar several months ago. Jess disappeared after you saw him that day, but we have eyes on him tonight, and they want us to detain him.”
“Fuck me,” I say, climbing into my car and starting the engine. “I don’t like how this sounds. I’m going to Faith’s house just to be safe.”
“And just so you know, there’s another player.”
“Who?”
“The guy who runs the winery. Kasey. But there is reason to believe he’s being blackmailed.”
“Holy fuck. He’s at Faith’s house.” I back out the drive and disconnect Beck, dialing Faith. She doesn’t answer. “Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.” I dial again. And again.
I round the corner, and there are flames coming from the direction of Faith’s house. Everything goes into slow motion from there. I call 911, and the minute I turn onto Faith’s long drive, it’s clear the house is engulfed. I end the call and gun my engine, screeching to a halt in front of her house, and I’m out of the door the minute I’m in park. I launch myself forward and up the stairs, but I can’t get the door to open. I try the code. Still nothing. It’s jammed. Wasting no more time, I kick the window over and over until it cracks. I yank the pieces away, my hands bleeding, but I don’t care. I enter the house, and holy hell, the entire downstairs is on fire. “Faith!” I shout. “Faith!”
“Nick! Nick, help! I’m upstairs.”
I jump flames left, right, left, covering my mouth as I reach the stairwell, which is all but consumed by flames. “Go to the window!” I shout.
“It doesn’t open!”
This is not good news, and I study the top half of the steps that are not yet engulfed. I don’t think. I act. I jump over the flames and grab the railing, launching myself over the top, flames scorching my jeans and my fucking hair and neck. I pat it out, or I hope I do, but keep moving. The minute I see Faith, I breathe out, relieved, but I stay focused. “We have to break the window,” I say, the sound of sirens lifting in the air.
“I tried,” she says, coughing, using one of her smocks to cover her face. “It won’t break.”
“Call 911 and tell them we’re trying to break the glass.” I use my shirt to cover my mouth and run into the office and dig around, finding a tool kit and grabbing a hammer. The flames are now at the door. I find the spot near the tree I know climbs her house and start pounding the glass over and over, harder and harder, and finally it cracks, but not enough. And smoke is everywhere, the thick air challenging my lungs, but I keep moving. I kick the glass again and repeat, then go at it with the hammer again. Another crack follows. Then another.
Finally, there’s a hole.
That’s when there is movement and noise outside, shouts lifting in the air. A firefighter sticks his head through the hole I’ve created. “Stand back!” he shouts, and I don’t miss how he looks ominously at the flames quickly encroaching on us.
