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ChapterOne
Theslap, slap, slapof his shoes hitting the pavement echoed in the fog that crept over the sleeping city.
He was slicked with sweat and his lungs burned with each laboring breath, but still he ran faster, punishing his body, punishing himself, as he fought the urge to look over his shoulder. It never seemed to matter how fast he ran, because his past continued to haunt him.
Shane Quincy knew all about ghosts and personal demons. He knew about the terror of the innocent and their screams that still filled his head. He knew about heartbreak and sorrow because it plagued him with every breath he took. And most of all, he knew about fear—fear that clawed its way up from the pit of his belly and left a bitter taste in his mouth—and horrors so devastating they could break the soul of a man who’d been trained for the worst humanity had to offer.
He’d been the best the government had to offer. But even his best hadn’t been good enough.
He slowed his steps as a heavy drizzle blanketed the deserted New Orleans street and hunched over, propping his hands on his knees as he gasped for breath and tried to ease the aching in his chest. He knew from experience that the ache would never go away, but he tried just the same.
For two years his routine hadn’t changed. The nightmares would come, waking him in a cold sweat with the taste of bile rising in the back of his throat. The covers would be damp and twisted beneath his restless body and his senses would be primed. But the echoes of the screams were only in his imagination, so he’d slip on his sweatpants and a T-shirt, leave his empty apartment, careful not to disturb the dark-haired woman in 3A, and he’d run for miles through the Big Easy. Fast and hard, as if he were running for his life. And in some ways he was.
The drizzle turned into a downpour and Shane laughed bitterly as he raised his face to the sky. He began running again, this time at a slower tempo, and turned left off First Street onto Prytania.
The old white gothic mansion sat on the corner, surrounded by stooped oaks that dripped Spanish moss, and a black iron fence gave the residents a semblance of privacy. He never would have been able to afford the place when he was working for the FBI, but he’d found out very quickly that moving into the private sector offered him a way of life he’d never imagined. Of course, he’d never meant to live that life alone. But here he was.
His skin was chilled and his dark hair, which was in desperate need of a trim, dripped into his eyes as he typed in the security code for the wrought-iron gate that protected him and the other residents. Only four of the six units were occupied, the effects of the pandemic still making people wary of putting down roots.
There was a young couple on the first floor, both of them Loyola law graduates and college football fans based on the weekly gatherings they hosted. They’d given him an open invitation to stop by anytime, but being around people for long periods of time tended to make him itchy.
There was a tenured NOU professor who lived on the second floor. He tended to have frequent overnight houseguests, many of them young enough to be his grad students, and he liked to cook. Shane knew this firsthand because his balcony was just below his own and he often left the French doors open.
Then there was the woman who’d moved in across the hall from him a few weeks before.
She was quiet. He never heard her television or radio on. She had Chinese food delivered at least once a week, and she didn’t stick to any pattern of coming and going at particular times of the day. She hadn’t had any visitors and she was skittish to the point that every time he passed her he felt like he needed to look over his shoulder, just to make sure.
Despite her neighborly qualifications, he found her presence irritating. It had been two years since the longing for a woman had reached up from inside him and taken hold. He’d not felt anything in the two years since Maggie had died. Nothing but emptiness and grief and anger.
But this woman had broken his fast. She was Maggie’s complete opposite—hair dark as night and piercing blue eyes—and she walked with a confidence that would intimidate most men. Most being the key word. He’d never been like most men. And he’d always enjoyed a good challenge.
But every time he felt the attraction come over him, it was followed by a rush of shame. As if he were being disloyal to his wife. Parts of him had died with her, and dead men weren’t supposed to feel things.
The gate clattered closed behind him, and he moved quickly to the side of the house where white wooden staircases led to the upper floor apartments. Shane was almost to the third floor before he smelled the smoke. The rain and the wind had dampened the scent so it was barely recognizable, but it was there. He was sure of it.
He raced the rest of the way up the stairs to the third floor and saw the licks of flame taunting him from the windows. The sight was hypnotic, the reds and oranges of the fire as it danced a path of destruction. The front door and one of the windows were open, feeding the inferno with much-needed oxygen so it spread quickly through the rooms, up the thick drapes and onto the ceiling. And even from the entrance he could smell the pungent scent of gasoline.
Black smoke billowed out the open window and door, and he cursed himself for leaving his cell phone on his nightstand. Fire alarms shrieked and he hoped the other tenants heard them.
He didn’t pay attention to the splintered wood on the open door as he charged into the smoke and biting flames to see if his neighbor was still inside. His adrenaline was pumping and he didn’t miss the irony of the situation, that a failure such as himself would be put in the role of hero once again. He hadn’t been able to save anyone in a long time. He could barely save himself.
Their common entryway was filled with smoke and he kicked at her door, splintering the old wood. Her apartment was a mirror image of his own, and he ran sense instead of sight down the long hallway to the bedrooms at the back. Paint blistered the walls. Black smoke blurred his vision and clogged his lungs, so he ducked down on his hands and knees and crawled the rest of the way to the bedroom. The fire wasn’t contained to one area but seemed to be everywhere at once, racing toward some unseen finish line where the prize was utter destruction. The blaze was scorching hot and windows shattered as the pressure built hotter and higher inside the fiery walls.
Shane heard the coughs and the pants that sounded more animal than human as he crawled over the threshold into the master bedroom. The air was slightly clearer, but it wouldn’t be for long. He stood up quickly and used his shirt to wipe his burning eyes before taking stock of the situation. What he saw built a fury in his gut that he hadn’t felt in a long time.
The woman was handcuffed to the wooden slats on her headboard, her eyes wide and panic stricken, and they became even more so when she saw him enter the room. The lady was terrified, but not just of the fire. She was afraid of him, and her struggles became even more frantic. He knew she would have screamed if she could have, but the smoke was thick and she doubled over in a coughing fit. Her black hair was matted around her temples and the boxer shorts and tank top she’d been sleeping in were wilted and sweat slicked. Her wrist was raw and bloody where she’d been pulling against her restraints.
“I’m not going to hurt you,” Shane called out. He didn’t know if she heard him or not, but he moved toward her anyway because they were running out of time. He could hear the blare of sirens from below, but it was up to him to get them both out alive.
He touched her on the shoulder and was caught off guard as she came up swinging with her free hand. It barely glanced off his shoulder, but he was impressed by her tenacity. She was no coward, that was for sure.
“I’m not going to let you kill me!” she screamed. “When I get out of here I’m going to send you back to my uncle in a body cast.”
She fought against him like a caged animal until he wrapped both of his arms around her and squeezed tightly.
“I’m not going to hurt you,” he repeated. “We’ve got to get out of here. We’re running out of time.”
She went into another fit of coughing and he used her distraction to kick at the wooden slats on the headboard. They were sturdy and thick, the antique obviously made to last centuries. Shane kicked again and put everything he had behind the force. The woman finally caught on that he was there to help and began pulling her weight against the steel bonds. A crack echoed through the room as the headboard gave way, and Shane barely caught her as the momentum from pulling against the cuffs almost sent them both to the floor.
