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Firemen jumped out, rushing to pull the hose.
Andi stared, taking in the devastation surrounding them. The building ablaze.
Firefighters held the hose, the spray arching up in the air before landing down on the flames.
The sheriff pulled into the lot, his lights swirling. He angled his vehicle to block the parking lot from the road.
“You two okay?” a paramedic asked.
Christian looked at her.
“I’m fine.” Embarrassed she’d freaked out. Yes, it was a fire, but she was no longer that little girl in that four-alarm fire that scourged her childhood neighborhood. She’d been a federal agent, for goodness’ sake.
“I’ll need to take a look at you all the same,” the paramedic said. “I’m Josh, and you are?”
“Andi.”
“Well, Andi, why don’t we head over to the ambulance? Let me check you out.” He turned his attention on Christian. “You too, sir.”
Sir? The guy could only be a handful of years younger than Christian, but she supposed the southern twang in his voice indicated he’d been raised to overdo the politeness.
At least he knew better than to call herma’am.
They strode for the ambulance as the sheriff stepped over to meet them.
“Glad you’re okay, brother,” he said, clapping Christian’s hand.
“Me too.” Christian looked back at the building. The light spilling out from the open bay of the ambulance revealed the ash covering his handsome face.
She touched hers. Did it look the same? Marred by soot? She coughed.
“Right here, miss.” Josh patted the back of the open ambulance doors.
“I’ll be right back,” Christian said. “I want to talk to Harold.”
She nodded.
“Okay, let’s listen to those lungs,” Josh said.
An hour later, she sat on a cot in an ER bay, waiting for the doc to “observe” her.
The cool liquid from the IV chilled the vein in her hand where the needle was secured with white tape that pulled the skin.
Christian was somewhere in the ER, but it was frustrating not knowing where. They needed to talk about the fact someone had tried to kill them twice in less than twenty-four hours.
¦¦¦
Cyrus tapped his foot, waiting for Teresa to answer. She owed him well over a hundred thousand. The ’89 Chateau Haut-Brion collection was nearly thirty thousand per lot—of that he was certain. He’d invested so much time researching the heist locations and the items cataloged in each, spent equal time planning them out.That’s why he couldn’t lose his partner yet. Unfortunately, Casey possessed skills he needed to see their plan through, but when it was done, he was as dead as Julia.
“Yes, Cyrus,” Teresa finally answered, her voice belabored.
Yap. Yap. Yap.
Great. She had that stupid dog close. On her lap, he’d bet. Insipid ball of hair had bitten him multiple times.If Teresa or one of her husband’s goons wouldn’t have shot him for doing so, he’d have killed that stupid animal years ago.
“What is it?” she asked, the connection blipping in and out.
“I thought you were calling off Enrique.”
