Chapter 18

Trace’s eyes eased open, and he blinked several times, slowly adjusting to the semidarkness in the bedroom. Moonlight crept in between the slats of the blinds, allowing just enough light for him to make out portions of the room.

He lay still, wondering what had awakened him. Listening for any sounds, he only heard Connie’s soft snores. He glanced down at where she was snuggled against him, her head resting on his chest and her wild curls hiding her face.

Despite how things had turned out at the fashion show, the rest of the evening had been amazing. If there was such a thing as being addicted to a person, that was what he was. He couldn’t imagine them going back to status quo: being just friends.

After their first round of sex, they’d gotten up and bumped around in the kitchen in search of snacks. Everything from leftover chicken and vegetables to popcorn and trail mix had made it to their plates. More importantly, they talked about anything and everything, from the latest movies they’d seen to favorite sex positions. No subject was off-limits. Once they were finished eating and chatting, they had tidied up the kitchen and returned to the bedroom for another round of mind-blowing sex. That was why he should’ve been knocked out, like Connie, but Trace had never been a sound sleeper.

He brushed his hand up and down Connie’s hip and felt his eyes drift closed as sleep gently pulled him back under. No sooner had he felt himself falling into a deep sleep than he heard his cell phone on the bedside table vibrating.

Trace tensed. Nothing good ever came from a phone call at three o’clock in the morning.

Trying not to wake Connie, he stretched out his left arm and twisted slightly until his hand made contact with the device. Squinting, he glanced at the screen and saw his brother’s name.

Langston.

“Yeah,” he answered.

“I have it on good authority that there was a breach with the bank’s security footage that the FBI obtained,” Langston said by way of greeting. “They were able to tell that someone else was viewing the video of the robbery while the Feds were viewing it.”

The unease from a moment ago quickly exploded into foreboding. Trace didn’t have to ask what bank, but why bounced around inside his head.

“Not sure who or why,” Langston continued, as if reading Trace’s mind. “The tech team assumes the hacker was looking for something. Or someone. I’m letting you know because I took a look at the footage, Trace. There’s a good shot of Connie.”

Trace bolted upright, forgetting that Connie was lying on him. She mumbled something in her sleep and turned onto her side, her back facing him.

“When did all of this happen?” he questioned, his voice low. “I mean, how long have the Feds known there might’ve been a breach?”

“I’m thinking they got the video the day of the robbery, but I have no idea when they realized the problem.” Langston had been whispering during the whole conversation. Now there was an echo in the background, as if he was walking through a tunnel. “I found out a few hours ago, but just had a chance to give you a heads-up.”

“Where are you?”

“Out and about,” he said.

Trace assumed his brother was on some type of assignment. Otherwise, he would’ve called earlier and not in the middle of the night.

“I’m heading home in a few, and before you ask, I don’t have anything else to share. This all might be a whole lot of nothing. It can even be a glitch in the system, but the tech team definitely believes someone hacked that part of the bank’s network. By the way, you didn’t hear this from me. They’re trying to keep it quiet until they know...”

The crashing sounds of glass breaking and a loud thunk snatched Trace’s attention. “Stay on the line,” he whispered and hastily slipped on his pants, then grabbed his gun.

Hurrying to the bedroom door, he cracked it open and glanced down the short hallway.

His heart slammed against his chest, and shock lodged in his gut.

Flames.

Before he could form a thought, the smoke detector blared.

“Trace!” his brother yelled in his ear, panic in his voice. “What is that? What’s happening?”

Trace hurried and closed the door. “Fire.” He quickly rattled off Connie’s address into the phone and learned that his brother was nearby. “Head this way, but don’t come to the house. We’re going to need a ride. I’ll call with our location.”

Connie jerked awake and bolted upright in bed, her bare breasts on full display and her hair sticking up all over. “What’s going—?”

“Get up,” Trace said in a rush. “We gotta get out of here.”

His heart pounded double time as his mind raced. His thoughts were all over the place as he stuck his gun in the back of his waistband and dropped his cell phone into his pants pocket. Then he snatched his dress shirt from a nearby chair and shrugged into it. Trace didn’t bother buttoning it while he slid his bare feet into his dress shoes. After grabbing his wallet and keys from the nightstand, he shoved them into his other pocket, then glanced around to see if he needed anything else.

There was just enough illumination from the attached bathroom’s night-light to cast a shadow around Connie. She stood in a daze as if still not comprehending that they needed to leave.

“Sweetheart, get dressed,” Trace said in a hurry. He bent down and snatched up his discarded T-shirt from the night before and tossed it to her.

She finally started moving, and he dashed to the bedroom door again and touched it. Hot. Carefully, he also touched the doorknob, which was hotter. That was when he noticed the smoke seeping in beneath the door.

“Damn. Sweetheart, we gotta get out of here.”

He yanked the covers from the bed and pushed them against the bottom of the door, then headed to the window overlooking the backyard. There was a short drop to the ground. He’d have no problem making it, but it might be a bit much for Connie.

“Trace?”

“Grab your purse. We have to go out this way.” Nothing else might be salvageable.

“But...”

Trace opened the window, punched out the screen and stuck his head out. This was one of those times when he was glad the light on Connie’s garage wasn’t on. Seeing no one, he pulled his head back into the room. The sleepiness on Connie’s face seconds ago—gone. Now there was fear.

At least she had put on the T-shirt. It also looked like she might’ve slipped on a pair of shorts. He had no idea what was in the backpack that she held, but he was glad she was finally moving.

“I’m going to jump first, and I need you to be right behind me, all right?”

Trace hated the idea of leaving her in the house, even for a second. But if they were going to get out of there in one piece, he had to go first.

“But—”

“This is the only way out,” he said before she could ask anything. “We gotta move. Now.”

“Okay. Okay,” she said, rocking from side to side and wringing her hands.

“Don’t wait. Follow me out immediately,” he demanded.

When Trace started climbing out of the window and glanced back at her, she was still looking around the room.

“Now, Connie.”

Trace put his legs through the window opening before sliding the rest of his body out. Gripping the sill, he dangled for a second, then dropped to the ground with a soft touch. He glanced up. Connie tossed the backpack and he caught it and quickly put it on.

Then Trace saw that she was out the window and hanging on the sill.

“Come on, sweetie,” he whispered loud enough for only her to hear. “Just drop. I got you.”

Connie did as he said and fell into his arms. She was such a lightweight. He didn’t bother lowering her to the ground, especially since she had on flip-flops.

Trace carried her, ignoring her whispered protests to be put down. She changed tactics, questioning him about where they were going, but he still didn’t respond. He positioned her in a fireman’s carry over his shoulder. Once he had a good hold of her, he took off in a run across her graveled backyard. No way was he going to the front of the house; whoever had started the fire would be watching.

Trace cut through the yard of the neighbor directly across from hers, glad there was no fence. Connie’s grip on the back of his shirt tightened as he ran through yards, between houses and down sidewalks, trying to stay in the shadows.

He heard a dog’s barking from nearby and sirens blared in the distance as Trace picked up speed.

“Trace, stop. Put me down,” Connie insisted, her voice raspy and her breaths coming in short spurts, as if she’d been the one running.

“Not yet.”

It had to be uncomfortable for her, the way he was bumping her around, but it couldn’t be helped. He glanced back over his shoulder to make sure no one was following them. There was no way she’d be able to keep up in flip-flops. Besides, they needed to get at least another block or two from the house.

At that time of the morning, the streets were quiet and the houses were dark. That was working in their favor, at least until they got closer to a main street in the neighborhood. Needing to stay in the shadows, Trace stuck with the side streets and headed for a low-rise apartment complex that was nearby. Connie was quiet, but her grip on the back of his shirt had tightened.

His breaths were coming hard and fast as adrenaline coursed through his veins. A little farther and then he could stop.

Trace had never been so glad to find yards that didn’t have fences. When they were a few blocks from her house, he stopped near a tall stucco building, pulled his phone from his pocket and called his brother.

“Where are you?” Langston’s voice boomed through the phone, and Trace gave him their location.

“I’m two minutes away, but stay on the line.”

“Okay.”

Connie shivered next to him, and Trace didn’t miss the way she kept swiping at her eyes. His heart ached for her. She’d been through enough the last week to last a lifetime...and now this.

What he saw the first time he’d looked back had propelled him to keep moving. Smoke billowed above Connie’s home. Yellow-and-orange flames poured from the windows and kissed the sky. He prayed the fire didn’t touch another home, but at the moment, his number one goal was to keep Connie safe.

Trace wrapped his arm around her and held her close. “It’s going to be okay,” he said. But how could he promise something like that to a person who had just lost everything?

Almost everything.

She was alive. They were alive.

When he heard her crying, Trace kissed the top of her head, but her sobs came harder. “Aww, baby. I’m so sorry.” He didn’t know how, and he didn’t know when, but he was going to fix this. He was going to find whoever had done this and make them pay.

“Trace? You there?” Langston said into his ear.

“Yeah. Where are you?”

“I’m pulling up. You should see me in a sec.”

A large dark SUV with even darker windows slowed in front of the building they were standing at the side of. Trace didn’t move until it came to a complete stop.Then he disconnected the call.

“Let’s go,” he said to Connie.

His arm was wrapped around her as he eased them from against the building. Trace glanced to his left, then right, before hurrying her toward the vehicle. After opening the back door, he ushered her in, then climbed in next to her.

“Thanks for the lift,” Trace said. “Do you have a blanket in here?”

“Reach behind you. There should be one in that tray.”

Seconds later, Trace wrapped it around Connie, who was trembling to the point of her teeth chattering.

“Is that better?” he asked.

She didn’t speak, only nodded.

“Where to?” Langston asked.

Trace hated to do this to Connie, but it needed to be done. “Drive around to her block. I want to see if anyone is outside who looks out of place.”

“I don’t think I can stand to see the house right now,” Connie sobbed, the sound gutting Trace. “And what if they, whoever did this, see us?”

“They won’t be able to see inside the vehicle, and Langston won’t actually drive down your block.”

He probably wouldn’t be able to, anyway, since there were likely a couple of fire trucks in front of the house.

She sighed and didn’t say anything else, only laid her head against his chest. Trace took that as her giving in to his request.

He glanced at Langston. “Go.”

There was nothing like the feeling of emptiness buried deep inside your soul knowing that you had just lost your home. Connie couldn’t stop the gut-wrenching, heart-hurting, throat-clogging tears that leaked from her eyes, pulling her into a despair that she knew she’d never rebound from.

As they sat at the street corner, inside Langston’s SUV, she watched in horror while yellow-orange flames shot from the roof and seemed to pour from every window of her home. Thick billows of smoke hovered in the sky like an angry thundercloud, looming above all the madness below. It didn’t matter that tons of firefighters were hosing down the house, trying hard to put out the fire. All she saw was her hard work—her world—going up in flames.

Her head hurt. Her heart ached.

How had this craziness of the past week become her life?

One day she was on top of the world with a great job, wonderful friends and a beautiful home. Then, within a heartbeat, everything changed. Bank robbery. Murders. Hit-and-run.

Now this.

The faster Connie wiped her eyes, the faster tears fell. The horrid stench of burning wood, tar, metal and wires... It was too much. It was all too much. A chilling numbness seeped into her bones and hung out there like an unwanted guest.

Connie dropped back against Trace, defeat weighing heavy in her chest. Sitting in the back seat of Langston’s SUV with Trace’s arms firmly wrapped around her helped. Yes, she was alive. Yes, she was safe. But right now, it still didn’t feel like it was enough.

She closed her eyes, trying to block out the sight of literally seeing her entire life go up in smoke. What if Trace hadn’t been there? What if he hadn’t moved into action immediately? When she woke up to the blaring of her smoke detector, her mind was full of fog. It had taken several minutes for her to wrap her brain around what was going on.

Again, the what-ifs started clogging her mind. Seemed she’d been pondering what-ifs a lot lately.

“Trace, where’s your car?” Langston asked.

“In the shop.”

Connie hadn’t even thought about her own car, parked in the garage. From where Langston had stopped his truck, at the corner of the block, the back of her house was out of view. She didn’t know if the fire had reached the garage. At the moment, Connie couldn’t think about that. She just kept her eyes closed, hoping to draw in some type of comfort in knowing that she and Trace were safe. They were alive.

That should be enough, she thought.

“Do you see anyone who looks out of place?” Langston asked. “Does anyone stand out? Some arsonists like to stick around and see their handiwork.”

Connie wasn’t sure if he was talking to her or Trace. Neither of them said a word, but if she knew Trace, he was probably looking at everybody and everything. Cataloging every detail of the scene.

As for her? She kept her eyes closed, unable to watch any longer. She had seen enough.

The silence in the car grew. Trace said nothing for a few minutes. Only held her tight enough to almost cause damage to her ribs. Connie opened her eyes and glanced at him. He was staring at something. She followed his line of view to a spot across the street from her house. Some of her neighbors, the ones who lived on each side of her, were outside, huddled together. There were also other people that she couldn’t identify.

“What is it, Trace?” she asked.

“It might not be anything, but there’s a guy in a black sweatshirt standing to the side by himself. He’s close enough to the small crowd to blend in, but also far enough away not to be noticed.”

Trace pulled out his phone. Connie wasn’t sure who he was calling that time of night... No, actually, it was morning. Either way, it was too early to be calling people. But instead of calling someone, he shot off a quick text.

“We can leave,” he told Langston. “Since you don’t live too far from here, take us home with you until I figure out next steps.”

“No problem” was all Langston said before he started driving.

“Who did you text?” Connie asked.

“Indie. It’s too late to reach the fashion-show organizers tonight, and I don’t want to wait for morning. I’m hoping she can help because I need to know the real name of the gray-eyed man. Because it sure as hell ain’t John Doe.”