CALEB
I loiter in the kitchen,keeping my distance as I eavesdrop on the conversation. James Taylor probes way above his pay grade, asking way more questions than is necessary.
“How did the house catch fire?”
“The stove,” Piper replies with a trembling voice. “It was old, and there was nothing in the manual that said I needed to replace it after so many years. It was fine. There were no previous issues. And they were known for their durability.”
Sounds like she’s covered all bases…
“And you bought this oven yourself, Ms. Hart?”
“No. My father did, actually.”
“And where is your father now? Can you provide me with an address?”
My ribs contract. Piper hasn’t yet mentioned her father, which means he’s still probably in Boston with the chick.
The news was still fresh when I landed in town nine years ago.
She has it all handled now, but I wonder at what expense.
“My father moved away nine years ago, and is uncontactable.” Piper’s voice is small. “He used to own the house.”
“And you are the new legal owner?”
“Yes. I pay the mortgage.”
The frown in James Taylor’s brow deepens, like he doesn’t believe she’s capable of handling her own finances.
I clench my hands into fists. Piper is a trooper, and is more than fucking capable.
He asks more box-ticking questions, scribbling down Piper’s answers as she struggles to respond in full sentences.
Is he trying to investigate her for insurance fraud?
My ribs crush into my heart.
New York City.
Six years ago.
My good friend of many years leaps into a fire to save the three remaining victims. The flames are almost as tall as the office block. Smoke everywhere. Violent enough to damage our respiratory equipment.
Gareth is in there with a breathing aid strapped around him…
But it’s not gonna keep him alive.
He materializes through heavy plumes of smoke with two thirds of the remaining victims. Paramedics take away the choking patients, and reach out next for Gareth, but he’salready back inside the building, determined to rescue the third.
“Everyone’s out,” reports a suited man—the company’s senior manager.
And that’s when I stop breathing.
“Gareth’s still in there looking for a victim that doesn’t exist!”
I lunge forward, but the second unit of officers steer me back toward the truck. “Don’t. He’s gone, Rourke.”
“Not yet.”
