Samuel Foster
Watching Arielle fight to reach me, I’ve never felt such agony. Such unadulterated grief. It eclipses the searing heat at my back. The sorrow of losing Atticus and Munchkin barely touch it. It’s sheer love, something I realize I’ve never truly known before. And in this moment, I know I’ll do anything…anythingto save this woman. And her son.
Austin.
The kid is watching me curiously. Throughout the ordeal, he was the only one who seemed to maintain any sort of calm. It’s astonishing to me. Knowing how fragile his state of mind can be, I’m amazed at how incredibly strong he is. There is so much more to him than meets the eye. If anything, it cements my decision right now. I tear my eyes from the woman weeping on the path, look over at the boy and wink at him.
He stares up at me a second, then lifts his hand and raises a finger to his lips. I give a small smile and mimic the gesture.
And then I turn and stride back into the inferno.
Chapter 9
"Damn him to hell"
Buford
“Mother of God, what the fuck is he doing?” Gregory Buford yelled from the back of his car. Once the cops pulled up, he had to get out of the limelight, but there was no way he was leaving with his prize so close within his grasp.
“I dunno, boss, looks like he’s going back in the house,” said the heavy at his side. Buford shot him a baleful glare.
“I can see that, you idiot!” Buford raged. “It was a rhetorical question.”
Vinnie stared at him, mouth opening and closing like a goldfish, and Buford had no doubt that the moron had no idea what a rhetorical question was.
“I…uh…I think…he…uh…” Vinnie stuttered.
The man was clearly trying to come up with an answer.
“Jesus wept!” Buford yelled, crushing his cigar in his fist, barely registering the pain of the embers in his palm. He was watching that motherfucker, Colt, not only walk into the flaming house, but shutting the door behind him. There was no way he would survive in there.
Beyond the police siren wail, he picked up the lower honking sound of approaching fire engines. They’d made pretty good time, all things considered. But the quaint, ranch-style family home in front of him was made largely out of timber. Once the boys had worked their magic, it had gone up like a tinderbox. If it wasn’t for the fact that the fucker was inside there, Buford would have grinned.
“Look on the upside, boss,” said Vinnie. “Ain’t nobody coming out of that place alive…the joint’s a fucking furnace.” As he said the words, a support beam within the house creaked, cracked and collapsed, loudly enough for them to hear it from their position up the road. The roof sagged, then sank into the building with a crash that sent sparks and embers shooting into the air.
The flames were sky high now, and Buford almost imagined he could feel the heat from where he was sitting. Despite Vinnie’s words, he wasn’t feeling any ‘upside’. He’d wanted Colt dead, that’s for sure. But not just that. He’d wanted to kill him himself. Wanted to tighten his hands around the fucker’s throat and feel the life seeping out of him.
Red rage continued to build within him, matching the heat of the fire that raged outside. It felt as if he’d been simmering since the night he’d learned of the diamond’s disappearance.
“Damn him!” Buford scream. “Damn him to hell!” And without warning, he swung at the man beside him. Before Vinnie could duck, Buford’s fist had connected with his cheek. Vinnie raised his hands to fend off the blows that were suddenly raining down on his head, shoulders, and chest.
Gregory Buford had grown up on the streets. The sensation of flesh and bone pulverizing beneath his fists had been burned into his brain. It been had how he’d earned his way to the top. He’d take on any contender…he was fearless, and he loved it. He grinned now as he heard the satisfying crunch of the man’s cheekbone shattering beneath his fist.
His hands and face were splattered with the other man’s blood by the time he’d vented his fury. Vinnie Lombardo had stopped moving long before Buford had finished his beating.
Chapter 10
Implausible Affair
Arielle Nygard
Ifollow Tim up the stairs to his third-story apartment, numb with shock and fatigue. Austin fell asleep on the ride over here and didn’t wake when Tim lifted him out of the car. At the door, Tim fumbles with his keys and leads the way inside once it’s unlocked. He flicks a light switch next to the door and I squint in the sudden brightness.
“Sit,” he says, gesturing to the couch. I comply without thinking. I’m running on autopilot. Tim lays Austin down next to me and fetches a blanket to cover my sleeping son. Then he brings me a glass of water. My throat burns slightly as I swallow, which helps to scrub away the shock. I look over at Tim, sitting beside me now, and feel my eyes fill with tears. A second later, the dam breaks, and my grief is expelled in a howl of pain. Tim gathers me into his arms and rocks me gently as I sob.
Five minutes later, my tears ebb. My heart is broken, but I’m all cried out. Tim brings me a box of tissues. I wipe my eyes and my runny nose, still sniveling occasionally. “Why?” I ask plaintively. “Why did he have to go back into the house?” I can’t believe that Sam is gone. In the blink of an eye, I’ve lost love. Again. I feel like the universe is punishing me, but I don’t know for what.
“He did it for you,” Tim says gently. “I’m so sorry, Arielle.”
