“Watch where you’re going, jackass!” A biker nearly clips me, leaving a trail of expletives behind him.
I don’t stop.
The air clouds with dust and plastic the closer I get, scorching my airways. Sirens wail. People shout over each other, the chaos growing louder with every step.
By the time I skid to a stop at the yellow tape surrounding the site, my pulse is erratic, and my mouth is dry. Scanning the scene, I desperately try to spot somebody I recognize.
Thick, dark smoke bleeds from the shattered windows around the lobby, curling upward. Above, cracks spiderweb across the glass, creeping toward the middle floors, but a flicker of hope cuts through the panic.
The top floors, the executive offices, still look intact.
“Adam.” Derrick barks over the noise and waves me over, nodding to the officer keeping onlookers at bay.
Sliding under the security tape, I seize on the one thing that steadies me: he looks pissed off, not devastated.
Metal and glass crunch under my shoes, and I take in the clusters of law enforcement officers and FBI agents swarming the scene, hoping to pick up a clue, anything to figure out what all of this means.
A layer of chalky gray powder coats all the cars parked on the curb, some with their windows blown in. It looks post-apocalyptic. I still can’t grasp the reality of what I’m seeing.
I stay close to Rawlings’ security chief, almost afraid to ask. “What the hell happened?”
“Tent,” is all he says, and I have no choice but to follow him toward the large white structure, flapping open as agents move in and out.
“Where is—”
Derrick peels back the fold, and my heart gets stuck in my throat.
There she is.
The bane of my existence.
The stain on my soul.
Unharmed, arms crossed, standing tall amid all the chaos.
Not trapped under rubble. Not maimed. Still on this side of the grass.
Jackie’s alive and scowling beside a large white table filled with papers and laptops, surrounded by Rawlings’ security team and a fleet of men and women in blue FBI windbreakers.
“We’ve cleared the last floors,” a middle-aged agent says. Jackie nods, her features strained, but her shoulders dip just a fraction.
A short-haired woman approaches us, voice sharp. “I want full access to your security footage, logs, employee information, and records.” Her tone leaves no room for argument.
Without looking up, Derrick replies, fingers furiously typing on his tablet. “Sending everything from the past seven days.”
No one is paying attention to me yet, so I edge closer to the table, until I get a clear view of Jackie’s face.
Everything else fades away. All I can focus on is the way her brows are drawn together, and her knuckles are white where she grips the edge of the table.
My muscles coil, every part of me straining to reach for her. Comfort her. But I stifle the urge. Hard.
Her light blonde strands and designer suit are streaked with soot, but thankfully I don’t see any visible injuries. And just likethat, the fear, weighing me down since I read the news, pours out of me like sand from a torn burlap sack.
From the command center, I get a better view of the damage. You’d think somebody hit the front door with a grenade. Slowly, the veil of charred haze unravels in ripples. And once it clears, the shiny red letters painted on the unbroken glass stand out, delivering a sharp stab to my insides all over again.
The unwanted urge to protect her slams into me with overwhelming force.
“What does that say?” A voice cuts through the noise. Heads swivel to the window.
