My jaw drops in pure surprise. The fire starts a lot faster than I would’ve guessed. Smoke billows from the doorway as Gabe strolls down the stoop humming to himself, a gun drawn in his hands. He watches the door for a beat, not moving, for about thirty seconds before giving up.
“Rotten luck,” he says, getting back into the car and shoving the gun away.
“No good, sir?”
“Nobody home.” Gabe grins at me as the driver takes off.
I crane my neck to watch the fire curling from the open, ruined doorway. Pedestrians are gathering out front and several of them have phones out.
“What the hell was that?”
"The opening salvo of what I suspect will be a very violent vacation.” He rubs my knee and kisses my cheek. “Now, how about we go shopping?”
I stare at him like he’s gone insane.
Until laughter bubbles up from my core.
This is crazy. Absolutely wild. I watched my husband break into a house and throw a Molotov cocktail inside in broad daylight. Then he stood there waiting for someone to come rushing out—probably so he could kill them.
And he wants to go shopping.
“I’d love that,” I say, leaning against his shoulder. “But I’m guessing I have to pay?”
“My darling, I would never.”
“Oh really? You’re the rich one now?”
“A man has his pride.”
“Your pride can’t afford the very high-end lingerie and handbags I plan on purchasing.”
His eyes light up with excitement. “I think I can manage to scrounge up some loose change.”
“Well, if you’re sure?—“
CHAPTER 24
GABE
Timbers still smolder. The smoke’s mostly gone, but steam still drifts from pieces of the house burning under the rubble. If I were smart, I wouldn’t be anywhere near this place, but I don’t have much of a choice.
I pick through the wreckage, kicking through burned wood, looking for something, anything at all. I’m not even sure what. Electronics, laptops, hard drives, cell phone, anything like that would be nice. Documents, maps, guns, drugs, hell, takeout food wrappers, any indication that this place was being used.
But there’s nothing.
“You know, when you talked about a honeymoon earlier, I didn’t think you’d mean this.” Nika comes stomping around the corner. She’s in black jeans and a black turtleneck, her hair up in a messy bun, long rubber gloves on both of her hands. Soot streaks her face and her mouth is set in a hard line.
“I told you, you didn’t have to help.”
“What was I going to do? Watch French TV?”
“There’s such a thing as streaming.”
“This is more fun.” She kicks through some rubble. “But there’s really not much here.”
“I know. It’s odd.” I walk into what I think was the kitchen, careful with each step. The floor seems solid but it’s hard to say.
“What were you expecting?”
