He nods, still struggling for a clear breath. “You?”
I mumble something in the affirmative and we stumble back together, falling silent as we take in what used to be the Fake House.
The structure itself is still standing, but it’s a shell now. Flames leap from the blown-out windows, fringes of glass jutting like fangs. There’s no more door, just a black hole spewing smoke. I can’t see anything inside. I doubt if there’s anythingleftinside.
Lissa.
Oh, God.
Something crunches under Grant’s foot and he freezes. He bends to pick it up and when he stands, he’s holding the remains of aviator sunglasses, cracked and coated in soot. He lifts his eyes to mine, full of dread.
I frantically sweep the scene, but there’s no sign of Lesley. Not a spindly figure in the haze, not a heap on the ground. We’re alone out here. Sirens begin to sound in the distance.
“No,” breathes Grant, staring at the burning house. “Oh, no.”
“He went in,” I say. I mean to phrase it as a question, something Grant can deny. But I know. I already know.
We both lurch forward helplessly, as if we’re not sure if we should be rushing in or stopping the other from doing the same. But before either of us can do anything, there’s a sound from within the house—a scraping, hacking sound. Something is changing in the yawning shadows of smoke. It becomes more solid, more real, until Lesley and Lissa materialize in the doorway. They’re smeared in soot, stumbling along with her arm braced over his shoulders.
“Yoo-hoo,” Lesley coughs.
Grant and I rush forward, simultaneously wrapping them in a group hug and pulling them to clearer air across the street. I count us in my mind, over and over—One, two, three, four. One, two, three, four.All of us back on the street, looking a little like Winona Ryder at the end ofHeathers, but still here, together.
For now, that is. My stomach curdles at the thought.
Because as the Fake House burns, an echoingwho, what, whytwisting through the billowing smoke and ash and flame, one thing stands out in ever-sharpening clarity. Someone is onto us. Whatever this was—a trap, a message, whatever—it’s a game-changer. I don’t have to be a crime novel expert to know that it’s the kind of showstopper crisis an author would save for just the right moment. It can only mean one thing.
The end must be near.
CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE
Hours later, after the fire has been put out and the proper officials have begun investigating (much to Lesley’s chagrin), we find ourselves back at the town house, collapsed on the front steps in a dazed silence.
We have so many more questions than answers, even with the bits and pieces Lissa has managed to tell us from her state of shock. She never saw the source of the explosion, only heard distant beeping right before it happened and was knocked flat by the force of it. It was a miracle she escaped the death zone, at least physically. Mentally, she hasn’t quite come back to us yet.
“There’s no chance it was an accident?” I ask, knowing the answer. “A furnace problem or bad wiring or something?”
“’Fraid not,” says Lesley. Grant casts a grim glance my way, confirming my fears. It was time for something like this. It’s the beginning of the end.
I swallow painfully, my throat still dry. “It was Mr. Page,” I surmise. “Trying to take out Alistair, or us, or all of the above.”
“I think so,” Grant says softly. “Unless Alistair was luring us there to blow us up.”
“He couldn’t have,” says Lesley. “We searched him before welocked him up; he certainly wasn’t rigged with explosives. Hideous shoes and a criminal amount of pomade, yes, but nothing incendiary.”
Lissa takes a shuddering breath, her eyes brimming.
“I was going to let him out,” she hiccups. “Alistair. I know he was evil, but no one deserves to die like that. But the fire was … I couldn’t get to … I couldn’t—”
Lesley gives Lissa’s shoulder an affectionate squeeze as she falls into hushed sobs.
“You did your best,” he says. “What matters now is that we’re all safe.”
“You’ve got a funny definition ofsafe,” growls a voice from the street. Even standing below us, the imposing figure has the effect of blocking out the sun.
Jesus. Just once, could Wally enter a scene by saying something normal, likehelloorexcuse me?
“Ah,” says Lesley with a tight smile. “Nice of you to finally show up. I was wondering why you left this morning’s fire investigation to your inferiors. Oversleep, did you?”
