Page 109 of This is a Kissing Book

“Fire started around midnight two days ago. We believe it was an electrical issue. Investigation pending. No casualties or injuries, thank goodness—the building was mostly empty.”

Two nights ago. While I was in Washington with Linc. Someone burned down my building.

My phone buzzes with a text.

Unknown number: Your payment was late. Consider this a reminder.

My blood turns to ice. I look around, but no one moves toward me. Nothing seems suspicious or out of place, except for the charred remains of my building, but someone must be watching me.

This is about my father’s debt, the debt I’ve been dutifully paying every month to keep something like this from happening. Dad warned me. Said the guys he owed were bad news. That’s why I got involved in his forgeries. They know about me. My father said if we paid them off, they’d leave me alone. It was an impossible position. So I helped him get out of the red. Unfortunately, he had more creditors. But I haven’t been late. I’ve been making every payment on time, even when it meant eating rice for weeks.

Unless the rules changed.

My phone rings, and Linc’s name appears on the screen.

“Jules? I just heard about a fire in Logan Square on the news. Are you⁠—?”

“My building burned down,” I say numbly. “Everything I own is gone.”

“Where are you? I’m coming to get you.”

Voice shaking, I say, “Linc, I don’t think this was an accident.”

“What do you mean?”

I look around the burned ruins of my life, at the police tape and the investigators and the message on my phone that makes my hands shake. “I mean, this got personal.”

When Linc’s car pulls up twenty minutes later, I’m still standing on the sidewalk in plain sight like a statue. He gets out and wraps his arms around me without saying a word. I let myself lean into him because I hardly have the strength to stand on my own right now.

“Are you okay?” he asks quietly.

“Not really,” I whisper against his chest.

Now I know that whatever we’ve stumbled into—whether it’s about Lincoln’s letters or insurance fraud or my father’s debts—someone is willing to destroy my entire life to stop me.

And I have no idea what to do.

39

LINC

“You’re staying at my place,” I say as we leave behind the burned building in Logan Square. It’s not a request.

Jules looks up at me, her face streaked with tears and her eyes pinched with exhaustion. “Linc, I can’t impose⁠—”

“You’re not imposing. I’ll be out of town, anyway. Business.” It’s not exactly a lie—hockey is my business, even if she doesn’t know it yet. “The condo has top security. You’ll be safe there.”

She doesn’t ask questions, which surprises me. Maybe she’s too emotionally drained to argue, or maybe she trusts me more than I deserve.

An hour later, we’re sitting in my penthouse overlooking the Chicago skyline with takeout containers spread across the coffee table. Jules picks at her pad Thai, moving the noodles around more than eating them.

“I’m ready to confront my father about the insurance discrepancies,” I say, trying to fill the silence. “I need to know if he’s involved.”

“You really think he could be behind it?” Her gaze repeatedly flits toward the windows, toward the city where her life went up in smoke.

“I don’t know. But someone with executive access has been using company resources for unauthorized research. The timing with Drecken and those men in the tunnels …” I run a hand through my hair. “It’s very likely connected somehow.”

Jules sets down her chopsticks and pulls out her phone. “There’s something you should know.”