Page 19 of Guarded Knight (Echo Valley #3)

The ride home was nearly as quiet as the one to the hospital, save a long phone call from my sister, Shay, that ate up a huge portion of the ride.

After speaking to her, my talkative nephew and equally chatty brother-in-law, there wasn’t enough road left to get back to the truth I just told.

I never forgot about Lara. I never stopped wanting her but I never told her that because it seemed like it would have been controlling.

Clutching that sweet Firefly in my hands until her light burned out in my dark, dark world.

I had to let her go. Be cruel to be kind.

I knew if I told her anything, she’d drop everything.

But now we’re in a new place. With a new problem. And I still can’t have her because she’s chasing her life and I’m finding mine by standing still.

At least the journey home wasn’t full of dread over the state of her health, like the one here was.

Dr. Lee was not only positive about the present but also about the future. The new medication for CF is nothing short of a miracle, and the thought of her with gray hair and wrinkles is even more breathtaking than the thought of her without.

We turn onto Main Street, stopping at Grenvista Trail, and I throw the truck into park.

Lara has her head against the passenger window, one leg curled beneath her, her fingers tracing the edge of her coat. I can’t help but imagine she’s been chewing on my confession.

She makes a move to open the door, and I stop her.

“I got it.”

I loop around to the passenger side, sweeping the street, corners, everything for any signs of danger.

I haven’t forgotten that Cameron knows she’s here now.

As much as I want to heal this rift between me and Lara, maybe learn how to be her friend so our next goodbye isn’t like our last, there will be nothing to heal if that bastard gets a hold of her.

All quiet. No lights in the windows across the road. No strange cars idling.

We walk in silence to her front door.

When we hit the top step, the door swings open.

“Hey!” Freya says, barefoot in sweats, mug in hand. “I made tea.” She spots me and raises a brow. “There’s enough for you, too, Mr. Knight. Unless you’ve got some brooding to do in the truck?”

I guess she’s forgiven me since yesterday. Before the bar and at it, I was nearly as wary of her as I was Lara. I have a feeling Freya knows how to turn her sunshine into lightning if she needs to.

Lar looks up at me as if trying to make peace. “Five minutes?”

I offer a thin-lipped smile.

She steps inside, and I follow, instinctively checking the landing behind us before shutting the door.

The apartment smells faintly of cinnamon and whatever overpriced candle du jour these girls are burning.

They must spend a fortune, but I don’t begrudge Lara, or Freya, who I’ve now learned also looked death in the eye, anything.

They’re good women, trying to do good things with the years they’ve been granted.

There’s a gentle hum from the heater, a mug on the counter, and a pan still sitting on the stove. It looks like it was used for the pasta now sitting in a colander beside the sink. Freya made Lara supper. The scene couldn’t be more domestic.

Freya pads barefoot toward the kitchen, talking about peppermint tea and some documentary she half watched while waiting for Lara to get home.

Lara shrugs off her coat and hooks it near the door. The whole scene’s so cozy my chest aches.

“Is peppermint any good, G?” Freya asks, already pulling a mug from the shelf.

I open my mouth to answer.

Ffft.

A faint hiss. Mechanical. Instant.

I stiffen.

Freya pauses mid-reach. “What the hell is…?”

Then the smoke hits.

Acrid. Bitter. Manufactured.

It curls from under the couch, thin and fast, and Lara gasps, already coughing.

“Back,” I bark, moving before the command finishes leaving my mouth. “Get out!”

I grab Lara by the elbow and shift her behind me.

Lara opens the door and steps out onto the landing, coughing now, sleeve pressed to her mouth, eyes watering.

That smoke could send her right back to the hospital for days.

Freya stumbles, knocks her mug off the counter, and it shatters against the tile. Her face twists in panic as she rushes out behind Lara while smoke quickly blooms in the small apartment.

I drop to a knee, sweeping under the couch. There’s a heat source… smoking. Fuck. I don’t think. I just move. A scorched canister, rigged battery, duct tape, and some sort of sensor. It’s crude, not C-4, homemade smoke, not explosives. I’ve seen enough real devices to know the difference.

I rip it out and race to the stove, slamming it into the cast-iron pan and clapping the lid down with a metallic clang. Smoke still leaks from the edges, but it’s contained. Mostly.

I stay low, lungs tight, gaze sweeping the apartment. Door locked. Windows shut. No sign of forced entry. And Freya’s been home?

How the hell?

Someone was here. Someone planted that.

I register Lara’s hand gripping the back of a chair. She’s breathing shallowly, still coughing.

“Gabriel,” she rasps, “Are you okay?”

It takes me a second too long to nod.

Because it wasn’t her voice I heard.

It was someone else’s. Somewhere far away, buried deep. A voice through smoke. Screaming. A metal door sealed shut.

I press my fingers to my eyes, squeezing them closed, willing the memory away. You’re here, G. In Echo Valley.

But the calls won’t stop.

Screaming. I can’t get to them…

A hand wraps around my bicep, and I yank my arm away violently.

When I open my eyes, Lara is staring at me, her mouth slightly open, as if I might’ve been gone longer than I realized.

“G?” Her voice is soft. “Are you okay?”

Freya creeps back into the living room, breathing hard. “What the hell was that?”

I can’t afford to unravel.

“Get back out on the landing,” I command. “Lara, call Anton.”

I step around the table, still scanning corners, shadows, and scour every inch of this apartment. And then I find it, taped to the underside of the couch, right where the smoke bomb was. Still curling at the edges from the heat. A note.

Black marker. Block letters.

She looks better in a hospital bed than in yours.

I grind my teeth so hard they could turn to dust.

This isn’t a note. It’s his obituary. How dare he threaten her…

How the hell was this planted? Timed perfectly for Lara’s return? It’s too perfect.

My gaze drifts up to Freya, and suddenly, I see her through a different lens. How did this get here when Freya has been home? Did she head out? Or… my mind drifts back to how Cameron was able to get into their Santa Fe house without a key…

There’s no time for those questions. I need Lara out of here.

Freya’s voice cuts through the fog. “What does the note say?”

Lara snatches it from my fingers, coughing harder now. It wasn’t a true explosive, but that smoke bomb could give her an infection… or worse.

She can’t stay here tonight. Not with the air like this.

Lara coughs again, more ragged this time, her shoulders trembling. She finally manages to catch her breath, but her voice is thin when she speaks.

“That note…” She shakes her head, eyes glazed over. “Cameron? He knew I’d be here tonight? Now? It feels too precise.” She shakes her head.

I can hardly believe it either. The timing was impeccable.

“And…” Confusion paints her features. “He’s threatening…” she reads into it the same way I did, “… us?”

She looks at me, not just for answers, but for reassurance, and I’ve never hated myself more for not being able to give either.

Freya steps closer, still hugging her arms across her chest. “I don’t understand how Cameron could have been here. When?”

Lara turns toward her. “Were you home all afternoon?”

“Most of the time. I did go grab some coffee and ran into Kat, Theo, and Owen there, so we chatted for a while. Not long.” Her voice wavers, and uncertainty flashes across her eyes. “I… I locked the door. I swear I did.”

Footsteps thunder up the stairs to the apartment.

The door bursts open, and Anton barrels in, gun drawn, gaze scanning the apartment before he even speaks. He clocks the smoke in the air, the busted mug on the floor, the note still clutched in Lara’s hand.

“What the hell happened?” He conceals his weapon again when he sees I don’t have mine drawn.

Freya tries to explain but falters on her words. “There was smoke. Something exploded. Lara…”

He’s at her side instantly, checking her over like she’s made of glass. “You hurt?”

“We’re not staying here,” I say flatly.

Anton glances over. “You think it’s still dangerous?”

“Lara can’t stay with this shit in the air.” I turn to her, wanting to pull her into my arms. Wanting to tell her to get out and I’ll pack her shit up for her. But it’s too much. “Pack some overnight things. Let’s get out of here quickly before it makes you any worse.”

Freya stiffens, and Anton senses her concern.

“You’re coming, too,” he says, somewhere between asking and commanding.

I’m not so fond of Anton’s invitation, given the unanswered questions about how that some bomb got in here, with Freya gone for only a short time… but I’m not a total dick, so she needs out of here, too.

Freya appears just as rattled as Lara right now.

But is it an act?

Lara is a good judge of character, and the way she acted when I simply asked if Freya might hand over a key told me she trusts Freya.

But someone timed that bomb down to the minute. Someone knew exactly when Lara was getting home… maybe even tracking her. I know Lara shares her location with Freya…

But what reason would Freya even have to help Cameron? Are they secretly involved? Or is there someone else like Anton suggested, as in some third party?

Lara would flip if I suggested any of this if the key question sent her barreling toward the bar. She won’t believe there’s a chance in hell Freya could have let Cameron in here. Or anyone else…

Chills skate up my spine. I never wanted to even consider someone else.

I’m suffocating under questions, and Lara’s safety is more important than any of it.

Lara can’t stay here tonight.

Not with the air like this. Not with unseen danger.

And not when the problem might already be inside.