Page 22 of Through Any Fire (Any x #1)

A s I finally open my laptop on the balcony of a random guest room, I settle in for a lengthy writing session. I have three drinks with me: my hydro filled with ice water, a can of diet coke, and an iced coffee. I light a honeycrisp apple candle and crack each knuckle on my fingers twice.

A little over eight months ago, Andy’s lawyer reached out to the publishing house I’m contracted with, and after a few rounds of interviewing, he selected me as his ghostwriter. It’s an opportunity I can’t waste, so the final manuscript has to be perfect.

Thankfully, the words I’d been struggling to find are suddenly unlocked, and I finish the final chapter of Andy’s book within an hour or so.

I hit save, and move to the afterword. This was a more difficult project because Andy’s voice is so different from my own.

I’m used to writing fiction and romance, and while Andy’s love for his late wife could truly rival a modern-day love story, finding the right time to blend his adages with business had been more difficult than I’d originally thought.

As I sit on the breezy balcony, re-reading the highlights of the last few chapters, I realize how I want to write the afterword.

My notebook sits open on the table next to me, and I flip through it, looking for the letter that Andy’s wife wrote him just a week before her sudden passing.

He said it wasn’t uncommon for them to write love notes to each other—it was something their counselor had suggested—but this one stood out to him.

When she died, he clung to it like a lifeline.

It was an adage about love and life, but I can’t remember her exact words.

After frantically searching, I realize I don’t have the copy.

That’s strange. I turn inside and head to my room to check my purse.

But it’s not there. Tipping my face to the ceiling, I try not to scream.

I know it’s just a copy that Andy gave me, but I shouldn’t have been so careless with it.

Thinking back to six months ago when he gave it to me, I remember—I left it in my desk at home.

I grab my phone and dial Alice.

“Hey, babe.” Her voice is cheery.

My heart squeezes. I miss her. “Hey, hun. I left a letter on my desk in my office and need a copy. Can you take a pic of it and text it to me?”

“Sure, but I’m at the school right now. Can you wait an hour?”

School? It’s Sunday. Why was she at school on a Sunday? I try not to groan, but I know I’m inconveniencing her. I could go myself, but it would take forty minutes round trip. Delayed gratification was never my strong suit.

A laugh chimes through the phone. “Sorry, I forgot who I was speaking to. I guess I can wrap up early. I’m getting pretty hungry, anyway.”

“ Thanksyou’rethebestIloveyou. ” My words run together, and Alice chuckles, hanging up the phone without further preamble .

Now off to kill a half hour.

I opt to take a quick shower, washing my hair and blow-drying it straight. When I’ve finished with my skincare, I glance at my phone and frown.

It’s been almost an hour.

I dial Alice again. It rings for a minute before I get her voicemail.

“ Hi, you’ve reached Alice. Leave a message at the beep, but remember, if you don’t have anything nice to say, don’t say it at all. ”

“Hey, hun. Did you make it home yet? Call me.”

Another ten minutes go by, and I can’t stop my knee from bouncing. Alice always calls me back within minutes, or at least texts me she’ll call me later. I check my phone again. Nothing.

I dial her again. It rings and rings, droning in my ear as something nefarious swirls in my chest. Again, I get her voicemail.

“ Hi, you’ve reached Alice —” I hang up.

Slipping into my slides, I grab my keys and head toward the garage. Something is wrong. I can feel it in my gut.

The walls blur past as I hurry downstairs, only stopping when a hand grips my elbow. A breath whooshes out of my chest, and I try to yank my arm out of the grip, but it doesn’t budge.

“Where are you in a rush to?” Cal’s voice is laced with misguided anger, but his deep brown eyes dart between mine as if searching for a lie.

“I need to go home. Something’s wrong.”

His brows furrow together. “Home? You are home.”

An exacerbated sigh escapes me. “No, I need to go home . Alice was supposed to send me something, but she didn’t, and now it’s been an hour, and she’s not answering her phone.” Panic swells in my chest as I say it out loud. What if—

Hands cup my cheeks and tilt my face upward. His touch derails my panic, but doesn’t dismiss it. Brown eyes flick between mine. He nods. “Alright. Let’s go.”

I don’t even question it, just turn and continue my path to the garage. Cal is close on my heels, silent as he slides into the driver’s seat. When the engine turns over, I focus on the rumbling beneath my seat instead of the worst possible outcome.

What are the chances something bad actually happened?

Considering the threats on my life lately?

Shit.

No, she’s probably fine. She probably got sidetracked at school, as she often does, and is now stuck in traffic.

Traffic at five p.m. on a Sunday?

My fingers curl into the armrest, leaving behind crescent moons from the tips of my almond manicure. I turn my face to the passing trees and buildings. They blur together as we drive the twenty minutes to my complex, and I let my mind wander anywhere except toward Alice.

A few minutes later, Callahan pulls up to my condo.

Before the car is fully parked, I hop out and rush to the front door.

Cal is right behind me, a sharp warning thrown at my back.

I ignore it. When we reach the porch, he falls silent.

My stomach sinks, bile rising in my throat.

The doorframe is cracked. It looks like it was kicked in.

“Stay here,” Cal instructs, sliding his pistol out from his side holster. He enters my condo with precision and sweeps the first room, disappearing from sight.

My heart thumps against my ribs as my imagination runs wild.

Was Alice here when the break in happened?

My nerves frazzle, and I wait as long as I can—about ninety seconds—before I follow inside.

With a gentle push on my door, I listen for any signs of someone besides Cal.

The house is silent, so I creep inside. My blood runs cold, a chilling dread seizing me as I take in the scene unfolding before me.

Fluff is scattered around my shredded couch, and the cushions are tossed all over. Glass crunches underfoot, and I look down. A broken picture frame lays abandoned. I reach a trembling hand to pick it up. The wooden frame is empty, but it used to have a picture of Alice and me.

As I carry the frame farther into my condo, a knot lodges in my throat.

Cabinets in the kitchen barely hang on by their hinges, dishes shattered on the floor, clothes strewn all over…

It’s a mess, and the intrusion tugs on old wounds, tearing them open and forcing me to bear witness to them all over again.

With each broken item, reality begins to set in. And Alice still hasn’t called me back.

Cal comes into the living space and holsters his weapon. Immediately upon seeing me, his mood changes, and he marches right up to me. “I thought I told you to stay outside .”

My panic makes it impossible to mince my words. “Clearly they aren’t here anymore.”

“You didn’t know that when you came inside, though, did you?” He crosses his arms in front of his chest, and his jaw grinds.

I wave him off and turn toward my room. “Is it like this everywhere?”

Cal doesn’t answer, so I glance at him, but he won’t meet my gaze.

“I’ll take that as a yes.” I trudge forward, pushing into the hall and heading toward my room. It’s as if I’m stuck in a nightmare, where the hallway gets longer and longer the farther I travel. Prickles break out over my skin .

Pushing the broken door to my room open, I survey the damage, numb.

If the living room was bad, this looks like a tornado crashed through it.

The corner of my bed frame is broken, and my lopsided bed lies on the floor, the mattress partially slid off.

My clothes are ripped and thrown all over, my shoes broken in half.

Holes are punched in the wall, and the arched window above my dresser is cracked, letting in a chilly draft.

Even worse, the shoebox of memories I’d left on top of my dresser is nowhere to be seen.

The only pictures of my once complete family are gone.

Cal’s letter is gone . The letter I spent years obsessing over.

I told myself I didn’t care, it didn’t matter.

But it does. It did. And now I’ll never know what it said. It tugs at a deep ache in my soul.

I’m stuck, frozen in my spot. Each hole in the wall, each strip of ripped fabric, stings as the violation settles into my bones.

Callahan silently approaches, hands stuffed in his pockets. For once, it seems he doesn’t know what to say. Doesn’t have a quippy remark. The silence stretches for several seconds before I find the strength to move.

I turn, heading toward my office. A gracious numb swathes my senses, and I feel like I’m floating outside my body.

My desk is torn apart, and papers are scattered everywhere.

The letter Andy entrusted me with is gone, but that’s the least of my worries right now.

Broken pieces of my life crunch under each step toward the desk, and my hands tremble.

Written in scribbled handwriting on a blank piece of paper lies a message.

Her blood is on your hands. It should’ve been you, Bunny.