Page 46 of Through Any Fire (Any x #1)

T ires crunch over gravel as we enter the compound.

Someone drags a gate open, and the clang of the metal chain is deafening in the quiet evening.

It shuts behind us with a foreboding slam.

I fixate on the building as we approach, my heart racing when I imagine Mason sneaking in.

I can see it now, Mason sticking to the shadows and slipping in unnoticed.

While he’s only gotten both taller and broader with age, he’s learned how to sneak around unnoticed.

Rather, he thought he was sneaking around unnoticed.

What he wasn’t aware of was anytime he left, it was because I allowed him to.

Still, he got a thrill out of testing my limits.

A ghost of a smile curls the corner of my mouth.

Cal rounds the car. He’s taken me to one of the three remaining warehouses. They used to have six, but two were torched before I met Cal in Abstrakt, and one since we married. They’ve had to merge operations between the remaining buildings.

This one is two stories high and about the size of a common drug store—the irony isn’t lost on me.

It’s also the farthest from the heart of Roswell.

It would take a suspiciously curious individual to even find it.

If one were to pass by, you wouldn’t think anything nefarious was going on inside.

It’s a building with a beige shiplap exterior out in the middle of nowhere.

There aren’t any windows, but in the center, there’s two enormous barn doors.

As we roll to a stop, the door on the left slides open, and Luc exits.

Dust billows from under me when I hop out of the car, and the moon shines brightly from its peak in the sky.

There’s a chill to the air, but my beige cashmere sweater is warm.

I tucked it into a short brown skirt with sheer brown tights.

Chestnut riding boots cover up to my knees.

My hair is loose around my shoulders, gently blowing in the wind.

After spending almost an hour in the car, I stretch an arm to each side, hiding a yawn behind my hand.

Cal rounds the car, and the heat of his arm wraps around my waist. He wears a pair of black trousers and a tight white tee stretched across his broad chest. A black holster wraps around his thigh. Even though the air is crisp, he doesn’t seem to mind the cold.

Luc’s steps are leisurely, and when he reaches us, he wears a bright smile. “Hey, boss. Ma’am.”

“Luc.” Cal dips his chin, nodding toward the warehouse. “How’s it handling the increased load?”

“Good, so far. We still need to bring in most of the Thatcher House product, but it should be delivered by the end of the week. The first shipment to Edwards is due tomorrow morning.”

With that, we trail inside as Lucas fills Cal in on the daily operations.

His voice echoes in the cavernous space, and I catch Cal watching my reaction from the corner of my eye.

Inside, there are rows and rows of tables, places for workers to sort and pack cocaine—though no one besides security is here at this time of night.

Dim fluorescent lights provide just enough to see by, but it’s still dark as we walk the length of the building.

Two guards patrol the building inside, and I’d bet there are more outside that I didn’t notice.

One in particular catches my eye. Caleb Ferguson.

He notices me and freezes, eyes widening before darting to Cal, who’s busy with Lucas.

He doesn’t look back at me, and instead, studiously avoids my attention.

Cal passes a careful eye over each station, murmuring to Luc as we walk. Inside his warehouse, his mask hardens, gaze narrowing and unrevealing of any thoughts. It’s unnerving watching the transformation, almost as if he turns into a different person.

Lucas and Cal continue their visit while I linger back, taking in the space. There’s a pungent, slightly sweet scent to the air. The cocaine, I suppose.

Cal notices and moves to my side to whisper in my ear, “Let me know what you find.” Brown eyes meet mine, and he arches a brow.

I nod, hopeful I won’t have to speak to anyone.

It’s taking all my reserves to picture Mason in this space, snooping around a place he has no business in.

Cal returns to Luc, and they resume their discussion, voices low between them.

My steps are quiet as I explore. Caleb and the other guard note my movements but watch silently as I pass by.

There must be at least thirty stations in here and so much coke this place would be a fed’s wet dream.

A few offices line the building, and I poke my head into each one.

One looks well used but tidy. There’s a file cabinet in the corner and a stack of papers on the gray desk.

This must be Luc’s. The papers on the desk don’t hold any information I’m interested in, and there’s not much else to the office.

A vent in the ceiling and a mini fridge in the corner. That’s it.

The next office turns out to be a supply closet, but the third door leads to a bare office—just an empty desk and chair in the center.

At least this one has a window. It’s narrow, probably barely lets in any light, but it’s something to break up all the fluorescent bulbs.

It’s all very clinical in the sense that if you somehow missed the giant loads of cocaine, you wouldn’t think anything suspicious was going on.

If this was what Mason had been investigating, what would he have been looking for?

Honestly, knowing my younger brother, he has a chip on his shoulder the size of New York, and he’d probably bite off more than he could chew.

Not only would he look for product to smuggle back to the Bianchis, but he’d look for a way to stop production—or at least interfere with it.

Oh, god. Is Mason behind the fires?

The question burns like acid. Mason is certainly impulsive enough to escalate to arson, but he’d never want to hurt anyone. In the Culver Street fire, the entire team was killed when the perp blockaded the doors. I can’t imagine Mason could be responsible for such a heinous crime.

That doesn’t mean he’s innocent. It’s possible Elias and Leon haven’t told you the entire truth.

The world spins, and bile rises in my throat. Just how much have I been kept in the dark?

Cal appears in front of me, a pinch between his brows. “Hey.” His gentle voice is soothing, and I throw myself into him. Strong arms band around me, holding me tightly against his chest. His sandalwood cologne fills my senses, grounding me .

I squeeze my eyes shut forcefully. “What if Mason’s behind the fires?” My words mumble into Cal’s coat, but he freezes in place, body turning rigid under my arms.

Cal’s hands press around my arms, and he looks deeply into my eyes. His gaze flicks between my eyes until he finally whispers, “Do you actually believe that?”

My lower lip trembles, and I suck in a wobbly breath. I shake my head.

Cal relaxes, crushing me back to his chest. “Then neither do I.”

His belief in me, in Mason, is a breath of fresh air. I’ve tried to justify that he’s an adult who’s made his own bed, but it doesn’t sit right with me.

“Okay,” Cal exhales. “What are you thinking?”

Lucas walks into the nondescript office and shuts the door behind him, offering us privacy from the patrol outside.

A deep breath rattles from my chest, my fingers rubbing my eyes. “Honestly? Knowing Mason, he’d wind up executing a half-assed impulsive plan that would eventually backfire.”

Cal and Lucas listen with their arms crossed over their broad chests, hands tucked into their underarms.

“Something impulsive, like setting a fire?”

Lucas makes the same connection, but it only further cements how wrong it sounds.

“I really don’t think so. He would never want to hurt someone like that. He’s not a murderer.”

“Even if he was covering something up?”

Luc’s face is contemplative, his question adding a layer of complexity I hadn’t yet considered .

“Like what?” Cal asks.

Luc shrugs. “Whoever was actually breaking in. A fire would erase any evidence.”

“But they have to know that they’re the only ones living in the dark ages. They’d know about the cameras, and it’s not 2005. We have the Cloud now. Destroying the hardware is going to be a bitch to replace, but we can still access the footage.”

“I think we’re making this too complicated.”

Both heads turn to me.

“Fires are being set. Why?”

They’re quiet for a moment. Then Cal says, “Operations are disrupted, product is destroyed or stolen, crew is reduced. All that combined hits our bottom line. Hard.”

“You’re missing something.”

Cal’s eyes light up. “You’re right, Bunny. It leaves blind spots we’re scrambling to fill, pulling our attention away from our territory. They’re snatching up streets left and right as we chase a ghost.”

I hum in approval. Sometimes, the right answer is the simplest one. “And who stands to gain the most with each square mile of territory lost?”

Cal and Lucas answer at the same time. “The Bianchis.”

The thrill of putting the pieces together wears off, and I’m left with a pit in my stomach.

If the Bianchis are behind this…It shouldn’t surprise me when criminals are untrustworthy.

Growing up in this life, I’ve always understood there was a balance.

If you’re not going to sell it, someone else will.

At least this way you can have some modicum of quality control.

But they’d never strayed from marijuana and protection fees.

“But that would mean…Elias has been behind it the whole time.” My words hang in the air, and I can’t help but picture him in his hospital bed. Apparently, Elias was shot in the shoulder the other night, and has yet to wake up from his coma. “Even the bombs?”

Cal’s eyes soften. “It certainly looks like it.”

“So, did Rose lie to us, or was her information bad?”

Lucas clears his throat. “She doesn’t seem like she trades in bad information.”

Cal nods, lost in thought as he scrubs a hand over his jaw. “I’m inclined to believe her. But we’re not particularly in a position to be too trusting right now.”

“We’re not in a position to scare away any potential allies, either,” I counter. Still, it leads us back to Mason. Why did he have to get involved?