I’d seen the guy be warm and funny, but it was clear he wasn’t going to be my number-one fan. That was all right. Good, even. I didn’t need the liability of a friend.
I followed Trace to his vehicle, Shep at my side. In a matter of seconds, we were all donning the Tyvek suits and N95 masks that made us look like we were entering a chemical spill. And in a lot of ways, we were. None of us needed to be breathing the gas fumes, and you never knew what toxins a fire could expose to the air.
Trace reached out a gloved hand to open one of the back doors to the kitchen. He paused at the threshold. “Stay behind me.”
A couple of firefighters still roamed the home, triple-checking that they hadn’t missed any embers.
Trace led us down the hall and toward the library. As we moved through the space, I frowned. Something was off. My sixth sense flared to life. But Trace kept right on moving.
He stopped at the entrance to what had once been an office. Thetemperature shifted, heat still brimming from the space, even though the fire was out. “No farther. Not until my guys process it.”
I didn’t say a word, simply stepped to the side to get a better view. The room was charred beyond recognition, as if someone had thrown already burned logs onto a fire and turned them to ash.
“We’ll have to rebuild this whole wing,” Shep said quietly.
It would’ve been a lot worse if we’d been farther along in the restoration process. But maybe someone didn’t want us getting that far. The thought had me retracing my steps to the library.
The space had been partially burned in the last fire but hadn’t caught in this one. I pulled my mask down for an inhale. Gas. Everywhere.
I slipped my mask back into place and surveyed the room, trying to figure out what had tripped my radar. I began moving around the space, searching. There were still some books on the shelves that were in relatively good shape. A few knickknacks, too. Even a painting on the wall that looked only slightly discolored from its exposure to smoke.
“What the hell is he doing?” Trace muttered.
Shep pushed his brother back a step. “Just give him a minute.”
I slowed in front of the bookcase. It wasn’t a built-in, but it was nice quality. Mahogany if my guess was correct, maybe even African koa. The bottom third was cabinets, and above was all shelving.
The last cabinet door was open. I crossed to it, my Spidey sense tingling the closer I got. I crouched down and peeked inside. It was too dark.
“Flashlight?” I called.
Footsteps sounded, and then Trace handed me one. “Here.”
I took it and pointed the beam inside. There was a stack of what looked like papers, but they didn’t show any signs of fire damage.
A familiar unease settled over me. “May I retrieve?”
“Yes,” Trace clipped. “I’ve got an evidence bag.”
I reached a gloved hand inside to remove the stack. Rising, I set the flashlight on a shelf that looked steady, facing the beam of light up so we could better see. What I saw was newspaper clipping afternewspaper clipping, all with coverage of the fire. They weren’t new either. The corners were yellowed with age.
A smear of red caught my eye. Ink.Not blood, I reminded myself. Someone had circled text on the article.The Stirlings’ thirteen-year-old daughter is still in critical condition. It is uncertain if she’ll survive.
The two sentences were circled twice over, but the wordsurvivewas underlined three times. The action made my jaw clench as I turned to the next article. A different sentence was circled this time.A firefighter wishing to remain anonymous said it was a miracle the young girl survived the fall from her balcony.Again, the wordsurvivewas underlined repeatedly.
I flipped through article after article, each with the same refrain. When I reached the last one, nausea rolled through me. The wordsurvivedwas underlined yet again, but this article had a photo. Clearly Rhodes’ minor identity was no longer being protected.
It was a family shot that had likely been taken for a Christmas card or something similar. The group was posed in the field behind the Victorian, the mountains framing them. Only there were countless red circles around Rho’s face. Over and over until the newspaper had torn in places. And below it was one thing.
MAYBE YOU DIDN’T DESERVE TO SURVIVE.
18
RHODES
“Drink your tea,”Nora urged, pushing the mug closer to me.
Fallon squeezed my knee under the table. “Want some whiskey in it? That might help take the edge off.”
