rough laugh out of her elderly neighbor.
She heard shouts echo in the stairwell below. Other people evacuating.
They rounded the landing, and smoke poured through a door from a lower floor.
“Keep moving, Mrs. Girard. Think of those firefighters.”
“You need a man, Haven.”
“No one needs a man. I had one. He wasn’t good. I don’t need another one.” Oh boy, at least Mrs. Girard couldn’t tell she was lying.
“They’re not all bad. My Mr. Girard was a good one. Even on the days that he drove me crazy. Once I had to hit him with my frypan.”
“You miss him,” Haven said quietly.
“Every day, my dear. But the pain is worth every minute we got to spend together.” Mrs. Girard broke into a coughing fit.
They negotiated more stairs, and the old woman leaned heavily on Haven. She had to focus on keeping them both upright. Her eyes were stinging, tears streaming down her face.
Please Lord, not much farther. Haven’s head was starting to feel woozy.
“There is a guy,” she found herself saying.
“Ah-huh.” Mrs. Girard coughed some more.
“He’s way too good looking. Every time I see him, my body goes haywire. I’ve been trying to avoid him.”
“Just like when I first saw Mr. Girard. That tingle. The knowing.”
“Oh, no. I’m steering clear of Rhys. I’m not the only woman who likes the look of him.”
Mrs. Girard clutched Haven’s arm. “I know you’re afraid, but Haven, to live, to love, you have to take some risks.”
The old lady stumbled, and Haven lunged and caught her. The dizziness was getting really bad. She needed to get them out. Her lungs were burning.
The smoke was getting thicker, and they managed to get down two more stairs. Then she saw movement.
Two firefighters in bulky suits, helmets, and masks appeared.
Thank you, Jesus. The men helped them out of the building. Outside, a crowd had gathered around the fire trucks, police cars, and ambulances.
One firefighter took a coughing Mrs. Girard toward one of the ambulances.
“Your head’s bleeding,” the other firefighter said to Haven.
“It is?” She swiped at her temple and saw red on her fingers. “I’m fine.”
“Get the paramedics to check you over.”
Her head was still foggy and she couldn’t think straight. She realized her legs were bare, and her feet were bare. She tugged her cardigan around her.
It was chaos. There were so many people. The firefighter started to turn away.
“Hey, what happened?” she asked.
“Looks like an explosion.”
Explosion? A chill went down her spine, and she tugged the cardigan tighter around her body.
Then she scanned the crowd and froze.
There were two men in suits, looking at the building, then the crowd. They gave off the same vibe as the man in the museum.
Oh, God. Had they done this?
That couldn’t be right. She was overreacting. Then she watched the men split up. One touched a woman’s shoulder, looked at her face, then turned away. The other one approached another woman.
Haven’s stomach turned to stone. The women they were talking to were about the same age as Haven, both of them with brown hair.
Quickly, Haven spun away, walking into the crowd.
She had no idea where she was going. Her head throbbed and she couldn’t think clearly.
All she knew was that she had to get away.
Rhys paced the Norcross office. Vander was questioning the scumbag from the museum down in one of the holding rooms.
Vander refused to let Rhys in on the interrogation because Rhys wanted to rip the guy’s head off.
The asshole had held a gun to Haven’s fucking head. He’d hit her. Rhys pressed his hands to his hips and dragged in a breath. She was home, she was all right.
He needed to step up this investigation. He had to find the damn painting and get Haven safe.
He heard footsteps and turned. Vander stalked up the stairs.
“What did you get?” Rhys demanded.
“The crew works for the Zakharov family.”
Sounded Russian. “Mafia?”
Vander nodded. “Sergei Zakharov is the head of the family. They’re out of Miami.”
Rhys stilled. “What?”
“Yeah, we need to see if this links back to Haven’s ex. Maybe she’s in contact with him and—”
“She’s not. He cheated on her, hit her. Fuck.”
“For now, we—” Vander’s cell pealed. He yanked it out. “Norcross.” Vander stiffened. “What? Fuck.” He gripped the back of his neck. “Yeah, okay.”
His brother’s gaze shifted to Rhys. Vander looked cautious.
A chill hit Rhys and spread. “Tell me?”
Vander’s face twisted.
“Vander,” Rhys prompted.
“There was an explosion,” Vander said slowly.
Rhys’ mind went blank. “Say again?”
“An explosion. At Haven’s apartment building. There’s no news on Haven.”
No. No! Rhys spun and ran for