the stairs.
“Rhys, wait!”
He took the stairs two at a time. At this time of the day, traffic to her place in Pacific Heights would suck, as everyone was headed home from work.
Once he hit the garage level, he bypassed the SUVs and went for his bike.
He climbed on, yanked his helmet on, and gunned the engine. Then he flew out of the Norcross warehouse.
An explosion. Be okay, Haven. Be okay.
He’d only gone a block when Vander’s BMW motorcycle roared up beside him. His brother’s black visor looked his way, and he lifted his chin.
The two of them sped off down the road.
It wasn’t long before he saw the smoke, and his gut turned into a tight ball.
They reached Haven’s apartment building, and out front, he counted several fire trucks and ambulances. There was also a sizable crowd. He and Vander parked and climbed off their bikes.
Rhys jogged over. He looked up and the damaged building made his mouth go dry. It was only six stories high, and the explosion had done a lot of damage.
“Rhys.” Vander was staying close, watching him carefully.
“The damage is centered on Haven’s apartment,” Rhys said woodenly.
Where the hell was she? He scanned around. Lots of bedraggled people, but no Haven.
“We’ll ask around,” Vander said.
Rhys nodded. “Vander, she’s mine.”
Vander’s lips quirked. “I know, bro. I’ve known for a while, even if you haven’t.”
His brother strode off toward the firefighters and police. Rhys circled through the crowd, searching for a pretty brunette with gorgeous blue eyes.
His panic turned from an itch to a burn. There was no sign of her. His gaze went back to her destroyed apartment.
Then Vander came back, his face grim. Saxon was with him.
“Hey.” Saxon’s body was tense and alert.
“Why is Saxon here?” Rhys asked.
“I called him before we left the office,” Vander said.
“Why?”
“In case you lose it.”
Rhys felt like the ground moved under his feet. “Tell me.”
“Rhys—”
“Tell me!” he barked.
Vander’s jaw tightened. “The explosion was in an empty apartment below Haven’s. It’s looking like a faulty gas line. The arson investigators aren’t done yet, but they think it was rigged.”
Rhys dragged in a breath. “Haven?”
“No sign of her. They haven’t recovered any bodies, yet. Four people went to the hospital. An old lady, a mother and toddler, and a boy who broke his leg evacuating.”
Rhys’ chin dropped to his chest. “They searched her apartment?”
Vander hesitated. “Not yet. The fire’s too intense, and it’s too dangerous.”
The news was like an arrow to his heart. “So, no one would have survived.”
“She might have gotten out,” Saxon said.
“Then where is she?” Rhys said.
Suddenly Gia pushed through the crowd, her face twisted with panic. “Where’s Haven?”
Vander turned. “Gia—”
Their sister froze, reading Vander’s tone. “No.” She shook her head. “Haven isn’t dead.”
Dead. The word reverberated in Rhys’ head.
He sat on a nearby brick retaining wall, and dropped his head to his hands. He’d pushed her away, said ugly things.
Images of Haven—smiling, sipping a glass of wine, laughing, avoiding him, crying his name as she came—cascaded through his head.
“Gia.” Saxon moved toward her.
“Don’t touch me, Saxon Buchanan.” She smacked him away. “Find her. This can’t be a coincidence. Someone did this.”
Rhys squeezed his eyes closed. Now was not the time for the Saxon and Gia show. Since they were teenagers, the pair fought like snarling cats. They made oil and water look compatible. Rhys had promised to keep Haven safe. Pain tore him apart and he rose. Emotions swelled inside him like a tidal wave.
Vander and Saxon eyed him. Gia looked stricken. Her gaze met Rhys’ and she flinched.
Vander pulled her into his arms.
“I have to go.” Rhys swiveled.
“Rhys.” Vander’s voice was laced with warning.
Fuck. He was going to lose it.
“Saxon, follow him,” Vander ordered.
Rhys went straight to his bike. He had no idea what he was going to do, where he was going to go.
His cell rang and he yanked it out. “What?”
“Whoa, Norcross. It’s Hammon.”
“I’m busy.”
“Saw your girl. The classy one who was with you the other day. Thought you’d want to know. She’s in pajamas and no shoes, and wandering in the Tenderloin. She looks drunk or high, or something.”
Rhys went still. “What?” His hand clenched on his phone so hard that the plastic creaked. “Haven?”
“Yeah, and she’s not in a nice part of town.” He rattled off a street corner.
“I’m coming. Hammon, don’t let anyone touch her or I’ll kill you.”
Rhys looked at Saxon. “Informant saw Haven.”
“Go. Call us when you’ve got her.”
Rhys jumped on his bike and sped off. He ran a red