Stoking the Fire (Salus Security #1) - Teodora Kostova Page 0,23

her go, her pale blue eyes so much like my own—a Van Dorf family trademark thanks to my mother. In her fifties now, Olivia Van Dorf sits regally on one end of the elegant couch, her back straight, her hands folded in her lap. Once a ballerina, always a ballerina, my father used to say. I bend down to kiss her cheek and can’t help but smile when she pulls me closer for a hug.

My father watches the exchange with his usual stern expression—dark eyebrows furrowed, mouth pursed into a line, hands clasped on the desk. Only his eyes, a deep blue that seems so out of place on that expressionless face, crinkle at the corners, giving away that he’s actually glad to see us all here.

I nod at him, knowing a more tactile greeting won’t be welcome.

“What’s going on?” I ask as I sit between Mom and Evie on the couch. It’s big enough to fit all three of us comfortably.

My father’s eyes land on my mother, and they look wordlessly at each other for the longest moment. Then he sighs, stands and walks to the front of the desk. Leaning against it, he folds his arms.

“There has been an incident in the Dawn main office downtown,” he says.

I frown. On the way here I checked several news websites, including Dawn, Evening Globe, and Sentinel—Van Dorf Media Group’s most elite publications. There was no mention of any incident.

“What kind of incident?” I ask, turning to look at Evie and Mom in turn. Evie’s face is skewed in a frown as confused as mine, but Mom’s features are schooled as she purposefully avoids eye contact.

My father props his hands on the desk behind him, his suit jacket straightening without a single crease. Even when working at home, Dennis Van Dorf always wears an impeccable suit, ready to be summoned to the governor’s office or to a meeting with a senator or to a board meeting in one of his offices scattered all over Manhattan.

“A group of men tried to infiltrate the office, opened fire on the guards, and injured several people before being incapacitated,” my father says coolly as if reading from an article.

“What!” both Evie and I exclaim, leaning forward in our seats. “That’s not an incident, Dad! That’s a terrorist attack!” I say, my voice rising. “When did this happen? Why isn’t is all over the news?”

I scoff at my own question before anyone has a chance to reply. “Of course. You covered it, didn’t you?”

Won’t be the first time, nor the last. My father is one of the few people in America who decides what news becomes public and what news will be buried forever.

“Not even I can cover up something like this,” he says with a resigned sigh. “Luckily, most of the commotion happened inside the building, and I’ve managed to delay the exposure. Not for long, though. It’ll probably be breaking news tomorrow.”

I scrub a hand over my face. “Is everyone okay? The guards? Did anyone get hurt?”

My parents exchange another meaningful glance, and I’m ready to scream.

Evie puts a hand on my knee to stop it from bouncing. I look at her, the soft smile on her beautiful face calming me down instantly.

The deep scar on her forehead making me want to rage.

Her fingers tighten on my knee when she sees my eyes wandering up to her scar.

“Two guards died on the scene,” my father says, claiming my attention. I gape at him, horrified. “Two more are in the hospital. Several other people sustained minor injuries before the threat was neutralized.” His clinical explanation makes my stomach turn with barely suppressed anger.

“Neutralized?” Evie speaks next to me, her voice small, the hand on my knee white-knuckled. “You mean, killed?”

My father nods.

“Fuck,” I murmur under my breath, falling backwards into the sofa, the enormity of the situation pinning me down like a concrete block.

“Darling, calm down. Please listen to your father,” my mother says next to me, her hand caressing my hair. “Evie, are you okay, sweetheart?”

I turn to look at my sister, who is pale and looks like she is about to puke.

“I need a minute,” she whispers.

Reaching for her crutches propped on the side of the sofa, she gets up and, before anyone can stop her, heads for the door. It closes with a soft click behind her.

Ever since the car accident that claimed her friends’ life and left her a broken shell of herself, Evie hasn’t been able to handle bad news.