legs into the upper half of my body. My vision blurs, then refocuses on the orange haze blazing through the kitchen.
RACHAEL
I should be long gone from Point Reina right now, but I forgot my Louis Vuitton clutch at home—the one that matches my bag—and I’d stuffed some important banking papers inside. God, I hope Travis isn’t home. I can’t handle seeing him again. As hard as it is, I’m ready to close that chapter of my life. We haven’t been happy for some time, and it’s taken Joanna’s death—and all his dirty secrets that have tumbled out because of it—for me to realize that. Hopefully, if I know him like I think I do, he’ll be at the distillery, drinking his sorrows away.
Smoke plumes into the sky as I round the corner on Cypress, cutting off any thoughts of Travis, my papers, or my clutch.
“Oh my God,” I whisper, leaning across the seat to get a better view. Thank God Michael isn’t home. Jail isn’t the ideal place to be, but under the circumstances…
Ravenwood is burning.
The wind rages, fanning the flames of the fire faster than the rain can quell it. And Dean’s car sits at the curb.
Oh, God…Dean…
Colleen may be trapped inside, too.
I slam the car into park and dig my phone out of my purse to call 911. What else can I do?
“Fire,” I blurt out when someone answers. “Hurry, it looks bad.”
As I’m giving the address, a media van turns the corner of Beach and Cypress. Through the windshield, I can see them pointing at Ravenwood, gawking, yelling. They’re going to cover the story. And I’m sitting in the car on my phone.
This is my chance.
Screw the six o’clock local news. My face will earn national attention. I’ll be a hero.
Pushing away all hesitations, I race out of the car. I pretend not to see the van and cower as the rain pummels down, flattening my hair. I’m crossing the yard when flames shoot out the kitchen window, shattering the glass. Whimpering, I duck and burst inside the front door.
“Dean! Colleen!”
I’ve stepped straight into hell.
Dark, thick smoke clings to my lungs like tar when I attempt to take a breath. Eerie rippling sounds emanate from the kitchen and I hear an earsplitting crack. The wood beams holding Ravenwood together are fracturing under the flames. Yanking a blanket off the back of the couch, I wrap it around my face, leaving only my eyes exposed. They burn and tear as I scramble down the hall, coughing.
“Dean!”
I can’t find him.
“Colleen!” Bending low to escape the greasy billows of smoke, I scan the living room and kitchen in a flurry of stumbling movements. Panic sets in. “Colleen!”
No one’s here.
But the Mustang out front…
Flames engulf the kitchen counters and burn through the cabinets, which churn out even more horrid black smoke. I choke on it as I call out their names over and over again.
And suddenly, I catch sight of movement. It’s the door to the cellar, wavering on its hinge.
They wouldn’t be downstairs…would they?
Shooting a glance at the still-open door, I envision the warm, safe confines of my car where I could wait for help to arrive, but—no. I can’t leave until I’m sure everyone is out. Crawling—the only way to escape the smoke pluming through the kitchen—I scramble into the cellar doorway.
“Dean!”
I see him, crumpled at the bottom of the stairs.
“I’m coming!”
In a rush of adrenaline, I clamber down the stairs. The air is cleaner down here, but not by much. My lungs ache, and tears stream from the smoke as I descend.
At the base of the stairs, I see Colleen. She’s draped over Dean, her head resting on his chest as if she’s listening for a heartbeat.