by Emily Conrad
Tegan appeared in the window, the phone to one ear and a pitcher of water in hand. She splashed the liquid up toward the ceiling, and it doused a gasping flame and washed down the remaining glass.
On the street, spectators assembled, but maybe because the fire was dying, no one moved forward to help. Sirens rose in the distance, soon enough to suggest a neighbor had called before Tegan managed to.
Her roommate came back with another pitcher, sloshing water over the side and bottom of the windowsill before joining Adeline. The soggy, smoldering bags reeked of smoke and burned leaves.
“How bad is it inside?” Adeline asked.
“We must’ve found it the moment the curtain lit. Smoke blackened the woodwork and the wall and ceiling over the window, but it doesn’t look too serious. It’ll be a trick to get the smell out, though.”
She wanted to ask how this had happened, but Tegan wouldn’t know any more than Adeline did. There were more important issues, anyway. “And you? Are you okay?”
Tegan nodded, and a smile blipped to her face. “And you?”
Adeline shook her head. The smile seemed so out of place.
“Up until this, you had a good night, didn’t you?”
“Oh.” Ashes seemed so incongruent with the time she’d spent with Gannon, the fact that she’d prayed again for the first time—and a second time, come to think of it—and that she’d played her bass. “I guess I did.”
“I tried to respect your privacy, but Gannon’s not exactly quiet when he performs, and a bass pipes out a lot of noise too.” The firetruck pulled up, and Tegan turned toward it. Her expression darkened. “Speaking of your privacy …”
Adeline followed her line of sight. A man with a bag over his shoulder and a large camera in hand hustled up the sidewalk. She turned her back to take stock of her clothes. Pajama shorts and a tank with a lacy bralette underneath. She crossed her arms and kept her back turned as she and Tegan spoke with the firefighters.
Once the initial questions were answered, Tegan started off in search of Bruce while Adeline let two firefighters inside to see the damage there.
When she moved to step inside after them, one held up a hand. “Wait outside while we check to make sure it’s safe.”
“There’s a man on the sidewalk taking pictures of me in my pajamas.” Calling him paparazzi sounded too outlandish. These things didn’t happen in Lakeshore. “I need to get dressed so I can help find my dog. I’ll stay away from the wall where the fire was.”
The firefighter, a man in his forties who stopped occasionally at the food truck, frowned but waved her in. “Stay behind me until we get a look.”
Almost immediately on spotting the window, he motioned Adeline to proceed and turned his attention toward the alarms. No wonder they continued to sound; lingering smoke made her cough as she crossed the living room.
In her room, Adeline scrambled into blue jeans, pulled a sweatshirt over her tank, and jogged to the back door. The firetruck’s strobing lights reached the trees, but other than that, the night was still. She peered at the maze of fences, bushes, and trees that made up the center of the block, but nothing moved in her yard or her neighbors’.
“Bruce! Come here, boy!”
Nothing. She rounded the house.
Two more firefighters and a third man, this one in a police uniform, stood where the fire had burned.
“Adeline, what happened?” The lights of the emergency vehicles flashed over the officer’s creased forehead. Joe Cullen. Olivia’s dad. In other circumstances, it wouldn’t have taken her so long to recognize him.
“I don’t know. There weren’t any power tools or anything over here, so I don’t understand how it lit on fire. Or how a ladder went through the window.”
“Do either of you smoke?” A firefighter had crouched next to the sooty pile that had once been the yard waste bags.
“No.” She leaned to see the spot illuminated by the man’s flashlight. Four or five cigarettes, all in various stages of being smoked, lay in the grass. “I heard a noise out here earlier and saw someone crossing the yard. Did they do this?”
The firefighter straightened up with a shrug.
She pointed toward the photographer, who snapped photos from the sidewalk. “Even if he wasn’t involved, if he’s been watching, he may know something.”
Officer Cullen marched across the yard. The photographer retreated, but Joe stopped him before he’d made it more than a few steps. In the darkness, she couldn’t make out their expressions, and they stood too far off for her to hear.
She looked back to the ashes. She’d seen the ladder leaning on the center post between the windows earlier. It wouldn’t have gone through the glass on its own, would it? Adeline lifted a shaking hand to her forehead.
The firemen who had been inside rejoined the group.
“You’ll want to board up this window until you can get it replaced. The structure is sound, but the fire inspector and insurance adjuster need to go through before you start any clean up.” The man handed Adeline a card with the fire inspector’s information. The business card was white, small, and orderly in her hand, such a contrast to the mess of ash and emotion.
What was she supposed to do? Find Bruce and then go to sleep as if nothing happened? She needed help that firefighters, police officers, and even Tegan couldn’t give. She took out her phone and dialed Gannon, but the call went to voicemail. Maybe he silenced it overnight. She tried John.
“Hey.” John cleared his throat, his voice thick. “You know even rock stars sleep, right?”
She checked her phone screen. Two thirty. “I’m sorry. There was a fire at my house. It’s okay, but a window broke, and my dog ran away, and there’s a photographer here.”
“A fire?”
“Someone was smoking next to the house, by the yard waste bags.” Would she sound paranoid if she voiced her suspicion that the ladder had been pushed? Was she overreacting by calling him?
“You’re okay?”
“Yeah. Shaken up. It didn’t spread much.” But what if they’d been sixty seconds slower about getting the curtains outside? Whoever had done this could’ve burned down the house. And there was still the matter of Bruce, running through the neighborhood, terrified. “An officer is talking to the photographer to see if he knows anything. But what if he started it? Who would’ve been smoking next to the house?”
“I’m on my way.”
“I tried Gannon first. He didn’t answer.”
“I’ll wake him up. Be there soon.”
Adeline disconnected. Could the fire have been set on purpose? Paparazzi might want to drum up dramatic photographs and draw Gannon out. Or what if some fan had gotten jealous of Adeline’s supposed romance with Gannon?
Would anyone go to these lengths for a story or a celebrity crush?
Joe Cullen returned. “He said he’s staying at Ida’s B&B and saw the flames, but not how they started.”
The bed-and-breakfast was across the street and a couple of doors down. The fire would’ve been visible from some of the windows, so the photographer might have been telling the truth.
Officer Cullen scanned the mess. “Do you have supplies to board up this window?”
“In the shed.” Adeline led the way, and they found a square piece of plywood left over from before she’d purchased the house. After she’d supplied him with a hammer and nails from the basement, Officer Cullen tacked the board in place, the rap of the hammer knocking against the quiet night.
Joe took the last nail from between his lips. “I’ll take pictures, collect the cigarette butts, see if I can find anything else. We’ll cordon off this part of the yard until after the inspection tomorrow.”
“Who’ll watch the property until you find the culprit?”
Adeline turned at the man’s voice. John slid his arm around her shoulders as he fastened his gaze on Officer Cullen.
Joe lifted his chin as if he didn’t take kindly to orders. “We’ll do drive-bys.”
“I’ll send someone, then.” John wore a T-shirt and athletic shorts, either what he’d slept in or something he’d thrown on, and stubble textured his jaw. His eyes seemed to follow the shadow the smoke had left trailing toward the second floor before he turned his gaze to her. “You’re staying with us.”
“You think something else might happen?”
“Let’s not risk it.” His attention seemed to sharpen on the photographer. “Ready to go?”
The man had his camera raised again. Maybe that’s why Gannon hadn’t come onto the street. He must be waiting in the car. Seeing him would make everything so much better.
She looked to Officer Cullen. “Can I?”
“Let’s finish up some details inside.”
“Okay. I have to pack a bag anyway, and Tegan is out looking for Bruce. She can come too, right?”
John nodded and lifted a hand to motion her toward the back entrance.
She hesitated. “Will Gannon wonder what’s taking so long?”
John’s expression clouded, and he shook his head.
Right. She ought to prioritize her house and dog right now.
The next half hour dragged by. Tegan returned, unsuccessful, and once they’d finished talking to Officer Cullen, they packed overnight bags. Tegan opted to drive her own vehicle, but Adeline wanted to be near Gannon more than anything, so she followed John down the sidewalk to a sedan. He pulled open the front passenger door while Tegan backed out of the driveway and into the road.
As John placed her bag in the trunk of his car, Adeline scanned the interior of the vehicle. No one waited inside.
“Gannon?”
John frowned and motioned her in. “Let’s find Bruce.”
So he didn’t want to explain Gannon’s absence. What did that mean?
Tegan pulled up next to them. “I’ll look this direction.” She pointed through her windshield. “Text if you find him?”
John nodded. “Do the same. We’ll meet up so you can follow us to the cabin.”
She gave a thumbs-up and then pulled away.
Adeline considered going for her own car, but exhaustion and disappointment dissolved the idea. She slipped into the car and tugged her seatbelt into place, fingers shaking again. John pulled away from the curb and navigated the streets, looking for a black dog in the black night.
Gannon sat behind Tim in the SUV, where window tinting had shielded him from the photographers at the gate as they pulled out of Havenridge. When they’d gotten clear of the press, he’d moved to the front passenger seat.
Twenty minutes down a two-lane country highway, he spotted the headlights of an idling car.
Tim huffed. “This is a setup for a horror movie. Any chainsaws or guns and I’m out of here. You can fend for yourself.”
Gannon’s phone lit up in his hand with a question from Harper. Is that you?
To the rescue. He plunked the phone into a cup holder. “If I die, you’re out a job.”
Tim parked the nose of his car close to the front bumper of the other. “True. We should’ve brought security.”
Gannon left his phone in the cup holder and climbed out of the SUV as the driver’s side door of the other car opened.
Harper wore a loose tank, cotton pants, and heels. Despite the late hour, gigantic sunglasses covered half her face. The combination of those and her hair hid the bruise. He hesitated. What if the whole thing—the bruise picture and, an hour and a half later, the picture of the blown tire—were an elaborate ruse?
As if sensing his doubts, Harper removed the glasses. The headlights hit on the purple and red that swallowed her right eye.
How could this have happened? He’d been so sure no one else had been in his apartment. So sure she hadn’t been attacked. Maybe she hadn’t been. Maybe this was something new. But so soon after those rumors of violence?
He met her where she stood, still by her car, and she clung to him. Her chin against his shoulder felt off. Adeline was shorter, and her hair didn’t brush his neck like this when they hugged. He returned the embrace, but as he did, he checked the car’s wheels.
Sure enough, the back tire was shredded.
She sniffled. “I can’t believe this would happen tonight, of all nights.”
He untangled himself from the hug. “How far did you drive after you hit the board?” He didn’t see anything in the road resembling the two-by-four she’d described.
“Not far. It sounded awful.”
Then where was the board? But the tire was undeniable evidence that she’d hit something. “What happened?”
“There was a board in the road. As if this night needed to get worse.”
“I mean to you.”
“Oh. I”—she slid the sunglasses back on—“fell.”
This story again? “Eye first?”
“Into a chair.”
“Did you have it checked out?”
“Nothing’s broken.”
“If you’re not worried about it and it was a simple fall, why are you here?” In her messages, she’d implied she was running for her life.
She frowned and focused down the dark road as if to control tears.
Fine. It was after two a.m., too late to play twenty questions. Especially on a deserted road in the dark.
“Pop the trunk. Let’s get your luggage and get out of here before the tow comes.”
“Why? Embarrassed to be seen with me?”
Yes. Hence the SUV to hide in, Tim to act as a driver, and the tow instead of putting a spare on and having her drive herself to Havenridge. “Do you really want to deal with a tow truck driver right now?”
“If he’s cute.”
He lifted the lid of the trunk and found it stuffed full of luggage. With a bag in each hand, he started for the SUV.
Harper trotted after him. “Maybe you don’t know how to change a tire.”
“I know how.” Fitz had taught him when they’d gotten a flat on the way to LA that first time. He stood clear as the tailgate of the SUV opened.
“Who taught you?” Her tone was playful. Somehow, she thought this was flirting. “Your dad?”
One of Awestruck’s first hits was about how he’d been raised by a single mom, and Gannon had discussed it in hundreds of interviews. Everyone knew about it, but Harper, who claimed to be a friend, forgot?
He swung the luggage, letting it thud too hard into the vehicle.
Harper sucked in a breath and glared at him as he stepped back so Tim could shut the tailgate again. “What?”
“My dad? Really?” He shook his head and forced a deep breath.
Harper followed him around the side of the SUV, her towering sandals grinding stones against the asphalt. He opened the door for her to get in.
She drew a ragged breath as if he’d given her a second black eye. “Tonight has been awful, so whatever chip you’ve got on your shoulder … Look, I’m sorry about the flat. I’m sorry I’m here. I’m sorry I’m such a burden to you, that I didn’t know who to go to after Rob attacked me. I thought this would be safe. And then I hit something in the road in the dark in the middle of nowhere, and I’ll never be good enough for you. I’m sorry, okay? Leave me here with the luggage and the car. I’ll go with the tow driver. You’ll never see me again.” She stomped to the tailgate.
So there was a man.
Gannon held a deep breath, then pushed it out. Body suddenly heavy, he joined her at the back corner of the vehicle. “Come to the cabin. We’ll get you set up for the night and figure everything out tomorrow. Okay?”
“You hate me.”
“I don’t hate you. I’m sorry I lost my temper. My dad left before I was born.” And Gannon couldn’t blame Harper for the part about Fitz. It was his own fault a question about changing a tire brought on guilt like this.
“Oh.” She tucked her hair back. “I forgot.”
A true friend wouldn’t have. But this wasn’t about a friendship. This was about being a decent human being to someone in need. This wa
s about all the people watching Harper who needed to know there was a better way, people who would listen to her testimony when they wouldn’t listen to anyone else.
But first, he’d have to stick this out long enough for her to change.
“Let’s get going.”
She slid her glasses on again and followed him, head down, into the backseat of the SUV. Tim steered toward Havenridge, but Gannon couldn’t shake the horror-movie feeling that said he was still walking into a trap.
20
Adeline made out the shape of people standing next to the dark country road.
Something tapped her arm, and she found John holding his sunglasses toward her, even though it was dark out. “Might be best if they don’t get a clear view.”
As he slowed the car to turn toward the waiting people, she slid them on. When the first flash went off, she lowered her head and lifted her hands to block her face. The car muffled the photographer’s calls, but as John steered through the fray, it sounded like they crowded close to the windows.
Had the car stopped? She peeked to see an iron gate suspended between massive posts, each made of a trio of logs. Bruce, whom they’d finally found fifteen minutes ago, whined from his spot in the backseat. John let the car crawl forward, advancing as quickly as the gates’ slow-motion movement would allow. A man in black pants and a gray polo stood nearby, making sure no trespassers dashed onto the property.
Once the photographers were behind them, Adeline removed the sunglasses and glanced in the side mirror. Tegan’s vehicle hovered behind them, apparently unscathed.
Now on the private drive, John accelerated. Two minutes later, they rounded a bend, and Havenridge came into view.
The material proof of Awestruck’s success left her craning her neck. The house towered three stories high and was made of thick logs and stretching windows. The drive split, offering the option of stopping under a hotel-like carport by the front door or pulling into the six-car garage. Lights shone onto the house and washed the front door in golden, welcoming light.