Reunited with the P.I.

by Anna J. Stewart

Cal shook his head. “It doesn’t. Unless Simone’s found some other evidence to present in court that doesn’t involve anything Natalie provided.”

  “Not yet, I haven’t.” Simone tapped her foot. She looked at Vince, something flashing in her eyes as she slipped her hand into her pocket. The key. “But I’m not done looking. I still have forty-eight hours.”

  “Get in touch if you come up with any way that I or my agents can be of assistance.” Cal’s phone beeped. He looked at the screen, sighed and shook his head. “I swear they put a homing beacon on me. I need to take this.” He headed for and pulled open the door. “I’ll be back in a—”

  He stumbled back, gripped the doorknob so hard his knuckles went white.

  “Cal?” Simone moved toward him as Cal turned and looked down at his chest. He let out a wheeze Vince recognized all too well.

  A bright red patch spread across Cal’s shirt. The bemused, dazed expression on his face faded as his eyes went glassy. He jerked as a second bullet blasted through his torso and plowed into the wall inches from Vince’s head.

  Vince dived off his chair and grabbed Simone around the knees, knocking her to the ground as bullets continued to stream in. He looked over his shoulder as Cal’s body fell in a heap. Instinct kicked in. Vince rolled, grasped the door and slammed it shut as bullets plowed into the wood.

  Simone looked at him from across the room, eyes wide with terror. “What do we do?” She sniffed, eyes shifting around the room. “Wait. Do you smell that?”

  “Smoke,” Vince confirmed over the sound of his pounding heart. Black smoke plumed through the open bathroom window. “Someone’s set the place on fire.”

  Chapter 17

  Simone did the only thing she could think of. She dug out her phone and started taking pictures.

  “You’ve got to be kidding me.” Vince coughed and reached for her as she angled her lens toward the evidence. “9-1-1 would have been my first choice.”

  “Then you do it.” She took shallow breaths, blinking back tears as the smoke thickened. The tiny space was filling up fast. She would have to work quickly. As if from a faraway distance, she heard Vince shouting into the phone.

  The stench of gasoline grew thicker. She choked, unable to clear her airway. She dipped down, covered her mouth and nose with her arm, glanced to the door. She went around him and lunged for the handle.

  “Simone!” Vince’s shout accompanied a new round of bullets as she pulled open the door. He tackled her to the ground, losing hold of his phone as he landed on top of her. “They aren’t going anywhere until they’re sure we’re dead.”

  “Then we’d better figure another way out! I’m not dying in this hole.” She shoved at him.

  “Stay down!” Vince leaped up onto the bed and slammed his elbow through the barred window to let some of the smoke out. More shots rang out as cool air swept in and was swallowed by the heat slipping through from the bathroom. He flattened himself on the mattress and rolled off.

  Simone crawled into the bathroom. The heat alone was enough to burn her skin. Flames licked the window ledge. She felt around for the towels she remembered hanging behind the door. She found the sink and turned the water on, dousing the towels before she pressed one to her mouth and raced out. She stumbled to Vince, pushed the other towel into his hands. He nodded in approval.

  “Try not to hyperventilate,” he ordered.

  She coughed, looked down at her phone as Eden’s face appeared on the caller ID. Bracing herself, she answered, but the pain in her lungs was too much. She gasped, choked, bent double and dropped to the ground. Simone could hear Eden’s faint voice calling out to her, but the sudden roar of flames from behind her took over. Simone tried to focus, but could only see a frayed line in the soiled carpet. Odd. Inhaling what was left of the damp towel, she reached out with her other hand and slipped her fingers into the rip. Smooth edges. Not worn. Cut.

  She dug her fingers in, pulled back and the carpet gave way to the floorboards beneath. One of which had a large notch in the corner. “Vince!” Her voice was muffled by the now useless towel. She shimmied on the floor, peering through the smoke as she heard sirens in the distance. She banged her hand flat on the floor as hard as she could to get his attention, wherever he was.

  Vince dropped down beside her. “Look under here,” she croaked.

  Simone used her last bit of strength to pry up the floor board. She looked down at a metal box. Hands locked around the handle, she pulled it free. She heard the inferno in the bathroom. Tiles exploded off the walls.

  Vince threw himself against the door to buy them more time. He pulled the box free from her grasp and pushed her to safety behind the upturned mattress, using it as cover to look out the window. “They’re leaving. Sirens must have gotten their attention.”

  She wanted to ask if he saw who it was, how many there were? Did he see a license—she felt herself sway.

  “Don’t you dare pass out on me!”

  Vince’s order snapped her back to life as the bathroom door blasted off its hinges and slammed full force into the floor. Seductive flames slipped into the room, caught the electronics instantly.

  “Another couple of seconds.” Vince took her hand. She grabbed hold, determined never to let go again. “Okay. Let’s go.”

  He wrenched the motel room door open, tugged her forward, but as she moved, she saw her cell phone lying on the floor by her bag. The pictures! She dived for it, reaching her cell moments before the flames, but not soon enough. She screamed as fire scorched her palm, still she held on. She felt an arm lock around her waist and haul her up. The room spun. Then she was flying.

  Then...

  Nothing.

  * * *

  “Stop worrying about me! Take care of her.”

  Simone couldn’t help but smile at the distant, yet familiar, bellow. She felt as if she were floating, suspended, in blessedly cool air tainted with the hint of ozone and tinder. Someone was having a barbecue around here. She took a long, deep breath and crashed to earth.

  Shoving onto her side, she retched. Air. She needed...she gasped, her chest tightening as if someone had slipped bands of steel around her ribs. Someone pushed something weird over her face. Soft, sweaty, stale smelling plastic. She grabbed at it, struggled against it, until she felt Vince’s hand on her leg, on her arm and then in her hair. She blinked open her teary eyes. Vince. Relief surged through her.

  She said something. Or tried to. He frowned, shook his head. She finally saw it was a mask over her face and pushed it off, much to Vince’s obvious displeasure. “I said you look like—” She didn’t get the last word out as Vince kissed her.

  Simone sobbed against his lips, touched his soot-covered face to prove to herself he was okay. Only now did she realize she’d thought she was going to die in that fire. She held on to him, determined not to let the moment pass as if it meant nothing to her.

  When he pulled back, he looked into her eyes. “Now leave it on.” He replaced the mask and helped her sit up. She was on a gurney outside the back of an ambulance. The medic in charge of her oxygen examined her blistered hand.

  “Looks like second-degree burns,” the young man said, turning critical eyes on her. “I hope the cell phone was worth it.”

  “What?” Her voice was garbled under the mask.

  He turned her palm up so she could see the outline of her phone on her palm. “You’re going to have a scar.”

  “Oh.”

  “Scars mean you survived,” Vince said as if he thought she’d be upset at the idea. She’d never had a scar before. Never broken a bone or been in the hospital. At the rate she was going she’d be breaking all those records by the time this case was over. “Don’t go wearing it as a badge of honor,” he continued. “Those pictures you were worried about?”

  She nodded. The ide
a of losing everything Mara—Natalie—had worked on had been unacceptable.

  “Two words.” Vince caught her chin and shook his head. “Cloud storage.”

  Her laugh sounded a tad hysterical even to her own ears. She leaned against him as he sat behind her, slipped his arm around her waist as if he, too, needed reminding she was okay. Together they watched the firefighters and first responders put the blaze out. She lost track of time, feeling sleepy and dazed as the noise drifted around her. With her hand bandaged and her breathing no longer so painful, she passed the mask to her caregiver. “I’m okay,” she croaked. Her throat ached, but for the most part, she’d survive.

  The squeal of tires behind her made her jump. Vince got to his feet as Simone saw a streak of strawberry blond hair headed for her. “Eden,” she whispered. “She called when we were inside.”

  “Simone!” Eden barreled through the blockade and scene tape, Cole, Allie and Jack hot on her heels.

  “Sac PD.” Jack flipped his badge to the local officers and gestured to Simone and Vince. “They’re with us.”

  “As if they could have stopped her,” Vince muttered as Eden dived at Simone, who found herself on the receiving end of the strongest hug of her life. “I’m fine, too, if you were wondering,” he said.

  Simone reached for his hand, but she didn’t let go of her friend. How could she given the tremors coursing through Eden’s body? Having been on the other end not so long ago when Eden had been the one in danger, she couldn’t blame her. “I’m okay,” she whispered in her best comforting-sister tone. “Vince got me out. I’m okay.”

  “I thought you were dying.” Eden sobbed, seemed to be horrified about it and swiped a hand under her eyes. “When you answered your phone and all I heard was you choking and then the fire—”

  “You could hear the fire?” Simone blinked. Huh. She hadn’t considered that.

  “My turn.” Allie pushed in to get her own confirmation Simone was all right. She didn’t need as long to verify Simone was indeed alive and kicking. Within seconds Allie shifted into doctor mode as she examined Simone’s bandaged hand. “What am I going to do with you two?” She touched Simone’s face, that mixture of sympathy and frustration mingling on her fairy-princess features before she turned her attention to Vince.

  And locked him in an equally fierce hug.

  Vince’s eyes went wide over her head, a silent plea to Simone who realized being hugged by a friend scared him more than flying bullets and ravenous flames. Her heart constricted as reality hit hard. She’d done it again. She pressed a hand against her chest. Fallen in love with him. Again.

  Or maybe she’d never fallen out of love. But this time...she blinked back a new rush of tears. This time was different. This time she understood what she had to lose.

  “One of you want to tell us what’s going on?” Cole’s calm demeanor didn’t fool Simone as she forced herself to pick up the conversation. She knew that tone. He was mad.

  “Allie’s suspicions were right.” Vince still looked unnerved as Allie shifted her hold and kept her arm around his waist. “Mara Orlov wasn’t who she said she was. She was an FBI agent working a case.”

  “My case,” Simone clarified. “Cal Hobard was her superior.”

  “Hobard? The politico guy working for your boss?” Eden frowned. “The one that was acting like a class-A chump—wait. You said was.”

  “He’s dead.” She’d have to deal with the guilt of her incorrect suspicions about Cal at another time. “They, whoever they are, killed him. Then lit the place up.” She looked at the heap of charred, smoking rubble that could have served as her funeral pyre. She saw the hotel manager standing to the side with the fire chief, wildly gesticulating as she pointed at Simone and Vince.

  “All this is tied to the Denton case?” Jack asked. “But why?”

  Simone looked at Vince, then down at the box by his feet. “Hopefully we’ll find some answers in there. If Vince hadn’t called 9-1-1 and gotten emergency services here, they’d have waited until we were toast.”

  “And you call me tactless.” Eden sat on the gurney beside her and took her uninjured hand. “They were that determined to see you dead, huh?”

  “I caught a glimpse of them out the window,” Vince confirmed. “They were professionals. Hired guns. The kind of team I might have run when I worked security.”

  “Ex-military, you think?” Cole asked.

  “Hope not, but yeah. That’s my guess.”

  “See enough to give a description?” Jack asked.

  “Of their faces? Not sure. But the main shooter had a tattoo on his forearm. I can draw it for you.”

  “You can draw?” Simone frowned. Did she know that?

  “News crews are going to be here anytime,” Cole said. “We need to decide what we’re going to do about all this.”

  “Nothing to decide.” Eden earned interested stares from everyone. “They wanted Simone and Vince dead. I say we give them exactly what they want.”

  Chapter 18

  “A source within the police department has confirmed as many as three potential fatalities in the arson-suspected fire at the I-5 motel.” The harried reporter tapped a finger against his ear as he spoke into the camera. “While we’ve been unable to confirm the identity of the victims, I can report that Sacramento Deputy District Attorney Simone Armstrong was on scene just prior to the explosion. Along with Miss Armstrong, witnesses have identified Sacramento private investigator Vince Sutton, who also happens to be Miss Armstrong’s former husband. There has been no information regarding the third victim. We’re still awaiting a statement of confirmation from the DA’s office, but one has to wonder if this is yet another twist in the Paul Denton case in which the local businessman is accused—”

  Simone clicked the TV off and sagged deeper into the sofa in the basement of Eden’s townhouse. “Exactly how long do we have to stay dead?”

  She folded her arms around her knees as her friends filed in and out of the home Eden planned to vacate in favor of Cole’s 1960s’ gentleman’s cruiser. A boat. Simone dropped her head back. Her best friend was going to live on a boat.

  “Longer than a few hours.” Cole angled an open bag of tortilla chips in her direction. She snagged one, nibbled on the edge because there didn’t seem to be anything else to do. Great. Now she wanted a margarita the size of Mexico. “We don’t want to run out of provisions.”

  “I’d say we can survive the apocalypse.” Vince took a seat on the arm of the leather sofa and dropped a reassuring hand on Simone’s shoulder. “You sure you don’t want them to contact your parents and tell them what’s really going on?”

  Simone shook her head. “By the time anyone tracks them down wherever they are, this whole thing will be over.” Honestly, she wasn’t convinced her “death” would be little more than an inconvenience to her globe-trotting progenitors. It had been years since she’d shared more than a cursory phone call with either of them. What a sad realization to come to.

  She looked at the small round table that had, until recently, displayed a photograph of the four of them—Eden, Allie, Simone and Chloe. If she closed her eyes, she could remember that day so clearly, taken a few months before Chloe’s murder.

  Chloe.

  A new anger simmered inside Simone; an anger she suspected she’d finally opened herself up to. All these years she’d pushed aside any idea of bringing Chloe’s murderer to justice. She hadn’t wanted to get her hopes up, to let herself believe it was possible to close that chapter of their lives once and for all. But in those horrifying minutes trapped in that fire, it wasn’t Mara Orlov or the Denton case that had crossed her mind. It was the idea she’d be leaving her two best friends alone to deal with whatever Chloe’s killer had planned for them.

  She wasn’t leaving this earth with Chloe’s murderer still out there. H
e thought he had the power? He thought he could stalk them into submission and frighten them? Then he truly had no idea what he’d created the day he’d taken their friend.

  “What about you?” Simone asked Vince, trying to compartmentalize.

  “What about me?”

  “Anyone we should notify?”

  “No one cares about me.” The casual, dismissive response had her tugging Vince down beside her.

  “I care.” She wedged herself under his arm, feeling safer than she had in days. He smelled clean, with barely a hint of smoke after his shower, which he’d taken in the tiny guest bathroom on the first floor so she could use the master. “They care.” She gestured to her friends as they bounced from downstairs to upstairs, mumbling and muttering to themselves. “And there are plenty of other people who do, too.”

  “I suppose there’ll be a bit of chaos at the bar when word hits.” Vince drew her even closer, pressed his lips against the top of her head.

  “Word’s already hit.” Jack descended the stairs, and, after a brief hesitation when he looked at the two of them curled up on the sofa, shifted his expression to neutral. Simone squirmed in her seat. “When we’re done here,” Jack continued, “I’ll take a run over and try to put some minds at ease. Get a feel for what’s going on with your employees. We’ll keep things together for you, don’t worry.”

  “Do I look worried?” Vince asked.

  “You don’t,” Jack said. “But Simone’s going to need Botox if she keeps frowning like that.”

  She managed a weak laugh, grateful he’d returned to teasing her. She rubbed her fingers across her forehead. “I don’t do botulism, but thanks for the warning. Ow.” She sucked in a breath as the burns on her hand throbbed. Pain was good. Pain meant she was alive. Didn’t mean it didn’t hurt, though.

  “Acclimating to the dungeon?” Cole directed at Vince from where he was sorting through photographs.

  “You know so much has happened that I’m not even going to question that description,” Vince said.