She crawled into the hall. There was more smoke, more destruction. She reached Mrs. Girard’s door and banged her fist against it.
“Mrs. Girard!”
“Haven?” The door opened. The woman’s terrified face peered back, her halo of gray hair a mess.
“There’s a fire. We need to get out.”
Rising, Haven slipped her arm around the frail, older woman and helped her maneuver her walker into the hall. They hobbled toward the stairs.
“We can’t use the elevator,” Haven told her.
“You should go,” the old woman said. “You’ll move faster without me.”
“I’m not leaving you.”
The smoke was growing and Haven coughed. Her eyes stung. She nudged open the doors to the stairs.
“Come on, hold on to me and the railing.” They abandoned the woman’s walker at the top of the stairs.
Then they started down.
It was slow going. Mrs. Girard was shaky, and started coughing too.
“One step at a time.” Haven needed to try a distraction. “Maybe we’ll meet some hunky firefighters waiting for us at the bottom?”
That got a rough laugh out of her elderly neighbor.
She heard shouts echo in the stairwell below. Other people evacuating.
They rounded the landing, and smoke poured through a door from a lower floor.
“Keep moving, Mrs. Girard. Think of those firefighters.”
“You need a man, Haven.”
“No one needs a man. I had one. He wasn’t good. I don’t need another one.” Oh boy, at least Mrs. Girard couldn’t tell she was lying.
“They’re not all bad. My Mr. Girard was a good one. Even on the days that he drove me crazy. Once I had to hit him with my frypan.”
“You miss him,” Haven said quietly.
“Every day, my dear. But the pain is worth every minute we got to spend together.” Mrs. Girard broke into a coughing fit.
They negotiated more stairs, and the old woman leaned heavily on Haven. She had to focus on keeping them both upright. Her eyes were stinging, tears streaming down her face.
Please Lord, not much farther. Haven’s head was starting to feel woozy.
“There is a guy,” she found herself saying.
“Ah-huh.” Mrs. Girard coughed some more.
“He’s way too good looking. Every time I see him, my body goes haywire. I’ve been trying to avoid him.”
“Just like when I first saw Mr. Girard. That tingle. The knowing.”
“Oh, no. I’m steering clear of Rhys. I’m not the only woman who likes the look of him.”
Mrs. Girard clutched Haven’s arm. “I know you’re afraid, but Haven, to live, to love, you have to take some risks.”
The old lady stumbled, and Haven lunged and caught her. The dizziness was getting really bad. She needed to get them out. Her lungs were burning.
The smoke was getting thicker, and they managed to get down two more stairs. Then she saw movement.
Two firefighters in bulky suits, helmets, and masks appeared.
Thank you, Jesus. The men helped them out of the building. Outside, a crowd had gathered around the fire trucks, police cars, and ambulances.
One firefighter took a coughing Mrs. Girard toward one of the ambulances.
“Your head’s bleeding,” the other firefighter said to Haven.
“It is?” She swiped at her temple and saw red on her fingers. “I’m fine.”
“Get the paramedics to check you over.”
Her head was still foggy and she couldn’t think straight. She realized her legs were bare, and her feet were bare. She tugged her cardigan around her.
It was chaos. There were so many people. The firefighter started to turn away.
“Hey, what happened?” she asked.
“Looks like an explosion.”
Explosion? A chill went down her spine, and she tugged the cardigan tighter around her body.
Then she scanned the crowd and froze.
There were two men in suits, looking at the building, then the crowd. They gave off the same vibe as the man in the museum.
Oh, God. Had they done this?
That couldn’t be right. She was overreacting. Then she watched the men split up. One touched a woman’s shoulder, looked at her face, then turned away. The other one approached another woman.
Haven’s stomach turned to stone. The women they were talking to were about the same age as Haven, both of them with brown hair.
Quickly, Haven spun away, walking into the crowd.
She had no idea where she was going. Her head throbbed and she couldn’t think clearly.
All she knew was that she had to get away.
* * *
Rhys paced the Norcross office. Vander was questioning the scumbag from the museum down in one of the holding rooms.
Vander refused to let Rhys in on the interrogation because Rhys wanted to rip the guy’s head off.
The asshole had held a gun to Haven’s fucking head. He’d hit her. Rhys pressed his hands to his hips and dragged in a breath. She was home, she was all right.
He needed to step up this investigation. He had to find the damn painting and get Haven safe.
He heard footsteps and turned. Vander stalked up the stairs.
“What did you get?” Rhys demanded.
“The crew works for the Zakharov family.”
Sounded Russian. “Mafia?”
Vander nodded. “Sergei Zakharov is the head of the family. They’re out of Miami.”
Rhys stilled. “What?”
“Yeah, we need to see if this links back to Haven’s ex. Maybe she’s in contact with him and—”
“She’s not. He cheated on her, hit her. Fuck.”
“For now, we—” Vander’s cell pealed. He yanked it out. “Norcross.” Vander stiffened. “What? Fuck.” He gripped the back of his neck. “Yeah, okay.”
His brother’s gaze shifted to Rhys. Vander looked cautious.
A chill hit Rhys and spread. “Tell me?”
Vander’s face twisted.
“Vander,” Rhys prompted.
“There was an explosion,” Vander said slowly.
Rhys’ mind went blank. “Say again?”
“An explosion. At Haven’s apartment building. There’s no news on Haven.”
No. No! Rhys spun and ran for 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 pr
etty 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 light and ignored the speed limit. He roared down Van Ness Avenue, then turned again. A second later, he spotted her.
The weight that had been choking him lifted. She was sitting at the curb, staring at nothing. She had soot on her cheeks and her legs were bare.
Rhys pulled up beside her and leaped off the bike. “Haven!”
She blinked. “Rhys?”
“Yeah, baby. People are worried.” I was fucking destroyed.
Then she leaped up and ran at him.
He caught her and she burrowed into his chest.
“God, baby, I was so worried.” He held on tight.
“There was an explosion, smoke, fire.” Her voice hitched. “I got Mrs. Girard out.”
Of course, she hadn’t worried about herself, and had made a point of helping others.
Blankly, she pulled her phone out of her pocket. She blinked like she was surprised to see it. “I should have called.” Her voice lowered to a whisper. “But then I saw them.”
“Who?”
“Two guys in the crowd. They were looking for me.”
His arms tightened on her. “You’re safe now.”
She was shivering and he scooped her up into his arms. She pressed her face to his neck.
Rhys smelled coconuts and smoke. Then he spotted the blood smeared on the side of her head. “Haven, you’re bleeding.”
She made a sound and looked up. That’s when he realized her eyes weren’t fully focused.
“I think…something hit my head in the explosion.” She blinked. “Where are we?”
His heart clenched. She was probably concussed, and she’d been wandering around, out of it and hurt.
“Come on, I need to get you checked out.”
“Okay. I feel safe with you, Rhys.”
Her words were so quiet he barely heard them.
“Come on, baby.” He managed to get his phone out. “Vander, I found her. Can you meet me with an SUV?”
As Haven snuggled close into Rhys’ chest, he held on tight.
Chapter Nine
Haven sat quietly on the hospital bed. She’d been checked over, and now the nurse was taking care of the cut on the side of her head.
It was small, but it had bled a lot.
She’d been asked lots of questions about her bruised face, and she’d finally convinced the nurse that Rhys hadn’t given them to her. Then a police detective had arrived to take her statement about the explosion. She hadn’t mentioned the men in the crowd, but she’d told the detective everything about how she’d gotten out of the building.
The older man had eyed her carefully before giving her his card and leaving.
Rhys sat in a chair beside the bed. He was staring at her, hadn’t taken his eyes off her the entire time.
She fidgeted a little. The painkillers had kicked in, and had helped clear the fog in her head. She wasn’t sure if she wanted to be pissed off or scared about what had happened. At least she’d heard that no one had been killed, and Mrs. Girard’s family were with her and she was recovering.
“All done.” The nurse pulled off her gloves. “I recommend no more adventures for you.”
Haven choked out a laugh. “I didn’t want any of the ones I’ve had. Believe me, robbery, beatings, attempted kidnapping—twice—and now my apartment exploding… Not fun.”
The nurse’s eyes widened.
Haven felt something pumping off Rhys and glanced at him. His face was hard, his brown eyes glittering.
Her chest locked. Right now, he looked as scary as Vander—all that easygoing charm gone.
“Get some rest,” the nurse said. “You have a mild concussion, so you need someone to stay with you.”
“Okay.” Hopefully, she could stay with Gia. She glanced at the bed and saw her cell phone. That was all she had left of her stuff. God.
With a nod, the nurse left.
“Well, I—”
Rhys dragged his chair closer, startling her. He took her hands, holding them tight enough to hurt.
“Rhys?”
His forehead dropped to her thigh. “I thought you were dead.”
His harsh voice and his words made her belly clench. She rested her hand on his head. “I’m okay,” she said softly.
“There was no sign of you, your apartment was in ruins and on fire…”
; His voice cracked.
Oh, God. She tangled her fingers in his hair. “Rhys, I’m right here.”
He lifted his head. Then he rose, his mouth on hers. He kissed her like he couldn’t breathe and she was air.
A shiny sense of relief flooded her. Just being close to him made her feel better.
His fingers moved up to press against the side of her neck. He lifted his head, his gaze intense and turbulent as it locked on hers. He pressed his fingers to her pulse.
Her heart skipped a beat and she knew he felt it. His hand slid down until his palm rested on her chest, over her heart.
“I’m okay,” she repeated again.
“I’m going to keep you that way. From now on, I’ll be your own personal bodyguard. Keep you alive and breathing.”
She swallowed. “I—”
“No arguments. No negotiations. This is the way it’s going to be.”
Haven nodded, and saw his shoulders relax a little.
“I’m not letting you out of my sight.” He rested his forehead against hers.
“Okay, Rhys.”
“Let’s get you home.”
He bundled her up, and then when he looked at her bare feet, he lifted her into his arms. He carried her through the hospital and outside to the SUV. It was a short drive back to his place.
Realization flooded her. “I have nothing.” Her mother’s bracelet. It had likely been destroyed. A searing pain filled Haven’s heart. Her clothes, her jewelry. “God, all my things—”
He reached out and touched her hand. “We’ll take care of it.”
She nodded, fighting back tears.
“You have insurance?”
She nodded again. “I had a bracelet of my mother’s, some photos, my clothes. They’re gone.”
He squeezed her hand.
Once they reached his place, he carried her into the elevator. He set her down in front of his door to unlock it, and it swung open to reveal Easton.
Her boss shouldered his brother aside and pulled her against him.
Her lips trembled.
“Shit, Haven,” Easton murmured.
Gia strode in from the kitchen. “My turn.”
As her friend hugged her, Haven spotted Vander and Saxon in the kitchen. Vander was dressed all in black and as always, Saxon looked aristocratic and elegant in a custom suit.
The Investigator: Norcross Series Page 8