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  “Nothing to be sorry about. It’s true.”

  JD’s face is pasty, and for the first time I notice he doesn’t look like he’s slept in days. “We will get the sonofabitch who’s responsible, Gabrielle. I promise.”

  Did I hear him correctly? Did he just say, we’ll get the sonofabitch who’s responsible? No. I must have misunderstood. No! My pulse is racing. I need to stay calm. If he thinks I’m all worked up, he’s going to downplay it. “You think someone set the fire?” I cough to hide the squeak in my voice. “Intentionally?”

  “Maybe.”

  “Who would do something like that?” I try my best to keep the shock out of my voice. And the anger.

  “They don’t know. Let’s not get too far ahead of ourselves. It could have been an accident. That’s still where all the evidence is pointing,” he says, unbuckling his belt and pulling off his jeans and boxers.

  I let out a small relieved sigh. I don’t entirely believe him, but right now, I’m exhausted and willing to take him at his word. JD pulls down the covers on the other side of the bed and readjusts the pillows. What? I thought he was getting undressed to shower. “You want sex?” I ask incredulously. “Now?”

  “I always want sex.”

  “I can barely move.” Or think straight. And Maureen might come back. “What are you doing?”

  “Getting in my bed. To keep you quiet and still. And to sleep.”

  I don’t believe him. He’s going to try to distract me with orgasms. That’s what he always does. I stare at him in disbelief. “You’re naked.”

  “It’s how I sleep. I like the feel of the cool sheets on my ass.”

  “You have . . . an erection.”

  “I always have an erection when you’re around. Ignore it.”

  “Ignore it?”

  “Yeah. That’s what I do most of the time, otherwise I’d never get a damn thing done. Do you want to call your mother back?”

  “I can’t. Not now. But I better text her, otherwise she won’t stop worrying.”

  JD hands me his phone and climbs under the covers, kissing my forehead before he lies down. “I’m fading,” he admits. “I need to shut my eyes for a couple hours, and you need to rest too. I’m right here if you need anything. Go to sleep after you text your mom.”

  Even though JD has the kind of hard-on that normally makes me drool, nothing about lying in his bed with him right now is sexy. He’s exhausted and worried. His face is drawn, and his eyes are a washed-out blue I’m not sure I’ve ever seen in them before.

  Much to my relief, he doesn’t reach for me or wrap himself around my body. I’m relieved because although I long for the comfort he would bring, I don’t deserve it. Not with Georgie and the baby dead. I want to feel as alone as she must have felt while she was dying. I need the kinship with her. I just do.

  JD’s head barely hits the pillow before he’s snoring softly. I text with my mother for a few minutes, and eventually I fall asleep too. It’s not a graceful fall, more like a stumble into sleep. When I close my eyes, and consciousness starts to fade, the nightmares begin—I’m not even asleep yet, so they aren’t really nightmares. But they’re frightening just the same. It seems like no time has passed before I’m wide awake, covered in sweat, shivering, and gasping for air.

  I want JD to hold me. To thaw my ice-cold skin. To soothe me while the inferno rages in my head. It’s hell, but all I have to do is roll over and take what I want. He could make it marginally better. He’s inches away. But I don’t allow myself the comfort.

  Today, I choose hell.

  7

  Gabrielle

  When I wake up, the shutters are closed tight and the room is dark except for a small lamp in the corner. I peek at the clock. It takes me a minute to figure out if it’s day or night. Oh God, another wasted day. So what? It’s not like you have anywhere to be.

  I haven’t left the bedroom for days, but I’m feeling a bit stronger, and restless. I’m also starving. Maybe I’ll go down to the kitchen and make something to eat. But first things first.

  I walk myself to the bathroom, brush my teeth and wash my face. All of it without help. It’s a small victory. Maureen examines my hand, and pronounces it, “healing nicely.” She doesn’t balk about me leaving the room, but insists on escorting me to the bottom of the steps. I hear soft music coming from JD’s office when I get downstairs. I follow the sound of jazz and find him working at his desk.

  “Hi. May I come in?” I ask from the doorway.

  “You don’t have to ask permission to come in if the door’s open. That’s the rule around here.” He leans back in his chair, with a small, pleased smile. “It’s good to see you up and around.”

  “It’s about time.” Can’t hide forever. For a brief moment, I think about my little suite in the hotel. It’s not—wasn’t—anywhere near as spacious as JD’s room, but it was beautiful. And it was mine. I wrap my arms around my torso, cupping my elbows for comfort.

  “We need to get you some of your own clothes.”

  “These clothes are fine. It’s not like I have anywhere to go.”

  His brow furrows, and I see the concern sweep over his face. “How are you feeling?” he asks.

  I walk around the desk and wiggle onto the edge, careful not to disturb the stack of folders. “Not sure. Numb. Heartbroken. Guilty. And I’m beginning to feel angry. So angry.” He takes my good hand and massages my fingers. “My best friend is dead. Think of how many other people could have died. The fire didn’t start by accident, did it? Someone set it. Maybe they didn’t want the competition. Maybe we were getting too successful, too quickly.” I take a long breath. “Or maybe someone wanted to hurt me.”

  “I spoke with Chief Clark again this morning,” he says. “It appears the fire was an accident, but it’s too early in the investigation to say definitively. They’ll know more after the autopsy. They want to talk to you about why Georgina was there at ten o’clock on a night when she wasn’t working.”

  I nod. It’s an automatic response, before it hits me. “Wait. They think Georgina had something to do with the fire?”

  “He didn’t say that, but she wasn’t supposed to be there. They can’t reach your manager Tom, either. He left word that he was going to visit his mother for a few days. The number he left with the fire inspector isn’t a working number.”

  Why are they talking about my employees? That’s what they do. They’re looking for someone to blame it on. I don’t believe anyone who works for me started that fire. It takes a demon to set fire to a hotel filled with sleeping guests. I would have known if that kind of evil worked for me. They are all good people. Especially Georgie.

  My skin starts to prickle, and I feel my pulse quicken. “His phone was probably destroyed in the fire. They don’t know anything. They’re just grasping at straws.” I catch JD’s eye. The anger is simmering just below the surface. “There is no way in hell Georgina started that fire.”

  He tilts his head to the side. “She was always jealous of you. Jealousy does funny things to a person.”

  You bastard! “Stop! Stop talking about her that way!” I lunge at him and slam my fists into his chest. I don’t even care that my hand is throbbing. “Georgina would not have set the fire. She would never do something so awful. And she had too much to live for. Don’t you dare talk about her that way.”

  He pulls me onto his lap and wraps his arms around me tightly so I can’t flail around. “They need to consider every angle,” he says, running a hand up and down my back like I’m a skittish animal. “That means looking in places you’d rather they didn’t.”

  I know he’s right. They have to investigate all the possibilities. I rest my head on JD’s chest, letting his heartbeat soothe me. “I think Georgie went back to the hotel to pick up the quarterly reports. We talked about it before I left her house. I told her they could wait. That she shouldn’t drive alone at night.” But she didn’t listen. “And Tom, he’s been so helpful,” I add. “Why would he d
o something so terrible?”

  “Tell the authorities about your conversation with Georgina. You’re right, they don’t know much of anything yet, and they’re overwhelmed by all the fires. The FBI is all over this. They’ll figure it out. We just need to be patient.”

  “Why is the FBI involved?” I know I’ve asked before, but I can’t recall the answer. There are so many things I still can’t remember.

  “Your connection to me, and my connection to the president,” JD says with the utmost patience. It reminds me of the way my father would speak to my grandmother when her dementia worsened.

  I pass my hand over JD’s sleeve, smoothing the fabric until the creases begin to ease. My connection to you. Georgina warned me. She’s been your friend forever, Gabrielle. She knows JD. Why didn’t you listen to her? Why? The emotion wells up again. And the guilt. The guilt is suffocating. I slide off JD’s lap in one clumsy move and away from his clutches.

  “When I let you back into my life, Georgie was upset. Really upset. Said it would end badly. She knew it.” I press my hand into my chest to stop my heart from running wild. “She knew how it would end all along. She could feel it. But I didn’t listen, because I wanted you too much. And now she’s dead.”

  I slump to my knees, burying my face in my hands. JD gets down on the floor near me, but I push his hands away when he tries to comfort me. “Don’t touch me. Just leave me alone.”

  “I won’t touch you, but I am not leaving you alone.”

  I knew Georgie was terrified of something. Her face went white as a sheet when I told her my parents borrowed money from JD. That he was back in my life. I didn’t make her tell me why she was so afraid—I didn’t even ask. Because you didn’t want to know. I was a terrible friend. Selfish. I should have asked her. Now it’s too damn late.

  “There is more you’re not telling me. I can feel it. Tell me everything you know,” I shriek. “Tell me!”

  He grabs me by the upper arms. “Calm down. Calm down,” he repeats softly.

  I can’t. And the more he says it, the more out of control I feel inside. I can’t breathe and I begin to gulp mouthfuls of air.

  “You’re hyperventilating. Control your breathing.”

  But I can’t. My chest is tightening. I’m having a heart attack.

  “Maureen!” JD yells. “Maureen!”

  8

  Julian

  Gabrielle is hysterical, shaking, while Maureen tries to convince her to take a half dose of the sleeping medicine the doctor prescribed before she left the hospital.

  “I don’t want to go to sleep,” she sobs. “Please. The nightmares. I need a break from the nightmares. Please.”

  “You don’t have to go to sleep,” Maureen assures her. “It’s only half a tablet. But you’re having a panic attack. It will help with the anxiety. Let’s go upstairs. You can think about it on your way up.” Maureen nods at me, and together we get Gabrielle off the floor. When she’s on her feet, she holds onto Maureen for help. Not to me. She doesn’t even spare me a glance.

  I follow them up the stairs. “I’m afraid to go to sleep,” Gabrielle admits. “Last night—” Even with Maureen’s encouragement, she doesn’t finish the thought. When we get to my bedroom, Gabrielle looks at me and then to Maureen. She doesn’t say a word, but we understand her silent plea.

  “Why don’t you let me get Gabrielle in bed,” Maureen tells me gently. “I’ll let you know when she’s settled.”

  My first inclination is to say, fuck no. It’s my bedroom. My house. I am not leaving. But I muster some self-control. “I’ll be downstairs. Gabrielle, please listen to what Maureen’s saying about the medicine.”

  She turns her head and looks up at me. There’s no light in her eyes. Not the slightest flicker. She doesn’t say a single word. It’s like she’s broken.

  And there isn’t a fucking thing I can do to make it any better.

  I slump against the wall outside my bedroom door until I’m sure she’s safely in bed. Maureen is with her, speaking softly, soothing her in the way you’d soothe a nervous child.

  Once it’s completely quiet, I take the stairs to the first floor, two at a time, like I’m running from something. But when I get to the bottom, I’m still looking over my shoulder. Whatever I was fleeing from, followed me down.

  I grab a beer from the refrigerator and take a long pull. When it doesn’t calm me, I slam the bottle on the counter, and shove my fist through an eighty-year-old pane in the kitchen window. It doesn’t solve any of my problems, but I welcome the throbbing pain. It gives me an excuse to hide in my study and drown myself in a bottle of booze. Not that I need an excuse.

  My damn hand is bleeding everywhere. I run it under the tap and wrap it in a kitchen towel so the blood doesn’t get everywhere. When I’m done picking up the worst of the glass, I go to my study to sulk.

  This is my fault. The guilt has feasted on my soul for years, most of the time just nibbling at the edges, but it’s gorging now.

  I’ve always believed one measure of a man is how well he can protect those closest to him. Those who are vulnerable and can’t protect themselves.

  I’m an abject failure in that regard. I can’t fucking protect anyone. Not when it counts.

  I hear Maureen’s footsteps on the stairs. Gabrielle must be asleep. With all the nightmares she’s been having, I don’t know if that’s a good thing or a bad thing. The footsteps go toward the kitchen, and after several minutes pass, Maureen is at my door.

  “I saw the shattered pane in the kitchen window. I taped a piece of cardboard and some plastic wrap over it, so a squirrel doesn’t get in. I think it’ll hold for the night.” She glances at the blood-soaked dish towel. “Do you want me to take a look at your hand? See if it needs stitches?”

  “Nah. I rinsed it off.” I need to live with a deep gash for a while. It’ll help me find my balls. “It’s just a flesh wound. It’ll be fine.”

  “Let me make sure there aren’t any slivers of glass left inside,” she says, coming closer to the desk.

  “It’s fine,” I say, moving my hand onto my lap so she can’t see that the blood’s oozing through the white towel.

  “If your hand gets infected, you’ll be no good to anybody for a long time. You can’t will away an infection or tough it out. Doesn’t work that way.”

  I take a swig of bourbon and set my arm on the desk, carelessly unwrapping the towel that’s wound around the fresh slashes. “Go ahead. You have ten seconds to look all you want.”

  Maureen moves the desk lamp closer to me and holds my hand under the light. “A few of these cuts are deep. One in particular. And there are still shards of glass in there. I don’t even need a magnifying glass to see them. I’m going up to get some supplies to clean out that hand. Don’t move,” she adds sternly.

  “Is Gabrielle asleep?”

  “Mmhm. For now, poor thing,” she says over her shoulder.

  “Let’s do this upstairs,” I say, following Maureen out of the room. “I don’t want her up there alone for too long.”

  * * *

  When I get to my bedroom, Gabrielle is curled up on her side, sound asleep. I pause for a moment to watch her breathe. I want to smooth the quilt over her huddled body, to let her feel the warm press of my hand, to soothe her in some small way. I want the human contact not just for her, but for myself too. But more than anything, I don’t want to wake her. I want her to have whatever peaceful moments sleep brings tonight.

  Maureen comes into the bedroom with a small satchel and beckons me into the master bath where the lighting is better. She doesn’t say a word while pulling a half-dozen slivers of glass from my hand. When she’s done, she inspects it one more time, then swabs it with a tinted liquid, that even with the bourbon, stings like a sonofabitch.

  “Have you thought about moving Gabby into one of the guest rooms?” Maureen asks, sanitizing the tweezers with an alcohol wipe before putting them away. “I think she needs some space of her own.”

&n
bsp; No. I glance at her. I want to know whose idea this is. I like Maureen, but she better not be filling Gabrielle’s head with garbage. “Did she ask for space?”

  “She just experienced major trauma, JD. Lost her best friend and everything she owns.” She pulls out a roll of gauze and an ace bandage. “Give me your hand. It might be nice for her to have something of her own—even if it’s not really hers,” she says, taping the gauze.

  “Did she say she wants space?”

  Maureen nods.

  Fuck that. “What exactly did she say?”

  “She wants to look for a place as soon as she can. Said she needs to get out of here.”

  “I’ll think about it.” Maureen packs up the supplies and I walk her to the bedroom door. “I’ll be here with Gabrielle all night.”

  “You should get some sleep too,” she says quietly. “Shout if either of you need anything.”

  9

  Julian

  I’ve been downstairs in my office since long before sunrise. I spent another sleepless night, kept awake by my own fucking demons. Gabrielle moaned several times in her sleep, crying out like she was in pain. I gathered her in my arms, and comforted her until she fell back asleep, although I don’t think she was ever fully awake.

  I need to go to Sayle today to sign off on some papers and take a few meetings. Regardless of what’s happening in my personal life, I can’t neglect my grandfather’s company while I lick my wounds. DW would like nothing better than for me to stumble at the helm so he can install one of my brothers, or someone else in the job.

  The only thing that’s stopped me from paying my father a visit is that he hasn’t been in office long enough for me to understand the protocols. I have no idea if I can get inside the White House with a gun, and the Secret Service will put a bullet in me as soon as they see the gleam of a blade or my hands around his neck. There aren’t many viable options available to assassinate a sitting president. I don’t care if they kill me, but not until after he’s dead. I’ll have one whack at him. One. It has to count.