Flash Burned (Burned 2)

My stomach churned, and I felt the bile rise in my throat but tamped it down. Fought back the green around the gills sensation I’d become all too familiar with since I’d left the hospital. But this had nothing to do with the baby. And everything to do with Dane.

A heartbeat later, I was on my feet without even fully realizing it. A whirlwind of activity in my head propelled me forward. I grabbed Kyle’s arm as he stared at me, perplexed and concerned.

“What is it?” he demanded in a low tone, likely so as to not disturb Chelsea further. She didn’t like raised voices any more than I did. Though for different reasons.

“Can you take me home?” I asked.

His brow furrowed. “Why? I thought you were happy here. You’re feeling much better and—”

“Kyle, I just need another ride. Yes or no?”

Time was suddenly of the essence. I needed to get back to the house while the thoughts in my mind were fresh and held so much potential.

“Of course,” he reluctantly agreed as he fished his keys out of the front pocket of his jeans.

I rushed through the house with Kyle hot on my heels. We cleared the security gate and I climbed into the passenger side of his Rubicon. Tension gripped me. So did a curious exhilaration. He couldn’t drive fast enough for me, and my leg bounced anxiously as we made our way through Sedona, headed north, then wove along Oak Creek Canyon to the turnoff on to the back roads that led to the house I’d shared with Dane.

I was out of the Jeep and racing around to the front door before Kyle had even slipped from his seat.

Punching in the code, I barreled through the double doors and ran down the hallway to Dane’s office. Kyle rushed in behind me as I yanked drawers open and tore through file folders. It was a needle in the haystack mission. I had no idea what the hell I was searching for, but somehow—somehow—I knew I’d figure it out when I found it.

“Ari, what the fuck?” Kyle asked in a tight tone. “Are you totally losing it?”

“Maybe. Possibly. Likely.” I even sounded a bit hysterical. My pulse echoed in my ears and my heart beat way too fast. Still, I rifled through folders and paperwork, tossing everything that didn’t strike me as pertinent onto the hardwood floor. Kyle started scooping it all up as I ransacked the first, then the second credenza.

Halfway through, I whipped out a thick black leather portfolio and slammed it onto the blotter on Dane’s desk. I flipped it open and shuffled through contracts and amendments, forms, legal documents I really couldn’t make heads or tails of, though that was irrelevant. I suddenly knew what I wanted to find.

Toward the back of the folio was another contract, the word DRAFT stamped across the front in bloodred. For good measure, each page held a background watermark declaring the same thing.

A quarter of the way in, I eyed the list of names, neatly centered and all in caps.

I ripped the sheet from the folio and pushed the leather folder aside, focusing solely on that one page. My heart rate doubled. I hadn’t thought it possible. Felt a tinge of fear, in fact, at how rapidly it thundered in my chest. Not exactly healthy, but I couldn’t slow the erratic beats.

Kyle dropped into a chair across from me. “What’s up?”

I reached for one of Dane’s favorite Montblanc fountain pens and circled four names: Mr. Dane Bax, Sultan Qadir Hakim, Mr. Ethan Evans, Mr. Nikolai Vasil.

I drew a line through the Honorable Bryn Hilliard’s name. And stifled the laugh at the irony of his title.

I scanned further down the list. Put a thick slash through Dr. Lennox Avril’s name as well.

Lifting my gaze, I stared at Kyle, hope racing through me.

One thought burned in my mind.

One very distinct and now-plausible reality resonated deep within me.

I couldn’t fight the grin as I simply said, “He’s alive.”

chapter 11

Kyle stared back. “He who?”

Spreading my arms wide, I told him, “Dane, of course.” Emotion and excitement flooded my veins.

“Oh, fuck.” Kyle got to his feet, started to pace. “Okay. I should have seen this coming. I am such an idiot,” he rambled. I watched with a raised brow. “I probably should have warned my aunt, so she could keep an eye out for this. Get you professional help. Like from a mental health thera—”

“I have professional help.” I crossed my arms over my chest. “I see a counselor twice a week. She comes to the retreat. We talk about death—not so much Dane’s, just in general. How to accept it, things like that. Mostly we talk about the baby. How to raise it on my own, what to expect.”