Chapter 30
Thirty
L uke Andrews sat at Maxim Fairchild’s kitchen table, his fingers curling into fists against the smooth surface. The wind outside screamed through the eaves, rattling against the windows like an impatient intruder. Snow fell in an unrelenting barrage, the storm swallowing the world in white. Three feet, they’d said. Three feet of impassable, merciless cold. And here he was—trapped in his boss’s house, pretending like everything was fine. Like his heart wasn’t about to explode from the pressure of keeping up this damn cover.
His phone vibrated against the table, Melanie’s name glowing on the screen. He stared at it, dread coiling tight in his gut. Play the part , he reminded himself. Be the concerned boyfriend. Answer it , his mind commanded, but his fingers hesitated.
“Luke?” Melanie’s voice cracked, then broke apart into sobs. Raw, breathless, desperate.
His entire body went rigid. “Mel, what is it?”
“Luke—it’s Ruth. They sent her away…”
His breath stopped. The words slammed into him, knocking the air from his lungs. He pressed the phone tighter against his ear, gripping it so hard, his knuckles ached. “What are you talking about?”
“There was a bomb,” Melanie gasped. “In Ruth’s car. At Brayburn’s Steakhouse.”
Luke dug deep. Act surprised. Act worried.
“A bomb?” His voice was steel, controlled.
“She was in a coma, Luke,” Melanie sobbed. “And now the storm—she has to be stuck between hospitals. They don’t know if they can even get her there in time.”
His stomach twisted violently. Ruth. The last time he’d spoken to Noah, she was still fighting. Alive. And now?—
“Why did they move her?” he asked, his voice barely above a whisper. “What about Noah? Is he with her?”
“I don’t know.” Melanie’s breath hitched. “Luke, she’s in a coma. I talked to her sister Sophie. They don’t think she’s going to wake up.”
A leaden silence stretched between them.
Luke clenched his jaw, his eyes burning as he stared out at the white void beyond the window. The storm had trapped him here, in this house, when he needed to be anywhere but here. He forced himself to breathe, to push past the panic clawing up his throat. He didn’t have to fake the emotion.
“Melanie,” he said, his voice quieter now, steadier. “Listen to me. I need you to breathe, okay? I swear to you—I’ll figure this out. I’ll get to you as soon as I can.”
“But what if she—” Melanie’s voice broke, the words dissolving into sobs.
Luke closed his eyes, his grip tightening around the phone. The walls of the house pressed in around him, suffocating, inescapable. Outside, the storm howled, merciless and indifferent to the desperation clawing through his chest.
If Ruth was truly in a coma, something went terribly wrong. He’d known about the bombing—Fairchild denied being involved. His boss was moving guns, and Luke was undercover to gather intel. Noah Kandor was working on uncovering the dirt in Fairchild’s landscaping business. He asked Noah for help.
Was there hope?
The need for answers burned inside him. He had to find the truth. He knew Noah had survived, but was Ruth comatose? And beyond that, he needed to know who planted the bomb. Someone had orchestrated this—who and why?
His jaw tightened as determination cut through the anxiety threatening to pull him under.
“Melanie,” he said, his voice firm now, “I’ll get there soon. I promise you.”
“How, Luke? You’re stuck in the middle of nowhere at Fairchild’s house!”
“I’ll figure it out,” he said, the steel in his tone leaving no room for doubt.
As he hung up, the storm outside felt insignificant compared to the storm within. He glanced out the frosted window, the snow falling in thick, suffocating waves. Though he just met Ruth, she was Noah’s woman. And Noah was a fellow cop. His ache for Noah ebbed, replaced by something sharper—something colder.
How did Melanie know he was at Fairchild’s house? He never told her who he worked for. Never mentioned where he was.
Luke stared at the snow for a long moment, his pulse steadying, his thoughts sharpening like a blade. Then his fist slammed down on the table, the force rattling the dishes. Someone was feeding her information, someone who knew too much.
And if she knew where he was, did she know why?
The bomb, Noah and Ruth…none of it was coincidence.
Whoever was pulling the strings had just made their first mistake.
* * *
Maxim Fairchild paced his office, frustration pouring off him like smoke from a fire. The snowstorm was bad enough, freezing his operations in place and trapping his shipments. But the bomb at Brayburn’s Steakhouse had turned everything on its head.
His phone buzzed on the desk. He ignored it, grinding his teeth as he replayed the chain of events. The two FBI agents he’d bought off hadn’t succeeded with their job after bringing Noah Kandor in for questioning.
He didn’t expect that Ethan Hayes, head of the FBI’s resident agency, would have half a clue and stop the investigation cold. Hell, South Dakota wasn’t known for top-of-the-line FBI talent. A little digging, and he found out Hayes had turned down a spot in the New York office. The diamond of them all. That wasn’t expected either. What also wasn’t expected was Noah’s partner dragging in Ruth Everhart as his lawyer.
Ruth Everhart. Kandor’s girlfriend.
She worked for Dylan Grant, one of the sharpest defense attorneys in the city. Fairchild had leverage over him. Did she know what was buried in Hilton’s file?
Fairchild picked up his phone and dialed.
Dylan Grant answered on the first ring, his voice clipped. “Fairchild. What’s wrong?”
Fairchild didn’t waste time. “Ruth Everhart. Did she know what was in Hilton’s files?”
The pause on the other end was too long for Fairchild’s liking. “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Grant said tightly.
“Don’t play dumb with me, Dylan,” Fairchild snapped. “She is your employee. She is Kandor’s lawyer. And now she’s in the hospital because of a goddamn bomb. Did she know what was in those files?”
Grant’s voice sharpened. “Watch your tone. I heard about the bombing like everyone else—on the news. Her mother’s boyfriend called the office to tell us about Ruth’s condition. I was going to call her mother to check on her today. That’s all I know. She went to Ellison with the case, not me or Matt.”
“Why did she choose Ellison?”
“I don’t know,” Grant reiterated.
Fairchild’s grip on the phone tightened. “You expect me to believe she walked into that mess without a clue? She’s a rookie, Dylan.”
Grant’s frustration boiled over. “What are you accusing me of? I didn’t send her to Ellison. You think I wanted this? I tried to stop her. But she jumped the line, and Blake took her in. Apparently, he knew her dead dad. He said if the case made it anywhere, he’d be her co-counsel. Ruth is one of the best junior attorneys we have—hell, she is one of the best people I know!”
Fairchild’s voice dropped, icy and lethal. “If Ruth was the target, I want to know why. If the bomb was meant for Kandor, then whoever planted it knows what’s in Hilton’s files. So, which is it, Dylan?”
Grant exhaled sharply, the sound laced with fear. “I don’t know. Okay? I don’t know what she knew or how deep she was. She didn’t tell me. I haven’t even had time to process that she’s in critical condition, and you’re accusing me of—what? Helping her? Betraying her? I didn’t plant the goddamn bomb, Fairchild!”
Fairchild paced the room, his free hand running through his hair. “You’d better hope you’re telling the truth, Dylan. Because if I find out Ruth knew something you didn’t tell me, or worse, if this was about the files, then we’ve got a bigger problem. A much bigger problem.”
Grant’s voice cracked. “You think I’d let that happen? Don’t you dare put this on me!”
Fairchild’s voice was a low growl. “Then find out who did it. Because when I find out, you’d better pray you’re not in my way.”
The line went dead.
Fairchild set the phone down, his thoughts racing. Whoever planted the bomb either knew what was in Hilton’s files or had a reason to kill Ruth. Either way, Fairchild needed answers and fast.
The storm outside might have slowed the world to a crawl, but inside Fairchild’s mind, the pieces of this deadly puzzle were moving faster than ever.