Chapter 30
BURN
LONDON
The blazing heat of a furnace warms the side of my face. The contrast between that heat and the chilly air rips me from a dreamless sleep, awareness crashing into the calm.
For once, my mind is blissfully silent—of past torments, of present fears—until reality bleeds in, drawing me into a fresh realm of anxiety.
Heated orange and red flicker behind my eyelids.
I reach for Grayson—and freeze as metal clinks against my wrist. Cold steel slides across my arm. Eyes straining to open, an internal alarm sounds, and my heart pounds against my ribs as blood surges through my arteries.
I feel disconnected, disoriented, blinking a few times to clear my vision, and the sight hollows out my chest.
Fire blazes high into the early morning sky. Flames lick the edges of deep blue, bleeding into the mosaic of red and orange clouds, the horizon and the inferno indistinguishable—like the sky itself is burning.
“Grayson—” I choke out, panic lacing my voice. Only as I start to shout his name, the reality of where I am and what’s happening crashes into me fully.
I yank at the cuffs. A chain coils around the scaffold, shackling me to the trap Grayson and I used to kill a man.
Beyond the maze, the house is fully engulfed in flames. The pop and snap of burning beams reaches my ears before the distant wail of sirens.
Frantic, I examine my body. I’m again wearing the black dress Grayson chose for me, and an irrational thought hits me…that this has to be another test. I glance up to search for a key—but they’re gone.
All the keys are gone.
My chest pangs with a hollow, resonating ache.
Grayson told me he would let me go.
Oh, god. I didn’t imagine anything. I didn’t invent what happened between us. No, my memories are clear. Every moment, every word, every touch still lives inside me. They’re part of me now. And the world around me feels more transparent than it ever has.
Only Grayson is missing.
He let me go.
I yank at the handcuffs, desperate to escape and find him and—
What?
Run off into the sunset like some deranged Bonnie and Clyde? Hunted by the law, fueled by consuming love and danger and… resentment.
Because that’s what our reality would be.
I sag against the scaffold, bone-weary, muscles heavy. Reality is a black hole, inescapable.
I couldn’t see past the present, past the instant gratification—yet Grayson could.
Still, he didn’t give me a choice. He decided for me.
“Fuck you,” I mutter beneath my breath, my gaze shifting to the roaring fire.
Police lights flash through the trees, splashing red and blue across the pines. As the flames rise higher, smoke curling into the callous morning sky, the shouts of firefighters and police clash. A suffocating melancholy grips my chest.
Then voices grow louder, getting closer to the clearing.
“Dr. Noble?”
The dull talons of misery drag me under. I can’t respond.
I can’t breathe.
“Dr. London Noble…I found her—” A deep voice calls out. “Are you all right?”
My blurry gaze snags on a single detail. A dark suit. An FBI pin clipped to a gray tie.
“I’m Special Agent Nelson,” the agent says, couching next to me. “You’re safe now.”
His hand lands gently on my bare shoulder, a calculated gesture of comfort.
“Let’s get some help over here,” he shouts over the rising noise.
I curl my body around the scaffold, clinging to its solid form. Just moments ago, I was free—free in a way I never dared to imagine. The world was color and heat and texture. Alive. And in a blink, I’ve been thrust back into the dull and guilt-leaden world.
And yet, I know with certainty what I have to do.
The pain tears a seam inside me, and an ache clogs my throat. I choke on the bile of bitterness as I sniff hard, shoving the ache down deep.
I was a performer once before. I can be again. At least now, I know the difference.
As the agent walks the perimeter of the tank, I erect my shield. He mutters a swear when he completes his round. “Holy mother of god,” he mutters.
“Please, get these off me,” I manage to say.
Agent Nelson directs his attention to me. “Of course.” He pulls on a pair of latex gloves. While he’s working the cuffs, more agents and police officials enter the clearing.
Within seconds, the clearing is swarmed. Uniforms and Tyvek-suited medical examiners mark the area off with caution tape, transforming it into a crime scene. Plastic sheets stretch over what was—just hours ago—our sacred haven.
“I’m sorry to have to ask this, London.” The agent searches my gaze with a frown. He’s not sorry at all. “But I’m going to need you to undergo medical screening.”
A furious blaze lights up my chest. “You mean a rape kit.”
“Yes.” With a definitive click, the cuffs unlock, setting my wrists free. He shakes out an evidence bag and slips them inside. The only hint of remorse is the slight crease at the corners of his eyes. We’re both professionals. This is standard. “I’ll also need your statement shortly afterward.”
I rub my wrists, the scrapes branding my skin a painful reminder of what I’ve lost. Agent Nelson offers to help me stand, but I fend him off with an outstretched hand. “I’m all right,” I assure him.
And I am. The pain that I normally suffer hasn’t returned, vanishing the moment I accepted myself.
Later, I’ll analyze this phenomena. I’ll break it down psychologically. But I can’t think of it now.
“I’m ready,” I announce.
Agent Nelson guides me through the high walls of the maze and toward an ambulance parked a distance away from the blaze. Chaos swamps the once peaceful woods as firefighters fight back the inferno before it spreads.
I face the fire, letting its heat touch my skin. I feel it deep in my marrow, that electric pulse of chaos and disaster. Grayson’s artwork framed within a pale canvas of sky. I watch the flames dance and tease higher, until the agent forces me away.
“Any evidence must be in there,” one of the agents says as he passes, his gaze cast on the smoldering house. “We’ve recovered nothing so far.”
Agent Nelson nods to him. “Keep searching.”
I close my eyes. Just for a second to gather my bearings. I can’t do this. Not without him. Grayson said I was the key—but he was the one to unlock me. Now we’re both damned.
A medical personnel wraps a warm blanket around me, directing me farther away from the scene.
Agent Nelson follows. “Dr. Noble, was he in there?” he asks.
My gaze flicks to the blackened, charred remains of the house. The fire still burns, brilliant orange and red raging, licking the limbs of pines and sending embers into the dusky sky.
Grayson burned it all for me.
He set me free in more ways than one.
And in doing so, he destroyed my path to him. The answers to the man now ash.
Some things are meant to remain shrouded in mystery, I suppose. Where you’re not fed the answer. You have to search for it.
I wrench the answer from the dregs of my soul. “Yes,” I whisper. “He’s in there.”
A gentle shake of the agent’s head reveals his disbelief.
“How did you find me?” I ask him.
He tears his attention away from the fire and refocuses on me. “An anonymous call,” he says simply.
A young EMT urges me to sit on the back of the ambulance. She asks a series of standard-issue questions about my wellbeing, then begins tending to the obvious cuts, cautious not to disturb any potential evidence.
It hits me then that my dress will be confiscated.
I sniff back my anger and look up at the agent. “There is no such thing as an anonymous call,” I say, not attempting to hide the accusation in my tone.
His light brows create a furrow between his eyes. “No. There’s not,” he acknowledges. “The call led officials to an abducted boy who was being held in a warehouse. They then traced the call back to a wireless number in Grayson Sullivan’s name. This address was listed on the account.”
I turn my head, hiding my outrage. Grayson knew it would only be a matter of time before they found the location once they made the connection. It’s so blatant, it’s almost stupid. Not the act of a highly intelligent criminal. The FBI has to see that.
“The boy is all right?” I ask.
Nelson nods. “Yes. The parents are with him at the hospital.”
I tug the blanket tighter around my shoulders. “The man who kidnapped him is in that rancid container.”
“Jesus.” The agent drives a hand through his shaggy hair. “Did you witness this?”
I consider the question. Grayson isn’t inside the burning house. I know this just as the agent knows this fact.
The tests I endured revealed enough of the answers. No more hiding. No more lying. Grayson set fire to his life for me, so that I can start over. So that when it’s time, we can start over.
I trust him.
He found me by fitting the puzzle pieces together, and that’s how I’m going to find him. This agent and any official working the Sullivan manhunt are my new closest friends.
“London?” the agent gains my attention as he presses the question.
I look toward the fire. “Yes, I witnessed the murder. I have your answers, agent.”
After a charged moment, he asks in a more subdued tone, “Is there anyone I can call for you?”
Normally, that question would provoke me. A painful reminder of how alone I am. But being alone and lonely, as I once expressed to my patient, are two different things.
For now, I may have to be alone—but my match is out there, he’s waiting for me.
I shift my gaze back to the agent. “Yes, call the media. I have an announcement to make.”
Dig them up.
A lesson I have to put into action, so the rest of the answers will be unlocked.