Chapter 19
Chapter Nineteen
MICAH
“I don’t like this.”
As I burst onto the sidewalk outside Ruby’s building, I glance over at Rogue. “It’s too convenient,” I continue. “For it to happen now? While I’m gone? I have a bad feeling about it.”
Keeping pace to my right, Rogue yanks out his phone and starts typing without missing a step. “It might be a coincidence,” he replies. “Don’t assume the worst. Not yet.”
“How can I not?” Darting around a woman with a double stroller, I race towards the intersection, intent on hitting it before the light turns.
Not that I have any plans of stopping, but it’ll be easier to get across if I don’t have to dodge Manhattan traffic to do it.
“I’m gone for two hours and this happens. Two damn hours. What are the odds?”
“Not great,” he concedes. “But it could be a false alarm.”
“There’s smoke. Ruby said they were evacuating the floor.
” Keeping one eye on the pedestrian traffic and the other on my phone, I pull up the video feed from the hallway outside my condo.
The hallway is empty now, and the smoke has dissipated from when I last looked at it.
The emergency lights are still flashing.
But when I tap the speaker to listen, the alarms are off.
“I’m checking the status of the response.” Rogue takes another quick look at his phone. “Looks like two stations responded already. Nine-one-one calls reported smoke on the thirty-ninth floor. They’re moving everyone to the thirty-sixth floor.”
Just as we reach the intersection, the walk light begins to flash. Putting on an extra burst of speed, I sprint across the street. Instead of slowing when I reach the other side, I keep running as fear urges me forward.
Ruby’s in trouble. I know it. From the moment I read her text about the fire alarm, my gut just knew.
The timing is too damn perfect. We get a lead, and not two hours after I leave to investigate it, the fire alarm goes off, forcing Ruby to leave the safety of the condo.
“Have you gotten hold of Beau?” I ask.
Rogue sounds grim. “Not yet.” He sidesteps a teenager wearing giant headphones and singing at the top of his lungs, then taps his phone and lifts it to his ear. After a few seconds, he shakes his head. “Still no answer.”
“Shit,” I curse loudly. An older woman shoots me a scolding look as I pass her, and out of habit, I mutter, “Sorry.”
“There could be an explanation,” Rogue says. He’s not out of breath, even though we’re running at full speed. But then again, neither am I. “If they’re in a stairwell, with all the fireproofing…”
“Maybe,” I concede. A quick glance at the street sign tells me we’re still ten blocks from my place. It’s a pleasant walk on a good day, but today? It feels like I’m ten light-years away, instead.
Although if I tried to find a ride right now, it would be even worse. With the traffic as bad as it is, I could be stuck for twice as long as it would take to run. The subway? Far too unreliable. A bus? Forget it.
For the next few blocks, Rogue and I run in relative silence. He keeps trying to reach Beau. I keep calling Ruby. And the more time that passes without either of them responding, the more my worry grows.
When we’re six blocks out, Rogue veers closer to me. “Still nothing from Beau. But I’ve got Jester and Wraith heading over. I still think it could be nothing. Probably is nothing. But better safe than sorry.”
“Do you really think it’s nothing?” I shoot back. “After hearing what Haverford had to say?”
“I don’t know,” he replies after a few seconds’ thought. “On paper, it makes sense.”
On paper, it does. We have an older, single guy living in close proximity to Ruby.
As the manager of the building, he would know all the ins-and-outs of it—where the few security cameras were located, which fire escape was Ruby’s, and if anyone saw him lingering around her apartment, it could easily be explained away as maintenance.
And that’s only the circumstantial evidence.
Combined with the positive ID on the surveillance footage and the photos of Ruby we found on Haverford’s computer—
My jaw clenches as the memory comes back to me. Looking over Rogue’s shoulder at the hidden folders on Haverford’s hard drive, and opening one of them to find dozens of photos of Ruby inside.
Ruby walking into the building, her arms laden with grocery bags.
Ruby in the laundry room, obviously oblivious to the camera on her.
Ruby sitting out on her fire escape, a glass of iced tea beside her and a book in her lap.
All meticulously labeled by date and time, stretching back for nearly a year.
Considering all of that, Haverford looks guilty. If we turn over the evidence to the police—anonymously, since we’d rather not explain our methods of getting the evidence to begin with—I’m pretty sure it would be enough to charge him.
The only problem? When Haverford insisted he never did anything to Ruby, my gut said he was telling the truth.
Maybe he’s just a talented actor. But his reaction rang true. “Hurt Ruby?” he asked, his expression aghast. “I would never. Why would I want to hurt a sweet girl like that?”
“Maybe you were angry that she wasn’t responding to your advances,” I shot back. “Or maybe you wanted to hurt a sweet girl like her.”
“No,” he protested, shaking his head. “No. I like Ruby. I tried to help her, especially after her dad died. I would never hurt her.”
“Why are there photos of her on your computer?” Rogue snapped. “Are you going to claim you were trying to help Ruby by stalking her?”
Haverford’s frightened gaze jumped from my silicone mask to Rogue’s. “I didn’t take them. I don’t know how they got there. I swear.”
Of course, he could have been lying. Most suspects, when confronted with evidence of their guilt, claim innocence. But there was something in his expression that planted a seed of doubt in my mind. And now, with the conveniently-timed fire… the roots are taking hold.
“On paper it makes sense,” I agree. “But what does your gut say?”
Rogue glances at me. His mouth pinches. “It says there’s more to this.”
“Yeah.” My jaw clenches again. “I think there is.”
We both fall silent again as we come up behind a trio of women carrying what looks like their weight in shopping bags. Once we pass them, Rogue says, “If there’s more to get out of him, Houdini will do it.”
When I got Ruby’s text about the fire midway through questioning Haverford, there was no question of me going home.
Initially, I thought I’d go alone. But Rogue insisted on going with me, and Houdini agreed.
As we quickly conferenced in Haverford’s kitchen, while the terrified building manager sat passively in his restraints, Houdini reasoned, “I can handle this guy myself. You two should go back. Make sure everything is okay with Ruby.”
So Rogue and I left, leaving Houdini to continue questioning Haverford. “Don’t push him too much on my account,” I warned Houdini. “Don’t do anything you could get in serious trouble for.”
A touch ironic, considering we broke into Haverford’s apartment while wearing custom silicone masks to disguise our identities and illegally restrained the guy once we were inside.
But we hadn’t gotten to the real intimidation part yet—the part I referred to as unconventional when I talked to Ruby earlier.
“Fuck off,” Houdini replied. “We’re in this together. And Ruby’s part of the family now. Whatever it takes to ensure her safety, I’ll do it.”
“There are the trucks,” Rogue says, gesturing with his chin at the flashing lights up ahead. “Not as many as I’d thought there’d be. Maybe it was a false alarm after all.”
“Maybe,” I mutter. A false alarm should be good news. Unless it was intentionally set in an attempt to draw Ruby out.
“Still no Beau?” I ask. Without waiting for an answer, I dial Ruby’s number again. It rings uselessly before switching over to voicemail, and I repeat the same message I’ve left numerous times already. “Call me, Rue. Right away. It’s an emergency.”
Then I switch over to the tracking app to check on Ruby’s location again.
The tracker hidden inside the necklace I gave her displays a small red dot at my building.
But as much as I’d like to take comfort from it, I can’t.
There are too many uncertainties. Did she put the necklace on after her shower, or did she leave it off, assuming she didn’t need the added security when she was inside my condo?
What if she lost it during the evacuation? What if someone took it from her?
Just as I pocket my phone again, Rogue does the same. Deep frown lines are etched across his forehead. “Still no Beau.” He grimaces. “I’m worried.”
Hearing him say that reinforces my own fears, sending my stomach swooping to my feet. “Shit.”
In unspoken agreement, we pick up our pace, sprinting outright as we close the final block to my building. As we approach, I scan the crowd of bystanders, hoping against hope to spot Ruby among them. But she’s not there. Neither are Beau or Sampson.
At least a dozen firefighters and police officers are clustered around the entrance, keeping everyone clear. Two firefighters head inside while I’m watching, moving quickly, but not running like I’d imagine they would be if there were an actual fire.
“You can’t go inside,” one of the officers barks at us. “Emergency personnel only.”
“I live here,” I snap. “My girlfriend is inside.”
His stern expression softens slightly. “You have to wait out here until the place is cleared. I’m sorry. Have you tried calling her?”
My fist itches to punch him. “Of course I’ve called her. She’s not answering. That’s why I need to get to her.”
My gaze slides over to meet Rogue’s. I don’t have to say anything. He knows what I’m thinking.
Straightening, he holds his hand out to the officer. “I’m Nico Parisi. Founder and CEO of Fox & Falcon Security. I’m not sure if you’ve heard of us, but we often work with the NYPD.”