Lib Novel Page 45
“Abby,” Diane called out just as I reached the door, and I turned back to face her. “If you’re lying, if you’re compromised in any way…we have enough power to rain hell on you.”
“I–”
“I wasn’t finished. Don’t think your father gets out of this unscathed.”
Her words were a cold fist squeezing my heart. I snatched my hand away from hers. “I know what I’m doing,” I spat out, the words sharp. “And I don’t appreciate being threatened. I love my job.”
“Love your job all you want,” Diane shot back, “but don’t forget who you work for.”
I couldn’t stomach looking at her–listening to her–anymore. I stalked out of the FBI headquarters, the chill of the office building not enough to keep the heat of anger from creeping up my neck. As I stepped into the afternoon sun, my phone buzzed. It was Nathan.
“Hello?”
“Abby. Get here now,” he said.
“Here?”
“Yes. Grant Avenue Floral is on fire.”
And before I could ask him any more questions, he’d hung up.
Chapter Twenty-Two: Nathan
Grant Avenue Floral—my shop, my haven—was burning.
Fear for Mr. Lao tangled with the adrenaline pumping through my veins as I mashed the accelerator to the floor. The old man had been more than just an employee; he was a friend, a confidant, and I had promised him safety under my watch.
The streets of the city blurred past, every red light a glaring obstacle in my race against time. Mr. Lao was supposed to be locking up tonight, his stoic presence a fixture among the fragrant blooms and greenery. Now, all I could think about was that he might be trapped inside, the flames a merciless thief coming to steal him away.
As I skidded around the corner onto Grant Avenue, the acrid stench of smoke clawed at my throat before the scene even came into full view. Fire trucks barricaded the street, their sirens piercing the night with a desperate urgency. My heart sank as I saw it—my shop, once a haven of natural beauty, now devoured by an inferno.
I slammed the car to a stop, not bothering to park properly. The vibrant flowers that used to dress the storefront were reduced to cinders, the windows blown out, spitting orange embers into the dark sky. The whole structure was engulfed, a living beast of fire roaring in triumph over its conquest.
The heat hit me like a physical force, and the stench of burning wood and flowers filled my lungs as I bolted from the car. There was no time to think, just act. I spotted a familiar face in blue—a cop, one of ours—amidst the chaos. Slipping a wad of cash into his waiting hand, our eyes locked in silent understanding.
“Keep them back,” I growled low, nodding toward the gathering crowd of onlookers.
“Understood, boss,” he replied under his breath, pocketing the bribe while redirecting the bystanders with authoritative ease.
I strode toward the inferno, my shop a skeleton of flames. The heat pressed against my skin, but it was nothing compared to the urgency that fueled my steps. Mr. Lao’s safety was a weight in my chest, heavier than the smoke that tried to choke me.
“Hey!” A fireman intercepted me, his expression hidden behind his mask. “Who the hell are you? You can’t be here!”
“I’m the owner,” I shot back, my voice rough with smoke and barely contained rage. “Is everyone out?”
He hesitated, sizing me up with a critical eye before motioning me away from the blaze. “You need to step back, sir. Let us do our job.”
“Was the shopkeeper…did anyone get him out?” The urgency clawed at my throat, making my voice sound foreign even to me.
For a moment, he said nothing, but then his eyes flickered over to where an ambulance sat ominously still. Its back doors were open, and there, framed against the harsh lights inside the vehicle, a body bag was being zipped closed, obscuring what remained of a life from the world.
“Mr. Lao…” My words trailed off, the name catching in my throat like ash. Guilt swelled within me, fast and suffocating. I should have been here; I could have prevented this.
Memories flooded in unbidden—afternoons spent in the backroom of the floral shop, with Mr. Lao’s stories from back in China filling the air as fragrant as the blooms that surrounded us. His laughter was gentle, his wisdom profound, shared over countless pots of steaming tea. He had treated me with a kindness that few had ever offered, without asking for anything in return.
And now, all that remained of those moments were echoes in the flames, disappearing into the night sky like the wisps of smoke above us.
The wail of sirens sliced through the evening air, a harsh soundtrack to the chaos unfolding. I barely registered the sleek black car that skidded to a stop behind mine until the driver’s door swung open and Abby emerged like a force of nature.