Pros & Cons (13 page)

“Coop! Can you hear me? Find an exit and get the hell out of here!”

An eerie silence fills my earpiece, and in that moment, I’ve never felt so alone.

“Something’s not right,” Abby whispers, reaching for the door handle.

“Don’t you dare! We’re supposed to wait here. Do you want to completely blow this entire operation?”

She begins to rock back and forth in her seat. “Why is it so dark in the building? That wasn’t part of the plan.”

No, it wasn’t part of the plan.

I glance at the surrounding buildings. They all have power.

Suddenly, Abby begins to cry uncontrollably.

Abigail Moore is the perfect partner. Her instincts are solid, and she always has an uncanny ability to detect when something isn’t quite right. Her sixth sense has saved our asses many times. But this reaction—and these tears—are completely out of the ordinary, and it scares the shit out of me.

“Abby, what is it?”

“I don’t know,” she says, rocking faster. “I don’t know.”

No amount of money is worth this. Nothing.

“Abort!” I scream into my radio. “Do you hear me, Summers? Abort!”

Abby gasps with relief. We wait for his reply.

“Summers? Ethan?”

All I get is static.

“Abby, try yours.”

She does.

No response.

“Screw this. I’m going in.” She’s out the door in a flash.

“Abby!”

I quickly jump out of the car. She’s faster, of course, and just before she enters the building, she abruptly stops in her tracks and turns toward me. The look on her face is a mixture of grief, defeat, and acceptance.

“Abby?”

“Love you, Jenna Michelle.”

My blood runs cold.

“Abby, what—?”

But she doesn’t let me finish. She races into the building just as the first explosion shakes the ground.

“Abby!”

Flames erupt from the upper windows when I hear the second explosion . . . and then a third, the last of which sends me spiraling from the entrance of the building and back onto the pavement. My head lands with a crashing thud. My vision blurs as I try to focus on the billowing flames that fill the air with acrid smoke, causing me to choke and gag as I desperately try to catch my breath and stagger to my feet. I manage to stand for a second before falling to the ground once again. Paralyzed with panic, I watch helplessly as the flames burn higher and brighter. I faintly hear sirens, and suddenly, I’m surrounded by voices.

“Miss, are you okay?”

“I have to get in there.” I beg the man holding a flashlight close to my face. “My friends—”

“Your friends are in the building?”

I nod, but the motion makes me want to puke. “Three of them . . . a girl. Two guys . . . Abby.”

“Miss, I’m sorry . . .”

Why is he sorry? Why isn’t he helping?

“I have to find them.”

My voice is a whimper as I struggle to my feet. Someone immediately lifts me into their arms and places me against something soft. More people surround me . . . poking and prodding the tender flesh on my head.

“My friends . . .”

The man’s voice rings in my ears. “We’re sorry about your friends, miss.”

I feel myself drowning in voices, pain, smoke, and flames.

“Love you, Abigail Rose.”

Tears trickle down my cheeks, and I pray for the flames to swallow me whole as I close my eyes.

I’m disappointed when I wake up.

Dean, one of the paramedics, hovers over me, but I ignore him and watch the firemen do their jobs. The flames are all but gone now, but the smoke remains . . . a filthy, thick blanket that makes my eyes burn. But I keep my gaze fixed on the building’s entrance, and I wait.

“Jenna?”

I slowly turn my head toward Dean.
How does he know my name? Did I give it to him? Did he give me his? Why can’t I remember?

“They’ve recovered two bodies. A male and a female. Late twenties? Probably around your age.”

Male and female. My age.

“I thought you’d want to know.”

That’s when I remember Maria and the curator. They were supposed to be in the building, too. A sick, twisted part of my heart grows hopeful.

“The female,” I whisper weakly. “Brunette or blonde?”

“The fireman said she had blonde hair.”

Not Maria.

“The man was blonde, too.”

Of course he was. Even in death, they refused to be separated.

I wrap my arms around my middle and rock back and forth. I alternate between burning up and freezing to death. Dean keeps saying I’m in shock. He stays right by my side, talking to me calmly and gently, as if the tone of his voice can somehow make this better. As if being sweet and kind can take the place of my friends.

Abby and Coop are dead.

Summers . . .

Abby . . .

Ethan. Where is Ethan?

“Did the firemen find anyone else? Another man around my age? Dark hair. Blue eyes.”

He doesn’t get the chance to answer before I double over and quietly puke on the pavement.

“They were found together,” Dean says. Even vomit doesn’t scare him off. “The first thing the fireman noticed was the ring on her finger. Not sure if that makes it better or worse . . .”

Nothing can make this better.

I shift on the gurney and take a deep breath, trying to force my mouth to form a coherent sentence.

“What about my other friend?”

“They’re still looking.”

With a nod, I watch what’s left of the front door, and I wait.

“What was her name?”

I hesitate for a minute. It’s pure instinct to keep our identities a secret. But then I remember it doesn’t matter now. Nothing matters anymore.

“Abby. Abigail Rose Moore.”

He doesn’t seem to recognize the name. Instead, he asks me about her next-of-kin. She never really talked about her parents. It dawns on me that I have no idea how to contact them. She was my best friend. Something seems monumentally wrong with the fact that I don’t know how to reach them.

“What about siblings?”

“A brother. His name’s Jason.”

“Jason Moore?”

I nod.

Dean finishes writing down what little information I have about Abby’s brother. As far as I know, he still lives in Texas. He then asks me about Coop—and if that’s a first name or a last.

“First. His name’s Cooper Donovan.”

I wrack my brain. Ethan mentioned Coop had a sister, but I can’t remember if he told me her name. Thinking about Summers makes my vision swim.

Why haven’t they found him?

I don’t ask about Maria or the curator. Despite the pounding in my head, I have enough sense to realize they were never in the building. There was no heist. It was a trap, and when I find him, Stavros Peri is a dead man.

“The firefighters are still looking for your other friend,” Dean says. But I can hear it in his voice. Nobody could have survived those explosions. One explosion, maybe, but not three.

Just me.

Why me?

“Your blood pressure is still higher than I’d like it to be. I wish you’d let us transport you to the ER.”

I shake my head. I don’t need a hospital. I need to get away from this fiery hell and try to figure out what went wrong tonight. With watery eyes, I gaze up at the remaining wisps of smoke as the reality of the situation hits me like a wrecking ball.

Abby and Coop are dead. Ethan is nowhere to be found.

And I am all alone.

I climb down from the gurney.

“Jenna?”

“I’m leaving.”

Dean insists again that I go to the hospital, but he finally accepts my refusal and offers to call me a cab instead. Our car is . . . somewhere, but I know I’m in no condition to drive. I just want to get out of here. I want to go back to the hotel and cry until I’m all cried out. And then I’m going to find Stavros.

“You know the cops will want to talk to you. I’ve tried to keep them away.”

I look around. Police swarm the area, but they aren’t paying any attention to me.

“I won’t leave town. You can give them my name if they ask.”

“What about an address?”

I give him the name of the hotel and my cell number. When the cab arrives, Dean helps me into the back seat. He throws the driver some cash and gives him the name of my hotel before promising to call and check on me later.

“Thanks, Dean. For everything.”

He smiles kindly. “Don’t give up hope. I’ll talk to you later.”

I thank him once more before the cab speeds off into the night.