The Burning City (5 page)

“They know what’s good for them. I’m already going to file so many civil suits their heads will spin. I’m sure my lawyer is drooling right now, and I haven’t even called him yet.”

“Does it really matter? It’s over. We’re never going to make them pay for what was done to us. You might as well save the effort.”

“It’s the only way we can make them pay. We’ll never be justly compensated, but goddamn it, we will be compensated.”

She didn’t care about money. All her “assets” were probably long gone: the shop, her place, her car. If her mother was still paying rent on the shop, she would strangle her as soon as she got her hands on her again. After she finished hugging her a lot.

They left the hotel parking lot. They weren’t far from Tribune Tower, just a few blocks. She was paranoid someone might have followed them.

“What are we going to do first?” She had Occam’s note in her bag. “Where do we even begin? We have to find two people who are very good at not being found.”

“Don’t worry, I have a few ideas.”

They drove through the city and out into the suburbs, the residential areas blending together. Apart from asking a few directions, the driver didn’t speak. She and Sam didn’t say much, either. June was tired, hungry as always, and she’d had way too much excitement for one day—for one lifetime, really.

They ended up in a neighborhood full of huge fancy houses, definitely the rich section of town. The car slowed and turned onto a driveway with a gate blocking it and high white stone walls obscuring the property beyond. The gate was wrought iron, arched at the top, and peaked with spires, like something out of a movie.

Sam sat forward. “I don’t have the remote for the gate, obviously. I’ll have to get out and open it.”

“I’ll do it,” the man said. “Sit tight.”

He put the car in park and got out. He unlatched the gate and pushed one side, making it swing open.

“You live in, like, a mansion?” June asked.

“No.” Sam had grown strangely still. “I wouldn’t call it that.”

The driver climbed back in, and they pulled up through the gate onto a concrete driveway.

The driveway stretched in front of them and curved to the left up ahead. All she could see at first were trees and hedges and flowers landscaped like a tailored forest; however, once they drove around the bend, the massive house in front of them made her gasp.

“This isn’t a mansion?”

Sam squeezed her hand. “I can’t believe I’m home.” He gazed at the house, his face an unreadable mask, but his eyes shone.

She tried to imagine walking into her apartment again, into her shop. She tried to imagine even standing on the street outside. She would probably fall apart.

She nuzzled his shoulder. “I’m happy for you. I’m happy for both of us.”

“I’d given up hope I’d ever come home. Or I’d even have one to come back to.” He leaned over and kissed her. “Welcome to my life.”

The implication overwhelmed her. They’d known each other for many months, they’d shared hardships, but they didn’t know each other. She didn’t know Sam’s life—who he was outside the fight, the things that made him the person he was. She was afraid she might not like them. She might use this newfound knowledge as an excuse to run. Because really—a rich, charismatic politician, who wouldn’t have looked twice at her in the real world? She’d gone insane, or he had.

The house had multiple stories, but the number was unclear because it was architecturally complex, as if someone had put a bunch of Lego blocks together haphazardly. Tall windows looked down from its white stone façade. The roof was brown slate. As they pulled up in front of a long garage with three doors, she caught a glimpse of glimmering blue through the trees, a swimming pool. A set of stone steps led from the driveway to the house.

“My cars better be in the garage,” Sam said. “If I don’t get all my property back, hell will be raised.”

They climbed out, stepping into the summer heat slightly cooled by the canopy of leaves. The driver popped the trunk.

“I think you’ll like it here.” Sam pulled their bags out. “I don’t know if the pool is useable. I’m sure it hasn’t been cleaned and treated. But there’s a Jacuzzi, a gym, and a patio on the back of the house. Nice sun back there.”

“Great. So I can get on the treadmill and then get a tan.” She took her duffel bag from him. “I’ll be the picture of health in no time.”

Sam swung his bag over his shoulder. “If I can get my staff back, I’ll also have a cook who can probably make things you can actually eat.” He slid an arm around her shoulders. “Not to mention I’m pretty sure the place needs a good cleaning.”

“Heaven forbid you cook and clean. But now you got a woman to do that, right?”

Sam turned to the driver. “Thank you.” He held out a hand. The driver shook it.

“Thanks,” June said. Maybe they should tip him, but they didn’t have any money. She’d forgotten what money even looked like.

They stood in the driveway as the car backed up and drove off. The FBI would be sending a security detail before nightfall to watch the house—to keep people out, and probably keep them in. Though they were free, they weren’t completely free.

“This is so weird,” June said. “We don’t have to hide.”

“Yet I still feel like hiding.”

“So do I.”

They climbed the stairs, Sam going first. June followed, admiring the view of the grounds—and his ass, which was nice. Must be that gym.

The front of the house had a wide wraparound porch, and they crossed this to a set of wooden double doors with stained glass panels. The glass was decorated with blooming flowers.

“This is nice,” June said, while Sam dug into his pocket. She tilted her head. “This glass…”

“Tiffany.” He pulled out a set of keys. “Like the glass in the gallery at the pier.”

The glass he’d shown her. It seemed like ages ago now—the one with the angel guiding someone into death, the one that made him think of his brother.

He unlocked the door. “This is surreal for me.”

It was for her, too.

She expected the inside of the house to be as ridiculously overblown as the outside, and she wasn’t disappointed. The rooms were huge, with high ceilings, gleaming dark woodwork, and arty, tasteful décor. If this wasn’t a mansion, she wasn’t a spindly ragged little dying girl.

Sam dropped his bag in a chair. “Home sweet home.”

The place had an empty feel, the air stale and still.

“At least they didn’t gut the place.” He walked over to a wall of windows and pulled the curtains across to open them. Dust billowed and danced in the sunlight that streamed in.

The windows looked out on the pool. A layer of green slime ringed it, and leaves floated on the surface.

“Ugh.” Sam grimaced. “It’ll cost me a fortune to get that cleaned out.” He turned in circles, seeming lost. “I don’t know if the cable is still hooked up, but you can enjoy the outdoors, I guess. There are walking paths and gardens all over the property. I’m sure things are overgrown.”

She wrapped her arms around his waist. “We’ll get it fixed up. It’s gonna take time.”

“And money. I need to talk to my accountant and find out what I have access to.”

“I’m not worried about cable or a sucky pool.” She rubbed his lower back. “This is the Taj Mahal compared to how we’ve been living lately. At least here we can go outside, and we don’t have to take turns doing guard duty.”

“True enough.”

They walked into an enormous kitchen done in blue and green, the appliances gleaming stainless steel. Most of the cupboards and drawers were open, things strewn all over the place and heaped on the counters. Boxes and bins sat on the floor.

Sam slumped. “They went through everything in the damn house and were nice enough to not put it back.”

“At least it’s still here.” She was trying hard to be positive for him. Had they trashed her apartment too?

Sam flipped a switch next to the doorway. Nothing happened.

“Of course.” He glared at the light fixture. “‘You can have it all back, Sam, but we’re not cleaning it up or turning your utilities back on.’ I don’t even want to look in the refrigerator right now.”

“Listen, don’t worry about this mess right now. Make a list of people you need to call and start calling them. We’ll get this sorted.” When the hell had she turned into a crisis management expert?

“That means the security system isn’t working, either. That makes me nervous. Being free also means we’re targets for Robbie and Occam.”

“We still have our guns, right?”

“Yes, I stashed them while we were in the hotel room. I wasn’t letting the FBI take them, registered or not.”

While Sam made phone calls, she explored the house.

She climbed a wide staircase to a floor as big and fancy as the downstairs. The floor contained five bedrooms and two giant bathrooms, one at each end of the hallway. Who the hell needed five bedrooms and two bathrooms when he lived alone? Did he have tons of sleepovers?

She peeked inside each of the bedrooms. They were all in disarray, but not as much as downstairs, as they seemed to be guest rooms. Sam wouldn’t keep anything personal in a guest room. One was bigger than the others, the size of two of her own bedrooms combined, with French doors leading to a balcony. The master suite. Sam obviously didn’t sleep there, though she would have taken it for herself in a heartbeat. She discovered he slept in a room across the hallway, smaller and more humble, if any of the massive rooms could be considered humble.

A huge bed sat in the middle of the room, draped in cream and hunter green blankets. The rest of the space was occupied by a wardrobe, a vanity, desk, and several armchairs. The colors in the room matched the bed. An en suite was attached.

The room was a mess. More bins full of books and folders sat on the floor. The bins were marked with tabs, the word “Haain” and numbers written on them. The sight made her skin crawl, and it wasn’t even her stuff.

His clothes appeared expensive, even in heaps on the floor. Inside a walk-in closet, some of his jackets and shirts were still hanging, and he had racks of shoes. The more she saw, the smaller she felt. What the hell was a guy like him doing with her?

She stood in the middle of the room, sunlight flooding in as the curtains were open. For the ransackers to see by, of course, since there was no electricity. The room didn’t smell like Sam at all. Too many months had passed.

Several framed photographs sat on top of the dresser. June picked one up and wiped dust from the glass.

The picture was of a younger Sam, along with, she assumed, his parents. Sam wore a suit, his hair pulled back. His father looked like an older version of him, though he had short hair and darker skin. She could see the Israeli heritage in him. His mother was fair-skinned with long, dark hair. Sam stood between them, their arms around him. His father had his arm around another man on his opposite side. This man looked a lot like Sam too—his brother.

June had seen him before.

She stared at the picture. She had questions for Sam.

She set the picture down and looked at the other ones. A picture of his parents sitting on a bench on Navy Pier in front of Lake Michigan. Another picture of his brother—something official looking, a headshot.

A picture of Sam and Muse.

They seemed to be at a party. Sam wore a suit, and Muse looked shockingly different, her hair in a cute pixie bob, white as ever, and she wore a white evening gown. They were both holding glasses of champagne. Muse was smiling, hugely. June never saw her smile like that. They looked like a happy couple.

“I’m sorry,” June whispered. “I’ll try to do right by him.”

Something shuffled outside the doorway, and she turned. Guilt washed over her for being in his room, snooping through his things.

“Sorry, just being a creeper. I—”

She fell silent. No one was there.

She walked over to the doorway and peeked out. Sam wasn’t in the hallway.

“Sam?”

No reply.

For some reason, Rose swam into her head. The back of her neck prickled. She hadn’t seen her since the night in Occam’s attic, when Micha made June summon her. But then, Rose had a habit of disappearing for a long time and popping back up when June least expected her.

Rose wasn’t lurking around, though. Not that she could see.

With the place sitting empty all those months, maybe mice had moved in. Sam needed to add an exterminator to his call list.

She walked back downstairs. Sam was talking on the phone in the kitchen, his voice carrying in the quiet house. They’d gotten new phones from the FBI, sort of a pity present. She hadn’t even turned her phone on yet.

She found the Jacuzzi—empty, the tiled room around it smelling distinctly of mildew. The gym next to it was full of home equipment: a treadmill, stationary bike, weight bench, and elliptical. Two walls of the room were windows looking out on an overgrown garden. The other two were floor-to-ceiling mirrors.

She stood in front of one of the mirrored walls. She looked gaunt and pale in her black dress, like a TV vampire.

“What a catch,” she murmured, wiggling her bra around under her dress.

She wandered back to the kitchen.

Sam had pulled a stool up to the counter next to the stove and was hunched over on the phone and writing things down. He’d taken off his jacket and shoes, his bare feet perched on the bottom rung of the stool, his shirt half unbuttoned. His hair was pulled back in a sloppy knot. His casual appearance struck her as sexy as hell.

Eventually, he dropped the phone on the counter and rubbed the bridge of his nose.

She walked over to him. “Getting anywhere?”

He sighed. “They’re going to turn the electric and water on sometime today, hopefully. There’s enough in my primary bank account. I can take care of that. Is the rest of the house trashed too?”

She nodded. She didn’t want to bring up the pictures of his brother right now. He had enough on his mind.

“Also,” he said, “my old assistant is coming over. She’s thrilled to quit her new office job and come back to my employ. She’s going to bring over a generator. Cindy will bring us some groceries and bottled water. I don’t think we’re ready to drive to the store and walk around out in public.”