Page 4 of Fire

Blake watched the action play out. “Fuck. We didn’t run her card.”

Reggie looked over his shoulder. “I can zoom in on it and get a name.”

“Do it.”

After a minute of rewinding, zooming, and focusing, he had a name.

Gwen Butler.

“Run it. See if you can find someone matching her description.”

Reggie looked startled. “It’s a pretty common name with not much to go on.”

Blake tried not to show his annoyance, but it came out in his tone. “You don’t need to search the whole fucking world, only a thirty-mile radius. How many twenty-something Gwen Butlers can there be?”

He walked out slamming the door, not waiting to hear excuses, just wanting results.

Blake got them two days later when he found a file lying on his desk. Sitting in his chair, he flipped it open. A black and white still photo taken from the security footage stared back at him.

Gwen Butler.

His breathing stilled at just the sight of her.

She was mostly in profile, the long fall of her hair partly shielding her face, but he could see a small smile curved her lips. There, alone in his office, he could look his fill with no feeling of scrutiny. And he did, he took his time staring at her features, committing even the tiny freckle above her lip to memory before flipping the photo.

Next was a blown up shot of her license. The photo was uncharacteristically flattering even with her face free of makeup and hair pulled into a ponytail. Her physical stats were generic—brown hair, green eyes, five-foot-five. Her age surprised him. He would’ve guessed twenty-three or twenty-four maybe. He would’ve been off by a few years. He made note of her address. Not the best part of town but certainly not the shittiest.

The last page was a short report most likely garnered from public records. He skimmed details that chronicled her life—where she was born, went to school, that she had a bachelor’s degree in fashion design—but gave no details into who she really was. That he felt compelled to know bothered him and was his first clue he should back the fuck away. But he wouldn’t. His intrigue was piqued, and he knew he wouldn’t be happy until it was sated.

Unable to stop himself, he flipped back to the first photo, tracing a finger over her face. He needed to see her again.

And he had a thought on how to make that happen.

Chapter 2

“Mrs. DeAngelo has an appointment for two o’clock.”

Gwen closed the refrigerator after depositing her lunch and smiled at Sheila who’d stepped into the breakroom. Technically, Sheila was her boss, but she never acted like one since half the time she came to Gwen for advice. “I remember. I’m keeping my fingers crossed she doesn’t bring her God-awful daughter with her this time.”

Sheila chuckled. “There’s a special place in hell for people like her.”

Sheila wasn’t kidding. Juliette DeAngelo was a piece of work.

Working for the extremely rich, Gwen was used to their eccentricities, arrogance, and overall feeling of superiority, but Juliette took self-entitlement to a new level. “My ego is still recovering from the last time we met, and that was over a month ago.”

“Don’t take anything she says to heart. She’s just jealous because you’re prettier than she is.”

Gwen threw Sheila a disbelieving look. “Bah, she knows she’s gorgeous. She’s just a bitch.”

Sheila laughed outright. “That, too.”

“Seriously, I’d rather she brought her dog. And that’s saying something because Cleo yaps the whole time she’s here. Gives me a headache for a week after.”

Sheila walked over to the first-aid kit hanging on the wall and pulled out a packet of Advil. “Here.” She slipped it into Gwen’s hand. “Either way, I have a feeling you’ll need this.”

Gwen rolled her eyes. “I need something stronger than that.”

Sheila walked to the fridge and inspected the contents. “No alcohol, but Jason’s had an opened can of Coke in here for over a week. It might be fermented by now.”

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