Page 46 of The Rainbow Recipe
Dante merely texted that he’d be back when he could. He didn’t even take the time to call to inquire about her fears. Risking international phone robbery rates, she turned on roaming and punched Dante’s number, but it went to his voice mail. He had the ringer off.
In fury, she texted him that her cousin might be trapped in a fire. He didn’t respond at all. He’d damned well better be out of reach of cell towers or she’d personally poison him when he returned. She was reaching meltdown mode here. Now that she had roaming on, she tried to call her family, but they were probably either sleeping or hexing the fire.
Seething, she soothed her nerves by whacking ingredients for a meat pie for dinner. She didn’t like being out here all alone when she was feeling threatened, and her world was crumbling. She flinched at every odd knock or bang, even knowing the villa was ancient and creaked like an old lady.
She tried to tell herself she was being ridiculous when the doorbell rang. Maybe Dante had forgotten his key? But it was much too soon for him to return. She wanted a security camera.
Leaving the twins at the table, wiping her hands on a towel, she approached the door warily. It had no side windows or even a peep hole for checking the identity of the visitor. Instead of answering, she peered around the drapery to the drive.
A black limo idled there.
Heck, no, she wasn’t opening the door for Vincent Gladwell. The bell rang a few more times. The twins crept out in curiosity, but she waved them back to the kitchen. They trotted up to peer over the windowsill. Well, she couldn’t really blame them.
She watched as a uniformed chauffeur returned to the limo to report to the occupants hidden by darkened glass. Apparently deciding it was beneath their dignity to peer in windows or check the backyard, whoever was in the back seat directed the chauffeur to drive on. The driver returned to the car, and it rolled away.
Pris shivered. The mental energy she’d received from that car had all been ugly.
She knew absolutely no one to call on for help. She had no way of securing entry. Did Italy have 911?
She checked to see if there was more news from Afterthought but the website hadn’t been updated. No one answered her calls, not even her mother.
Time to prepare evacuation plans. She hunted through her contacts for Emma’s number.
Twenty-three: Jax
Afterthought,South Carolina
The metal securitydoor crumpled beneath the impact of the bulldozer. Furious, beyond terrified, Jax backed up and prepared to strike again. Thick smoke boiled from the back of the two-story brick building. Firemen were on the roof and in the alley hitting the flames with cannons of water. He thought some of them may have gone in through the back to attack the kitchen walls, but Evie had texted her location in the wine cabinet in front.
Roark and Reuben placed themselves ready to roll under the steel gate and haul Evie out once the metal and glass crumpled. To Jax’s relief, she rolled herself out, shouting.
“Jane ran back in! I can’t see her. Rhonda passed out just inside. She’s too heavy for me to drag,” she shouted at the men, before sprinting directly for Jax.
He jumped down from the dozer, probably to the relief of the contractor and all officialdom. She landed in his arms, stinking of smoke and coughing but strong enough to grab his neck. He swung her up, crushing her close, and covering her sooty face with kisses. “That took half a century off my life, you cretin!”
“I love you too.” She kissed him back, snuggling all those blessed, breathing curves into him. “Did you catch Nick Gladwell?”
A medic ran up to administer oxygen but Evie refused to unfasten her grip on Jax’s neck.
“I’m telling you nothing until you let the medic take care of you.” He unwrapped her hands from his neck and lifted her down.
“No insurance. I have the lungs of an opera star.” She darted behind him, using him as shield, and waved the annoyed medic away.
Everyone in town could attest to the power of her lungs, Jax knew.
“I know the routine,” Jax told the medic. “I’ll keep an eye on her. If she passes out, she’s all yours.”
Evie stood on her toes and kissed the back of his neck. Not until that minute did he allow himself to feel relief. He swung around and imprisoned her in his arms again. “Evangeline Malcolm Carstairs, I’m this close to turning you over my knee...”
She blew a raspberry and cuddled closer again. “Nick? Did they catch Nick?”
“He opened the damned shop door for them! Just because it was blocked from the inside, and he was in the alley earlier, doesn’t mean he set fire to his own building.” He glanced over her shoulder to watch Roark emerge from under the bent metal, carrying the clerk. Had Reuben gone hunting Jane?
With a huff, Evie turned to watch too. The medics grabbed the unconscious clerk while Nicholas Gladwell in his white shirt and tie emerged from a nearby building and looked on anxiously.
“If Nick didn’t set the fire, that’s one unlucky family,” Evie murmured. “The business is bankrupt. Who gets the insurance money?”
“Larraine. It’s her building. The Gladwells may have insurance on contents and improvements and maybe loss of business. Are you wearing a mic? Yell at Rube to get his ass back out here and leave the bigot to the fire fighters.” Jax felt his stomach knot as the crowd yelled and the smoke thickened in the alley.
