Page 88 of A Taste of Trouble

He turned the corner onto Eglinton and had to bypass police tape. Shock and horror gripped him as he stared at the burned-out building that used to be Liv's bakery. He drove by rubbernecking, unable to tear his gaze away from the scene. Burnt. Completely burnt. What if she was in there? What is she didn't get out in time? Liv!

A car horn jerked him out of his trance and Jake hit his brakes hard, almost ramming into the car in front of him. He swerved around, violent curses from the other driver penetrating the windows, but he didn't care. He drove like a crazy person, weaving in and out of traffic. He wasted no time and parked on the street in front of Liv's building. The doorman immediately recognized him and buzzed him through.

He raced past the desk with a “thanks, man” and pushed the elevator button a good ten times before one appeared. The ride to the top of the building felt like the steady climb on a roller coaster, his stomach tightening with every floor that ticked off on the digital screen. And when he stepped off, a rush of adrenaline washed over him. He knocked on her door. Then a little louder. No answer. What if she was in the hospital? What if…

He didn't want to think of that.

He turned, unsure of his next move, until he remembered the door across from the elevator. Patti and Brett's door. It was worth a shot.

He could hear the frantic worry seeping from his knuckles at his incessant knocking. But he didn't care. He needed answers.

Brett opened the door and smiled.

“Is she okay?” Jake blurted.

Brett's face wrinkled in confusion.

“Liv? Is she okay? The bakery. The fire? I—”

Brett reached over and gripped his shoulder. “She's fine, dude.”

Relief. He hadn't realized his heart was beating so fast. So fast and so hard it might have jumped right out of his chest if he had to wait a minute longer for an answer. He settled, and registered where he was. The unfamiliar condo, the wrong number on the door. He couldn't even recall how he'd gotten here.

“Come in,” Brett said. “You look like you could use a beer.”

Jake entered the condo and Brett closed the door behind him. He gestured to the couch. “Have a seat.”

Brett sauntered to the kitchen, his boots heavy against the floor. Although he had noticed his tattoos the night at Mclean's, he hadn't realized just how many, or rather how covered, his body was. His white tank top revealed more ink than skin.

To the right, an unfinished canvas sat on an easel, paint and accessories on a table beside it. Bright art hung on all the walls and modest furniture was positioned around the space. Oversized windows in the kitchen allowed the sunlight to enter, basking the entire area in natural light.

“Baby, who was at the—” Patti entered the living room and immediately her lip curled up in a sneer. She crossed her arms over her chest and widened her stance. “What are you doing here?”

“He's just checking up on Liv.” Brett had come back with two beers and handed one over.

Jake nodded his gratitude. Although he couldn't bear the thought of putting anything in his queasy stomach.

“I just drove by the bakery.” He ran his hand through his hair. “I didn't know. I thought maybe she was hurt, or…” He couldn't even speak the words.

“She's fine.” Patti softened, a sympathetic expression settling on her face.

Jake took the seat on the couch closest to the door. They sat in silence. He drummed his fingers against the bottle, and Brett sipped from his own in the chair across from him. Patti had perched on the arm of the couch. As far away from Jake as possible.

“Look, I just wanted to make sure she was all right. I'll get out of—”

“I remember where I know you from,” Brett said.

Jake tightened. Brett knew him?

“I recognized you that night at McLean's but couldn't place you.” Looking at the canvas, maybe they had met once before at a gallery. “I saw your picture.”

“What pic—” Liv had shown Brett the photo he left for her.

“She didn't bring it over,” he said, as if respecting the intimacy of such a picture. “I was over there and it was on the bed.”

The bed? What the hell was he doing in her bedroom?

“I've been to your fundraiser at the DownTown. I've heard you raise a shitload of money each year.”

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