Page 112 of Torched Spades
Nothing about his past.
Nothing about his…
My hands clench above the keyboard, a raw conversation drifting back through my mind.
“What’s her name?”
“Victoria.”
“What ended things between you two?”
“She died.”
“What happened?”
“It was her heart.”
“It stopped?”
“It went up in flames.”
My own heart feels like a fist is throwing punch after punch inside my chest as I type in a search for fires in Scranton, Pennsylvania involving a woman named Victoria.
Nothing.
I’m about to slam the laptop closed when I remember Johnny had mentioned he’d spent summers in New Jersey as a kid. Returning to the keyboard, I type the same information, this time replacing Pennsylvania with New Jersey.
This time, the screen isn’t blank.
The longer I scroll, the sicker I become. Article after article details the restaurant fire in Montclair, New Jersey where twenty-nine-year-old Victoria Fiero perished in what the fire department determined to be a malicious act of arson.
Arson.
I can’t breathe.
It’s like I can smell the smoke and taste the ash myself.
Oh, God, no…
“Who are you, Johnny Malone?” I whisper.
“A very dangerous man. But something tells me you already know that.”
I whip my head toward the figure standing in the doorway, recognizing him in an instant. There’s no mistaking my father, and it’s not just because he’s in uniform. The man has a presence that sucks all the air out of a room.
“Dad.” Quickly closing my laptop, I stand and circle to the front of the desk, my heart hammering against my chest. “What are you doing here?”
“Stay the hell away from Johnny Malone.”
That won’t be a problem anymore.
I pinch the bridge of my nose. “I’m not having this discussion with you.” My voice trails off as bombs from last night go off in my head. Lowering my hand, I stare at him with narrowed eyes. I heard the recording with my own ears, but he doesn’t know that. I want to cast a net, and for the first time in twenty-two years see if I catch the truth. “Wait, how do you know Johnny’s name? I never told you.”
He shrugs as he strides past me, beginning a slow pace in front of my desk. “The way you talked about your patient that night at the bar didn’t sit right with me, and then I saw that damn bruise on your face. You wouldn’t tell me who he was, so I took matters into my own hands.” Pausing, he stares down at the picture of us, his jaw tightening as he frowns at it. “I made a few calls and—”
“Stop lying!” I yell, cutting him off. “I know all about how you bought Dr. Jarrett. I know all about where your loyaltiesreallylie, Dad.”
“Is that what Malone told you?” he roars. “Becca, he’s a criminal!” His outburst is so dramatic that I laugh, a reaction he answers with a scowl.
