Page 115 of Bombshell

I don’t like the sound of that. I move closer, but my quick movements startle her and she steps back, her heel brushing the edge of the wall and causing her to lose her balance for a second. Ellie shrieks and clutches Ginny’s leg like she can stop them both from falling. I freeze.

“Come down with me and explain. Be a survivor, Ginny,” I urge her.

“You know better than that,” she says. “I saw the file the private investigator dug up on you. People die. Don’t they, Sterling? Especially around you. Especially at war—and that’s what this is, isn’t it? War?”

“It doesn’t have to be.” I need to keep her talking while I assess the surroundings better. My memory of the night I was here with Adair years ago is clouded with heady memories of first love. I know the landing must look out over the front drive because Adair had pointed to it. She’d seen Ginny. I don’t allow myself to linger on Adair. She’s safe and Ellie is depending on me.

“You know better than that.” Ginny laughs. “It’s all a competition. Who has the most money and power and clout? You should have come back and gone toe-to-toe with Angus. Malcolm was never a match for you.”

“It’s over now. I have no interest in hurting your family.” I’m surprised to discover I mean it.

“After everything they did? He ruined your life. He just took it from you. That’s what they do. They take. Malcolm? He takes. He has a mistress, you know. She’s pregnant. I’m not even sure why he goes to all the trouble of pretending. Love only turns to poison in this house. Love can’t survive these walls. That’s why it has to burn to the ground. They deserve it. Can’t you see that? They deserve to watch all of this go up in flames.”

There’s no use in continuing this charade any longer. I’d made the mistake of seeing Ginny as a fragile, kept mouse, too weak to make it on her and thus grateful for her box. I was wrong. So wrong. She’d been beating her head against the walls, slowly slipping away into madness and despair while everyone around her assumed she was simply not a MacLaine. Not up to the task of social appearances and party planning. Not even up to being a trophy wife.

“Ginny, let her go.” I’m no longer asking or pleading. The glass dome radiates so much heat my skin is beginning to burn. We’re out of time.

“No.” Her head turns to look over her shoulder, a wicked smile curving over her lips as she bends to lift Ellie.

“Noo!” I yell at the same moment the glass dome shatters and flames rise from its wooden beams. Ginny’s arm flies up to cover her face, her body providing an unintentional shield for Ellie. I’m dimly aware of the slicing burn of shards of glass, but I finally see my opportunity. I lunge the last few feet and swipe Ellie from her.

“You’re bleeding,” Ellie says, and I look down to see her own face is scratched up.

“I’m fine.” I’m still talking, so that’s a good sign. Now I need to get us out of here.

“You can’t take her!” Ginny throws her body towards me, reaching for my feet with bloody hands.

“We need to leave now,” I tell her, easily moving out of her grasp. She rolls to the side, her eyes landing on the flames and widening as though she’s just realized what’s happening. I can’t get them both out. I can only hope she follows when she realizes how this is going to end.

The door knob is white hot and I startle before pushing past the pain and clasping it.

It’s locked.

The door locks from the inside.

How could I forget that?

I step back and aim a well-placed kick, praying it gives. But this isn’t an operation in the middle east. This is a mansion in Valmont, Tennessee with steel reinforced security on every door. It’s not going to budge, which means I have to find another way out.

Ginny is still on the ground, curling into a ball and weeping. I move to the edge of the roof, looking down to find Adair staring up. When she sees me, she tries to dart towards the house, but Malcolm grabs her arm before she can run in after us. I look down as the sound of sirens mixes with the crackling snap of wood and plaster giving way to flame. Fire trucks. They’re too far away. They aren’t going to reach us. The landing isn’t on the second floor. We might have stood a chance if it were. I might have trusted Malcolm to catch her, at least. But the landing is in its own special spot, no doubt some maintenance place to care for the atrium. It’s not meant to be an escape. Windfall has never been meant for that.

It’s a prison. It always, and it would have been if not for the fire devouring it from the inside out like a parasite. My eyes meet Adair’s one last time, and I realize there are so many moments we’ll never have. I’ll never see her in a wedding dress. I’ll never wake up in our house. I’ll never rush her to the hospital to have our baby. They’re all gone, and I can’t take back a single one.

And she’s not here with me now. Ellie is and I guess if this is the last moment we have, I don’t want to spend it fighting to survive. I want to spend it in love.

I kneel to the ground, placing my daughter gently on her feet, my back to the flames roaring behind us.

“Is someone coming to save us?” she asks, trying to strain to look over my shoulder.

“Yes,” I lie. “We’re just going to wait for them a minute.”

“I knew someone would come because I’m wearing this.” She points to a silver clover necklace. “Auntie gave it to me. It’s a good luck charm.”

I swallow at the sight of that stupid birthday present I’d left forgotten in Adair’s car, now hanging on our child’s neck. “Smart thinking. Do you trust me?”

She considers my question for a second. “Yes, because she trusts you, but also…”

“Yes?”