Chapter 5 - THE FIRE THAT NEVER ENDED
They did not return to the loft.
Declan assumed Patrick knew every property connected to him, every garage, every apartment, every emergency route.
Instead, Nolan directed them to a narrow three-story building above a closed tailor shop in Little Italy.
The second-floor apartment belonged to Maeve.
Before they went upstairs, Iris refused to move until Nolan confirmed what had happened to the animals left at the loft. During the escape from the clinic, Duke, the cats, and Pepper had been the only pieces of her ordinary life she could still touch. Leaving them in a compromised safehouse felt like abandoning patients during a fire.
Nolan, pale from blood loss, made three calls from a disposable phone while Declan stood guard beside the alley entrance. One of Declan's drivers had already moved the carriers after Victor's credentials triggered the security alert. They were now at an independent twenty-four-hour veterinary hospital across town under false client names.
Iris made the night technician describe every animal.
Pepper was warm, eating hay, and had not disturbed his sutures. The tabby had hissed at everyone. Duke had refused to enter a kennel until a technician sat on the floor with him for ten minutes.
Only then did Iris breathe normally.
Declan watched her end the call.
“You thought I forgot them,” he said.
“I thought your version of an emergency might rank animals somewhere below guns and evidence.”
“It usually does.”
She stared.
He added, “Not tonight.”
The answer landed more gently than she expected. She nodded once, because anything warmer felt dangerous.
Then they went upstairs.
Maeve opened the door wearing pajama pants, combat boots, and an expression that promised violence.
Then she saw Nolan bleeding.
“You people are exhausting.”
Iris helped him inside.
Maeve converted the kitchen table into an examination surface and pointed at Iris.
“You.”
“What?”
“You started this one. Finish it.”
Iris stared.
“I did not start the bullet wound.”
“You know what I mean.”
For the next twenty minutes, Iris cleaned Nolan's arm while Maeve inventoried the evidence.
The red ledger lay beneath a lamp.
The steel case remained closed.
Declan stood at the window.
He had barely spoken since Patrick's call.
Iris understood grief.
She also understood the ugly thing that happened when old grief discovered it had been lied to.
It reopened differently.
Sharper.
More personal.
When Nolan was bandaged, Maeve handed him two tablets and said, “Pain.”
He swallowed them without asking what they were.
Iris washed her hands.
“Trusting.”
Nolan leaned back in the chair.
“She once reset my dislocated shoulder while threatening to throw me out a window. We have a relationship.”
Maeve opened the laptop.
“Flash drive.”
Declan finally moved.
He placed it beside her.
“You have an isolated machine?”
Maeve looked offended.
“Do you think I keep illegal financial archives on the same computer I use to order groceries?”
“I have seen you order groceries from a burner phone.”
“Exactly.”
She disappeared into the bedroom and returned with an old laptop that had no visible network hardware.
The drive required a password.
Evan had left a hint.
ONE GOOD DOG.
Iris stared at it.
“Rufus.”
Declan looked at her.
“Our dog when we were kids. Worst dog ever born.”
She typed RUFUS.
Rejected.
“Birthday?” Nolan asked.
“Evan's idea of security was emotionally specific and technically irritating.”
She thought.
Rufus had eaten a Thanksgiving turkey.
Broken a screen door.
Chased a police horse.
One good dog.
Then she remembered what Evan always called him.
“The only good thing Rufus ever did was find me when I got lost in the park.”
She typed FINDIRIS.
The drive opened.
Maeve smiled.
“I like your brother.”
“So did I.”
Folders appeared.
ACCOUNTS.
LARKIN.
VALE.
PATRICK.
ELEANOR.
Declan stared at the last one.
No one touched the keyboard.
Finally Iris said, “Do you want us to leave?”
“No.”
“You do not have to watch it now.”
“Yes, I do.”
Maeve opened the folder.
The first file was an audio recording.
The date was two weeks before Eleanor Kade died.
A woman's voice filled the kitchen.
“I know what you're doing, Patrick.”
Declan closed his eyes.
His mother's voice.
Patrick answered.
“You know enough to be dangerous and not enough to understand.”
“I understand money is being moved through children's charities and city contracts. I understand weapons are coming in on relief shipments. I understand Owen Larkin is being paid to make witnesses disappear.”
Maeve paused the recording.
Iris looked at Declan.
“Are you all right?”
“No.”
The answer was so honest it silenced everyone.
“Continue.”
The recording resumed.
Eleanor said, “I told Daniel.”
Patrick laughed.
“And what did my brother say?”
“He told me to wait.”
“He told you to protect the family.”
“He told me he needed time.”
“Same thing.”
“No.”
Eleanor's voice sharpened.
“Daniel is afraid of you.”
Patrick's laughter stopped.
“Careful.”
“I am taking Declan tomorrow.”
Silence.
Then Patrick said, “You do that, and you will not make it out of the city.”
The recording ended.
Declan stood perfectly still.
Iris felt sick.
Maeve opened the next file.
A scanned memo from Kade Freight.
Warehouse 19.
October seventeenth.
Private meeting.
Attendees: Eleanor Kade, Patrick Kade, Daniel Kade.
Declan's father had been there.
Another file contained photographs.
Another held phone records.
At 8:12 p.m., Eleanor called a private investigator.
At 8:19, Patrick called Captain Larkin.
At 8:27, Daniel Kade called emergency services.
The fire was first reported at 8:31.
Iris watched Declan process the timestamps.
“Your father called before the official report.”
“Yes.”
“He may have tried to save her.”
“Or he knew what was coming.”
Maeve opened the final audio file.
This one was dated the day after the fire.
Evan's voice came first.
“Mr. Kade, I need you to say clearly what happened.”
Then Daniel Kade spoke.
Older.
Ragged.
Broken.
“Patrick locked the east stairwell.”
Declan gripped the back of a chair.
Daniel continued.
“He said Eleanor only needed to be frightened. The fire was supposed to start in the office after she left. I believed him.”
A choking breath.
“God forgive me, I believed him.”
Evan said, “Did you know he had arranged accelerant on both floors?”
“No.”
“Did you know Captain Larkin delayed the fire response?”
“No.”
“Did you cover up your brother's involvement afterward?”
Silence.
Then Daniel whispered, “Yes.”
Declan let go of the chair.
He walked away from the table.
No one stopped him.
He entered the narrow living room and stood facing a dark wall.
Iris followed after a minute.
Not close.
Just near enough that he would know he was not alone unless he wanted to be.
“My father died believing I respected him,” Declan said.
Iris said nothing.
“I built everything he left me. Cleaned half of it. Expanded the rest. Told myself there were lines he never crossed.”
He laughed once.
There was no humor in it.
“He let Patrick stay beside us for fourteen years.”
“He may have thought he was protecting you.”
“That does not make it protection.”
“No.”
Declan looked at her then.
She understood the question he did not ask.
Did grief excuse cowardice?
No.
But neither did love erase it.
“My brother lied to me for months,” Iris said. “He thought he was keeping me safe.”
Declan's expression softened slightly.
“I was furious when I heard the tape.”
“You were crying.”
“I can multitask.”
His mouth almost moved.
She continued.
“I am still angry. I also still love him. Both things can be true.”
Declan looked toward the kitchen where Evan's files glowed on the laptop.
“I do not know what to do with both.”
“You do not have to know tonight.”
For a long moment neither moved.
Then Declan looked at the cut on her cheek.
“You're bleeding.”
“Tiny scratch.”
“Sit.”
“I am the medical professional here.”
“Veterinary professional.”
She narrowed her eyes.
“That joke belonged to me.”
He found Maeve's first-aid kit and pointed to the couch.
Iris sat mostly because exhaustion had begun making decisions for her.
Declan cleaned the cut with a gauze pad.
His hands were unexpectedly gentle.
“You do this often?” she asked.
“What?”
“Patch up veterinarians after gunfights.”
“First time.”
“Memorable week.”
His eyes met hers.
Too close.
For several seconds the city disappeared.
No ledger.
No dead brother.
No uncle.
Just gray eyes and a man who looked tired enough to collapse if he allowed himself.
Iris felt the shift and hated how much she wanted it.
She pulled back first.
“Declan.”
“I know.”
“You do not know what I was going to say.”
“Yes, I do.”
“What?”
“This is a bad idea.”
She stared at him.
“It is.”
“Yes.”
Neither moved.
Maeve appeared in the doorway.
“If the two of you are finished having an emotionally complicated staring contest, we have a problem.”
Iris stood immediately.
“What?”
Maeve held up Nolan's phone.
“One of Declan's secure contacts just tried to access this building's old address through a property database.”
Declan's face hardened.
“Who?”
“Credentials belong to Victor Shaw.”
Nolan swore from the kitchen.
Iris looked between them.
“Who is Victor?”
Declan answered.
“My head of security.”
The man who controlled every safehouse.
Every guard rotation.
Every emergency route.
Maeve looked toward the window.
“Which means Patrick does not need to guess where we are.”
May you like
The lights went out.
A second later, the building's front door exploded inward downstairs.
