Cameron sat in my car, quietly humming something. His eyes stared blankly at a small circular paper he held in his hands—some sort of art project he created—watercolors blending and bleeding into each other in great swirling strokes. His teacher said he had a difficult day. He seemed restless and agitated, more fidgety than usual.

Even I found myself staring vacantly through the windshield, barely able to remember driving back from the school. The clusterfuck of stop and go traffic, the disjointed noise of different car radios overlapping songs with each other, all mixed and blurred through my senses. The shadows of the buildings slanted strangely across the streets, making the world take on a surreal effect to it.

“Are you hungry, Cameron?” I asked softly, looking at him through the rearview mirror.

He shook his head violently, side-to-side, and moaned in frustration.

The streets were slick with the last remnants of melted slush and snow, and the last streams of sunlight danced through the icy crystals that dripped from trees’ branches as we drove under them.

Ryan’s car wasn’t parked in his normal spot in front of his place. I scanned the street quickly, hoping it was parked somewhere further down, but it wasn’t there at all.

I squeezed my eyes shut tight. I wanted to get home and talk to Dean—or maybe my father—about what was happening. I wanted them to tell me what to do next, not wait here for Ryan to get home, so he could watch Cameron. Who knew how late he’d get back?

As I parked the car, Cameron’s noises and annoyed tones increased to an ear-splitting level. “You want to run ahead, Cam?” Maybe he needed to get out of the car. “You could run ahead.” I handed him Ryan’s house key and smiled.

He didn’t hesitate, thudding open the car door and slamming it shut hard. He was agitated and tight, and I knew I was in for a long night if I didn’t get him in a better mood.

I ran after him, not wanting him to get more frustrated if he couldn’t get the lock quick enough.

As I stomped up the steps, I heard him mumbling, “Take shoes off.”

“I will,” I answered him, closing the door and tossing my car keys onto the counter in the kitchen. I really didn’t want to take my shoes off—or even my coat. I wanted to jump right back in my car and go home. My mind was filled with overwhelming emotions, all of them leading to one thing; Ryan Cage. I was scared. Too scared of what happened with Harris to be able to jump in with both feet.

What if Ryan didn’t feel the same way about me? What if I lost my job? What if I didn’t and had to stay in an office where everyone knew I slept with the captain—and then a detective? What would Ryan have to hear?

I needed to talk to Dean. I needed to get advice from my dad. Both of them would know what to do, even if the shame of asking them and telling them what happened might kill me.

“Take shoes off,” Cameron demanded of me again.

I hung my head in my hands and took a deep breath, how did he even know I still had them on? I was in a different room. “I will; I promise.”

Cameron grunted loudly in response.

I slid my coat off my arms and hung it on the back of one of the kitchen chairs.

And that’s when I heard the slap, slap, slap, making the small hairs on the back of my neck stand on end.

“Cameron? Cameron, what’s wrong?” My voice came out more panicky than I wanted it to, but I just couldn’t understand why he’d start slapping himself just because I hadn’t take off my shoes yet. Maybe he thought I was going to leave. I was, though, wasn’t I? He probably knew. I was probably projecting my own anxiety, frustrations, and fears out on him, and he thought I would leave him here alone.

I rushed to the living room, to the sounds of more frustrated grunting. It was dim inside the room—the blinds were pulled closed over the windows and only a small amount of sun seeped in.

Long, dark shadows crawled up the walls, making everything feel oddly sinister, like something wasn’t quite right.

I tilted my head slowly, peering into the corner.

There in one of the shadows stood a woman standing so still that I almost didn’t notice her. Cameron was between us, agitated and pacing, gesturing toward the woman’s feet. “Take off shoes.” His voice was becoming high-pitched and hysterical.

She stared at me for a long moment without a word. Then, slowly her straight-lipped expression curled up until she was baring her teeth.

Unease and surprise twisted through my stomach so strongly that I literally bent forward at the waist from the pain. Another woman had the keys to his apartment. How was it this possible for me to be so gullible when it came to men? What the hell did I do in my life to deserve meeting only liars, cheaters, and assholes?

Maybe this was his older sister? I dismissed the theory quickly. The woman looked to be in her forties—too old to be the sister who lived in California.

“Hello,” I smiled tightly. “I’m sorry, do I know you?”

She walked toward me, lips rising higher, as her eyes trailed over my frame from head to toe. Of course, she was measuring up the competition, wasn’t she? Well, she could have Ryan Cage then. I didn’t want any more liars or cheats. I had my fill of them. I cleared my throat, “Are you a friend of Ryan’s?”

Cameron tossed himself on the couch and began slamming his back up against the cushions, rumbling sounds under his breath.

“Ryan?” Her voice was high and raspy. “Is that the new guy you’re fucking?” She stepped closer and stood a few feet away from me, arms folded across her chest, watching me curiously. Disdain and pure hatred etched into every facet of her expression. Her face was much older than I first thought, closer to fifty I’d guess, covered carefully with layers of foundation and makeup, penciled on lip stain and eyebrows. She wore a pale gray, long-sleeved blouse, and dark slacks. She stood out as non-descriptive. Someone you’d pass on the sidewalk and not think twice about.

Cameron’s movements became swifter, his moans and grunts louder and faster.

Then it hit me, the smell of something burning.

I whirled to the direction of the hallway where billows of white smoke made it impossible to see past the bathroom. “Cameron, let’s go,” I said, waving my arms for him to come toward me.

“You’re not going anywhere,” the woman growled. I spun around to wisps of smoke and thinning air, circling around her, as she held her arms straight out at me and pointed the barrel of a gun in front of my face.

My hand immediately went for my firearm, but my hands came away empty. I didn’t have it on. I had nothing to defend Cameron or myself with.

“Who are you?” I asked, holding my hands up at my sides.

“You’ve been fucking my husband for months. Take a guess.”

A wave of horror and nausea rolled through the pit of my stomach with her words. Through the building smoke, I took in her face and trembling hands, and the horrible realization that she was pointing a Beretta Panther at me.

The same type of gun that was used in the murder of two of my cadets.

“You’re Captain Anderson’s wife,” I stated, my voice thick with relief.

This had nothing to do with Ryan, she didn’t have anything to do with Ryan.

I swallowed back the lump of emotion that was bubbling in my throat, because I really liked him. I really did. There was nothing to process, nothing. I wanted him to love me. I didn’t want to find out he was anything like Harris. That’s a great thing to figure out a few minutes before I was about to get killed.

She stepped to the side and began to circle around me. “Do you have any idea what you’ve done to my family?” she asked, gesturing the gun at me as she spoke.

Cameron jumped up to his feet, screeching out inaudible sounds as he covered his ears. His body flailed at the sight of the smoke, and he was in full-blown, breakdown mode. “Cameron,” I tried to call his name as calmly as I could, waving him away. “Cameron, honey. Go out to the car.”

He started slapping his chest, pounding it over and over again. Behind him, thin ropes of fire chewed through the hallway runner, blackening and charring the wooden slats beneath. A smoky haze quickly thickened through the room and sparks of drifting ash swirled in flames in the air.

I looked at her in horror. “This has nothing to do with him. Let him out of here.” Paint bubbled and blackened along the walls. The room was getting hotter and hotter. My skin tingled, and my throat felt parched.

“Fuck you and what you want. Whore,” she laughed, bitterly.

“It’s been you following me and taking pictures?” Could I make her talk? Could I buy Cameron some time?

“Everyone needed to see what a whore you are,” she snapped, narrowing her eyes and indexing the front site of her gun on me.

Somebody taught this woman to shoot.

A flash of sparks shot out across the ceiling in the hallway as the light exploded, shooting glass and flames around us. Cameron screamed and crouched near the corner, thudding his head against the wall.

I don’t want him there. I don’t want him inside the apartment, but at least he was out of the path of bullets.

“Just put the gun down, and we can talk about this,” I said, knowing full well it was only a small amount of seconds before she was going to pull that trigger. The thought of those being my last moments made my heart explode fire through my chest and I struggled to breathe. “I never knew he was married,” I said, breathlessly.

A loud, sudden crash burst through the apartment as the ceiling in the hallway came collapsing to the floor. Smoke instantly filled up the living room, blinding me. I scrambled for the kitchen. My arms were out straight, feeling for the table and for my purse—where I had my off-duty firearm. The wood of the table was warping, and the frame of the door turned into giant pillars of flame that spread across the kitchen curtains in a rippling sheet of fire.

Gasping for breath, I crawled along the floor back inside toward the corner. I could still hear Cameron screaming. I needed to get him outside. I needed to get him somewhere safe. “Cameron?” I coughed and wheezed through the haze. I yanked at his shirt and pulled it up over his mouth. “Keep this over your mouth and come with me.” In the middle of the room, something dripped and hissed into a puddle of melted liquid, and the walls around us creaked and groaned. The blaze engulfed us.

His eyes widened at me, yet I didn’t know if he was registering what was really happening or how to deal with it. It didn’t matter. I didn’t have time to think it all out. I needed to get him to the door. He wrapped his arms over his head and continued screaming as I pulled him along the wall.

The dark shadow of another person flashed in front of us, the floorboards moaned and screamed out. Then, an earsplitting explosion slammed me backward, my ears instantly muted and ringing. There was a split-second before I registered it as a gunshot and felt the burning rip of agony as I buckled to my knees unable to control my body or the pain that had sliced right through me.

Behind my head, a lamp shattered and above me, flames devoured the ceiling. Next to me, Cameron hunkered down, his arms clinging to one of my legs. Pain and heat radiated through my body. I was too shocked to pinpoint where it was all coming from.

I bit back the dizziness and pain, clambering desperately on my hands and knees, dragging Cameron toward the window. The room was consumed with fire, the heat unrelenting. My lungs twisted so tightly that they couldn’t take any more breaths. It was all happening too fast. I pushed Cameron toward the window and lifted the hot glass, clawing my fists and nails at the screen until I broke through. Above us, the rod that held the blinds crumpled and crashed down around us.

I shoved his head out the window just as another shot rang out and ripped another white-hot trail of agony over every inch of my skin. My head slammed against the floor, but I raised my gun and aimed at the darkening shadow that loomed over me.

Over the crackle of flames, sirens wailed in the distance. But I knew they wouldn’t get there in time. The only thing that was going in circles in my mind was that Cameron was going to fall out the window and get hurt. I was afraid for him. I had to keep him safe.

And Ryan.

I really wanted to see what happened with us. What kind of a life we could make together—if we only had a fighting chance? I didn’t want our little love story to end like this. Even in my last moments, it was always about love for me—I was always searching it out, wanting to find that special something I felt like I’d been missing my entire life.

I held Cameron’s leg as he hung half way out of the window, but I felt my grip become less and less tight. A sharp, chemical odor burned my nose and throat, gagging me, until I tasted the saltiness of my own blood. Then, as if the ocean had risen up around my body, I felt the sensation of being swept under water in an uncontrollable riptide. Warm thick darkness pulled me under, and everything just ended. I was weightless and empty.

And the last thought I had was, Dying isn’t so bad.

It just sucks doing it alone.