Luxury Model Wife Read online

  She leaned closer to the bird and whispered, “We’re onto you, duckie. But I’ll be back in a few hours.”

  Pirate opened one eye and stared at her before closing it again as if to nap.

  Steve closed the front door and locked it behind them.

  *****

  “Dinner was great.” Victoria reached over the leather upholstery to touch Steve’s hand where he sat in the passenger seat.

  Steve wrapped his fingers around Victoria’s palm and squeezed. “After we pick up Pirate, we can have dessert and a nightcap at my place.”

  “With or without calories?” Victoria teased.

  “Both, I hope.” He turned to face her and she saw his eyes darken with desire.

  Her heart pounded and butterflies tickled her stomach. Her hands trembled on the steering wheel and so she gripped it tighter. Victoria wanted to laugh out loud at the irony of being unnerved by sex.

  She was a former cosmetics department manager and a trophy wife, used to playing seductress. Over the course of her marriage, she’d spent hours pampering her face and body to stimulate the libido of her aging husband. She took great pains not to get mussed and to always look her best.

  Steve had seen her sweating from head to toe, her hair a mess and her makeup smudged, which only seemed to arouse him further. He said he loved the smell of her skin after sex and preferred her natural scent to perfume. The freedom to be exactly who she was felt exhilarating.

  She wore very little makeup on this night and had chosen casual clothes. At first, she’d been reluctant to slip on jeans or chinos because they reminded her of the grim old days when all she owned were thrift shop hand-me-downs. A few shopping trips to the mall with Beverly had altered her perspective. There was such a thing as middle ground, and her friend had helped her find it.

  Victoria stole a glance at Steve and smiled. The passion he’d aroused in her was a gift that freed her from having to play a role. She sighed with both anticipation and contentment, putting aside for a moment that her move to Steve’s place was a precautionary safety measure.

  “I’m glad you packed enough for a few days,” Steve said, seeming to read her mind. “I feel better knowing you’ll stay with me.” He reached for the bottle of water she always kept in the console and took a sip. “Want some?” He held it out, but Victoria shook her head.

  She grinned at him and made the turn onto Market Street. “Pirate and I will try to be good houseguests.”

  A plume of gray smoke spiraled above the skyline near Carlson’s Antiques Emporium.

  “What the hell is that?” Steve sat up straighter in his seat.

  “Oh, God.” Victoria stepped on the gas and roared down the street, blowing through a traffic light until they reached the cross street leading to Carlson’s. The tires screeched around the final turn.

  They pulled to the curb in front of the store and parked. Darkening smoke wafted through the parking lot of the tiny shopping center. A crowd began to gather as people left the neighboring stores to watch. Others trotted to their cars and drove off. Victoria scanned the front of Steve’s antiques shop and was relieved to see it wasn’t the source of the flames. The Emporium windows were clear.

  “Where’s Beverly’s car? Do you see it?” Steve asked, pulling his cell phone from the back pocket of his jeans.

  Victoria looked around. “No. Maybe it’s in the rear lot. I’ll check the shop and see if she’s inside.”

  Just then, a tendril of black smoke shot into the sky and Steve shouted, “The warehouse is on fire.” He grabbed the water bottle in the console, jumped from the car, and took off at a dead run toward the path that joined the emporium’s service entrance to the supply warehouse.

  Victoria took her keys and raced toward the antiques shop with her pulse pounding in her throat. Find Beverly. Get Pirate out of the store.

  Sirens sounded in the distance.

  Victoria unlocked the store and burst through the entrance. “Beverly.”

  She barreled through the building, seeing no one. “Are you here?”

  She flung the door open to the workroom.

  Empty.

  Victoria ran to Steve’s office and nearly tore the door from its hinges to see inside.

  No Beverly.

  Victoria bolted through the store again, grabbed Pirate in his cage, locked the door, and hurried back to her car with the bird. After placing Pirate inside, she sprinted toward the warehouse at the far end of the alley.

  She called out Steve’s name. Where had he gone?

  Victoria had nearly reached the burning building when the temperature spiked. Black particles and glowing specks flew through the air. The smoke thickened, making it hard to breathe and harder to see.

  Orange and yellow flames shot from the shattered windows at one corner of the warehouse, painting the siding with black stripes. Since the storage space was built largely with metal sheeting, Victoria’s heart sank with the realization the antiquities inside were fueling the inferno.

  She found Steve around the far side of the building turning on the faucet to a garden hose, horror etched on his face as he tried to control the flames with the meagre spray. The bottle of water lay abandoned at his feet, useless against the growing blaze. His father’s European acquisitions would burn along with the priceless Van Orr collections inside the building.

  Carlson’s would be ruined. James’s heirlooms would be destroyed.

  And it was her fault.

  Tears filled Victoria’s eyes, but she blinked them away. No time for them now. “Beverly wasn’t in the store,” she shouted over the noise. “Maybe she went home.”

  Steve raised his voice over the sounds of buckling metal. “She’s not answering her cell. Her car is still in the lot. I have to find her.”

  “I’m going with you.”

  “No. You stay here. Wait for Fire and Rescue.” He pulled off his dress shirt, soaked it with water, sprayed his pants, and sprinted toward the burning building with the shirt draped over his head.

  Victoria shouted, “She’s my friend, too.” She ran water over her hair and clothes and took off after him. The heat emanating from the warehouse was bearable, but growing. The surface of her skin grew warmer as she made her approach. Fear prickled the hairs on her arms and the back of her neck, but she ignored it and pressed on.

  Steve grabbed her by the shoulders. “I can’t risk you getting hurt. Or worse.”

  She pulled herself free from his grasp and shouted, “Stop wasting time. Don’t argue.”

  Steve grimaced and draped his wet dress shirt over Victoria’s head. The white tee he’d worn beneath was soaked through and his arms were dappled with water from the garden hose. “Stay close.”

  He entered the building on all fours with Victoria behind him. “Beverly,” he shouted. “Can you hear me? Beverly.”

  Nothing.

  “Beverly. Call out.”

  A tremendous crack sent them reeling as the far corner of the structure buckled and split away from the frame. Victoria could hear furniture, paintings, and carpets pop as they were scorched by heat.

  Steve called again. “Beverly.”

  Victoria stayed behind him. She coughed and choked as the smoke grew thicker. She screamed Beverly’s name in the stifling, acrid air.

  From beneath the din, a moan sounded from Victoria’s right. She tugged Steve’s pant leg. “Here.” Thunder roared in the distance as a support beam broke away and crashed to the floor. Antiques splintered under the weight of the beam.

  A cough followed the moan she’d heard. A plump leg poked from a length of billowy skirt and a pile of rubble. “Beverly.”

  Victoria edged out of the way while Steve turned around, crawled to the debris, and sifted through it. Victoria moved to the opposite side of the pile and helped him clear the space where Beverly lay sprawled, face down. Terror gripped her at the silhouette of her unconscious friend.

  “Help me lift her.” Steve screamed over the roar of the fast-spreading b
laze.

  A loud pfft sounded behind her and the pop of something exploding made Victoria jump. Her heart pounded so hard she thought it might burst through her chest. The dark smoke had nearly rendered her blind, but she lifted Beverly’s legs and moved in tandem with Steve toward the exit as quickly as she could beneath Beverly’s weight.

  They had nearly reached the open door when Victoria heard someone moan. She tried to see through the smoke and expanding flames, but could only make out shapes.

  Victoria called out, “Hold on, we’ll come back for you.”

  They carried Beverly outside and laid her on the grass.

  “I can’t wait for Fire and Rescue,” Steve said. “She’s not breathing.”

  Steve pumped Beverly’s chest hard and fast with the heels of his palms and then lifted the back of her head to open her mouth and perform CPR. He breathed into her lungs and then repeated the compressions on her heart.

  “I’m going back. Someone else is inside.” Maybe Beverly’s husband, Tommy, had come by.

  Despite the almost overwhelming heat and blinding smoke, chills crawled up Victoria’s spine at the thought of Beverly losing her husband in the fire. She ran fresh water from the hose over Steve’s dress shirt, tented it over her head, and headed for the door.

  The last thing she heard through the crackling flames was the sound of Steve’s horrified shouts. “No. Stop.”

  She went to her knees inside the burning warehouse and put her ear to the ground.

  Concrete brushed her face while she struggled to divide breathable air from the smoke. Her eyes burned like they’d been stung by a thousand bees. Still, she listened.

  Seconds passed until she heard a human sound again.

  There. Whining, like the sound of a frightened animal.

  “Where are you?” She covered her nose and mouth against the suffocating heat and fumes that threatened to overwhelm her. She crawled forward into the abyss, but soon, weariness dragged her down.

  She coughed and the effort made her dizzy. The room seemed to spin.

  Maybe if she rested a minute her head would clear and she’d be able to find whoever else was trapped. She laid her cheek against the warm concrete floor and dropped her hands to her sides.

  A moment’s nap was all she needed.

  “Victoria!” someone screamed.

  She recognized the masculine voice, but couldn’t quite place it.

  She’d answer in a moment. Right now she wanted to sleep.

  “Victoria.”

  Terror filled the voice when it called her name again.

  “Answer me, right now.”

  She lifted her head.

  Her mind was clouded with fog, but the voice drew her attention back to the open door and the dim light outside.

  Maybe you’d better answer.

  She forced her knees to raise her up and tried to reply, but no sound came from her throat. A powerful weariness beckoned her to lie down again.

  “Victoria, where are you? I can’t see a thing.” The voice sounded frantic.

  A moment of clarity struck and her heart pounded in response to the sound.

  Steve.

  She wanted to shout, but smoke had locked her vocal cords.

  A fading beam of sunlight showed her the way she had come. Crawl toward the sound of his voice and the sunlight. You’ve got to get out.

  She turned and tried to push forward, but an object blocked her path. Something locked around her wrist—a hand—and jerked her arm out from under her. She fell to the cement floor with bone-crushing pain to her chin and shoulder.

  “Help me, Victoria.”

  Her pulse jumped in her throat. Her mind reeled. No, this can’t be happening.

  “Need you.”

  Even with the smoke and the raging flames, she knew that voice.

  Not my father. Not now.

  She struggled to break free as his other hand tightened around her arm and pulled. Steve’s damp shirt fell from her head.

  “Help your old man.” A series of lung-rattling coughs followed his plea.

  The heat and smoke boxed her in until she could see nothing.

  “Victoria.”

  Suddenly, she was a child again, transported to the inside of her closet.

  Her father’s hand scrabbled around the narrow space and he called her name in an eerie singsong.

  At first, he’d play and cajole to draw her out, as if she’d forgotten what he’d done to her the last time she’d trusted him.

  When she wouldn’t answer, he’d roar, “VICTORIA, YOU LITTLE WHORE. I SAID COME OUT. NOW.”

  His fist pummeled the door molding to splinters while he raged. “I’M GIVING YOU ONE LAST CHANCE TO COME OUT ON YOUR OWN.”

  Victoria trembled beneath a pile of clothes on the floor, so scared that she wet her panties. The urine soaked through her underwear and puddled onto the floor beneath her slender legs.

  But Victoria dared not move, dared not breathe. Maybe the monster would forget she was there and go away.

  Victoria couldn’t move from the warehouse floor except to raise her head. She blinked to reorient herself. Her breathing continued to labor. Tremendous sounds of something crashing against the building filled the air, and water sprayed in huge arcs above her. Steam sizzled as the water descended. She coughed, and then became overwhelmed by wracking heaves.

  “Get me out.” Slater’s grip nearly crushed her wrist bones.

  Victoria couldn’t speak, so she rapped twice on his arm with her free hand in acknowledgement. She slid her arm beneath his armpit, brought herself to her knees, and hoisted him to sitting position. She pulled with all of her fading strength to take him to safety, but something held his legs fast.

  She struggled and coughed again. Death hung over her like the sword of Damocles and would cut her down if she didn’t get out of this burning building right now.

  “Victoria.” Steve’s voice was the most wonderful sound she’d ever heard.

  She looked up, trying to see, but found only darkness. Flames and heat grew closer.

  With supreme effort, she opened her mouth and emitted a scream. “Here.”

  Pain clawed the inside of her throat and raked her lungs, but she ignored it and shouted again. “I’m here.”

  She yanked Slater’s arm but he wouldn’t budge. Something had him pinned to the floor. “Let go…my wrist.” Her words were a rasp.

  To her surprise, Slater obliged. Whether he had passed out, or not, she couldn’t be sure. She used her free hand to explore. Maybe she could still free him from the obstacle.

  Victoria fought to dislodge his legs, but it was no use. Something heavy held him down. “Get…help,” she told him.

  The stream of sunlight had faded to black and she could no longer see the exit. Panic threatened to overtake her, but she fought off tears of frustration.

  “Fire department!” someone shouted close enough for her to hear. “Call out!”

  She could almost make out two human shapes, and she forced another word from her ravaged throat. “Help.”

  She bolstered herself on the floor.

  One knee moved.

  She dragged the other forward.

  Suddenly, Slater grabbed her ankle. Victoria tried to break free, but the strength had drained from her body.

  I’m like Strawberry Shortcake. A rag doll.

  Where were those lights coming from?

  She remembered the police car lights shining outside her bedroom window the night her father was hauled away. Afterward, a kind voice had called to her through the closet door and the officer brought her to safety.

  Though oblivion tried to claim her, Victoria fought to free herself from Slater’s death hold. Using her opposite foot, she brought her heel down on his grip with all the strength she could muster. He choked out muffled screams, but let her go.

  She tried to explain that the firefighters were looking for them and would save them. All she could manage was, “Soon.”

  S
houts penetrated the smoke and the noise. “Victoria. I’m here. Follow the sound of my voice.”

  She murmured his name. “Steve.”

  Victoria shimmied toward the sound of Steve calling and the whir of flashing red lights ahead.

  Slater wheezed behind her, but she heard the word he said: “Slut.”

  There was no time to react to the insult. Windows imploded and the deafening shriek of tumbling metal crashed.

  Victoria lurched forward, the falling debris skimming her hip and back. Shrapnel shot into the air like confetti. The space around her seemed to disappear. What little air she had left to breathe was sucked from the room with a loud swoosh.

  Victoria tumbled to the ground, but strong hands gripped her shoulders and pulled her from the wreckage. A firefighter covered her face with an oxygen mask, allowing her to breathe.

  Another picked her up and began to run with her cradled in his arms. Steve’s soothing voice beside her said, “We’re taking you to the hospital, sweetheart. You’re safe now.”

  An explosion, louder than ten fireworks shows on the Fourth of July, sounded behind them. Victoria half opened her eyes and watched as the warehouse toppled and collapsed in a steaming black heap to the ground.

  Chapter Seventeen

  Steve Carlson opened his eyes. The morning sun shining through the slats in the vertical blinds forced him to squint.

  He turned his head on the hospital pillow and spied the water pitcher on the bedside table. He unfastened his oxygen tubes and reached to pour himself a long, cool drink. As long as he lived, he’d never get enough water.

  “Feeling better today?” a nurse asked, moving silently across the floor in soft-soled shoes. She readjusted the sheets on Steve’s bed and then went to the window to block out the sun. “How’s our patient this morning? Are you able to talk?”

  Steve grunted. The inside of his throat felt like a driveway coated with hot pitch.

  The doctors told him he’d breathed burning embers while crawling into the warehouse to find Victoria. His hair had been singed almost to the root in spots, and he’d lost his eyebrows. His burns were mostly second-degree, although some hurt worse than the devil and might leave scars on his arms and back.