Walk Through Fire (Page 22)

“I think you may mistake me,” I tried again. “We’re sisters. We’re—”

She interrupted me again.

“Get out.”

“Girl, you don’t get us. We’re here ’cause—” Elvira tried.

Millie interrupted her too.

Except this time, she did it by straightening out of her chair and screeching, “Get out!”

We all went completely still.

There was no other reaction to have.

The mask had slipped.

The anguish had been bared.

And it was so immense, so impossible to process, witnessing it was paralyzing.

“My apologies,” she said, her voice shaking, as was her body.

Visibly.

“I was wrong,” she went on. “You can help. Please follow me.”

And then she started walking stiffly, rounding her desk, passing Lanie and me, and moving right out the door.

We looked at each other and then followed.

All our heels sounded against the pavers as we made our way across the courtyard to the steps that led up to a split farm door that had a window at the top. The steps were brick and formed a half circle into the pavers.

Definitely a cute house.

Millie went in the door.

We followed her into a kitchen that I would kill for just so I could look at it (since my husband did most of the cooking).

It wasn’t cute.

It was fabulous.

“If you’d stay there,” she requested, and we stopped.

She disappeared into a hall off the equally fabulous living room.

Honestly, it was amazing. Like out of a magazine.

“Bitch can decorate,” Elvira muttered.

I gave her a look.

She raised her brows. “Do I lie?”

She didn’t.

“Just shush,” I hissed.

“Not me who blew our plan,” she returned.

“It wasn’t our plan,” I shot back in an irate whisper. “It was yours and I think we all get it wasn’t a good one.”

“Okay, girls,” Lanie cut in. “Before, we had to tread cautiously. Now we know we have a minefield to navigate. Look alive and don’t do it bickering.”

She had a good point, so I shut up.

It was a good call because Millie appeared carrying one of those large, lidded plastic crates, blue with an opaque white top.

It looked heavy.

Even so, she gave it a heave. It flew several inches through the air and was clearly weighted wrong because one side dipped, so when it hit her wood floor, it did it on an edge. The latch on the lid popped, the lid opened, and it landed on its side, its contents spilling and sliding across the floors right to our feet.

Photographs.

Hundreds of them.

And at a glance, they were all of a younger Millie Cross… with High.

All of them.

“Twenty years and I can’t bring myself to get rid of that. So,” Millie stated, “if you’re here to help, if you’d be so kind as to take that away, that would be appreciated. Dump it. Burn it. Whatever. Just get it gone.”

My eyes drifted from the abundance of evidence that Millie Cross was High’s dream woman—and High was Millie’s dream man—to Millie just in time to see her straighten her shoulders.

“I sense you’re nice women, so I hope you’ll do as you said you wanted to do and help me by leaving immediately and taking that with you.” She pointed to the floor. “And I hope with all my fucking heart I never see it again.”

Oh yes.

She hoped that.

And oh yes.

She needed our help.

Just not that kind.

She kept talking.

“I also hope you take no offense when I say I’m walking out of my house and going back to work and I never want to see any of you again either.” She looked to Elvira. “Gayle Niedermeier is an excellent wedding planner. If I’m maxed with clients, I refer to her. If you do, indeed, need assistance, I’d contact Gayle. Mention my name. She’ll take care of you.” Her gaze swung to all of us. “Have a nice day.”

She then stepped over the avalanche of photos carpeting her kitchen floor, walked by us and out of the house.

I stared at the door.

Lanie stared at the door.

Elvira squatted down to the floor.

“Shit,” she mumbled.

I looked to her to see she’d picked up a photo and was studying it.

I looked at the photo she was studying.

Dream man.

Dream woman.

Happy.

Whoever took it wasn’t a good photographer because half of High was not in shot.

But in it they were in each other’s arms, Millie with her back to the camera. Her head was tipped and twisted to smile over her shoulder at the lens. She was doing this so big it wasn’t hard to read she was laughing, her long, long hair hanging down over High’s arms that were wrapped tight around her.

High was looking down at her, grinning, his face carefree and happy like I’d never seen it before.

Not once.

Not even when he was with his kids.

Not for the ten years I’d known him. I tore my eyes off High and looked at Millie.

She belonged in those arms and she knew it.

So what had happened?

I lost sight of the photo when Elvira straightened from her squat.

“This situation just went from code blue to code freakin’ red,” she declared.

Lanie reached and pulled the photo from Elvira’s fingers, whispering, “Truth.” She looked from the photo to me. “Have you ever seen him like that?”

I shook my head.

She looked back to the picture, murmuring, “God, High happy. Crazy.”

“Crazy beautiful,” Elvira stated. “We were on an assignment. Now we’re on a mission. Regroup for tactical strategy meeting, tonight, cosmos and boards, my house,” Elvira declared, then lifted a hand and wagged a long-rounded-gray-painted fingernail at us. “And don’t tell me no shit about no kids. Saddle those biker boys of yours up with diapers and Tasers and get your ass to my house. Seven sharp. No excuses accepted.”