Total pages in book: 177
Estimated words: 163209 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 816(@200wpm)___ 653(@250wpm)___ 544(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 163209 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 816(@200wpm)___ 653(@250wpm)___ 544(@300wpm)
“It had been the landlord’s on-site office,” Laila confirmed. “My uncle updated it so he could lease it out.”
“Doomed you in the doing,” the agent commented as he made notes. “Newer materials burn quicker. Not that I blame him for sprucing it up, of course,” he was quick to add. “It likely wouldn’t have made that much of a difference either way. All right.” He scribbled one last note at the bottom of the page before handing out business cards to each of them. “I’ll head back to the office and get all of this in the system. We’ll coordinate with Mr. Dermott for the repairs, but I’ll have someone from my team contact you about having your personal property reimbursed.”
“Thank you,” Laila said.
“Looks like you’ve got company,” he said, stepping over the crumbled remains of the front wall.
Jean followed his gaze to see the press were back. Security had said they’d been by twice already before the Trojans made it over. The guards were running interference now, keeping the cameras in the street and refusing access to the porch. The insurance agent ignored all calls for comments as he climbed in his car and pulled away from the curb. Laila turned away, muttering under her breath, and surveyed the living room with a steady stare.
“Something has to have survived,” she said.
Jean doubted it, but he kept that to himself. They split up to opposite ends of the house: Laila to her bedroom, Cat to the kitchen, Jeremy in the living room, and Jean to his bedroom. For an hour they sifted through the wreckage for any trinkets that were relatively unscathed. Jean pushed the remains of their beds around, checked the gutted dressers, and poked at the charred cloth in the closet. Nothing here was worth salvaging, so he finally turned and left the room.
Laila was on her knees in her bedroom as he passed, face in her hands and shoulders shaking with silent grief. There was no sound from the kitchen where Cat was supposed to be working. Jeremy was sitting in the living room where the coffee table should have been, fighting melted plastic on DVD cases. Why he was wasting his time on such nonsensical things, Jean wasn’t sure, but maybe hope was easier to lean on than common sense.
Jean settled at his side and picked up movies one at a time. Most cases were nothing more than misshapen hunks of plastic. The few that were vaguely rectangular still were melted shut. Jean gave one an honest effort before chucking it back to the pile. He watched Jeremy struggle a little longer before taking the case out of his hand. Jeremy reached for another, but Jean caught his wrist to stop him.
“Enough,” he said. “They’re gone.”
“I had all of Nan’s movies here,” Jeremy said without looking at him. Jean thought of the fond pride in his voice as he showed off the actress’s memorabilia and slowly let go of him. Jeremy dropped his hands to his lap and studied the wreckage before him with a distant gaze. After a minute he finally said, “It’d be easy to replace them, I know, but I...” Jeremy trailed off, gave himself a shake, and put on a see-through smile. “It was worth a try, at least.”
Jean wordlessly reached for a case.
“No, you’re right,” Jeremy said, turning toward him. “I’ll just—oh?”
Jean followed Jeremy’s stare to the doorway. The man standing just inside the living room was almost familiar, but he wasn’t one of Laila’s security guards. Jean scanned his dark suit and serious expression before noticing the man at his back. This one was easier to recall. Two and a half months ago he’d flicked a to-go box at Neil’s head and demanded their cooperation.
Jean dragged his stare back to the first man as the pieces clicked. The last time he’d seen this face, it’d been on a TV screen. Jeremy was saying something at his back, but Jean could barely hear him through the heart pounding in his temples.
“Agent Browning,” Jean said, and Jeremy shut up immediately.
“Moreau.” Browning picked his way around the wreckage, taking it in with a slow gaze, and stopped just out of arm’s reach. “Wilshire.”
“He is not a Wilshire,” Jean said.
“Uh-huh. Owens, figure out where the other two are,” Browning said, and his partner slipped away in search of Cat and Laila. Browning didn’t wait for him to return but said to Jean, “I don’t care what name he’s using; he doesn’t need to be here for this conversation. Either he can make himself scarce, or you can come sit and chat in the car with me. Decide which one makes you happier in the next three seconds.”
“Jean?” Jeremy asked.
Jean motioned an okay, and Jeremy slowly got to his feet. Owens returned and guided him out of the room when he didn’t move fast enough for their liking. Browning came to crouch in the space Jeremy had left. He pushed aside the pile of wrecked DVDs with a bored hand, buying his partner time to force the Trojans further back in the house. Only when the other man returned to the doorway did Browning turn a steady stare on Jean.