Smoke
1234 Words
chapter 4: Smoke and Shadows
The smoke filled Emma’s apartment fast—thick, chemical, blinding.
Logan pulled her close and shouted over the hiss of the canister. “Stay low!”
They dropped to the ground, crawling blindly toward the front door. Emma’s eyes burned. Her lungs screamed. She couldn’t see anything but gray.
“Almost there!” Logan barked.
The door burst open.
A dark silhouette moved through the cloud.
Emma shrieked—but before she could run, strong hands gripped her shoulders.
“It’s me!” a voice coughed. “Declan—Logan sent me!”
The man grabbed a scarf from his neck, pressed it to Emma’s face, then helped drag her out the door. Logan followed, dragging a towel across his mouth, eyes streaming.
Out on the sidewalk, the fresh air hit like ice.
Emma gasped for breath. Logan doubled over, coughing. The man—Declan—waved off stunned bystanders and hailed a black SUV parked across the street.
They piled into the back. The doors slammed. The car sped off.
Emma twisted to face the stranger. “Who the hell are you?”
“Declan Reed,” he said calmly, tossing her a bottle of water. “Private security. I work for Logan. Off the books.”
“You said that bomb was meant for me,” Logan wheezed.
Declan nodded. “Someone wants this investigation buried.”
Emma’s pulse pounded. “What investigation?”
“The one about your father,” Declan said, turning to Logan. “You’re not crazy. The toxicology report was doctored. I’ve found a second witness—someone who worked in your father’s personal lab. He claims your father changed his will the day before he died.”
Logan’s head snapped up. “Where is he?”
“In hiding,” Declan said. “He won’t talk until he’s sure he won’t end up like your dad.”
Emma clutched Logan’s arm. “You think whoever killed your father just tried to kill us?”
“Not us,” Declan said. “You.”
Emma went still.
“What?”
“You’re the variable,” Declan said. “You weren’t supposed to be here. You’re making someone nervous.”
They drove in silence for nearly ten minutes, weaving through back streets until the SUV stopped outside a discreet brownstone with no visible address. Declan waved them inside.
Emma hesitated on the steps. “This feels like a movie.”
Logan met her eyes. “It stopped being real life the minute you opened that invitation.”
Inside, the brownstone was sparsely furnished but secure. Security monitors lined one wall. Declan disappeared into a back room, leaving them alone in a dimly lit living space.
Emma collapsed onto a couch. “I don’t understand. Why would someone want to hurt me? I’m just—”
“Not just anything,” Logan interrupted. “They think you know something.”
“But I don’t,” she whispered. “I was barely part of your world.”
“That’s what makes it worse. They don’t know what you know. So to them, you’re a risk.”
Emma’s hands shook.
“You said your father changed his will,” she said quietly. “Could it have included… me?”
Logan looked stunned.
“I never thought of that,” he admitted. “But… he knew about us. Back then. Maybe he guessed.”
Declan returned holding a manila folder. “I’ve been digging. And I found something you need to see.”
He handed Logan the folder.
Inside were surveillance photos.
Of Emma.
Different days. Different outfits. Some recent. Some old.
Emma’s breath caught.
“These are from last week,” she whispered, pointing. “This one… that’s outside my gym.”
Declan nodded grimly. “You’ve been under surveillance since the gala invitation went out.”
Logan slammed the folder shut. “Why the hell didn’t you tell me sooner?”
“I didn’t have proof. Now I do.”
Emma stood up, pacing. “This is insane. I’m just a woman who cleaned your floors and kissed you once under a stupid cherry tree. Why am I being treated like a threat?”
“Because,” Declan said, “your relationship with Logan—past or present—threatens a powerful lie. You’re not a random housekeeper to them. You’re the c***k in their foundation.”
Emma rubbed her temples. “So what now? I go into hiding?”
“No,” Logan said firmly. “You stay with me. I can protect you.”
Emma looked up sharply. “That’s your solution? Pull me into your mansion like some princess in a tower while your enemies circle?”
“Would you prefer I leave you alone and hope the next bomb doesn’t work?”
She flinched. “That’s not fair.”
“I know,” he said. “But nothing about this is.”
That night, Logan watched Emma from the doorway of the guest room.
She sat on the edge of the bed, brushing her hair back, staring at the envelope Declan had given them. She hadn’t opened it yet. Neither had he.
He knocked gently.
She looked up, startled.
“I didn’t mean to scare you,” he said softly.
“You didn’t.”
He came in, hands in his pockets. “You okay?”
Emma gave him a look. “I was just targeted by a smoke bomb and told I’m being watched by murderers. So yeah, totally fine.”
He smiled faintly, then grew serious.
“I meant what I said. I’ll keep you safe.”
She hesitated. “I don’t want to be your weakness, Logan.”
“You’re not,” he said. “You’re my reason.”
The words settled in the room like dust in a sunbeam—delicate and heavy all at once.
But before either of them could say another word, Declan burst in, face pale.
“You need to see this,” he said, tossing a printed email onto the bed.
Emma picked it up.
It was a forwarded message. The sender? info@westbrooktrustlegal.com
Subject line: “Amended Will – Logan Westbrook Sr.”
The message read:
“As per your request, we have attached the final copy of Mr. Westbrook’s amended will. Beneficiaries include Logan Westbrook (son) and Emma L. Carter. Distribution to take effect upon death.”
Emma stared at it.
“No,” she whispered. “That can’t be real.”
“It’s real,” Declan said. “Dated two days before his death. They changed the locks on the vault. This was never supposed to see the light of day.”
Logan looked like the air had been knocked out of him.
“My father left you something,” he said softly. “He trusted you.”
Emma sank onto the bed. “But why me?”
Declan’s voice was low. “That’s the question someone’s willing to kill to keep buried.”
The monitor on the wall beeped suddenly.
A new alert flashed across the screen:
INCOMING VIDEO FEED — UNKNOWN IP
Declan rushed over, pressed a button.
A grainy image filled the monitor.
A person in a dark room. Hooded. Face blurred.
A distorted voice echoed through the speakers:
“You have 48 hours to destroy the will. Or Emma Carter disappears—permanently.”
The screen went black.
- Writer
