Free EMBER - Part Three (The EMBER Series, #3) by Deborah Bladon Page A

handsome face in my palms.
    He tipped his chin slightly as if he was coaxing me forward and just before my lips touched his, I said the one thing I'd longed to say to him for weeks. "I love you, Dane."
    His hands found my hair and as he curved his lush lips over mine, he whispered the words back into our kiss.
    We fell asleep again then, resting on the narrow couch with our bodies pressed against each other.
    Now, hours later as my eyes adjust to the space, I scan it looking for him.
    I dart to my feet as soon as I notice the page ripped from the sketchpad. I stumble past the coffee table and down the hallway to my bedroom. My hand jumps to cover my eyes as I flick on the light switch in the bathroom and my heart sinks when I realize that the clothing he discarded there, on the floor, last night is gone.
    I race back towards the living room, in search of my smartphone but my eye catches on a white envelope perched on my bed. It's resting against the headboard as if it was placed there with a sense of care and thoughtfulness.
    My name is written in messy handwriting across the front and as I reach to pick it up, I sob. I know what it's going to say. I know that the message won't be about love that withstands life's trials and tribulations. It won't be a declaration that promises me endless tomorrows.
    I flip it over and run my finger under the flap.
    I reach into the envelope to pull out a folded piece of white paper. I feel my knees buckle as I lower myself to my bed.
    I smooth my hands over the paper wanting to soften the creases. It's a printed confirmation of an airline ticket in my name.  It's one –way from JFK to Paris, leaving two days from now.
    I pull open the flap of the envelope wider and spot something else. It's a piece of paper taken from the stack that I keep on my kitchen table. It's the ripped corner of a magazine and written across it in black, bold ink are three simple words.
    Go to Paris.
    I drop it all on the bed as I pull a dress over my head before I slide my feet into a pair of sandals, grab my keys and phone and race out of the door of my apartment.

Chapter 22
    "D ane?" I say his name softly because I don't want to wake her.
    It's early. Visiting hours only began ten minutes ago. I'd waited in the lobby of the hospital until the woman behind the reception desk told me I was allowed to go up to the second floor to Cleo's room.
    I'd raced around New York looking for him. I'd stopped at the fire station first and when I stepped up the driveway towards the doors that shield the large red trucks from the street, the same fireman I saw a few days ago, came towards me.
    Dane had been there, he told me. He was his captain and Dane had talked about me. He knew I was the artist and an hour before when Dane walked into the station to request a three month leave of absence; he hadn't hesitated at all when he gave it to him. Dane's job was waiting for him as soon as he returned from taking care of whatever he needed to tend to.
    He'd read Dane's home address from the personnel file that was already on his desk. I punched the numbers into my phone before I ran out of the station, rushed to the subway stop and boarded the train. I sat on the worn seat tapping out a text message to him about needing to see him. I stared at my phone the entire ride, waiting for a response, but there was nothing.
    Once the train stopped, I asked for help. A kind man with green eyes waved his arm in the air towards the taxi line on the street. I'd need to take a cab to the house but the fare shouldn't be more than ten dollars he told me. I squeezed his forearm in thanks.
    As the taxi pulled up to the curb, I saw the sign. SOLD it said. I asked the driver to wait while I opened the small white wooden gate and walked up to the front door. I knocked, before pressing the doorbell but no one answered. He wasn't there. Maisy wasn't there and when I peered through the open curtains that were meant to hide the front parlor from the view of