Bound and Determined (32 page)

The cab came to a halt—right in front of the burning place. “You sure you want to stop here?”

An explosion rocked the little house. Two windows burst open, scattering shards of glass everywhere. Flames growled and put off enough heat to roast a guy from ten feet away.

“Call 911,” he yelled in return.

Scrambling for money, Rafe threw some bills at the cab driver—he didn’t even know how many—and stumbled from the car, up the driveway.

Please be gone, be shopping, be at a movie, be anywhere else.

Kerry’s beat-up blue Honda sat in the open garage.

R
afe charged to the faded yellow door. Smoke furled from the cracks all around. His heart pounded like a kettle drum. Fear thrummed in his veins.

Kerry!

He grabbed the doorknob and tried to turn it. The intense heat inside the house had sizzled the brass into nothing cooler than a fry grill. Fingers singed, he yanked them back with a curse.

Damn, he had to save her. He had to get in the front door! God, what if it was locked?
Break it down, kick it in,
he told himself.
Whatever it takes.

Pulling his shirttails from his slacks, he doubled the fabric up and tried the doorknob again. Hot, but he’d manage.

Wincing, Rafe gritted his teeth as heat from the brass stung his fingers. Everything inside him urged him to remove his hand before it held a permanent imprint of the knob. He refused.

Roaring, he wrenched the door open.

It had been unlocked.

Rafe rushed into the living room. Smoke oozed everywhere, burning his eyes. They teared, and he swiped the
moisture away with a vicious palm. He still couldn’t see a damn thing. A drag of air proved to be a mistake when his lungs seized up and he coughed worse than a patient in a tuberculosis ward.

He covered his mouth with his shirt, trying to catch a decent breath, and narrowed his eyes to slits.

“Kerry!” he shouted.

Nothing. No sign of movement. He repeated the call, hoping, praying she answered.

Still nothing.

Dropping to his knees to avoid smoke as thick as cream soup, he crawled across the floor, looking for any sign of Kerry, of life.

Again, he shouted for her as he crept farther into the house. Again, no response.

Forcing himself forward, he edged his way through the living room, down a hallway to a comfortable den. The TV was still on. Rafe ignored the cable talk show and searched the cozy, worn couches and the carpeted floor through the haze of the smoke. He coughed. His skin sizzled in the heat.

No sign of Kerry.

Anxiety rose. Was she trapped or hurt? Passed out . . . or worse? How had this fire started?

From the den, Rafe crawled into the adjoining room to the right. The door was closed. Covering the knob with his shirt, he gritted his teeth and pushed until the door opened. The fire wasn’t coming from this part of the house. The much cleaner air and absence of smoke offered a moment’s relief. Quickly, he entered the room, clearly her bedroom, and kicked the door closed behind him.

“Kerry!” he shouted past the simple white lace comforter, to the soft peachy-colored walls. Still, no answer.

He darted around a corner, into the adjoining bathroom. The air still hung humid and fragrant with soap. Water droplets clung to the side of the shower stall. Her personal articles—perfume, lipstick, her conglomeration of a key chain—dotted the counter. But no Kerry.

Panic tore into Rafe’s gut. She was here. Or she’d been here. Had she escaped on foot? Had she set the fire accidentally and run out of the house?

Or had someone committed a crime and used the fire to cover their tracks? Perhaps even the thief?

Dark fear stabbed at Rafe as he wrenched open the bedroom door, emerged into the blazing part of the little house again and dropped to his knees. The ceiling was ablaze now. Instinct told him to get out. He shoved it aside, refusing to leave.
Just another minute or two . . .

He began searching the rest of the place, retracing his steps through the den and crawling toward the other adjoining room.

Once he scrambled through a doorway, he’d entered the kitchen. Flames shot upward from the old stove, gas burners flaming high, catching on bits of paper and old cabinets all around the room. On a peeling vinyl floor that was curling and bubbling in the blaze around her, Kerry sat, holding her head in her hands.

His heart squeezed him by the throat.

Rafe scrambled across the room. “Kerry!”

Dazed, she stared at him.

“Rafe?” Her voice sounded like a croak.

She inhaled, then began coughing furiously.

“We have to get out of here,” he shouted.

Finally, Kerry became alert. Her eyes focused on him. She nodded, then winced.

Putting an arm around her shoulder, Rafe dragged her to her hands and knees and began crawling.

It felt damn good to hold her, to know she was alive. Her vitality seeped under his skin. But he still had to get her out in one piece. Nothing else mattered.

Sirens roared in the distance as they crept out of the kitchen. They reached the doorway and eased into the living room as an explosion rocked the room behind them. Something burst. Shards of glass hit the wall, the floor.

Suddenly, pain seared his calf. “Argh!”

“What?” Kerry choked into the smoke. Worry furrowed her pale brows.

He gritted his teeth against the pain. “Just keep going.”

Ten feet ahead lay the door and safety. The fire had other ideas. The opening between the kitchen and the living room they had occupied only moments ago now flared. Inches from their heels, the fire twisted with deadly hunger, catching
quickly on the old wood. As if someone had doused them with gasoline, flames spread to the walls of the living room.

“Oh, God. We’re going to die,” she cried.

“No, damn it. We’re not!”

Rafe swore he’d told her the truth, that they would make it. But in Vegas, he wouldn’t have taken these odds. He prayed they would make it to the door before the ceiling collapsed or the walls of fire around them closed in.

“Go!” Rafe shouted, shoving Kerry to the door. “Faster!”

As if spurred on by the danger, she picked up speed, edging on hands and knees. Kerry crossed the threshold, Rafe just behind her.

Sunlight blinded them momentarily as they dragged themselves outside. Kerry lurched to her feet and stood in the driveway, drawing in huge draughts of blessedly fresh air. Panting, Rafe stumbled down to the sidewalk and inhaled his first clean breath in what felt like an eternity. Still, relief and something else that sat heavy in his chest closed his throat. What if he hadn’t found her? What if she hadn’t come to in time?

When he looked at Kerry, she ran toward him.

Swallowing a lump of tangled emotions, Rafe closed his arms around her and hugged her. Hugged her as if she were a life preserver in an endless sea. Hugged her as if she held his happiness in her hands.

He pushed the thought away and focused on her.

“Thank God you’re safe,” he whispered, squeezing her tight, as if that alone would fuse them together and always keep her safe.

“You saved me,” she murmured into his ear. “I heard you shouting my name and . . . and I—”

She shuddered. A sob rose from her chest. Rafe felt something suspicious sting his eyes, too, as his terrible imagination pictured her trapped, gasping for air, flames circling her . . . What would have happened if he hadn’t come to her house on the flimsy excuse that she hadn’t answered her phone? What if he hadn’t listened to that something inside him that ached beyond all reason to see her again?

“You’re fine. You’re safe now. Babe, don’t cry. It’s going to be all right.”

Sniffling, she nodded. “I was so scared.”

“I know. Me, too.”

The sirens were drawing closer now. The crisis was over. Relief slid through his blood, slowly replacing the adrenaline that had sent him charging through the burning house.

“What happened?” He held her shoulders, looked into her eyes. “How did the fire start?”

Easing out of his embrace, she frowned. “I don’t know. The last thing I remember is deciding to make a cup of tea. Then . . . I thought I heard something behind me. But before I could turn . . . well, I must have passed out.”

Suddenly, she winced and raised her hand to the back of her head. “Ouch.”

“Kerry?”

She brought her hand back in front of her. It was wet with fresh blood.

Alarmed, she jerked her gaze to him. “What the . . . ?”

“Did something hit you? Someone?”

“I don’t know.” She stared into the distance, frowning. “I remember . . . well, the pantry door was open. I didn’t remember leaving it open, but often the latch doesn’t stay.”

“Is it big enough for someone to hide in?”

She nodded. “My stackable washer and dryer are in the back, along with a few shelves against one wall.”

“Anyone angry with you this morning?”

Her face fell. “Jason came to visit.”

Rafe swore as the fire trucks pulled up to the curb, followed by an ambulance. Firefighters in full gear jumped out and rushed to the house.

“Anyone else inside?” one asked, hose in hand.

Rafe looked at her in question.

“No. No people, no pets,” she assured them.

The fireman nodded and went on, blasting the place with a loud torrent of water.

Several others joined the cause, battling the blaze, now spreading through the entire house.

Emergency medical techs leaped out of the ambulance and raced toward them, then assisted them inside the ambulance.

“Are you hurt?” a sturdy woman approaching forty asked, her starched white shirt covering her ample shoulders.

“I just have a bump on the back of my head,” Kerry said as she sat inside the vehicle.

“Do you know what day it is?”

She frowned. “Tuesday, May ninth.”

The female tech nodded to indicate Kerry hadn’t totally lost her marbles, then listened to her lungs with a stethoscope.

“You don’t sound as if you inhaled too much smoke, but just in case . . .” She set Kerry under an oxygen mask and examined her wound, cleaning away the blood and treating it with an ice pack.

“This isn’t too bad. A bit of a nasty bump that will heal soon. Are you allergic to anything?”

Kerry shook her head.

“Take these and keep the ice on that wound.” She handed two brownish tablets to Kerry, following it with a plastic cup of water.

The other tech, a reedy, sandy-haired guy, looked at the gash on Rafe’s calf while pushing an oxygen mask on him as well, cutting off any conversation.

“Might need stitches. Would you like us to take you to the hospital?”

Rafe hesitated, his gray eyes sliding over Kerry. He shook his head.

“You sure?” the tall tech asked.

“Just give me a bandage or something. I’ll be fine.”

The bleeding stopped. An antibiotic ointment and some butterfly bandages later, Rafe lowered his pant leg down again and the EMTs gave them both clean bills of health.

“Follow up with your doctor in the next few days.” The female tech looked at Rafe. “If she has any nausea or vomiting later, or doesn’t seem to know when or where she is, anything that would signal a change in mental status, get her to a hospital right away.”

Rafe agreed. The ambulance pulled away.

They looked around to see that the firemen had the blaze all but extinguished, but it was obvious that Kerry couldn’t stay there.

“Can you tell how the fire started?” she asked one of the firefighters just emerging from the charred house.

“Looks like you might have left a towel or something on the stove when you lit it.”

What? She didn’t remember doing that.

“You may not recall it. It’s not uncommon for something to fall during a fire, and I see you have a head wound.” He pointed to the ice pack she held up to her head.

But she remembered everything clearly. “I . . . I—this happened before the fire.”

The fireman patted her shoulder gently. “People are often confused after a major trauma like this, especially when they’ve had a head injury.”

“But—”

“You need to rest,” Rafe intervened, steering her away. “Come back to my hotel with me. We’ll talk about this.”

Kerry agreed. After leaving a number where she could be reached, a fireman retrieved her car keys. She and Rafe piled into her beat-up blue Honda, Rafe driving this time. Kerry was too tired, too perturbed. All she smelled was smoke. It lay acrid on her tongue. She wanted a shower and a nap, and to curl up with Rafe. He always made her feel safe in a crazy world.

On that thought, she grabbed his hand as he sped through the streets of Tampa.

He stared at their joined hands for a hard moment, then drove on.

That gave her pause. Did he want her with him, really? Seemed like a silly question when he’d just saved her life and offered her a place to crash. But she’d heard stories of people running into burning buildings to save complete strangers. That didn’t equal love, just bravery. And he could pity the fact she had no home now, without
really
wanting her around.

Kerry withdrew her hand. Rafe didn’t reach for her again as she continued giving quiet directions.

Oh, she hadn’t thought about the fact that her little rental house was gone. It had never felt like home. Most of her mementos were still at Mark and Tiffany’s place. What few valuables she had, like her mom’s wedding ring, were in a safe-deposit box. But she lamented the loss of a picture of her parents and a few treasured articles of clothing.

The truth was, she had more immediately pressing questions. What the heck had happened this morning? And where
would she go now? To Mark’s house, she supposed. But if the fire department ruled that the fire had been her fault, she could kiss her thousand-dollar deposit goodbye—an enormous fortune to her. And what if her landlord sued for loss of property?

Kerry clutched her aching head. She couldn’t think about it now.

When they reached the hotel, Rafe valeted the car. Kerry walked beside him as they entered the cool lobby of the hotel.