Night Smoke

  He gauged the distance and sprinted into the wave.

  For an instant, they were in hell. Fire, heat, the roaring of its anger, the quick, ravenous licking of its tongues. For no more than two heartbeats—an eternity—flames engulfed them. He felt the hair on his hands singe, knew from the intense heat on his back and arms that his jacket would catch. He knew exactly what fire did to human flesh. He wouldn’t allow it to have Natalie.

  Then they were through it, and into a wall of smoke. Blinded, lungs straining, he groped for the fire door.

  Instinctively he checked it for heat, thanked God, then shoved it open. Smoke was billowing up the stairwell, rising as if in a chimney that meant fire below, as well, but they didn’t have a choice. Moving fast, he ripped the smoldering coat away from her and leaned her against the wall while he stripped off his own jacket.

  The leather was burning, sluggishly.

  Dazed by the smoke and teetering into shock, Natalie slid bonelessly to the floor.

  “You’re not giving up,” he snapped at her as he hauled her back over his shoulder. “Hang on, damn it. Just hang on.”

  He streaked down the steps, one flight, then two, then a third. She was dead weight now, her head lolling, her arms limp. His eyes were watering from the smoke, the tears joining the river of sweat rolling down his face. The coughing that seized him felt as if it would shatter his ribs. All he knew was that he had to get her to safety.

  He counted each level, keeping his mind focused. The smoke began to thin, and he began to hope.

  She never stirred, not even when he tested the door at the lobby level, found it cool, and staggered through.

  He heard the shouts, the sirens. His vision grayed as two firefighters rushed toward him.

  “God almighty, Inspector.”

  “She needs oxygen.” Still holding her, Ry shoved the offer of assistance aside and carried her outside, into clean air.

  Lights were swirling. All the familiar sounds and scents and sights of a fire scene. Like a drunk, he weaved toward the closest engine.

  “Oxygen,” he ordered. “Now.” Another coughing fit battered him as he laid her down.

  Her face was black with soot, and her eyes were closed. He couldn’t see if she was breathing, couldn’t hear. Someone was shouting, raging, but he had no idea it was him. Hands pushed his own fumbling ones aside and fit an oxygen mask over Natalie’s face.

  “You need attention, Inspector.”

  “Keep away from me.” He bent over her, searching for a pulse. Blood dripped down his arm and onto her throat. “Natalie. Please.”

  “Is she all right?” With tears streaming down her face, Deirdre dropped down beside him. “Is she going to be all right?”

  “She’s breathing” was all Ry could say. “She’s breathing,” he repeated, stroking her hair.

  * * *

  Mercifully, most of the next hour was a blur. He remembered climbing into the ambulance with her, holding her hand. Someone pressed oxygen on him, bound up his arm. They took her away the minute they hit the ER. His panicked raging came out in hacking coughs.

  Then the world turned upside down.

  He found himself flat on his back on an examining table. When he tried to push himself upright, he was restrained.

  “Just lie still.” A small, gray-haired woman was scowling at him. “I like my stitches neat and tidy. You lost a fair amount of blood, Inspector Piasecki.”

  “Natalie …”

  “Ms. Fletcher’s being tended to. Now let me do my job, will you?” She stopped what she was doing and eyed him again. “If you keep shoving at me, mister, I’m going to sedate you. My job was a lot easier when you were out cold.”

  “How long?” he managed to croak.

  “Not long enough.” She knotted the suture, and snipped. “We picked the glass out of your shoulder. Not much damage there, but this arm’s nasty. Fifteen stitches.” She granted him a smile. “Some of my best work.”

  “I want to see Natalie.” His voice was raspy, but there was no mistaking the threat underneath. “Now.”

  “Well, you can’t. You’re going to stay where I put you until I’m done. Then, if you’re a very good boy, I’ll have someone check on Ms. Fletcher for you.”

  Ry used his good arm and grabbed the doctor by the coat. “Now.”

  She only sighed. In his condition, she was well aware, she could knock him back with a shrug. But agitation wasn’t going to help him. “Stay,” she ordered, and went to the curtain. Pushing it aside, she called for a nurse. After a few brisk instructions, she turned back to Ry. “Your update’s on the way. I’m Dr. Milano, and I’ll be saving your life this evening.”

  “She was breathing,” he said, as if daring Milano to disagree.

  “Yes.” She moved back to take his hand. “You took in a lot of smoke, Inspector. I’m going to treat you, and you’re going to cooperate. After we’ve cleaned you out, I’ll arrange for you to see Ms. Fletcher.”

  The nurse came back to the curtained opening, and Milano moved off again to hold a murmured consultation with her.

  “Smoke inhalation,” she announced. “And she’s in shock. A few minor burns and lacerations. I imagine we’ll keep her in our fine establishment for a day or two.” Her face softened when she saw Ry’s eyes close in relief. “Come on, big guy, let’s work together here.”

  * * *

  He might be weak as a baby, but he wasn’t going to let them shove him into a hospital room. Over Milano’s disgusted protests, he walked out into the waiting area. Deirdre sprang up from a chair the moment she saw him.

  “Natalie?”

  “They’re working on her. They told me she’s going to be all right.”

  “Thank God.” With a muffled sob, Deirdre covered her face.

  “Now, Ms. Marks, why don’t you tell me what the hell you were doing outside the office tonight?”

  Taking a deep breath, Deirdre levered herself into a chair. “I’d be glad to. I called Natalie’s brother,” she added. “I suppose he’s already on his way out. I told him she was hurt, but I tried to play it down.”

  Ry merely nodded. Though he hated the weakness, he had to sit. Nausea was threatening again. “That was probably wise.”

  “I also gave him the bare bones of what I found out earlier today.” She took a long breath. “I haven’t been in the office the last couple of days—I’ve been nursing a cold. But I took work home. Including files and a couple of computer disks Natalie gave me before she went on the road. I was running figures, and I found some discrepancies. Some very large discrepancies. The kind that equals embezzlement.”

  Money, Ry thought. It almost always came around to money. “Who?”

  “I can’t say for sure—”

  He interrupted her, in a tone that made her shiver. “Who?”

  “I’m telling you, I can’t be sure. I can only narrow it down, considering how and where the money was siphoned off. And I’m not giving you a name so you can go off and beat somebody to a pulp.”

  Which was exactly what he had in mind, she was certain. Despite the fact that he looked like a survivor of a quick trip to hell, there was murder in his eyes.

  “I could be wrong. I need to talk to Natalie,” she said, half to herself. “As soon as I was sure of what I’d found, I tried to contact her in Colorado, but she’d already left. I knew she’d go by the office before heading home. It’s the way she works. So I decided I’d meet her there. Tell her what I’d found out.” She tapped the briefcase at her feet. “Show her. When I parked outside, I glanced up. I saw—”

  She shut her eyes, knew she would relive it over and over again. “I saw these crazy lights in some of the windows. At first I didn’t know, then I realized what it was. I called 911 on the car phone.” Unnerved by the memory, she pressed a hand to her mouth. “I ran inside, told the security guard. And we heard, like, an explosion.”

  She was crying now, quietly. “I knew she was up there. I just knew it. But I didn’t know
what to do.”

  “Yes, you did. And you did it.” Ry patted her awkwardly on the shoulder.

  “Inspector?” Milano strode out, the usual scowl on her face. “I got you a pass to see your lady, not that you’ll bother to thank me for it.”

  He was on his feet. “She’s okay?”

  “She’s stabilized, and sedated. But you can look at her, since that seems to be your goal in life.”

  He glanced back at Deirdre. “Are you going to wait?”

  “Yes. If you’d just let me know how she is.”

  “I’ll be back.” He headed off after the quickstepping doctor.

  Natalie’s room was private, and dimly lit. She lay very still, very pale. But her hand, when he took it in his, was warm.

  “Are you planning on spending the night here?” Milano asked from the doorway.

  “Are you going to give me a hard time about it?” Ry returned without looking around.

  “Who, me? I aim to serve. It’s not likely she’ll wake up, but that’s not going to stop you. Neither is trying to sleep in that hideously uncomfortable chair.”

  “I’m a fireman, Doc. I can sleep anywhere.”

  “Well, fireman, make yourself at home. I’ll go tell your friend in the waiting room that all’s well.”

  “Yeah.” He never took his eyes from Natalie’s face. “That’d be good.”

  “Oh, you’re more than welcome,” Milano said sourly, and closed the door behind her.

  Ry pulled the chair up to the side of the bed and sat with Natalie’s hand in his.

  * * *

  He dozed once or twice. Occasionally a nurse came into the room and scooted him out. It was during one of those short, restless breaks that he saw Boyd rushing down the corridor.

  “Piasecki.”

  “Captain. She’s sleeping.” Ry gestured toward the door. “There.”

  Without another word, Boyd moved past him and inside.

  Ry walked into the waiting lounge, poured a cup of muddy coffee and stared out the window. He couldn’t think. It seemed better that way, just to let the night drift. If he focused, he would see it again, the terror on her face, the fire around her. And he would remember how he’d felt, carrying her down flight after flight, not knowing if she was alive or dead.

  The burning on his hand made him look down. He saw he’d crushed the paper cup into a ball and spilled the hot coffee over his bandaged hands.

  “Want another?” Boyd said from behind him.

  “No.” Ry tossed the cup away, and wiped his hand on his jeans. “You want to go outside and pound on me awhile?”

  With a short laugh, Boyd poured coffee for himself. “Have you taken a look in a mirror?”

  “Why?”

  “You look like hell.” Experimentally, Boyd sipped. It was even more pathetic than precinct coffee. “Worse than hell. It wouldn’t look good for me to start swinging at a guy in your condition.”

  “I heal quick.” When Boyd said nothing, Ry shoved his hands in his pockets. “I told you I wouldn’t let her get hurt. I damn near killed her.”

  “You did?”

  “I lost it. I knew it wasn’t just Clarence. I knew there was somebody behind it. But I was so … wrapped up in her. I never thought about him getting another torch, or trying something himself. The phones, damn it. I heard the phones ringing.”

  Intrigued, Boyd sat back. “Which means?”

  “A delaying device,” Ry shot back, whirling around. “It’s a classic. Matchsticks, soaked in accelerant. Tape them to the phone, call the number. The phone rings, the ringer sparks the match.”

  “Clever. But you know, you can’t think of everything all the time.”

  “It’s my job to think of everything.”

  “And to have a crystal ball.”

  His voice was raw from the abuse his throat had taken, tight with the emotion he couldn’t afford to let loose. “I was supposed to take care of her.”

  “Yeah.” Acknowledging that, Boyd sipped again. “I made a lot of calls on the flight from Denver. One of the perks of Fletcher Industries is having a private plane at your disposal. I talked to the fire marshal, to the doctor who treated Natalie, to Deirdre Marks. You got her out, carried her down every damn step in that building. How many stitches have you got in that arm?”

  “That’s hardly the point.”

  “The point is, the fire marshal gave me some idea of what you were facing up there on the forty-second floor, and what kind of shape you were in when you got her outside. Her doctor told me that if she’d been in there another ten minutes, it isn’t likely she’d be sleeping right now. So, do I want to punch you? I don’t think so. I owe you my sister’s life.”

  Ry remembered how she had looked when he laid her on the ground next to the engine. How she looked now, pale and still, in a hospital bed. “You don’t owe me anything.”

  “Natalie’s as important to me as she is to you.” Boyd set his coffee aside and rose. “What did you do to tick her off?”

  Ry grimaced. “We’re working it out.”

  “Well, good luck.” Boyd held out a hand.

  After a moment, Ry clasped it with his. “Thanks.”

  “I figure you’re going to be here awhile. I’ve got a little job to do.”

  Ry tightened his grip, and narrowed his eyes. “Deirdre told you who’s responsible.”

  “That’s right. I also spoke with my counterpart here in Urbana while I was in the air. It’s being taken care of.” He saw the look in Ry’s eyes, understood it. “This part’s up to my team, Ry. You and yours just make damn sure you hang him for the arson.”

  “Who?” Ry said between his teeth.

  “Donald Hawthorne. I got it down to four likely suspects two days ago.” He smiled a little. “Some background checks, bank and phone records. Sometimes it pays to be a cop.”

  “And you didn’t pass the information along to me.”

  “I intended to, when I narrowed it down a bit further. Now I have, and I am.”

  Boyd knew what it was to love, to need to protect, and to live with the terror of seeing your woman fight for her life.

  “Listen,” he said briskly, “if you kill him—however much it might appeal to both of us right now—I’d have to arrest you. I’d hate to throw my brother-in-law in a cell.”

  Ry unfisted his hands long enough to stick them in his pockets. “I’m not your brother-in-law.”

  “Not yet. Go on in with her, get some sleep.”

  “You’d better put Hawthorne somewhere where I can’t find him.”

  “I intend to,” Boyd said as he walked away.

  * * *

  Natalie stirred at dawn. Ry was watching the way the slats of light through the blinds bloomed over her when her lashes fluttered.

  He bent over her, talking softly, quickly, so that her first clear thoughts wouldn’t be fearful ones. “Natalie, you’re okay. We got out okay. You just swallowed some smoke. Everything’s all right now. You’ve been sleeping. I’m right here. I don’t want you to talk. Your throat’s going to be miserable for a while.”

  “You’re talking,” she whispered, her eyes still closed.

  “Yeah.” And it felt as though he’d swallowed a flaming sword. “That’s why I don’t recommend it.”

  She swallowed and winced. “We didn’t die.”

  “Doesn’t look like it.” Gently he cupped her head and held a cup of water so that she could sip through the straw. “Just take it easy.”

  There was a fear lurking deep inside her. But she had to know. “Are we burned badly?”

  “We’re not burned. A couple of singes, maybe.”

  Relief made her shiver. “I can’t feel anything, except—” She reached up to touch the bruise on her forehead.

  “Sorry.” He pressed his lips to the lump, felt himself begin to tremble and drew back again. “You got that when I tackled you.”

  She opened her eyes then. They felt weighted. Her whole body felt weighted. “Hospital?” sh
e asked. Then her breath caught as she focused on him. Scratches on his face, a bandage at his temple and a larger one that started just below his shoulder and nearly reached the elbow. His hands, his beautiful hands, were wrapped in gauze.

  “Oh, God, Ry. You’re hurt.”

  “Cuts and bruises.” He smiled at her. “Singed my hair a little.”

  “You need a doctor.”

  “I’ve had one, thanks. I don’t think she likes me. Now shut up and rest.”

  “What happened?”

  “You’re going to have to move your office.” When she started to speak again, he held up a hand. “I’ll tell you what I know if you keep quiet. Otherwise, I’ll just leave you to stew. Deal?” Satisfied, he sat on the edge of the bed. “Deirdre tried to call you in Colorado,” he began.

  When he finished, her head was throbbing. Impotent fury ate away at the remnant of the sedative until she was wide awake and aching. Anticipating her, Ry laid his hand over her mouth.

  “There’s nothing you can do until you’re on your feet. Not much you can do then. It’s up to the departments—fire and police. And it’s being handled. Now I’m going to ring for the nurse so they can take a look at you.”

  “I don’t—” Her protest turned into a spasm of coughing. By the time she’d regained control, a nurse was gesturing Ry out of the room.

  She didn’t see him again for more than twenty-four hours.

  * * *

  “You could use another day here, Nat.” Boyd crossed his feet at the ankles as he watched Natalie pack the small overnight case he’d brought her.

  “I hate hospitals.”

  “You’ve made that clear. I need your word you’re taking a full week off, at home, or I’m calling in the troops. And not just Cilla, but Mom and Dad.”

  “There’s no need for them to fly all the way out here.”

  “That’s up to you, pal.”

  She pouted. “Three days off.”

  “A full week. Anything less is a deal-breaker. I can be just as tough a negotiator as you,” he said with a grin. “It’s in the blood.”

  “Fine, fine, a week. What difference does it make?” She snatched up the water glass and drank. It seemed she could never get enough to drink these days. “Everything’s in shambles. Half my building’s destroyed, one of my most trusted executives is responsible. I don’t even have an office to go to.”

  “You’ll take care of that. Next week. Hawthorne has a lot to answer for. The fact that he didn’t know you and Ry were in the building isn’t going to save him.”

  “All for greed.” Too angry to pack the few things Boyd had brought her, she paced. Her body still felt weak, but there was too much energy boiling within to allow her to keep still. “Draining a little here, a little there, losing it on speculative stocks. Then draining more and more, until he was so desperate he risked burning down entire buildings just to destroy records and delay the audit records.”

  She whirled back. “How frustrated he must have been when I told him I had duplicates of everything that was lost in the warehouse fire.”