Grayce reached in the drawer of her bedside stand for her most prized possession. Her fingers clasped Cassie’s necklace. Quickly putting the heart shaped pendant around her neck, she dropped to her knees. The closest exit was the back door. The windows in the bedroom and bathroom were too small for an escape.
Mitzi gave another ghastly howl, impatient that Grayce wasn’t moving.
The smoke was thinner on the ground. And the floor was cooler. She crept toward the door as she called for Napoleon. His loud meow came from the kitchen. So much for her instincts, she was the last one to recognize the fire.
Holding her breath, Grayce followed Mitzi, trusting the poodle. After a few seconds, she was forced to breathe in the acrid air; a violent cough rattled her body.
Grayce crawled into the kitchen behind Mitzi. She had planned to wet a towel at the sink to wrap around her face. But the temperature in the kitchen was unbearable, as if she had descended into the scorching gates of Hell.
Searing heat blasted across her face; she put her head down and followed Mitzi. It was a short distance to the back door. Napoleon, her loyal companion, pressed his body against her side. Grayce inched blindly toward the back door. She couldn’t see Mitzi through the gray haze but heard her nails clicking on the wood floor.
Grayce took short panting breaths through her nose. Air-hungry and dizzy, she had to fight the need to lie down. She had to get them out of the house fast or they’d all die.
Mitzi barked a dozen times from the direction of the front door. Red flames shot out of the back door. Grayce changed direction and began the slow crawl to the front door. Napoleon was next to Grayce’s head, shepherding his mistress out of danger.
The smoke grew thicker, weighing Grayce down, slowing her movements. Heat pounded on her back, on her bare feet as if she was walking on searing rocks. She stopped. It was a small house. How much farther to the front door?
Napoleon nudged against her head, getting her to move.
When Grayce and Napoleon got to the front door, Mitzi’s barks turned frenzied. Grayce tried to marshal her strength to stand, to open the door. She was dizzy. The sound of shattering glass vibrated in the airless space and then a rush of cool fresh air.
Mitzi had jumped through the glass window next to the door. Grayce pushed Napoleon toward the jagged hole. The giant cat jumped outside. Mitzi and Napoleon were safe.
Mitzi barked insistently, giving Grayce instructions from the front porch. Didn’t Mitzi understand she couldn’t fit through the hole? She gulped the fresh air, pulling the cool air into her scorched lungs. It hurt too much to breath. Everything hurt. She needed to lie down and rest. Once she rested she would be able to stand, go through the door.
A man’s authoritative voice came through the broken window. “Ma’am, stay down. We’re coming in.”
Chapter Forty-One
Davis stretched on the cot at headquarters. He and Grayce had hardly slept last night. This was turning into the most insomniac shift of his career. He was going on close to twenty-four hours without sleep. He half-listened to the portable radio next to his bed. The radio was on the dispatch channel, the usual late night urban grumblings—suicide, chest pain, OD’s.
Unable to sleep, he replayed his list of possible suspects in the department. He couldn’t bring himself to accept that one of the FI’s might be the perpetrator. His colleagues had the skill to burn the shed and had the clearance to access his office. But if the bastard wasn’t an FI, it must be one of the brass. Once he went down that path, there was no turning back. Ferette should’ve gotten back to him. The delay was making Davis paranoid.
He yawned and closed his eyes. He started to drift. The chatter on the radio continued in the background. “House Fire.”
The fire was in Fremont. Grayce lived in Fremont. The fine hairs on his neck lifted. He listened for the address.
Grayce’s house was burning. His throat tightened and his chest constricted, the air squeezed out of him. A rush of adrenaline pumped through him, his heart sped, his senses heightened. He bounded out of bed.
They had spoken a few hours ago. Grayce would be asleep with Mitzi and Napoleon. He switched channels on the portable radio to hear the exchanges on site. He listened to the assessment of the first engine. The second engine was on its way. Pulling on his boots, he held his breath, afraid to miss a word.
“A large poodle and cat on the front porch, the dog is bleeding, looks like he jumped through a window. Owner must still be in the house, someone, restrain the dog, looks like it might try to go back in.”
Davis swallowed hard against the bile rising in his throat. He was going to toss his guts.
“Okay, got a location…woman down…blocking the door…too hot… Need to vent before going in. Use the picture window. Get the pole.”
He prayed for the first time since his dad died.
He couldn’t stop panting. He took a deep breath. He took another breath. He knew the exponential growth of an unchecked fire. He knew the risk of inhaling hot fumes. He knew too much.
He ran to his car with his radio blaring about the arrival of the two ladders and the medic rig. In the background, orders were shouted. The different crews readied to fight the blaze.
Acute anxiety fired every cell, his entire being focused on the radio. He waited for word from the first team about Grayce’s condition. He gripped the steering wheel, his body drumming for action.
He listened to the team decide whether the fire had reached a temperature too hot to allow safe entry before dousing. He knew that every second’s delay diminished Grayce’s chances of survival. His mind closed to that possibility.
He pressed his foot on the gas. At least at four am, there was no traffic back-up. He sped along the empty streets.
“I need the medic.” The harsh voice echoed in the interior of the Suburban.
They had gone in and gotten Grayce. She was alive. They had removed Grayce from the burning house. “Put her here. Let’s move. She needs oxygen.”
“House’s empty.”
He clenched the steering wheel. He felt lightheaded with relief. He listened for more details of Grayce’s condition. Nothing more was said. The medics with the oxygen tanks would’ve moved away from the fire. The focus of the firefighters was putting out the fire. He heard a voice in the background. “Someone get the cat off the stretcher.”
His stomach had a rolling sensation as if he might lose his greasy dinner. Grayce was on a stretcher. Was she conscious?
He crossed the bridge, spotting the plume of smoke. He was primed, primed for battle.
His mind was in a storm of pure emotion. Rage and the desire for revenge surged—worthless emotions, but they fueled his body and mind. He wanted to kill whoever had torched her house. He’d bet every arson case he had solved that Grayce’s house fire was no accident.
Davis veered off the street and pulled to a stop on the sidewalk. He jumped out and ran toward the ambulance. Great clouds of gray blended with the haze, turning early morning into dusk.
He ran between the rigs and around the ambulance.
Grayce sat upright on the stretcher next to the ambulance. Over her blackened face, an oxygen mask covered her mouth and nose. She was swathed in blankets, her hair hanging over the mask.
His heart slammed against his chest. He had never seen a more beautiful sight. Napoleon sat at the foot of the stretcher. The medics hovered nearby. Mitzi spotted him and ran out from under the stretcher. “Good work, girl.”
He never slowed his pace toward Grayce. Her eyes opened wide when she saw him. She tried to smile, pulling her lips upward under her mask. He knew it took a lot of effort.
Henderson, one of the medics, greeted him, “Man, are we glad to see you.”
He nodded to Henderson, but couldn’t speak. He walked to the stretcher and touched Grayce’s face. He brushed her hair away from her eyes. “Are you okay?”
She nodded and started to remove her mask.
“No, leave it on. You’ll feel better.
”
Davis turned to Henderson. “Does she need to go to the hospital?”
“She refused to go. Her vitals are stable. She wasn’t unconscious for more than a few seconds. She’s keeping up her sat’s, even off the oxygen. She has abrasions, but I didn’t find anything else.”
Davis never took his eyes off of Grayce while listening to Henderson’s report. “Thanks, Henderson.”
“Your dog needs to have her cuts cleaned, but she won’t let me touch her. She wouldn’t leave Dr. Walters or her cat. I’ve never seen such a connection.”
Grayce, surrounded by her menagerie, was struggling with her mask. He bent over and helped her remove it. Her emerald eyes glistened with tears.
“Oh, Davis. Mitzi, If Mitzi and Napoleon…” She swallowed hard. Tears streaked down her soot-stained face.
He unbuckled her belt from the stretcher and lifted her into his arms. He wrapped the blanket around her and carried her to the Suburban. He had never seen her cry. He felt like he’d been hit with a wrecking ball. He almost doubled over at the pain of seeing Grayce’s tears.
“I might’ve died if it weren’t for Mitzi and Napoleon.”
He tightened his hold, pressing her against his body. He wasn’t ready to hear the truth.
“If it weren’t for…”
He cupped her head against his shoulder. “It’s finished. You’re safe.” He couldn’t listen; cold rage coursed through him.
“No, he isn’t done.”
Davis stroked her hair. “It’s okay. No one is going to harm you.”
“I’ve got to treat Mitzi, she’s got cuts. Put me down. I can walk.”
“I’ll take care of Mitzi. Let me take care of all of you.”
Davis realized his focus had been only on Grayce. He turned his attention back to Mitzi and Napoleon. The poodle and gigantic cat had followed him, walking side by side. “Good work, Mitzi and Napoleon. I’m going to buy you steaks and fish. You’re both going to have a feast.”
Grayce’s laugh was forced, brittle, as if she might start crying again.
“Everyone in the Suburban.”
He loaded Grayce and the animals into the rig. A car pulled up next to the Suburban. Davis turned to see the chaplain jump out of his car. “Niles?”
“I heard it on the radio and came over to see if I could help.”
Niles didn’t usually get called in the middle of the night.
“Is she okay?” Niles stepped toward the car window.
Instinctively Davis stepped in front of the door. “She’s fine. Some bastard torched her house.” His suppressed rage resurfaced. He needed to stay in control. Later, he’d take care of the bastard who had tried to kill her.
Chapter Forty-Two
Grayce started to roll out of Davis’ bed, but was stalled when Napoleon jumped on her chest. She ran her hand along his head. “Are you okay, big guy?” She stroked along his spine. “What an adventure we had. Did I tell you how brave you were?”
“No, you fell asleep before you got to tell me.” Davis appeared with Mitzi close behind.
Last night, Davis had scooped her off the stretcher and brought her to his condo. She remembered his gentle touch while he bathed and fed her soup, and then held her in his arms until she fell asleep.
Mitzi put her paws on the bed and licked Grayce’s face. “How are you, Mitzi? How are your cuts?”
Grayce sat up, then realized she was naked. Her breasts jutted above the black duvet. She reached to pull the gray sheet but couldn’t budge Napoleon and Mitzi.
“I’ve brought you breakfast in bed, sleepy head,” Davis’ voice was husky.
“What time is it?” She pulled on the covers, dislodging the animals a few inches, and managed to sit with some modesty.
“11:30.” Davis placed a tray on her lap. “How do you feel?”
“I’ve got to get to work.” She tried to move. She was trapped by the animals and the tray.
“Today’s a recovery day for you. I called Hollie. She’s rescheduled all your patients, but she wants to talk to you about a cat.”
Grayce leaned back against the soft gray pillows. Everything in Davis’ condo was color coordinated in gray and black, definitely a designer’s work. “Thank you.” She was unaccustomed to having anyone take care of her. It felt both embarrassing and intimate.
“I don’t have any clothes.” She paused and took a deep breath. “Do I still have a house?” She must’ve been in shock; she hadn’t even given a thought to her house. All she could think about was that someone wanted to kill her.
“Your house is standing. I just got back from assessing the damage.”
“Is it bad?”
“Not bad, mostly water and smoke damage. The fire was started on your back porch. You’re going to need a new back door and deck.”
Her stomach lurched at the smell of the omelet and potatoes that Davis had prepared. “Hard to imagine that someone deliberately damaged my little house.”
Davis sat next to her. “It’s okay. We’ll get through it.” He pushed her tangled hair away from her face. “Today is an R-and-R day. Tomorrow, when you’re rested, you can face that unpleasant job.”
She could only nod. This couldn’t be her life. She kept waiting to wake and find out it was another of her nightmares.
“I got you breakfast. I hope you’re hungry.” His tone was excited, enthusiastic for the breakfast he made. How could she disappoint him? She pretended a hunger she didn’t feel.
* * *
Davis’ upbeat mood, the comfort of Napoleon and Mitzi, and the strong Earl Grey helped lighten the gloom sitting in her stomach beside the omelet and fried potatoes. “The food was great. Thank you.”
She sipped her tea, watching Davis wander around the bedroom. The art on the walls was bold geometric shapes in gray and black and color coordinated with the bedding. An early picture of his family on the bedside stand was the only personal piece. Davis’ chubby five-year-old hand was intertwined with his mother’s.
“What is it, Davis?”
He hovered closer. His gaze clouded, impenetrable. “Seeing your house this morning…” He patted the poodle who lounged next to Grayce. “I’m glad Mitzi…”
Napoleon stood and rubbed his head against Davis’ thigh. “…And Napoleon…were there to protect you.”
Davis blamed himself for the fire. He saw it as a failure on his part. He should have told her about his suspicions; he should have watched out for her. He had confessed all of this last night. She ran her hand along the side of his face and leaned forward to kiss him. “You’ll get him.”
He returned her kiss, gently running his tongue along her lips, tasting her. “Him?”
She didn’t want to have this discussion not after last night. Didn’t he need her as much as she needed him? She wanted comfort and to give comfort. “The man on the wharf, he started the fire at my house, too.” She leaned forward to kiss him again.
Davis pulled away. “How do you know it was the same man?”
“He threatened me.”
“What?” Davis’ bellow reverberated in her ears. The animals scattered.
“What in the hell are you talking about, Grayce? I know who burned your house.”
Davis towered over her. She rearranged the pillow behind her back, trying to ignore his outburst. “You know who he is?”
“I found out this morning. He broke into my office. He used to be a firefighter.”
He crossed his arms across his chest. “Damn it, Grayce. Tell me about the threat.”
“He knocked me down my office steps. He said if I told you, he would kill you.”
Davis’ eyes were locked on her, his chest moving in and out at irregular bursts. “What? The suspect threatened you, and you didn’t tell me. I’m the investigator and your…” He rubbed his hand along his tightened jaw.
Every contorted, harsh line on his face warned her he was barely in control. “When exactly did my suspect assault you?”
“The
night before the party.”
His eyes narrowed on her, examining, exploring her face as if he didn’t recognize her. The muscles in his jaw tightened, and he spoke in a low, intense voice, a voice she had never heard before. “Start from the beginning and tell me every detail.”
She adjusted the sheet, trying to cover herself. Mitzi pushed her cold nose under her hand.
“I was working late. He somehow got into my office building. When I came out, he grabbed me and held me near the steps.”
She decided to spare Davis the details of the preceding chase. He was upset enough. She tried to sound nonchalant as if the retelling didn’t affect her. But her mouth was dry and her heart thudded against her chest.
Davis stood with his legs braced apart, arms crossed on his chest.
“He told me to stop my snooping and said if I told you anything you would pay. I kicked him and then he dropped me down the steps.”
The silence was excruciating. She played with the spoon on the tray. Davis’ rage was palpable. She imagined his nostrils were flaring, like a stampeding bull.
“Why?”
“At first, I didn’t know what to do. I didn’t want him to harm you. I planned to tell you tonight when you came over for dinner.”
Davis paced. His restlessness permeated the room.
“Why didn’t you tell me sooner?”
“I wanted to, but I was afraid he would hurt you if I did.”
“You didn’t believe I could defend myself?”
His voice was caustic, but she heard the pain.
“He’s violent. Look what he did to my house.”
Davis exploded. “There wouldn’t have been a house fire if you’d told me.” He bent over her as if he was about to shake her. She leaned back into the pillows.
“If I’d known, I could’ve protected you.”
She wanted to escape. With no clothes, she wrapped herself in the duvet and stood. “I tried to do what I thought was best.” Her feelings had progressed from guilt to irritation. She was the one who had gotten knocked down the stairs and escaped a burning house. “Why can’t you understand?”
The Grayce Walters Romantic Suspense Series Page 21