by Regina Cole
“I’m sorry, Bella,” she whispered aloud. “Lucky, I’m sorry. Fritz, Amos, Benji, I’m sorry. I’m sorry, Socks and Boots, Blackie and Sparkles and Mr. Green Jeans.”
She apologized to all of them by name, and she did it in as loud a voice as she could manage.
If they only had hours—or minutes, she didn’t know when he planned to set off the explosion—to live, she wanted every animal in her care to know that they were wanted. That they were loved. That someone cared that their lives would be sacrificed today.
But eventually she ran out of animals to name. Then, and only then, did she let his name fall from her lips, and she did it in a way that she’d been longing to before this horrible, hellish day had ever dawned. She would die there, she had no doubt. But she wouldn’t die before she allowed herself to speak the truth.
If this was the last chance she had? She would take it. Better a truth spoken while staring down Death than never uttered at all.
“I love you, Drake.”
Getting checked out of a hospital AMA was a huge pain in the ass.
As soon as those elevator doors had closed, security had glared at the rest of them and walked off. Drake had stalked—well, stumbled with his bum leg—back to his room. Belinda had talked his ear off the whole way. At the door to his room, he whirled and glared at her.
“Why the hell are you still here, when she had to leave? I’m not sure what language I need to speak to you in for you to understand me. I. Do. Not. Love. You. We are through. I don’t want to see you again, ever. I hope you have a very nice life, somewhere far away from me.” He stepped closer to her. “And if you ever, and I mean ever, cause Everly a moment’s discomfort, pain, or anxiety again? I will sue the ass off of you. I know you’re responsible for at least part of her stress lately.” He remembered the look on Everly’s face when she’d seen his cell phone lit up with Belinda’s picture.
Jesse reappeared then, and Hunter wrapped his arm around her.
“I—Drake, the golf tournament thing was just to warn her off! And I—”
“Waitagoddamnminute. You ruined my best friend’s charity event?” Jesse’s normally genial expression was clouded with bloodlust. Even Hunter took a step back, his arm falling from her shoulders.
Realization crested over Drake. That golf tournament, the one that the malicious online reviews had wrecked, had been all Belinda’s doing. Everly had been convinced that the reviews were just a malicious prank, and the fact that the tournament had crashed because of them was terrible coincidence. But knowing Belinda was behind it made a lot of sense, in a sick kind of way. Though he was dying to, Drake didn’t even need to lift a finger to defend Everly this time. He’d let Jesse handle it.
Belinda, obviously not seeing the trouble she was in, sneered at Jesse. “It was easy. I’ve got connections, and the bitch deserved it for daring to take my—”
Belinda couldn’t finish her sentence, because Jesse’s fist was in the way. Belinda hit the ground like a sack of flour, stunned and moaning, hands clapped to her face.
“Stay the hell away from my family,” Jesse said, her breath coming fast as she glared down at Belinda.
“I’ve always wanted to do that, but it went against the grain to hit a woman, even one like Bitcherella.” Hunter’s face glowed with excitement and love as he high-fived Jesse. “You’re my fucking hero.”
As he bent Jesse backward and kissed her full on the mouth, Drake stalked back into his hospital room.
He ripped the IV from his arm, grunting as the catheter left his vein. Stuffing the fabric of his hospital gown against the wound to stop the bleeding, he hit the nurse call button.
“Can I help you?”
“I’m getting dressed and leaving right now. Get me whatever I need to sign, but I’ve got to be in the parking lot within ten minutes.”
“Sir, your doctor hasn’t released—”
“If you don’t want to document the fact that I just walked out of here with no warning, you’ll prep what you need to prep,” he said, shucking his gown and reaching for the plastic bag marked “Patient Belongings” on the seat of the green plastic armchair.
“Yes, sir,” the voice said, decidedly less friendly that time.
Wincing, he pulled his stained work pants up over his thighs. His fingers were still on the zipper when Hunter and a dazed-looking Jesse came into the room.
“Packing up?” Hunter grunted.
“Yep,” Drake grunted, pulling the Firehouse Three shirt over his head. “I’m going after her.” He looked over at Jesse as he turned his socks right side out. “Where would she go?”
Jesse shrugged. “Not her parents’ place. They’d want to know what was wrong. Either home or the shelter.”
Drake tugged on his boots, one after the other, making deft work of the knots. He thought about Everly. She was not the type to wallow. Distraction. She’d be all about the distraction right now until the feelings had calmed enough for her to focus on the problem.
“Hunter,” he said, wincing as he stood. “I need a ride to the shelter.”
“I’ll be happy to haul your sorry ass,” Hunter said as a nurse came in with a clipboard and a frown.
Drake was ready to flip the damn bed over by the time the nurse got through scolding him about leaving before the doctor released him. Eventually, though, they had no choice but to let him sign on the “it’s not our fucking fault you’re a moron” line and let him hobble out on his own two feet.
He considered the cane they’d left in the room to assist him in getting to the bathroom as fair recompense for having to listen to the nurse’s lectures. Besides, it wasn’t like they weren’t going to charge his insurance triple the price for it anyway.
“It’s on Ashland, right?”
“Yeah,” Jesse said from the backseat.
The miles seemed to go by so slowly. Too slowly. Drake was about to jump out of his skin by the time they neared Hopeful Paws.
The front parking lot was empty, and Hunter pulled straight up to the front doors. Drake got out and pulled on the handle, but it just clacked and didn’t budge.
“It’s Sunday,” Jesse said through the rolled-down window. “They’re closed.”
Drake pulled his phone from his pocket and dialed. Everly’s voicemail kicked in. The sick feeling in his guts was getting sicker and sicker.
Stay calm. She’s reasonable. You can explain and everything will be fine.
So why was a cold sweat breaking out down his spine?
“Jesse, she’s not answering. You try.”
Hunter exited his Jeep and started to walk around the building while Jesse walked up beside Drake and reached into her pocket for her phone. She paused in mid-motion.
“I forgot. Her phone fell in the lake last night. It’s dead.”
“Shit,” Drake said. “And the rescue phones are turned off when they aren’t there, right?”
Jesse’s nod brought a fresh round of cursing from him.
“Hey, Drake,” Hunter said, poking his head around the far corner of the building. “Jesse’s pickup’s back here.”
Rounding the building, Drake saw exactly why Hunter’s expression was somber. Jesse’s pickup was parked across two spaces, the wheels cranked hard to the left as if Everly hadn’t cared enough to straighten them out and just killed the engine where the thing landed.
With his cane in hand, he went straight to the back door. As he’d hoped, there was a small doorbell to the right of the door handle. He pushed it, then waited. And waited.
He pushed it again.
His pulse was pounding in his ears, and it didn’t have anything to do with his lingering headache.
“Everly!” He yelled her name while he pounded on the door. This was bad. Something was very bad. More than Everly believing he was cheating on her. More than the dress-down heading his way from the chief when the news he’d checked out of the hospital early hit his boss. More than any and all of that.
“Everly!”
> “What’s wrong with that dog?”
Hunter shoved Drake to the side and cupped his hands around his eyes, the better to see through the glass. Drake elbowed his way in and took a look.
An elderly dog, if the gray on his otherwise black muzzle was any indication, was weaving on his paws, looking drunk. He stumbled a bit, then righted himself.
Drake scanned the next couple kennels he could see. The younger animals in the next run seemed fine, but a Beagle-looking mutt on the far side was acting just like the old dog.
A sick hunch settled on his shoulders and he pressed his face to the crack of the door. The seals were fairly good, but not perfect. So the scent that met his nose and wrapped ice-cold fear around his guts was instantly identifiable.
“Gas,” he barked, turning and half-running, half-falling toward Hunter’s vehicle. “We need to bust out every goddamn window in this place. Call Chief Donaldson right fucking now. The whole damn place is filled with natural gas fumes. If there’s any kind of spark—” He couldn’t finish the sentence, unable to go there even in the hypothetical.
Hunter was on the phone, and Jesse was right there beside him, her face pale as a sheet.
“What do I do?”
Drake had yanked open the back gate of Hunter’s Jeep and was digging under the floor mats. His hand closed around what he was looking for, and he brought the tire iron out.
“Call Charlie. She’ll have keys. We need to get all the animals out of there. And Everly—” Drake’s breath caught in his throat, but he turned toward the rescue anyway. “Everly might be incapacitated. I can’t imagine her not noticing that smell inside. You’ve got to be prepared for that.”
Jesse’s hands were trembling a little as she pulled out her phone and started dialing.
Hunter jogged up to Drake’s side. “Donaldson’s on it. He’s got a unit on the way, and they’re contacting the gas company. Where do you want me?”
Drake pulled off his tee shirt and wrapped it around his hand. Then he gripped the tire iron, jaw set grimly.
“Jesse got a toolbox in the truck? Hammer, big wrench?”
“She always does,” Hunter said, and took off. He didn’t need any more instruction.
Drake stood outside the back door. An instant before he swung, he caught a glimpse inside.
That gray-muzzled black dog was lying down now, panting.
“Hang on,” he said, both to the tired old pup and to Everly.
He was coming for them.
19.
Everly had always thought death would be scary, but she was curiously unafraid as the end neared. There had to be enough gas in the air now for him to trigger the explosion.
Memories were her comfort as she waited for the place to go up in a big boom. Meeting Drake out front while she was stuck in that stupid tree, the way he’d thrown her over his shoulder like she hadn’t weighed anything. That kiss that they’d shared and Charlie had interrupted. The bachelor auction. Gossamer’s adoption. The trip to the lake.
Making love in his bed. Making love in her bed. Making love on the sofa. In the shower. On the kitchen counter. So many places, so many encounters, but she wanted more.
But it was all they would ever have. And, in a way, it was enough. She’d known love. Real, true, soul-deep, never-ending, passionate love. And it was all thanks to him.
The slight hissing sound in the room indicated the gas level was rising. For what seemed like the fiftieth time, she tried to give her legs some leverage, figure out a way to shift the heavy furniture that was pinning her down. But the shelving had long ago cut off circulation in her legs.
If her hands were free, she’d have a shot. But the knots wouldn’t give.
A deep breath, and she sank back into the thoughts of him.
Drake.
“I love you,” she said again. Just to hear how they would have sounded if she’d had the courage to say them out loud to him.
The sound of shattering glass yanked her back into the moment, the cold floor beneath her, the warm, sticky blood on her forehead, the bite of the rough rope around her raw wrists.
Another crash, the tinkling sounds of shards hitting the tile reassuring her that it wasn’t a dream.
“Help!” She screamed the plea, jerking at her ties. “Help! Somebody, please!”
“Everly!”
Oh God. Sobs spilled from her mouth, adrenaline thrumming through her body once again. It was his voice. The one she’d thought she would never, ever hear again.
“Drake!” She jerked, and the shelving clanged against the floor. “Drake, I’m in the laundry room! Help me, please!”
Footsteps. Thundering, uneven, footsteps outside the laundry room. She craned her neck to look in that direction, and then there were boots, and someone was kneeling. He was kneeling.
“Oh God, baby girl,” he said, his voice shaking.
“I’m tied to the shelves,” she said, relief and panic and tears and more emotions she couldn’t name making her voice tremble. “If you push it upright you can untie me.”
“I’m going to lift it slowly, okay?”
Before she could answer, glass crashed from somewhere else in the building.
And then the shelves were moving, and she was scrambling to get her mostly-numb feet underneath her, and he was there, untying her, tears streaming down his face as he worked as fast and as gently as he could.
And then she was in his arms, and they were both sobbing openly.
“We’ve got to go,” he said, wrapping his arm around her waist. “The smallest spark could send this place up like a warhead.”
Spark. Oh, God.
“The detonator!” She turned, nearly falling as the pins-and-needles in her feet reminded her that her circulation wasn’t finished returning. She picked it up from its position in front of the dryer. “This thing, it’s a remote something. He left it here.”
“Give that to me.” Drake grabbed the thing and left the room at a dead run, cradling the device against his chest.
Heart in her throat, Everly braced her palm on the wall and started after him. One foot in front of the other. It was slow, so, so slow. But the feeling was coming back into her limbs, and all the animals needed her.
They weren’t out of danger yet.
Sirens were audible in the distance, and as Everly entered the hallway, she nearly cried out in relief.
Drake was coming back to her, only a slight limp reminding her that he’d been injured not that long ago. And beyond him, Jesse and Hunter were leashing up dogs and getting them out of the kennels.
They were going to make it.
“Come here, baby girl,” Drake said, and he swept her into his arms.
“You’re hurt,” Everly protested, winding her arms around his neck and cuddling close to his chest.
“I’ve got you. I’ll never hurt again.”
There were more flashing vehicles there than Drake had seen collected in one place since—well, the hotel fire the night before. Damn, Dallas had had a rough few weeks. First that wackadoodle that had stolen Jesse’s explosives, then a freak accident downtown, and now this?
He’d be glad when shit went back to being boring.
Firehouse Three was out in full force, along with EMS, and the cops. News crews were as close as they could get, which was the neighboring parking lots. The gas company had already been and gone.
He and Everly sat on the back bumper of Spencer’s ambulance, her with a big old patch of gauze above her right eye, and an ice pack on her left knee, which had apparently been wrenched when she and the shelving had fallen over.
The frenzy of activity was dying down. Several other local shelters had stepped up to temporarily house the animals until the building was cleared for occupancy and the windows they’d broken could be replaced.
He’d argue with Everly about paying for her windows later. For now?
He leaned over and pressed what had to be the thousandth kiss atop her head.
“What was
that for?” She gave him a small smile.
“Just glad you’re here. And safe.”
“Me, too,” she said, leaning against him as he gathered her close.
“Can—can I talk to you?”
Drake shut his eyes and counted to five. That voice. Why the hell had someone let her past the police tape?
“What the hell is it, Belinda?”
“Not you,” Belinda said, shaking her head. Her face was pale, her eyes red, as if she’d been crying. “Everly.”
“What do you need?” Everly answered.
Drake’s hands curled into fists, but he stayed still.
“I’m sorry.” Belinda’s voice broke, and for a moment, all she could do was cry. “I never meant—I mean, I didn’t know he would go this far. Daddy’s always given me whatever I wanted. And I guess, when he couldn’t, he just kind of… broke. I don’t expect you to forgive me, but I wanted to let you know that I’m so, so sorry. I wanted to ruin you so Drake would leave you, but I didn’t want you to—”
Everly turned her face into Drake’s side, and the wet patch that grew there told him she was crying, too.
Neither of them could speak for a while. Drake rubbed Everly’s back while he stared at the rescue, empty now of all the animals that had nearly lost their lives today. They’d all been examined, and a couple of the older ones were given oxygen. There were all expected to make it.
But things could so easily have gone the other way.
Once Chief Pearce had seen him and Hunter breaking into the rescue, he’d driven straight to the police station and turned himself in. He’d confessed to the whole thing. It seemed that as he’d sat there in his vehicle, waiting for the time to set off the explosion, his conscience had gotten the best of him.
He wasn’t an evil man; he was just guilty of losing his head. But it had nearly cost Everly—and by extension, Drake—everything.
Drake hoped they put Chief Pearce away for a long, long time.
“I know you didn’t put him up to this,” Everly said when she could talk again. “I can’t say that I forgive you for what you did to me, though. I hope you understand.”