Cold Dawn

by Susan Sleeman

  She ran a frantic gaze over the area again. Searching. Seeking. Any way to stay alive. Found nothing.

  No. No. It can’t be.

  She was trapped, totally trapped. The only way out—another deathtrap.

  Griff turned onto Rivercrest Drive and shook his head. How had he driven for an hour and still not come up with what to say to Sam when he saw her again? What could he say?

  “Hey, honey. I’m sorry you broke up with me. Sure it’s been seven years, but I’m still in love with you, in case you’re interested.”

  Yeah, right. Like he’d ever bare his soul to her again. To any woman. After losing his parents, it took everything he had to open up to her in the first place and risk being hurt again. And now visiting the place where his childhood friend and houseguest Andy died at the same time? The flames taking his life.

  Not something Griff would wish on his worst enemies, and he’d seen his share of bad operators in his SEAL days.

  He stopped at a red light and glanced down the road to take in the old crab cannery. Smoke billowed up from the building. Thick black clouds of smoke coupled with bright orange flames.

  “Say what?”

  Someone had set the building on fire again, and the front was fully engulfed.

  Sam was there. His heart plummeted.

  Did she go inside or wait for him in the lot?

  Please let her be waiting.

  He floored the gas and shot through the intersection on the deserted road. Punching the emergency button on his dash, he reported the fire to 911. He kept his eyes ahead, trying to see the parking lot. A Jeep was parked there, but no one was inside the vehicle.

  “No. Sam. No. I told you to wait for me.” He swallowed hard to keep his mounting panic at bay. He could handle putting himself in danger, but knowing someone he cared about was in harm’s way filled him with terror.

  He parked in the lot and jumped from his pickup. The heat radiated from the building. Glass was breaking. Wood snapping. White smoke curled up and over the black. This side of the building was fully engulfed.

  Hurry. Hurry.

  He reached into his gear bag stowed in the jump seat to grab a flashlight, bandana, Nomex hood, and fire gloves, then bolted for the other side of the building. Smoke rolled out a window, but so far it was flame free. With the front mostly engulfed, it wouldn’t take long for the back to go up, too.

  He spotted the exterior stairs and charged up, donning the hood as he moved. It was odd to enter a burning building without full turnout gear or his SCBA and helmet. He’d often considered keeping more of his gear in his truck, but firefighting wasn’t an individual activity. It was a team sport, and he wouldn’t likely need the gear off duty. The medic in him did keep a large first aid kit in the box of his truck, but he hoped he wouldn’t need it today.

  He felt the door for heat. Still cool.

  Good.

  The lock was snapped off.

  Did the arsonist know Sam was inside? If so, the person intended to kill her.

  His heart lurched, and he doubled his resolve not to let them succeed. He tied the bandana around his mouth and nose, donned his gloves, and jerked the door open.

  Smoke flooded out, and the stench of gasoline carried through. Like he suspected. Someone set the fire.

  The building plans he’d reviewed earlier told him he had twenty feet to reach the room Andy died in, and he could easily hold his breath that distance. He gulped in air and headed into the smoky haze that darkened the space. Flames dancing along the rear wall illuminated the area.

  He placed his hand on the side wall to keep his bearings and moved deeper into the smoke, counting his steps until the door to the canning room appeared under his hand. What if Sam was trapped inside? He felt the door. It was cool.

  He lifted the heavy bar and jerked open the door. Tried to see through the smoke, but it was too thick.

  “Sam! Sam!” He listened for a moment.

  Heard nothing.

  Could she have succumbed to smoke inhalation? Or worse?

  Panic edged ever closer.

  Stay calm. She needs you.

  Wait! Was that a tapping sound coming from the corner? He couldn’t see a thing through the concentrated smoke. The urge to rush in hit hard, but he had to find a way to brace the door so he didn’t end up trapped, too. He felt around and touched a steel table. He let the door close for a moment and dragged the narrow table to the doorway to wedge it firmly in place.

  He got as low as he could and headed straight for the corner where the clanking sound continued. “Sam!”

  He reached the back wall. Ran his hands over the area. A metal door. Where it led he didn’t know.

  God, please. Please let Sam be here and let her still be alive.

  2

  Her heart grateful for the eight-foot walk-in cooler she’d discovered in the corner of the crab-packing room, Sam continued to tap on the metal door. The space was sealed tight and remained smoke free. All good, until the air ran out. Panic making the breathing more difficult than it needed to be. Was she going to die here? Hidden away in the thick walls of a cooler?

  The door suddenly opened, and Sam lurched back. Smoke swept in, and a man flipped on a flashlight, the door banging shut behind him. A bandana covered his nose and mouth, and he wore a hood.

  “Griff?”

  “Sam!” Griff’s familiar voice flooded her with relief. “Fire’s advancing. No time to talk. We have to go. Cover your face with your shirt.”

  She wasn’t about to argue with him and lifted her shirt up over her nose. “Thank goodness you came.”

  “I’ll lead. Grab onto my back pocket. I need to know you’re behind me.” He locked gazes with her. “Don’t let go.”

  “I won’t.”

  “Take a big breath, honey.” He doused the light, plunging them into darkness. She heard him inhale a deep breath of the cleaner air, and she followed his lead, gulping loudly and holding tight, her lungs straining. He opened the door, heavy smoke clogging the entire space.

  Oh, God. Please.

  Griff advanced ahead, moving them into the room dark with smoke swirling all around like a living breathing thing, blinding her and stinging her eyes. If she hadn’t found her sanctuary in the cooler, she would have inhaled enough smoke to die.

  Let it go. Focus.

  Her eyes stung, and she blinked hard, but clung tight to his pocket—a death grip.

  He scraped his hand along the wall and quickly led them to the door that he’d propped open with a narrow metal table. They skirted around it to the main room where the fire had started.

  She glanced at the wall of flames advancing toward them, the heat intense and shocking. It roared louder than she thought possible and would devour them soon of they didn’t keep moving.

  Griff picked up his pace, his hand on this wall, too, marching toward the door.

  A timber fell, barely missing them. Griff didn’t lose a beat. His steps were strong and sure. Never wavering. Never stopping. Just quick solid movement toward the exit.

  He kicked the door open and burst out onto the metal stairway. The brisk May air hit her hard after the intense heat in the building. He pivoted and leaped, dragging her with him down the steps below.

  He kept hold of her hand, and they ran from the building.

  Hard. Fast.

  Across the lot.

  Away from the fire.

  She heard glass breaking. Sirens shrieking in the distance.

  He tumbled onto a grassy parking lot island, taking her with him, landing on his shoulder to protect her. She lay on his powerful chest as he ripped off his hood and bandana. She tried to stay strong but collapsed against his chest between coughing fits. Coughing, too, he kept one strong arm tightly clamped around her as if he was afraid to let her go.

  She was safe. He’d rescued her. She met his gaze.

  “Are you okay?” He brushed his hand over her hair and sent ash flying.

  “Yes, thank you,” she whispered.


  And thank you, God, for watching over us.

  “I thought I almost…” He shook his head and pulled her closer, but abruptly let go and hacked again, desperately trying to clear his lungs.

  She caught sight of the building, burning now with a new intensity and reality sank in.

  She almost died. Died.

  Someone tried to kill her.

  Her. Kill her.

  How could that be and why?

  Her heart raced, galloping and thumping against her chest.

  Griff’s gaze locked on her face. Searching, begging for something.

  “You’re okay. Really okay?” he asked, sounding like his heart had lodged in his throat.

  “Yes.” Her voice was raspy and razor-sharp pain cut into her throat.

  She continued to rest her head on his chest, enjoying the feel of his strength. Hearing his heart pound as frantically as her own. His arm still tight around her. But they were safe now. She closed her watering eyes. Her worry over seeing him again was long gone—the fire had changed everything.

  Two fire trucks powered into the lot, coming to a stop nearby, and a county patrol vehicle followed. Griff pulled his arm away and gently slipped out from under her. She felt the loss instantly and wanted to grab onto his solid comfort, but his gaze was now detached and professional.

  He got up. “Stay here while I talk to command.”

  She nodded, and after he took off across the lot, she fell back on the grass. She was usually stronger than this, but seeing him again combined with nearly dying hit her hard, and weakness invaded clear through her bones. And yet, she hadn’t had enough of looking at him and turned to the side to watch him take powerful steps across the lot.

  She’d never seen him without a full beard, but liked the few days’ worth of stubble on his face. He wore black tactical pants that he’d always worn in his SEAL days and a tactical knit shirt that fit him like a second skin, highlighting his muscular back and trim waist.

  He stopped next to a firefighter wearing a white helmet. At six foot four, Griff towered over the man, but they both had the same confident stance. Since the others had yellow helmets, he was likely the chief. They spoke briefly, and the chief continued ordering his men as they worked the scene.

  A coughing fit grabbed Griff, and he planted his hands on his knees. He’d inhaled way more smoke than she did, and she would insist he let the medics look at him. The Griff she’d once known would shrug off even the thought of needing help and put all his focus on her, but she would still try.

  An ambulance flew into the parking lot, and Griff waved them over to where she sat. She wearily watched as the paramedics jumped out and grabbed their gear.

  Griff made his way behind them. “C’mon. Let’s get that medic to take a look at you.”

  “And your breathing,” she said.

  He offered his hand and tugged her to her feet. “Of course.”

  She gaped at him.

  “What?” he asked, a wry smile on his face.

  “You didn’t argue.”

  “Eating smoke isn’t something a firefighter should take lightly.”

  “Yeah, but the old you would’ve shrugged it off.”

  His gaze locked on hers and held. “You haven’t seen me in seven years, Sam. I’m not the same man you walked out on.”

  Griff sat next to Sam on the ambulance bumper. They’d gratefully gulped oxygen as firefighters directed powerful spray onto the building and then started their salvage and overhaul.

  He continued to take quick looks at Sam, hoping she thought his glances were from professional concern. She was still slender with long legs and the curves he’d thought of many times after she’d bailed on him. Her eyes, a sparkling greenish-blue, had haunted his dreams. Her shocked announcement that she was leaving him was still as fresh today as all those years ago.

  For almost a year, he hadn’t been able to close his eyes without her in his dreams. Go anywhere. Do anything without seeing her. It took him two years to fully get her out of his head. Now after seven years, she was suddenly back in his life—overpowering his emotions as though zero time had passed. He didn’t know how she could do that to him. How he let her do that to him after she’d left without an explanation—just saying “I can’t be with you anymore.”

  What kind of a breakup was that? Didn’t he deserve an explanation? Didn’t she care enough to give him one?

  He fisted his hands and steeled his resolve to keep these wayward feelings under control.

  Sam pulled down her oxygen mask and took a long drink from her water bottle.

  “The evidence,” she said, still beautiful even with her face smudged with dirt and ash. “From the room where Andy died. It’s gone.”

  Thankful she gave him something to think about instead of their past, he lowered his mask. “Did you find anything?”

  “Only dog hair. Silvery-gray. Long. Probably from the killer.” Her voice was husky from the smoke she’d inhaled.

  “Not from Andy. Not with his allergies.”

  She nodded. “I took pictures, but my camera’s in the building. In the corner of the room Andy died.”

  “What kind of camera case?”

  “Hard shell.”

  “Good. At the distance away from the flames, it could’ve survived. Either way, everything will be drenched.”

  “Yeah.” She sighed.

  “What about evidence left behind from whoever tried to kill you? At this point we’re better off focusing on that, right? We find that person, we also find Andy’s killer.”

  She frowned. “Someone purposely locked me in the room. Started the fire. I mean, I keep trying to tell myself that it was an accident or something. But someone purposely locked me in the room before starting the fire.”

  “It’s okay. You’re safe. You made it out.” He couldn’t tell if her tears were from the smoke damage or emotion. “This fire is different from Andy’s, though. His started in the packing room where this one was started in the main area of the building.”

  She tilted her head, and he could almost see her thoughts. “Why didn’t he move into the cooler like I did?”

  Good point. “Maybe he was unconscious or already dead.”

  “The autopsy will show if he had smoke in his lungs.” She dabbed at her eyes. “I still can’t believe he’s gone.”

  A stab of pain knifed Griff’s heart, and he vowed to find Andy’s killer. “Now we’re looking for someone who wanted both of you dead.”

  “What’s the connection? We haven’t seen each other much. I haven’t seen him since...”

  “He proposed to you.”

  “He was so uneasy after that.” She took a few deep breaths from her mask. A firm look of resolve matching the one she wore when she’d told him she couldn’t be with him anymore crossed her face. “I won’t stop until I figure out who murdered him. My team’s been hired to see if there’s a connection between this fire and two others.”

  Interesting, and yet, problematic. Griff planned to investigate Andy’s death, and he didn’t count on doing it with her. Sure, it was good to see her. But it hurt like crazy, too, and spending time with her? That would be foolish. But he’d read all about Blackwell Tactical and knew about their many skills. Partnering with an experienced investigation team to find Andy’s killer was smart. And with a forensic expert like Sam, he would find more leads quicker.

  Yeah, they had to work together. “From what I saw on Blackwell’s website, you don’t have an arson investigator on the team.”

  “We don’t.”

  “How will you know if there’s a connection between the fires?”

  “We’ll hire an expert.”

  “I could do it. I’m not arson trained, but I know fire. And I have connections that you all don’t have. Plus I’m motivated to find the killer.”

  Her frown deepened, but she didn’t speak. Didn’t matter. She didn’t have to say a word. He got it.

  She didn’t want him around.
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br />   Well, too bad. Andy was Griff’s friend, too, and he wasn’t going to turn his back on him. No matter what. Not even if it meant he had to partner with the woman who clearly still had the power to hurt him.

  3

  As the sun skittered behind dark clouds, Sam took a long breath on the fire escape and tried to psych herself up to enter the smoldering ruins. The firefighters had doused the fire and the lieutenant had conducted a thorough walk-through and declared the structure was safe. Then they waited for the arson investigator to finish his job. He finally cleared her to enter to retrieve her equipment and look for evidence.

  Griff ran a hand over his chin. “You sure you want to do this? I can get the stuff for you.”

  “It’s not just the stuff,” she said trying to sound strong and bolster her courage to walk back in there. “I have to see the space. Look for any forensics that might help us. That you can’t do.”

  “The gasoline smell proves it’s arson, and the investigator has recovered samples that will prove it.”

  “I’m hoping for additional items that will lead us straight to the arsonist.” She firmed her stance. She was only a half foot shorter than him, so she stared him down. “I’m doing this, Griff, no matter what you say.”

  “Listen.” His voice was deep and hoarse from the smoke damage. “It’s hard to go back into a scene when you barely escaped. The fact that you could’ve died will hit you hard.”

  How bad could it be? Surely, he was exaggerating, maybe in an effort to try to talk her out of entering the building at all.

  She lifted her shoulders in a hard line of resolve. “I’ll be fine.”

  Won’t I, God? Please.

  Griff’s skeptical look said he didn’t buy her answer. “I’m coming with you.”

  “If you want.” She was honestly sorry she caused his worry to deepen, but she didn’t want to encourage him to join her or encourage any further interaction at all. There might be many things up in the air right now, but one thing she was certain of. She still had feelings for him, but nothing had changed since they’d broken up, so it really didn’t matter. She couldn’t be in a relationship with him. With any man.