Marg nodded, really needing a drink, but she wasn’t fussy about beer. “My grandmother.”
His eye movements had a stealth precision as he glanced at her hand. “Margaret, I can get you something else to drink,” he offered.
She laughed, and pushed the beer toward him on the table. “Thanks, I’m not really a fan.”
“Make way,” a tall blond guy said, carrying a tray full of shooters. “Bottoms up!”
Patrick pulled two of the shooters. “Tequila?”
She accepted the drink, they tapped their glasses together. Tequila she liked.
After she and Patrick threw back their tequila shooters, Patrick's silver eyes came to rest on her. One shooter would not be enough to calm the hurricane force storm his stare caused inside her.
St. George's was packed with young bodies partying across every square inch of floor space. When the vocal harmony of "Carry on Wayward Son" streamed from the speakers, Patrick reached out to her, and her hand slipped into his like a perfect fitting glove. He didn’t ask, he didn’t have to. There wasn’t a lot of space on the dance floor, and electricity sparked with a nudge or a brush of their bodies.
One song bled into the next. Patrick curled his muscled arm around her waist, and he reeled her in slowly. “Let me buy you a drink at the bar.”
She nodded.
Patrick pressed his way through the crowd with her held tight against his body. The rumble of his voice vibrated from his chest into her breast. Patrick ordered two more shooters and the bartender gave a thumbs up, slid two shot glasses onto the counter and poured with a bottle in each hand. Carefully, Patrick presented it to her. He didn’t offer a toast or a one-line come on. Instead, his eyes spoke and his hand splayed across the hollow of her back, pressed her closer.
She had to stop staring at him, but he seemed to be doing the same. Every time his gaze slipped to her lips, a little shockwave eclipsed her senses.
“Want to head back to the table?”
“Another?” the bartender interrupted.
“I’ll have a gin and tonic with lime,” she yelled.
“I’ll have a Bud.”
Patrick grabbed both drinks, raised his arms and swam through the crowd back to the table with the other SEALs. The little redhead hanging onto Thane must have had to do a run to the ladies room.
Marg leaned into Thane’s ear and felt his hand touch her hip. “Does he know?” she asked.
Lifting the hair from her shoulder, he said, “About what?” against her ear.
She let out a relieved breath.
“Want to keep it that way, I assume?”
She nodded.
“Think you’re right.” He turned his head, and then cleared his throat. “Pat and I are best friends. I know when he’s getting pissed, though it only shows in his eyes. The fact that I’m even whispering in your ear is bugging him.”
Her gaze darted across the table. Patrick watched them, but he didn’t look mad.
“He’s not, is he?”
“I had a feeling you two would like each other.”
She smiled and tilted her head. “Thanks.”
“Kinda burns that you’re not pining for me.”
She gave him a “sure you are” look. Thane was an alright guy. Maybe it was weird that they were okay with a one-night stand. She’d thought about him this week, but she didn’t have any heart pounding afterthoughts. “You’ll survive.”
Thane offered one of his shattering smiles. He lifted his fisted hand, and she gave it a little thump with her own. They were friends with no more benefits, and Marg was good with that.
Thane shifted from her side, stopped beside Patrick and said something to him. By the time he finished, the redhead had returned and clung to Thane, then zeroed in on his mouth. Marg gave her head a little shake. Thane was a likeable slut.
Patrick stopped a guy from sitting in the chair next to him. She took a step to join him, but a lanky blonde intended occupying the seat. Loud but beautiful, the girl threw her arm around Patrick’s shoulders, and he listened while the girl pressed her chest against his elbow and whispered into his ear. The girl wasn’t alone. Three other women joined the table. Marg did a quick survey. Two of the girls who’d been there to begin with watched the other women with a leery expression. Patrick unhooked the girl’s arm from his neck. She was the boisterous type with body language and a two word vocabulary: fuck me.
Maybe Patrick had something going on with her. Feeling suddenly out of place, Marg turned to leave. Too many bodies blocked her path. She edged between two big sailors, but Patrick stood on the other side of them when she squeezed through.
“Leaving?” He leaned in close as if enticing her to stay.
“Yeah, I’ve got an early day.”
“How about one more dance?” After he spoke against her ear, he didn’t move his head, the bristles on his jaw chaffing her cheek.
Marg turned to look over her shoulder, and saw the blonde watching them with a perturbed expression. “She doesn’t look happy. I don’t want to intervene.”
Patrick’s hand fell to her waist. “I’ve seen her around, but I don’t know her.”
“Do you smell that?” someone at their table yelled out.
It was like an instinctive alarm that ran from one man to the next. They all rose from their chairs at the same time.
“Smoke,” Patrick said, gripping her hand before she even knew there was something to be concerned about.
Then she smelled it herself. A lot of smoke. Not pot or cigarette smoke, but something-is-on-fire type smoke.
Chapter Six
They couldn’t see the fire, but they could smell smoke. Patrons’ heads snapped every which way, searching for the source. Music blared, but the dancing died off. Marg’s heart squeezed tight with fear. Too many people crammed into a small box and only a couple ways out meant a stampede for the doors.
“Exit?” Thane barked.
“Closest is the main entrance,” Patrick said.
“Let’s go.”
As a group, they’d only taken one step when the music stopped. Women screamed and the crowd rushed toward them, cutting off their exit to freedom. Marg turned to look over her shoulder and saw fire lick the walls of the stage. The DJ tossed his headset and jumped six feet down to the dance floor like a tree squirrel, arms and legs spread wide.
“Hang onto me,” Patrick ordered.
With an arm around her waist, Patrick jerked Marg into action, pulling her along with him. Black smoke billowed from the stage. Something behind it had caught wind and fed the fire. Fear furrowed every face, and if not fear, determination to get the hell out no matter who stood in their way. The club became a herd of people with one mission. The front entrance jammed, movement stopped.
“We’re trapped,” she said.
One of the other guys in their group yelled out, “This way.”
Patrick whisked Marg along with the rest of the men and women. She saw the bathroom sign flash by as they quickly walked down a dimly lit hallway with a glowing red exit sign at the end.
“What the fuck!” the first guy who reached it said as he palmed the metal bar to open the emergency door. “Locked.”
Thane tried to muscle the door open. “Or blocked.”
A chill slithered down Marg’s spine just before a tap landed on her shoulder. She turned, but no one was there. Squinting, she peered through the darkness and ran her hand against the wall, touching the frame of another door. Awkward and nearly blind, she crept her fingers along the width until she found the handle, and it turned. “What about this way?”
Patrick tried the light switch as he led the way into the room. “Power’s off.”
They’d have to feel their way. He gripped her arm too tightly and she tried to pull away, but he wouldn’t let go.
Patrick squinted at their surroundings. “Store room.” He loosened his grip on her arm. “Stay here, Marg.”
A glimmer of light from a street lamp shone into a wi
ndow on the other side of the room.
Marg’s eyes adjusted to see two men rush past. One gripped a chair as he ran and fired the legs through the window.
“Clear,” he shouted.
Perspiration drizzled down the middle of her back.
“Get the girls out,” Thane shouted as he entered behind them.
“Come on, Marg,” Patrick’s low timbre manifested into a sharp, businesslike order. His warm hand slid around her ass and over her hip, nudging her toward the window.
“We’re up two stories,” one of the other guys said as he stuck his head out the window. “’Bout a fifteen foot drop.”
Something to the right of them tumbled to the ground.
“Drop sheet,” Thane announced to the group. “Okay, ladies, change of plan. We’re going out first.”
The guys disappeared out the window. Like ghosts, they dropped from sight, one after the other. The women huddled near her. Marg followed the last guy and stuck her head out to see Patrick hit the ground, then roll to his feet. The men unfurled the drop sheet and Patrick looked up. Thane’s redheaded girlfriend muscled in beside her.
“I’m not jumping,” Thane’s girl shrieked.
“Me either,” another girl behind them cried out.
Marg covered her nose, and her eyes teared from the smoke. “You will or you’ll burn to death”
A fit of coughing started in the room as smoke snaked through the doorway.
“What if it rips when we land on it?” Thane’s redhead fired back.
Marg gripped the redhead’s arm. “Then you might break a leg, but you’ll be alive. Go.”
The redhead yanked from her grasp. “I can’t.”
Marg turned to see four more women behind her, one of them the blonde who’d gotten cozy with Patrick. “I’ll go first. Don’t think about it, just jump.” Marg gripped the window sill, and stepped onto it. “If I don’t break a leg, you won’t.”
Her gaze went straight to Patrick for courage. He nodded, but didn’t rush her into jumping.
Instead, Thane shouted, “Come on, Marg, show ‘em how it’s done, beautiful.”
Patrick’s head whipped around, his brow furrowing.
Counting to three might help. She held her breath and sprung from the sill, twisting herself as she fell. Air shot from her lungs when the sheet went taut across her back. She squirmed to turn over and scrambled toward the edge. Hands she barely knew, but had become familiar pretty darn fast, pulled her up and pasted her to a hard chest—Patrick’s chest.
“Brave girl,” he said. A spark of a smile shone in his eyes before he gently positioned her out of the way.
Thane’s head tilted upward. “Come on, ladies. Who’s next!”
The howl of fire engines and police sirens filled the air. Their red glow, a pulsating halo of help, flickered against the building.
The next girl to swallow her fear was a petite gal with chestnut curls. “Ready?” she yelled down.
One of the guys holding the tarp urged. “Get down here, Carlie.” Ready for her jump, his muscled arms flexed as he pulled the fabric taut.
“Don’t drop me, Justin.”
“We won’t, babe.”
Carlie teetered in her high heels on the ledge, and then jumped with a little too much spring in her step. The guys instinctively moved together like one brain to adjust for her fall. They caught her dead center. Carlie’s scream didn’t end until she reached the tarp. Like Marg, she scrambled to her guy who gave her a quick kiss, and then gently pushed her aside.
The guys called up for the next girl, and a brunette who’d said she wouldn’t jump scrambled onto the sill. “Damn it. I don’t think I can do this,” she yelled down to them.
“You can do it, Karen.” A tall blond SEAL yelled back.
“I’m scared, Paul.”
“My girl’s not scared of anything.”
Two firemen rounded the corner of the building. “How many people are up there?”
“Three more,” Thane answered, keeping his eyes on the girl in the window. One fireman spoke into his radio while the other grabbed a piece of tarp to strengthen the circle.
“I can’t,” Karen cried out.
“Yes, you can.” Paul shouted back. “Baby, time’s a wastin’. We’ll catch you. I promise.”
A loud whoosh erupted from inside the building and flames shot through the roof.
“Oh shit!” Marg darted a look at Patrick who concentrated on the window above. “Karen,”—she ran to the building—“the fire is spreading. Please jump. They caught me. They won’t drop you. Jump.”
Karen closed her eyes and jumped feet first. She didn’t turn like her and Carlie. When she hit the tarp her knees buckled and cracked against her chin. She let out a yelp as the men lowered the sheet so she could get her footing.
Her boyfriend quickly picked her right off her feet. “You’re okay,” Paul said, cradling her in his arms.
Karen held her chin and tears sprouted like a fountain from her eyes.
The men didn’t wait, adjusting for the missing man and readied the sheet one more time. The redhead popped her head out the window. “We’ll wait for a ladder.”
“Woman, get your ass down here,” Thane commanded.
“Screw you. I want a ladder.”
“Darcy, there’s no time,” Thane bellowed at her.
Heat from the building intensified, the flames licking higher. A scream flew out the window and another girl with a green summer dress gripped the edge. “Ready?” she called down.
Thane and Pat nodded at each other and searched the guys’ faces. Obviously, she didn’t belong to one of them, but when she jumped, their concentration never wavered from her until she unceremoniously landed on the tarp.
Darcy poked her head out for a second, but quickly disappeared. Exchanged with the blonde who made nice with Patrick earlier.
“Pat?” she called down to him.
“We’re ready,” he answered back.
“Sweetheart, I’ll spend the entire night making you a happy man if you catch me.”
Thane’s head fell back with a chuckle. He winked at Marg. “Looks like you got competition.”
“Shut up, Thane.”
The blonde let gravity pull her to the tarp, landing on her side with an “oof” forced from her mouth. The guys lowered the tarp, and she found her footing then tripped and vaulted for Patrick.
“Oh, my God, that was terrifying.” The blonde laid her head against Patrick’s chest and wrapped her arms around him.
“One more.” Patrick extracted himself from the blonde.
“Darcy!” Thane shouted at the redhead who stuck her head out the window.
They all pitched in. “Come on, Darcy.”
“I can’t. I’m scared of heights.”
Patrick released the sheet and a fireman took his place. “Darcy, down here. Look at me,”—Patrick walked to the base of the building—“The fire is spreading. We need you down here, honey. You’re going to be brave and get your ass on that sill.”
Darcy stared down at Patrick. She sniffed and wiped away her tears. “Can’t you bring a ladder?”
“You’re safer jumping then waiting for a ladder. Trust, Darcy. You have to trust.”
Darcy perched herself on the sill like a marble goblin on an old church. “I can’t do this.” She moved to slide inside again.
“Stop, Darcy.” Patrick’s voice reverberated through Marg and obviously reached past Darcy’s fear. She stopped and stared down at him. “When you jump, I want you to twist like Marg did. It’ll be over in a second. I want you to count with me. On three, you’re gonna jump.”
Smoke billowed past Darcy and into the air. She had a choice, but fear made her cling to the window frame and not let go.
“Shit,” Patrick mumbled under his breath. “Darcy, count with me. One, two, jump.” She hesitated and Patrick shouted at her. “Let go.”
Darcy obeyed his command and stepped from the sill. Rolling as she fell
through the air.
As Darcy hit the tarp, a “Hooyah” resonated from the men’s mouths.
Thane nodded at Patrick, and they thumped each other once on the shoulder. Marg hadn’t moved, watching the man named Patrick Cobbs walk toward her with a sure step. A sense of calm control resonated from him. Didn’t really matter what she called it, he had it in spades, but the blonde must have sensed the same thing and intercepted him.
“Oh, Patrick, thank you so much.” The girl planted one on his lips, tangling her hands behind his neck.
Patrick said something to her, and she snapped her shoulders back, and then turned a look at Marg, and it wasn’t a nice look. With a flip of her hand, the blonde tossed her long hair across her shoulder and stomped away.
“You okay? You look a little shell shocked.” Patrick moved to stand beside her, but Marg’s attention was still on the blonde, her hips swaying in a tight, glittery dress and four-inch heels.
“I’m fine.”
“Let’s get away from the building,” he suggested, sliding his hand to her back and urging her to get moving.
“What did you say to her? She looks angry.”
“Not important. Let’s go.”
They jogged for the street, not an easy task in high heels, and found a mass of loitering people and rescue workers. Red lights flashed against the buildings from the vehicles. There had to be six ambulances and a whole fleet of police cars parked alongside the fire trucks. The police pushed people back, but they didn’t have to instill much convincing. The heat emanating from the building had a more immediate effect.
“Give St. George’s a final salute, boys,” Thane said, holding a shaking Darcy against his body.
“What a goddamn shame,” the big blond guy named Paul said.
They watched as the hungry fire consumed the old timbers of the bar, charring the bones that held the building up.
“Hey, MacAvoy,” Thane shouted at a man in his late sixties who paced nearby, patting the sweat off his forehead with a handkerchief. “What the hell happened?”
“Who is he?” Marg asked.
Patrick’s protective arm didn’t leave her shoulders when he leaned in to her ear. “The owner. He opened this place in the fifties.”
Code Name: Forever & Ever (A Warrior's Challenge series Book 5) Page 7