Light up the Night (Firehouse Three #2)(59)

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 f*cking 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.