Wilde at Heart (Wilde Security, #3)(46)

Reece shook his head and started to close the door, but a strange smell stopped him.

Smoke?

At first it was only a drifting curl of scent in the air, and if it had been summertime, he might have brushed it off as a nearby bonfire. But it was the middle of winter, with temps hovering in the low twenties, and nobody would be having a bonfire now. And it was close, the scent of burning wood becoming heavier, acrid.

No.

Heart dropping like a stone, he stared at the house. No, no, no. Not this house. Please, not this house.

“Fire!” he yelled to Shelby over his shoulder. “Call 911!”

He dropped his notebooks and raced back inside, through the living room, toward the kitchen, where there was a fire extinguisher under the sink. Flames danced across the back porch, casting orange shadows over the kitchen floor where his parents used to dance together after dinner. The dead ivy vines clinging to the side of the house—the ones he’d been meaning to pull down since summer—went up like kindling in a flash of heat and light, climbing toward the roof.

Holy shit. It shouldn’t be spreading this fast. Already it was too big, and his little fire extinguisher wasn’t going to do a damn thing, but he had to try.

He had to try.

If the fire reached the roof, the house was done.

He grabbed the extinguisher and ran to the sliding glass doors, but the wood frame was charring, warping, and he couldn’t get the door open. He slammed the end of the extinguisher into the glass with every ounce of strength he possessed, and it shattered. He couldn’t step out onto the porch because of the heat, so he aimed the extinguisher hose at the door. White powder doused the flames climbing up the frame, but it wasn’t enough. The kitchen started filling with thick black smoke, and his eyes burned. The extinguisher sputtered and died in his hands.

“Fuck!” He threw it aside and tried to remember where there was another one stashed. Laundry room? Yeah, there was one next to the washer.

“Reece?”

Shelby’s voice. Had she come inside? Jesus. What was she thinking?

His heart stuttered, and he gave up on finding a second fire extinguisher. He had to get her out of here, away from the heat and smoke. She needed to be safe.

Coughing hard, he spun and ran toward the front of the house, moving entirely by memory now because he couldn’t see shit. Overhead, the roof groaned.

Oh shit.

He inhaled to yell for her to get outside, he was right behind her, but smoke rushed into his lungs. He gagged and choked, nearly doubling over from the pain of it.

A small hand gripped his arm and tugged. Shelby. She was in the house, damn her. And the fire continued chewing away at the roof. It was going to collapse at any moment, and they’d be trapped.

Straightening, he scooped her into his arms and ran. Through the living room, stumbling over the coffee table, and finally, out the still-open front door.

Cold air poured into his heated lungs, making him cough harder. He staggered and dropped Shelby into the snow in the front yard. His legs didn’t want to hold him any longer, and he collapsed on his ass beside her.

Shelby coughed, and tears streamed down her soot-smeared cheeks. “Oh my God,” she whispered. “Reece. Your house…”

He lay back in the snow and watched flames reach toward the sky, coloring the underbellies of the low-hanging clouds a dull yellow. Then, biting back a sob, he closed his eyes so he didn’t have to watch the only place he’d ever considered home burn.

Sometime later, Reece realized he was no longer lying in the snow but in the back of an ambulance, breathing into an oxygen mask.

How did he get here?

Must have passed out, because he didn’t even remember the firefighters and medics arriving. He yanked off the mask and sat up. Jude and the twins stood in a loose circle around the back end of the ambulance, their gazes all focused on the still-burning house. He saw his own anger and heartache reflected in each of their expressions, and a lump of sorrow clogged his throat.

He scanned for Shelby but didn’t see her, and that sorrow took on the sour note of dread. He stood and—he was dizzy as f*ck. His lungs and throat were raw.

Cam glanced over, noticed him swaying on his feet. “Hey, whoa.” He climbed into the ambulance and made Reece sit down again. “Take it easy, bro. You inhaled a lot of smoke. They’re just getting ready to transport you to the hospital.”

“No hospital.” Holy shit, was that his voice? It sounded like broken glass. He tried to clear his throat. “Shelby?”

“You’re going to the hospital,” Cam said. “And, yeah, she’s fine. She’s with Eva and Libby, and she’s talking to the police, but she doesn’t know what happened.”

“Someone set fire to the back porch. Pretty sure accelerant was used. It got big fast.” His gaze traveled past Cam to Vaughn and Jude. “Where’s Greer?”

“We don’t know,” Jude said. “None of us can get ahold of him.”

“This Houdini act of his has to stop,” Vaughn said. “He should be here.”

“We’re not arguing that,” Cam said. “And we plan to corner him as soon as he shows up again, but he’s not our top concern right now. Reece—”

“I’m fine.” Reece pushed to his feet and stumbled past Cam, out onto the sidewalk. When he saw what was left of the house—bricks blackened, roof completely caved in—his knees threatened to buckle.