Page 42

CHAPTER FORTY-ONE

When I lever myself out of bed, a wave of hopelessness washes over me. Gunnar’s gone. Brock is gone. The place is quiet. I’m alone in the apartment, and reminders of the problem we’re facing are everywhere.

When I walk out onto the deck with my cup of coffee, I pray that the sunshine will give me a boost.

I’m not a blue person, but right now I feel like the world is a giant mess. My world at least. Jeez, maybe I’m getting my period. I never feel so melancholy.

But I guess a girl who’s in love with a man that her brother hates deserves to feel a little down in the dumps.

Lowering myself to the top step, I hold my mug between both hands. Purposefully, I take inventory of all the good things that are happening.

I’ve never felt this way about someone. And he’s incredible. Kind, loving, supportive. But he’s also reckless. Wild. Unpredictable.

Groaning, I close my eyes.

Then Gunnar. He’s a loose cannon. What am I going to do with him? What if he won’t live in the apartment that Brock owns?

As I worry at my fingernail, the idea comes to use the money I saved to rent Gunnar another place. Yes! That’s what I’ll do.

Now, I just have to find something that I can afford.

Feeling a little brighter, I take the steps down to the backyard of the building to explore. Across the way is a big garage or barn of some sort that’s painted the same color as Brock’s building.

A gray and white long-haired cat peers around the corner of the garage at me. When I get closer, I realize that a tiny gray kitten is playing in the grass next to her. It’s fluffy and adorable with a white patch on its nose. Suddenly, the kitten turns into a rolling ball of fur when another kitten tackles it. Batting and biting, they tumble around while Mom keeps a careful eye on me.

“It’s okay, Momma. I won’t bother your babies.”

But I can’t make myself leave. They’re too adorable to watch. Until I realize what time it is. Darn! I’m gonna be late to work.

I fly up the stairs, make a two minute run through the shower, then jump into my work pants and shirt. I’m dashing down the stairs when I’m hit by the acrid smell of smoke. Going on high alert, I stop, mid-step.

It’s a chemical smell. And wood. And …

My heart leaps in my throat. Smoke is seeping out of one of the windows on the side of the garage.

Oh no! The kittens live there.

The fire’s not big yet, based on the amount of smoke I’m seeing. If I can get to it, I can save Brock’s building and the kittens too.

Dashing up the steps, I grab the full size extinguisher by the door. I’m calling 911 as I fly down the steps lugging the giant canister.

Winded, I give the address and details. The operator wants to keep me on the line, but I shove my phone in my pocket. Using the extinguisher as a ram, I try to bust open the latch.

It takes four hits, me swinging the heavy canister with all my might. The lock caves, the wood splinters and the door edges open. Using my shoulder, I shove it open far enough that I can fit inside.

It’s stupid. I shouldn’t go in alone. Any firefighter knows this. But ask any firefighter to stand aside while a building burns and you’ll also find they probably can’t do it.

It’s dim inside the garage. Blinking, I try to coax my eyes to adjust. After a few seconds, I see some woodworking equipment along one side. On the other side is a tractor. Some crates are along the back wall. I wish I had a flashlight.

In the distance, wood creaks and pops as fire heats it. A red, flickering light is coming from a smaller room inside the garage on the far left corner.

Careful of my footing, I move farther into the space. “Kitty, kitty! Come out. We need to get you and your babies out of here.”

My sixth sense is telling me to get the hell out. I take another step forward. That’s when I see the cat and her kittens dart out of their hiding spot and make a beeline for the exit.

Relief floods my body. But I need to put the fire out.

I’m carefully moving toward the back room when a big shadow moves along the wall.

A dark laugh chills my blood. “I knew you’d come.”

When I turn, there’s a guy by the entrance. I want to scream, but I can’t. Smoke hits my lungs when I inhale sharply. Coughing racks my chest.

But inside, I’m turned to stone by the horror in front of me.

I don’t know what’s more terrifying. The pure hate on his face, or the gas can in his hand.