Night Smoke, Page 7

  rooms. We’ve also set up a separate area for brides. Specialized wedding-dress undergarments, honeymoon lingerie. Once we’re fully operational—”

  She broke off when he grabbed her arm. “Quiet.”

  “What—?”

  “Quiet,” he said again. He didn’t hear it. Not yet. But he could smell it. Just the faintest sting in the air. “Do you have extinguishers in here?”

  “Of course. In the storeroom, up in the office.” She tugged at his hand. “What is this? Are you going to try to cite me for fire-code violations?”

  “Get outside.”

  With her gaping after him, he darted toward the back of the store.

  She was organized, he had to admit. He found the fire extinguisher, up to code, in full view in the crowded storeroom.

  “What are you doing with that?” she demanded when he came back.

  “I said get outside. You’ve got a fire.”

  “A—” He was halfway up the steps before she unfroze and raced after him. “That’s impossible. How do you know? There’s nothing—”

  “Gas,” he snapped out. “Smoke.”

  She started to tell him he was imagining things. But she smelled it now. “Ry …”

  He cursed and kicked aside a streamer of papers and matches. It hadn’t caught yet, but he saw where they were leading. The glossy white door was closed, and smoke was creeping sulkily under it.

  He felt the door, and the heat pushing against it. His head whipped toward hers, the eyes cold. “Get out,” he said again. “Call it in.”

  A scream strangled in her throat as he kicked the door open. Fire leapt out. Ry walked into it.

  Chapter 5

  It was like a dream. A nightmare. Standing there, frozen, while flame licked at the door frame and Ry stepped in to meet it. In the instant he disappeared into smoke and fire, her heart seemed to stop, its beat simply ceasing. Then the panic that had halted it whipped it to racing. Her head buzzed with the echo of a hundred pulses as she dashed to the door after him.

  She could see him, smothering the fire that sprinted across the floor and ate merrily at the base of the walls. Smoke billowed around him, seared her eyes, burned her lungs. Like some warrior, he challenged it, fought it down. In horror, she saw it strike back and lick slyly at his arm.

  Now she did scream, leaping in to pound at the smoke that puffed from his back. He whirled to face her, furious to find her there.

  “You’re on fire.” She barely choked the words out. “For God’s sake, Ry! Let it go.”

  “Stay back.”

  With an arching movement, he smothered the flames that had begun to lap at the central desk. The paperwork left on its top, he knew, would feed the fire. Focused, he turned to attack the smoldering baseboard, the intricately carved trim that was flaming.

  “Take this.” He shoved the extinguisher into her hands. The main fire was out, and the smaller ones were all but smothered. He nearly had it. From the terror in her eyes, he could see that she didn’t realize the beast was nearly beaten. “Use it,” he ordered, and in one stride he had reached the flaming curtains and torn them down. There would be pain later—he knew that, as well. But now he fought the fire hand to hand.

  Once the smoldering, smoke-stained lace was nothing more than harmless rags, he snatched the extinguisher out of her numbed hands and killed what was left.

  “It didn’t have much of a start.” But his jacket was still smoking. He yanked it off, tossed it aside. “Wouldn’t have gotten this far this fast, if there weren’t so many flammables in here.” He set the nearly empty extinguisher aside. “It’s out.”

  Still he checked the room, kicking through the ruined drapes, searching for any cagey spark that waited to burn clean again.

  “It’s out,” he repeated, and shoved her toward the door. “Get downstairs.”

  She stumbled, almost falling to her knees. A violent fit of coughing nearly paralyzed her. Her stomach heaved, her head spun. Near fainting, she braced a hand against the wall and fought to breathe.

  “Damn it, Natalie.” In one sweep, he had her up in his arms. He carried her through the blinding smoke, down the elegant staircase. “I told you to get out. Don’t you ever listen?”

  She tried to speak, and only coughed weakly. It felt as though she were floating. Even when he laid her against the cool cushions of the love seat, her head continued to reel.

  He was cursing her. But his voice seemed far away, and harmless. If she could just get one breath, she thought, one full breath to soothe her burning throat.

  He watched her eyes roll back. Jerking her ruthlessly, he pushed her head between her knees.

  “Don’t you faint on me.” His voice was curt, his hand on the back of her head firm. “Stay here, breathe slow. You hear me?”

  She nodded weakly. He left her, and when cold, fresh air slapped her cheeks, she shivered. After propping the outside door open, Ry came back, rubbing his hands up and down her spine.

  She’d scared him, badly. So he did what came naturally to combat the fear—he yelled at her.

  “That was stupid and thoughtless! You’re lucky to get out of there with a sick stomach and some smoke inhalation. I told you to get out.”

  “You went in.” She winced as the words tormented her abused throat. “You went right in.”

  “I’m trained. You’re not.” He hauled her back into a sitting position to check her over.

  Her face was dead white under sooty smears, but her eyes were clear again. “Nausea?” he asked in clipped tones.

  “No.” She pressed the heels of her hands to her stinging eyes. “Not now.”

  “Dizzy?”

  “No.”

  Her voice was hoarse, strained. He imagined her throat felt as though it had been scored with a hot poker. “Is there any water around here? I’ll get you some.”

  “I’m all right.” She dropped her hands, let her head fall back against the cushion. Now that the sickness was passing, fear was creeping in. “It seemed so fast, so horribly fast. Are you sure it’s out?”

  “It’s my job to be sure.” Frowning, he caught her chin, his eyes narrowing as he studied her face. “I’m taking you to the hospital.”

  “I don’t need a damn hospital.” In a bad-tempered movement, she shoved at him. Then gasped when she saw his hands. “Ry, your hands!” She grabbed his wrists. “You’re burned!”

  He glanced down. There were a few welts, some reddening. “Nothing major.”

  Reaction set in with shudders. “You were on fire, I saw your jacket catch fire.”

  “It was an old jacket. Stop,” he ordered when tears swam in her eyes, overflowed. “Don’t.” If he hated one thing more than fire, it was a woman’s tears. He swore and crushed his mouth to hers, hoping that would stop the flood.

  Her arms came hard around him, surprising him with their strength and urgency. But her mouth trembled beneath his, moving him to gentle the kiss. To soothe.

  “Better?” he murmured, and stroked her hair.

  “I’m all right,” she said again, willing herself to believe it. “There should be a first-aid kit in the storeroom. You need to put something on your hands.”

  “It’s no big deal….” he began, but she shoved away from him and rose.

  “I have to do something. Damn it, I have to do something.”

  She dashed off. Baffled by her, Ry stood and moved to relock the door. He needed to go up again and ventilate the office, but he wanted her out of the way before he made a preliminary investigation. He tugged off his tie, loosened his collar.

  “There’s some salve in here.” Steadier now, Natalie came back in with a small first-aid kit.

  “Fine.” Deciding tending to him would do her some good, he sat back and let her play nurse. He had to admit the cool balm and her gentle fingers didn’t do him any harm, either.

  “You’re lucky it isn’t worse. It was insane, just walking into that room.”

  He cocked a brow. “You’re welcom
e.”

  She looked up at him then. His face was smeared from the smoke, his eyes were reddened from it. “I am grateful,” she said quietly. “Very grateful. But it was just things, Ry. Just things.” She looked away again, busying herself replacing the tube of salve. “I guess I owe you a new suit.”

  “I hate suits.” He shifted uncomfortably when he heard her quick, unsteady sob. “Don’t cry again. If you really want to thank me, don’t cry.”

  “All right.” She sniffed inelegantly and rubbed her hands over her face. “I was so scared.”

  “It’s over.” He gave her hand an awkward pat. “Will you be all right for a minute? I want to go up and open the window. The smoke needs a way to escape.”

  “I’ll come—”

  “No, you won’t. Sit here.” He rose again, put a firm hand on her shoulder. “Please stay here.”

  He turned and left her. Natalie used the time he was gone to compose herself. And to think. When he came back down, she was sitting with her hands folded in her lap.

  “It was the same as the warehouse, wasn’t it?” She lifted her gaze to his. “The way it was set. We can’t pretend it was a coincidence.”

  “Yes,” he said. “It was the same. And no, we can’t. We’ll talk about this later. I’ll drive you home.”

  “I’m—”

  The words slid back down her throat when he dragged her roughly to her feet. “If you tell me one more time that you’re all right, I’m going to punch you. You’re sick, you’re scared, and you sucked in smoke. Now this is the way we’re going to work this. I’m driving you home. We’ll report this on the phone in that snazzy car of yours. You’re going to go to bed, and tomorrow you’re going to see a doctor. Once you check out, we’ll go from there.”

  “Stop yelling at me.”

  “I wouldn’t have to yell if you’d listen.” He grabbed her coat. “Put this on.”

  “This is my property. I have a right to be here.”

  “Well, I’m taking you out.” He shoved her arm into the sleeve of her coat. “If you don’t like it, call your fancy lawyers and sue me.”

  “There’s no reason for you to take this attitude.”

  He started to swear, stopped himself. As a precaution, he took one slow breath. “Natalie, I’m tired.” His voice was quiet now, nearly reasonable. “I’ve got a job to do here, and I can’t do it if you’re in my way. So cooperate. Please.”

  He was right, she knew he was right. She turned away, picked up her purse. “Keep my car. I’ll arrange to have it picked up tomorrow.”

  “I appreciate it.”

  She gave him the car keys and the keys to the shop. “I’ll be here tomorrow, Ry.”

  “I figured you would.” He lifted a hand and rubbed his knuckles along her jawline. “Hey—try not to worry. I’m the best.”

  She nearly smiled. “So I’ve been told.”

  * * *

  It was nearly eight the following morning when the cab dropped Natalie off in front of Lady’s Choice. She noted, without surprise, that her car was out front, a fire-department sign visible through the windshield.

  Instead of bothering with the buzzer, she used the spare set of keys she’d picked up that morning at the office and let herself in.

  She couldn’t smell the smoke. That was a relief. She’d spent a great deal of time during the night worrying and calculating the possible losses if the stock already in place had been damaged by smoke.

  The first floor looked as pristine and elegant as it had the night before. If Ry gave her the go-ahead, she’d contact her manager and reestablish business as usual.

  She took off her coat and gloves and started upstairs.

  * * *

  For Ry, it had been a long and productive night. He’d stopped in at the station after he dropped Natalie off, to change and to pick up his tools. He’d worked alone through the night—the way he preferred it. He was just sealing an evidence jar when she walked in.

  “Good morning, Legs.” Crouched on the floor amid the rubble, he didn’t bother to look past them.

  She scanned the room, sighed. The carpet was a blackened mess. Charred pieces of wood trim had been pried from the sooty walls and lay scattered. The elegant Queen Anne desk was blackened and scored, and the Irish-lace drapes were a heap of useless rags.

  Despite the open window where the light wind shook in thin snow, the air stank with stale smoke.

  “Why does it always look worse the next day?”

  “It’s not so bad. A little paint, new trim.”

  She ran a fingertip over the wallpaper, the violet-and-rosebud pattern she’d chosen personally. Ruined now, she thought.

  “Easy for you to say.”

  “Yeah,” he agreed, labeling the evidence jar. “I guess it is.”

  He glanced up then. Today she’d scooped her hair up. The style appealed to him, the way it showed off the line of her neck and jaw. This morning’s suit was royal purple, military in style. It looked, he thought, as though the lady were ready for a fight.

  “How’d you sleep?”

  “Surprisingly well, all in all.” Except for one bone-chilling nightmare she didn’t want to mention. “You?”

  He hadn’t been to bed at all, and merely shrugged. “Have you called your adjuster?”

  “I will, as soon as his office opens.” Her voice cooled automatically. “Are you going to interview me again, Inspector?”

  Annoyance flared briefly in his eyes. “I don’t think that’s necessary, do you?” He began to replace his tools in their box. “I’ll have a report by tomorrow.”

  She closed her eyes a moment. “I’m sorry. I’m not angry with you, Ry. I’m just angry.”

  “Fair enough.”

  “Can you—?” She broke off, turning quickly at the sound of footsteps on the stairs. “Gage.” She forced a smile, held out her hands when he walked in.

  “I heard.” With one quick glance, he took in the damage. “I thought I’d come by and see if there was anything I could do.”

  “Thanks.” She kissed him lightly on the cheek before she turned back to Ry. He was still crouched—very much, she thought, intrigued, like an animal about to spring. “Gage Guthrie, Inspector Ryan Piasecki.”

  “I’ve heard you do good work.”

  After a moment, Ry straightened and accepted the hand Gage offered. “I’ve heard the same about you.” Feeling territorial, Ry measured the man as he spoke to Natalie. “Are you two pals?”

  “That’s right. And a bit more.” She watched, fascinated, as Ry’s eyes kindled. “If you can follow the connections, Gage is married to my brother’s wife’s sister.”

  The fire banked; Ry’s shoulders relaxed. “Extended family.”

  “In a manner of speaking.” Judging the situation quickly and accurately, Gage decided to do a little checking on the inspector himself. “Are you looking at the same fire starter here?”

  “We’re not ready to release that information.”

  “He’s got his official hat on,” Natalie said dryly. “Unofficially,” she continued, ignoring Ry’s scowl, “it looks the same. When we came in last night—”

  “You were here?” Gage interrupted her, gripping Natalie’s arm. “You?”

  “I had a few things I wanted to check on. Fortunately.” Blowing out a breath, she took another scan of the room. “It could have been a lot worse. I happened to have a veteran firefighter along.”

  Gage relaxed fractionally. “You’ve got no business going around the city alone, at night.”

  “Yeah.” Ry took out a cigarette. “You try to tell her.”

  Natalie merely lifted a brow. “Do you go around the city, Gage, alone? At night?”

  He tucked his tongue in his cheek. If she only knew. “It’s entirely different. And don’t give me a lecture on equality,” he went on, before she could speak. “I’m all for it. In the home, in the workplace. But on the street it comes down to basic common sense. A woman’s more of a target.”

&nbs
p; “Mmm, hmm …” Natalie smiled pleasantly. “And does Deborah buy that line from you?”

  Now his lips did curve. “No. She’s every bit as hard-headed as you.” Frustrated that he’d been on the other side of town when Nat needed him, Gage tucked his hands in his pockets. “If I can’t do anything else, I can offer you any of the facilities or staff of Guthrie International.”

  “I’ll take you up on that if it becomes necessary.” She sent him a quick, hopeful look. “I don’t suppose you could use your influence to keep your wife from calling my brother and Cilla and relating all of this?”

  He patted her cheek. “Not a chance. Maybe I should mention that she talked to Althea last week and filled her in on what happened at the warehouse.”

  Giving in to fatigue, Natalie rubbed her temples. Althea Grayson, her brother’s former partner on the force, was very pregnant. “I’m surrounded by cops,” she muttered. “There’s no reason to get Althea upset in her condition. She and Colt should be concentrating on each other.”

  “It’s a problem when you have so many people who care about you. Stay out of empty buildings,” Gage added, and kissed her. “Nice to meet you, Inspector.”

  “Yeah. See you.”

  “Give Deborah and Addy my love,” Natalie said as she walked Gage to the doorway. “And stop worrying about me.”

  “I’ll do the first, but not the second.”

  “Who’s Addy?” Ry asked before he heard the downstairs door close behind Gage.

  “Hmmm? Oh, their baby.” Distracted, she circled around a charred hole in the carpet to examine her antique filing cabinets. It was some consolation to see that they were undamaged. “I really need to clear this up, Ry. Too many people are losing sleep.”

  “You’ve got a lot of close ties.” He walked to the open window and put out his cigarette. “I can’t make this work any faster to please them. Just take your friend’s advice. Stay off the streets at night and out of empty buildings.”

  “I don’t want advice. I want answers. Someone broke in here last night and tried to burn me out. How and why?”

  “Okay, Ms. Fletcher, I can give you the how.” Ry leaned a hip against the partially burned desk. “On the night of February twenty-sixth, a fire was discovered by Inspector Piasecki, and Natalie Fletcher, owner of the building.”

  “Ry …”

  He held up a hand to stop her. “After entering the building, Piasecki and Fletcher started up to the second floor when Piasecki detected the odor of an accelerant, and smoke. Piasecki then ordered Fletcher to flee the building. An order, I might add, that she stupidly ignored. Finding an extinguisher in the storeroom, Piasecki proceeded to the fire, which had involved an office on the second floor. Streamers of paper, clothing and matchbooks were observed. The fire was extinguished without extensive damage.”

  “I’m very aware of that particular sequence of events.”

  “You wanted a report, you’re getting one. An examination of the debris led the investigator to believe that the fire had been started approximately two feet inside the door, with the use of gasoline as an accelerant. No forced entry into the building could be determined by the inspector, or the police department. Arson is indicated.”

  She took a careful breath. “You’re angry with me.”

  “Yeah, I’m angry with you. You’re pushing me, Natalie, and yourself. You want this all tidied up, because people are worried about you, and you’re concerned with selling your pantyhose on time. And you’re missing one small, very important