"TR! Fuck." Mac's voice, hoarse and rougher than usual. A cough, a low swear, then big hands were grabbing her, rolling her away from the building. She didn't care, not when it was Mac. He was here, alive, holding her—
"Dammit, TR! What the fuck are you doing? I told you to run!"
She opened her mouth but the only sound that came out was a small squeak. It didn't matter because Mac simply pushed to his feet, pulling her with him. He swore again, bent down and scooped the gun up from the spot where she dropped it, then closed one large hand around hers and started running.
Not toward the front of the building as she'd expected, but away from it, toward the woods.
She tried to tug on his hand, to make him stop so she could ask him where they were going. His truck was around front. The fire department was there, too, or at least they would be soon. It would be safer around front, they would be able to leave—
But TR said none of that—he didn't give her the chance and she wasn't sure she'd be able to speak even if he did. Her throat was dry and raw and her eyes burned, a stinging pain that refused to ease no matter how many times she blinked. Even her nose hurt, burning and stuffy like she'd had a head cold for a month and couldn't breathe.
And oh God, where were they going? How far was he taking her and did he plan on running the entire way? They couldn't go far—she knew that logically. Calling the patch of trees behind her apartment woods was a linguistic stretch. It wasn't a forest, merely a wooded buffer that separated her apartment complex from a small shopping center in one direction, and part of the reservoir in another.
Was that where they were going? The shopping center? But why?
TR turned her head, tried to get her bearings but it was useless—she had no idea which way they were going. She wasn't sure she'd be able to tell even if she had paid attention when they first started out.
And how long did Mac plan on running? It wasn't a fast pace, probably not even what could be considered a jog. Maybe only a little faster than a brisk walk. But her lungs ached and her feet and legs were already beginning to tire, even though they'd only gone maybe thirty yards, surely at least that far. And she couldn't breathe through her runny nose, could barely fill her burning lungs with air. The strangling sensation, the feeling that she was drowning, slammed into her out of nowhere. She needed to breathe, now. Needed to suck air into her tight chest. Now, before she suffocated—
She yanked her hand free of Mac's and stumbled to a stop, bent over at the waist and sucked in huge gulps of air. At least, she tried to. But her lungs weren't working, they wouldn't pull in the air she so desperately needed to survive. She was drowning again, only this time above water, and there was nothing she could do to stop it. She was going to suffocate, right here, with plenty of air around her and no way to breathe it in and—
"I've got you. It's okay. Look at me, babe. Right here." Hands, so large yet oddly gentle, closed over her shoulders. A face appeared in her line of vision. Rugged and chiseled, scarred yet beautiful. Dark eyes the color of melted chocolate met hers, intense and mesmerizing despite the red rimming them. "That's it. Focus on me, babe. Now breathe. In and out. There you go. Nice and easy. I've got you."
TR clutched his arms, steadied by the steely biceps flexing under her palms. Steadied by the enthralling eyes that held her in place, by the gravelly voice that soothed her sharp panic.
Air filled her lungs, clean and sharp, cold and biting and delicious. She didn't know air could taste delicious but it did and she sucked even more of it into her heaving lungs. Deep breaths that made her want to cough but she didn't care, as long as she could keep drawing that delicious air into her lungs.
Her panic waned and awareness of her surroundings slowly came into focus. The tangled brush under her feet. The bare-limbed trees stretching overhead. The slices of blue sky above them and the chill of the air cutting through the jacket she wore.
Mac's face, so rugged and focused and alive. Steaked with black, oily soot smeared around his eyes and nose and mouth. Under the soot, his face was bright red, as if he'd spent too much time under the burning sun without sunscreen.
She noticed a spot on his ear and frowned, leaned in closer and felt her skin prickle with a new kind of chill. She glanced down, saw the same spots on the back of his hands and near his wrists that she noticed on his ear. Blisters. Small. Soft and shiny, the skin stretched thin over them.
Anger slammed into her from nowhere. Mac had been burned. His skin had been blistered from the heat of the fire.
Because he'd pushed her out first.
He had risked his life for her.
Again.
She pushed away from him, curled one hand and pulled back, clipping him on the shoulder. The punch was ineffectual, so weak he probably didn't even feel it. But he straightened and took a step back, his brows slashing low over his dark eyes.
"What the hell was that for?"
"You pushed me out the window!" Her voice was low and hoarse, barely more than a croak, which only angered her more.
"What did you expect me to do? Walk you out the front door? Honey, I may be good but even I can't walk through fire."
"Don't you dare laugh at me!" She swung again but he simply moved back half a step, his mouth quivering like he was holding back a smile.
"I'm not—"
"Don't say you aren't when you are! You pushed me out the window!"
"TR, what the hell did you expect me to do?"
"You should have gone first. What if something had happened? You could have died!"
The almost-smile died on his face, replaced by a look so serious, so intense, that TR's breath caught in her lungs. He stepped toward her, wrapped one large hand behind her neck, and pulled her close. The heat of his breath caressed her cheek, her ear; her skin pebbled at the blaze of fire that erupted in his gaze.
"I will always put you first, TR. Always. If that pisses you off, tough shit. Get over it." He lowered his voice as some emotion flashed in his eyes, there and gone before she could decipher it. "Is that clear?"
She wanted to argue but there was something that stopped her. Maybe it was the intensity of his gaze, or maybe it was something as simple as a survival instinct she didn't realize she had. It didn't matter because she kept her mouth shut.
At least about that.
She yanked her gaze from his, breathed in a gulp of air, then focused at a spot over his shoulder. "You told me to shoot anyone who came close."
"Yeah. And?"
"You told me before, when we were at the range, that I'd be better off throwing my gun at someone."
"Yeah. Your gun. You wouldn't be able to miss with mine. Not that it would have done any good because you dropped it." Mac finally straightened, took a few seconds to look around, then pulled his phone from an inside pocket of his coat.
"I dropped it because—" She stopped herself at the last second, already knowing opening her mouth and saying anything had been a mistake. Mac looked up from the phone, studied her with those dark eyes, but said nothing.
Neither did she. TR had the feeling she didn't need to, that Mac somehow already knew what she'd been about to say.
Because I was going back for you.
The unspoken words hung in the air between them, the silence stretching out until she looked away and wrapped her arms around her waist. Mac moved closer, draped one big arm around her shoulders and pulled her against him. She rested her head against his chest, heard the steady beat of his heart beneath her ear. She wrapped her arms around his waist and held onto him tighter than she probably should, reassured by that sound. He was alive, they both were.
TR didn't want to think about the alternative. Couldn't imagine never hearing that reassuring beat again. She closed her eyes and tightened her hold on him, almost afraid to let him go. If she did, something might happen to him.
And she didn't think she could live with herself if it did.
His own arm tightened around her, a quick hug meant to reassure her
. TR couldn't be sure but she thought he pressed a kiss against the top of her head. Then he spoke into the phone, his gruff voice low and steady and filled with silent command.
"We need a ride. Come get us."
Chapter Fourteen
The men gathered around the table in the conference room were silent, focused on the news report flashing across the screen of the giant television hanging on the far wall. A reporter stood in front of the camera, a serious expression on her face as she reported on the fire burning behind her. The camera moved away from the woman and slowly panned across the building. Smoke drifted skyward from the blackened shell of the apartment where TR lived. Soot marked every opening, black stains marring the surface of the pale brick in large splotches above each window. Firefighters in dirty gear moved hose lines around, adjusting the spray of water to the roof and surrounding buildings.
The camera zoomed in closer, focusing on several people resting on stretchers, their faces obscured by oxygen masks as the reporter continued talking.
"Several injuries have been reported but thankfully, they seem to be minor in nature. Not all of the residents have been accounted for but officials are still hopeful that's because of the holiday today."
An unseen voice, steady and reserved, spoke from somewhere off screen. "Mandy, has there been any speculation as to the cause of this devastating fire?"
Mandy—the reporter—pressed a finger to her ear and tilted her head ever-so-slightly to the side. She shook her head, cast a serious look over her shoulder, then turned back to the camera. "No, Jim, not yet. There were reports from several of the residents of an explosion coming from the ground floor just before the fire broke out. The officials I spoke with haven't ruled anything out but they will be looking into the possibility of some kind of equipment malfunction. For safety reasons, they won't begin their full investigation until the fire has been completely extinguished."
"Thanks, Mandy. We can all be thankful that everyone seems to have made it out okay and that this seems to be nothing more than a terrible accident." The footage from the fire scene was quickly replaced by an image of the news anchor sitting behind a desk at the studio. "In other news today—"
Daryl stabbed the remote, turning off the television. He ran a hand over his face then tossed the remote on the table with a loud grunt. "Accident my ass."
It was nothing less than what every single one of them had been thinking—except maybe TR. Her head shot up, a frown marring her face as she studied Daryl. It was the first reaction Mac had seen from her since Daryl had picked them up forty minutes ago.
She'd been quiet, withdrawn. Saying nothing as Mac led her inside the building and ushered her into his small office. Wolf had quickly checked her out, assuring Mac that she was fine, that she didn't need to go to the hospital. Then he'd shown her to the bathroom, told her she could clean up some if she wanted.
Except she had simply stood there, her face expressionless. Mac had been the one to wash her face and hands, to remove her dirty sweater and replace it with one of the clean t-shirts he always kept in his office. That had been fifteen minutes ago, right before Daryl had called them into the conference room to watch the news footage of the fire.
TR had taken a seat in one of the chairs near the wall, her blank gaze focused on the large television as the fire played out on the screen. There'd been no expression on her face, no emotion in her eyes, just that vacant stare as she sat there and watched.
She was in shock. Mac didn't need medical training to know that much but damn if he knew what the hell to do about it. Wolf was the trained medic and Wolf had said she was fine. Could the man have missed something?
No. Wolf was damn good at what he did—if something had been wrong with TR, he would have said so. And fuck, it wasn't like being in shock wasn't normal, not after everything else that had happened. Mac had seen the same thing in the field, had witnessed civilians and soldiers alike retreat into their mind after experiencing a traumatic event. It was the mind's way of coping, of sorting things out or even tuning them out until it was ready to process what had happened.
Had TR's mind had enough time to process everything yet? Mac doubted it. Not enough time had gone by. But her face no longer held that expression of absolute blankness. In its place was an expression of disbelief. Of surprise.
Of denial.
"It was an accident." Her quiet voice was the only sound in the room but she spoke so softly, Mac still had trouble hearing her. He started toward her but Daryl stopped him with a quick shake of his head. TR didn't seem to notice. She pointed at the black screen of the television, her gaze never leaving Daryl's stony face. "They said it was an accident."
"And you believe them." It was a statement, not a question. Daryl's own voice was deceptively soft. Gentle. Mac heard the edge beneath the words, knew what was coming and started forward again only to be stopped by Wolf's hand on his arm.
"Yes. They...that's what they said. It was an accident."
"So that makes it true."
A visible shudder shook TR's body. She wrapped her arms around her middle, lowered her gaze for a brief second as she chewed on her lower lip. She looked back up and Mac saw the slight quiver of her chin. "They wouldn't lie. They have no reason to lie."
Daryl shifted in the chair, leaned forward and braced his elbows on his knees. "TR, it wasn't an accident."
"But it was. It was an accident. It had to be—"
"I think you know it wasn't."
"No. It was an accident." TR shook her head, denying Daryl's words, denying whatever she must have seen in his eyes. She finally looked away from Daryl, her frantic gaze skimming the room before landing on him. He saw disbelief in her eyes, saw the pain of realization as she slowly accepted the truth she was trying so hard to ignore. "Tell him, Mac. You were there. It was an accident. Something malfunctioned, like they said..."
Her voice trailed off, the words obliterated by a small choking sound. Mac saw guilt dance in the pale depths of her eyes a second before she looked away. She squeezed her eyes closed and tightened her arms around her waist.
Mac brushed Wolf's hand from his arm and crossed the room, dropped to his knees in front of TR's chair and carefully ran his hands along her arms. Her skin was cold, her flesh pebbled. "TR, this wasn't your fault."
She shook her head, her eyes still closed, refusing to look at him. "But it is. I'm the reason those people were hurt. Someone could have died." Her eyes fluttered open, her gaze raking his face as she released a shaky breath. "You almost died. Because of me."
What the fuck? What the hell made her think that?
Mac leaned closer, tipped her chin up when she tried to look away. "Babe, I'm fine. See? I'm right here, without so much as even a scratch."
"Yeah. Lord knows, it'll take a hell of a lot more than a simple fire to get rid of Mac's ugly ass." Chaos said the words with a laugh, meaning them as nothing more than a joke. Mac started to turn, ready to tell him that now wasn't the time. Was the man that totally fucking clueless that he couldn't see that? But TR moved before he could open his mouth, launching herself out of the chair with enough force that he stumbled back before catching his balance and jumping to his feet.
"Don't you dare say that! This isn't a joke. None of this funny—"
Mac caught TR around the waist and pulled her against him before she did something completely foolish, like launch herself at Chaos and try to gouge his eyes out. And as much as he'd love to see that—he had no doubt TR would try her best before being stopped—now wasn't the time.
He dipped his head, lowered his mouth to her ear and spoke in a soft tone. "TR, easy. He didn't mean anything by it."
She stiffened against him and for a split second, he didn't think she had heard him. Then she slowly relaxed, sagging against his chest as the brief spark of fight left her as quickly as it came.
"Your woman's a bit of a tiger, isn't she?"
"Chaos, I swear—"
"Has she had her rabies shot yet?"
"You stupid son-of-a—"
"Enough! Both of you." Daryl stepped between them, a stern scowl on his face. "Now is not the time. We need to figure out what the hell is going on and who's behind it. Fighting isn't going to help with that."
Chaos stepped back, both hands held up in surrender. "I tried doing my part. If you had succeeded in doing your part by getting those files—"
"I was a little fucking busy trying not to become a roasted marshmallow."
"I get that. All I'm saying is that having those files might make things a little easier."
Daryl split a glance between the two of them, finally turning those amber eyes on Mac. "What files? The ones she mentioned last night?"
Mac looked down at TR, waiting for her to answer the question, to explain. But she had gone quiet again, her own gaze focused inward. He gentled his hold on her but kept her close, not bothering to question the need for that physical contact, that need to feel her next to him.
"Yeah. Chaos tried accessing TR's email but it had been wiped clean. She saved a copy with the rest of her files. That's why we were at her place—to get them." But they'd been too late. TR's place had been ransacked and destroyed. The files were probably long gone—along with any evidence that might have been left behind by whoever had been there before them.
"Still would have been nice. Not that I can't still work my magic but having the files—"
"I have them." TR pulled away, looked over her shoulder at him with her pale blue eyes. Still tired, still rimmed in red from the smoke, but not quite as vacant as they had been moments earlier. "The files. I grabbed them before...before the fire."
Worry coursed through him. Was TR hallucinating? Had she hit her head or inhaled too much smoke? He'd been with her the entire time, she hadn't grabbed anything. He would have remembered, would have seen her.
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