It wasn’t just that.
He didn't want her to go. He wasn't ready to let her disappear. Not until he figured out what it was about her that had his gut tightening and his hands shaking with the urge to touch her.
Instant lust had never hit him like this before. Especially for a woman in hospital scrubs and a disheveled ponytail.
His phone shrilled again, just as a siren sounded overhead. A long siren that made it hard to hear. The emergency sirens were attached to the fire station on the north side of the city, and on the TSP building near the south side of the city.
They were designed to make certain no one missed what was coming. Turner bit back the curse at what it meant.
He’d never hated weather warnings before; mostly, he’d just taken necessary precautions and then ignored everything—often working away on his laptop until the warnings were over.
But that was before he’d become the public face of a city of fifty-seven thousand people. He might not freak from storms, but there were plenty of people he was responsible for that would.
It was his job to help them prepare and keep them calm until this threat had passed.
Severe weather was coming to his city. That meant he had to be ready for anything. But first...He wasn’t letting her go just yet. The weather was as good an excuse as any. “Come on. We need to get downstairs to the basement. We can talk down there. Come up with some sort of solution. The last thing I want to do is evict someone’s great-grandma.”
The sirens echoed around the room.
“What is it?” She almost had to shout for him to hear her.
“Tornado warning. We need to get downstairs.” There shouldn't be anyone else in the building this late in the day, except security.
He wrapped one hand around hers, and she let him. He wasn’t afraid of tornadoes and storms—he knew the statistics—but he wasn’t going to let her go out into one right now. He could at least do this little thing to keep her safe.
“I need to call my family. Make certain they’re safe.” Big blue eyes showed worry and fear. She darted a glance toward the window.
Turner’s gaze dropped to her left hand where he held it. No ring, at least. And no tan line where one had been. She wasn’t married. That was good. Very good.
She had her phone in her right hand. Hail slammed into the windows, echoing through the hall. She wouldn’t be able to hear on the phone now. Turner pulled her closer.
“Do that once we’re downstairs. That's hail on the roof. And it sounds big. Downstairs, hurry.”
They didn't speak as he led the way toward the storage room in the basement that had been used as a tornado shelter since the beginning of his tenure as mayor. It was on the opposite end of the city hall building from the security office.
Standard procedure would have the two security guards on duty checking each office, then hurrying down to their department as soon as possible. Essentially, he and Annie would be alone in the basement until the all-clear was given. However long that would be.
Turner was a master strategist. Being in a dark basement with a woman he found extremely attractive could never be a bad thing, in his opinion.
He’d use that time as wisely as he possibly could. Even if just by trying to save her neighborhood.
Something slammed into the side of the old brick building.
The walls rattled clear down to their studs. Wind roared overhead. Glass shattered in the hall window. It sounded like a train, full-steam, was shrieking just overhead.
Ok, now he was starting to get serious. His phone rang in his hand, but he didn’t bother even trying to answer it.
He yanked on her arm, moving her more quickly when she hesitated. “Go! Downstairs!”
He had to shout over the sounds of the wind.
They had maybe fifty feet left to go when the remaining windows shattered in the hall around them.
He ran faster. The roaring got louder.
The power went out. Annie screamed. Talking was impossible. A long crack of thunder followed by a wailing unlike any he’d ever heard before echoed around them. It sounded like a damned banshee. None of that train business, it sounded like a soul-stealing banshee out there now.
Turner cursed and practically lifted Annie into his arms.
He'd lived in Texas long enough to know what it meant. This wasn’t exactly his first tornado rodeo.
They were about to be hit. Hard.
Turner had been in the center of a tornado before. When he’d been twelve, and his cousins Houghton and Clay had both been a few years or so older. They’d been outside on the ranch when it had rolled up on them. Houghton had rushed them into a nearby barn. The barn had lost part of its roof with them in there. Clay had covered Turner’s head with his own arms at the last minute.
Clay had ended up with a broken arm, Turner a concussion. Houghton had had thirteen roofing nails embedded in his back.
Not something he really wanted to repeat.
They were almost at the basement door.
He yanked Annie even closer.
Turner lurched toward the basement door, one arm over her head protectively.
If they fell, they fell. But at least they'd be below ground.
Her arms tightened around him somehow. Turner wasn't about to let her go. A force slammed into him. Turner thought he’d never breathe again.
He hit the floor just outside the stairwell. The building shook apart around them.
And then the world imploded around them.
He only had one thought.
They hadn’t made it in time—and it was all his fault.
3
Elliot Marshall, Chief of the Texas State Police—Finley Creek branch, hurried through the lobby of the post. He had one hundred seven people on the clock right now. He was ultimately responsible for the safety of all of them.
The tornado siren sounded in the distance, activated by the nearby fire station on the corner of Main and Boethe Streets. They’d had no real warning.
None.
They were forty minutes south of Wichita Falls, and almost twenty north of little Value, Texas. Neither of those cities had given notice of the storm. The weather stations certainly hadn’t.
“Inside!” Elliot yelled to a crime scene tech and the detective who’d no doubt been at the same scene. Madi McAlister had a terrified look on her pretty face. One Elliot suspected was on his own. “To the hallway!”
Dom Alcardi, the detective, grabbed Madi by the arm and dragged her to the center of the building. Elliot was steps behind them when the front glass doors slid open and a woman who had to be one hundred if she was a day hobbled inside. “Help me!”
Elliot looked at Alcardi. He had the evidence tech—a petite young woman who looked like she’d blow away in a storm if left to her own devices—practically vised in his arms. “Go! Get her inside!”
He turned. Toward the elderly woman.
Elliot had just reached her when the building blew apart around them. He wrapped himself around the old woman as the wind knocked them to the floor.
And he prayed.
4
For the longest time, Annie, thought Turner Barratt was dead. His weight was pushing her into the debris beneath her—and he wasn’t moving. They were pressed almost chest to chest—and she couldn’t tell if the man was breathing.
She worked her left hand free from where it was trapped, ignoring the way her arm screamed in protest. Her arm wasn't broken, but she'd done some tissue damage. Maybe. A hairline fracture wasn’t out of the realm of possibility. She worked her fingers under the mayor's chin and felt for a pulse.
She held her breath until she felt it.
It was there. Steady and strong.
Thank God. He was alive.
He shifted at her touch. The flames of three hells shot straight through Annie's right shoulder. She screamed. “Stay still! Don't move, please! Stop moving!”
Turner stilled. “Annie? Are you ok, honey? Tell me where it hurts
.”
“No. I’m not ok.” She gasped it out, feeling with her left hand. Something was sticking out of her right shoulder. And it was sharp. Thin. About half an inch in diameter. “I'm pinned to the floor, I think. I’m stuck. Impaled. I think it went…all the way through.”
And she wasn’t getting loose. It…held her in place. If she moved, she would do far more damage.
But there was debris pinning her from above.
She fought the panic as best she could. She could bleed to death, if they didn't end up crushed. She’d seen impalement injuries many times before. She’d seen people get up and walk away from them before, too. If the proper first aid was received at the time. She could survive this—she just had to get through. She closed her eyes for a moment, thinking of each of her children’s faces. One by one. Until she felt strong enough to do what she had to. She would get back to them somehow. Even if she was mostly in pieces. She would get back to them. “I...we need some kind of light so I can see. I'm a trauma nurse. I know what to do, but I need to see.”
He shifted carefully. She felt every millimeter he moved. “I have my phone.”
Light nearly blinded her. Annie forced herself to stay as still as possible. His curse had her closing her eyes to fight the tears. She hadn’t missed the panic in his tone. It was a sound she was so intimately familiar with. She dealt with panic every night in the ER. “How bad?”
“Honey, I think you're right. You're pinned. And I don’t know how to fix this. You need to tell me exactly what to do so I can help you until someone comes to get us out of here, ok? We’re ok. I’m not going anywhere. We’ll fix this.”
Annie had difficulty focusing on the man's words. Pain. Shock. Her whole body was outside of her control. She pulled in as deep a breath as she possibly could and tried to focus. She knew what to do for impalement injuries. She just had to focus, to think. To get through. She could do this. “Listen...can't move it at all. I could bleed to death. Right now, the object is acting as a barrier to slow bleeding.”
“Can I move off you? Would that help?”
“I don't know. Can't jar this side. Don't jar it, please.” She didn't know if she said the words aloud, but she thought them. Fought the pain as long as she could. “Please...FCGH. My friends will...I need Iz…Nik…Please…”
The debris above them shifted, tightened around her. The pain in her shoulder intensified.
Annie let the pain take her. It was all she could do.
5
Turner had to think. Had to find a way out of this.
Drywall was on his back. There was a 2x6 or something pressing against his arm. Boards pinned his legs beneath something, but nothing was broken. He wiggled his toes just to check.
Everything worked as it should. He was just pinned.
He was on top. She’d landed on insulation and broken building materials.
They were sandwiched in. The first floor had held, but the walls had caved in around them. When he’d wrapped his arms around her to protect her, he’d sheltered her from the walls themselves.
They’d gotten damned lucky not to be buried by the old bricks from the exterior.
Turner could see the outside if he turned his head to the far left.
Rain trickled in from somewhere.
They were in the center of the building, at least. As far away from the exterior walls as they could possibly get.
He had no idea where the basement was now. How far they’d been pushed by the storm.
Or where the security personnel were. Turner yelled, as loudly as he could.
Annie flinched beneath him. He shined his cell at her face again.
Those gorgeous blue eyes were still closed.
He wasn't about to move even an inch. If he did, he risked jarring her. The metal rebar impaling her shoulder was about as thick as his pinkie finger and at least two feet long. Even the slightest bump could shift it. He didn't know what kind of damage that could do, but he wasn't ready to find out.
An inch to the left, and it would have impaled him, too. And then he wouldn’t have been able to help her at all.
He checked his phone again, hoping, praying, there would be signal. He had two bars, whereas he usually had the full five. Some of the towers must have been hit.
He kept trying. It was his only hope to get her help.
A busy signal.
There was no way in hell 911 should be giving a busy signal right now. They'd upgraded the city's system six months ago to prevent that very thing from happening.
The only way this could be happening was if it had been...bad. Really bad. And not just for him and Annie.
How many people had been hurt out there? In a town of fifty-seven thousand, it could be…thousands.
He tried again. And again. Nothing.
He kept dialing every number he could think of, just hoping to get through to someone, for at least half an hour. No one.
Turner bit back the panic.
He was going to have to find a way out. If he could get out, he could get help for Annie. Somehow.
Yelling for help hadn’t done a damned bit of good, either. The security guards were probably trapped themselves. Or dead.
He shone the light on Annie’s face again, just needing to see her again. See how she was.
Annie was still out. He did his best to pull his shirt off without jarring her. He was lying to her left side, his legs tangled with hers. He had just barely enough room, but he managed it. Turner had carried his great-grandfather's pocketknife since he was twelve. He used it to cut his shirt into strips. He balled several up. As gently and carefully as he could, he lodged them around the metal to keep it in place.
It was all he could think to do. If no one was going to get them out, he would have to find a way to do it himself.
He was a Barratt. They didn’t just exactly sit back and wait for life to come to them.
Or rescue, for that matter.
And he wasn’t about to leave this woman behind. He was getting her out. No matter what he had to do.
He grabbed his phone again. Dialed.
Nothing but a buzz. He disconnected and tried someone else. All of his top contacts were busy. Nothing. Signal had to have been lost completely throughout the city. Just how bad his city had been hit was sinking in.
They could be facing thousands of lost lives. He had to get out there. Help his city.
Help Annie.
Resolve hit him, smothering out the panic that was on the edge of his consciousness. He would not break down now.
Turner had too much to do.
He cursed, kept trying. Kept saying whatever he could to her, even though she couldn’t hear him. Making promises he was going to keep.
Until the buzz ended and a ringtone sounded. Nothing had ever sounded as good to him as that ringtone.
The five rings until someone answered took the longest moment of his life.
Turner yelled, the instant someone answered. “Get help!”
“Turner?” Houghton asked. “Where the hell are you?”
“Get someone to city hall. Hurry. I'm trapped. Near the rear stairwell. There's a woman with me. Right next to me. She's been impaled. I can't move her. We can't get out. We’re sandwiched between debris, still on the first floor. My legs are trapped, and she’s been impaled. Just get help! She's bleeding! Hurry!”
His cousin swore, but Turner knew the other man would move a mountain if he had to in order to help someone in need. “I'm getting people there now, Turner. But the whole town has been hit. I'll dig you out myself if I have to. I’m at the hotel now, with my security team. I’m not that far away, I promise. Help is coming. I swear. We’re coming for you.”
“I’m ok, Houghton. It’s her that’s not. It’s her. You have to get her out.”
Turner kept praying over the next ninety minutes. His father had been a minister Turner’s entire life. He knew how to pray. And he knew miracles existed.
He hoped there was one in the queue f
or Annie.
He prayed the shaft kept the bleeding to a minimum. Prayed that help could get to them quickly. Prayed that it wouldn't be too late for her.
She was in and out, almost incoherent. All he could do was tell her help was coming. Then he heard something that gave him hope.
Voices.
Near.
He yelled as loudly as he could. The woman next to him jerked at the sound. He grabbed her, using his strength to hold her still, to keep her from hurting herself. “Shhh, honey. Just hold still, Annie Belle. You must stay still right now. Help is coming. I promise. I promise.”
He kept reassuring her until hands pulled him from the rubble so they could get to her.
6
It took them over two hours to pull Turner and the woman he held out. He spent most of the time doing what he could and praying. Finally, someone moved the last piece of rubble off Turner's legs. He moved his feet as gently as he could, ignoring the pain.
He could feel his damned toes. He'd survive.
Annie had been in and out the entire time she'd lain underneath him. He would never forget those blue eyes or how they had looked in the dimming light of his cellphone. She hadn't panicked. Not even once.
She had looked at him each time, asking him if she was still ok. He didn't know. He was a corporate attorney and accidental politician, not a doctor.
There wasn't a doctor among the Barratts anywhere. It just wasn't something Barratts did. They ruled cities and states and businesses and ranches and villages and mega-companies. His father had been the black sheep, not going into business of some sort.
They didn't become doctors. There hadn't been a doctor in his family since the end of the Civil War.
If Turner ever had a kid of his own, he was going to strongly encourage that child toward med school after today.
An older man he recognized as Mel’s father was the first to get to Annie.
Walk Through the Fire (Finley Creek Book 10) Page 3
