by Kathryn Shay
“Then I want something, too.”
“What?”
“It’s about our daughter. Francesca’s having a tough time. I’m not sure what’s going on, but the situation has to do with Alex.”
“I don’t want to discuss them. We’ll fight.”
She gripped his shirt. “Ben, don’t you see? Your attitude toward them says a lot about us. If you’re against them, do you really think we’ll make it this time?” He drew away from her, but she yanked him back. “No, I won’t let you shut yourself off from me.”
His shoulders sagged. “Don’t spoil this, please. Things have been so good between us.”
“Just promise me you won’t undermine Alex and Francesca’s relationship. And you’ll think about my point.”
Torn, he stared at the only woman who ever meant anything to him. Could he trust her again? Did he dare risk it? “Fine, I won’t interfere. And I’ll think about us.”
She snuggled into him, and they sat under the blanket in silence like high school sweethearts.
As darkness closed around them, Ben admitted he was scared to death.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
Richard poked his head into Alex’s office at noon on Thursday of the following week. His face was as white as his pristine shirt. “God, Alex, have you heard?”
Alex’s first thought was that Richard had gotten news on his part in the warehouse fire. A week ago, when they’d gone to their lawyer, steps for Richard to confess to the authorities had been set in motion. The lawyer believed Richard would get off with probation and community service. They were waiting for a hearing date. “Heard what?”
“University Avenue and Main Street are cordoned off. Davidson went out to the bank and couldn’t get through.”
“What happened?”
Quickly Richard strode to Alex’s big-screen TV. After switching it on, he said, “It’s all over the news. A ChemLabs storage facility caught fire.”
Alex’s heart thumped wildly in his chest. “That building’s only a few blocks from Quint/Midi Twelve.”
As he found channel thirteen, Richard shook his head. “I was afraid of that.”
Slowly Alex rose from his chair and rounded his desk. Perching on the edge, he folded his arms and watched the TV. Stay calm, he told himself.
An anchorwoman and her male partner appeared on the screen. “Chemical fires can be complicated,” she was saying.
The other reporter nodded to her gravely, then faced the camera. “If you’ve just tuned in, this is Channel Thirteen News with coverage of the explosion at a storage facility of ChemLabs Incorporated on Main and University. All on-duty fire and police personnel are at the site.”
“Is she working today?” Richard asked.
“Yes.”
“We now switch you to live coverage at the scene.”
An on-site reporter appeared on screen. His cheeks were red and his eyes blazed with excitement. “John Evans here at University Avenue, where firefighters are battling one of the worst blazes to hit Rockford in years.”
Alex’s eyes focused behind the reporter. He could see the red of a fire engine. In the background, screeching sirens and voices barking orders echoed.
“One danger is the possibility of another explosion and keeping the fire contained so it doesn’t spread to neighboring buildings,” the reporter continued. “All firefighters are working on containment now.”
The camera shifted to an aerial ladder, impossibly angled, towering in the air. A thick stream of water gushed from the stick, as Francesca had called the pipeline. The two firefighters in the bucket at the top of the ladder were dangerously close to the building. The building that could explode at any time.
Was Francesca in that bucket?
Alex’s hands began to tremble, so he dug them into his armpits. But he couldn’t control his hammering heart.
The camera zoomed to the reporter. “Over on the next block, residents are being evacuated because of chemical vapors drifting downward. School is in session, so most of the homes are empty. Unfortunately a senior citizens complex, Dutch Towers, is in dangerous proximity. Mike Deerfield is on-site there.”
Dutch Towers came into view. Alex watched as a frail woman with white hair was assisted out of the building by a firefighter. He recognized Jake Scarlatta. Somehow seeing one of Francesca’s friends made the event even more of a nightmare. Then the camera panned the complex. Other older people were being evacuated.
Richard asked, “Is there anyone you can call to see if she’s all right?”
“I…” Alex cleared his throat. “I’m not sure.”
As if on cue, Alex’s desk phone rang. Immobilized, he stared at it. Richard finally answered. “Yes, Sally, put her through.”
“Francesca?” Alex asked.
“No, her mother.”
Alex grabbed the phone. “Diana?”
Diana’s voice was strong. “You know?”
“Yes, I have the news on.”
“Ben just called me. Francesca’s on the scene with her crew. She was safe as of ten minutes ago. Ben’s there, assisting. He said he’d stay in constant touch on his cell phone.”
“At least we know that.”
“Alex, she’s good at her job. She’ll be fine.”
“Aren’t you worried?”
“I’m scared to death. But I’m handling the anxiety.” Diana hesitated, then said, “You have to handle it, too.”
Stupidly he nodded at the phone.
“I’ll call you each time I hear from Ben.”
“Thank you.” Alex drew in an unsteady breath. “Where is she, Diana? On the scene?”
“Right now she’s in the bucket.”
Francesca’s mother disconnected, and Alex fumbled with the buttons on his end. Then he jammed his hands in his pockets to still them.
“Is she all right?” Richard asked.
“For now.” He related what Ben had told Diana. Alex glanced at the TV.
“That concludes our special report. Channel Thirteen will keep you informed of the latest development in the ChemLabs fire.” Looking grave, the male adjusted his tie nervously.
The female anchor matched his expression. Her pink summer suit seemed a mockery, given the grim circumstances. “In the meantime, keep those brave Rockford firefighters in your prayers.”
Suddenly the screen transformed into a passionate kiss between two soap-opera stars. The image immobilized Alex. His mind replayed the last time he’d kissed Francesca.
Richard picked up the remote.
“No, don’t turn the set off.”
“I’ll mute the sound,” his brother told him. Then Richard crossed to him. “What would you like me to do?”
“Do?”
“Yes. Stay here with you?”
Shaking himself from his torpor, Alex rubbed his neck where muscles had knotted painfully. “No, that’s not necessary. You can go back to your office. I’ll let you know what’s happening.”
“You’re sure? You look devastated.”
“I’m worried about her.”
Once Richard left, Alex sank onto his taupe leather sofa, staring blindly at the TV. The couple on-screen had made their way to the bedroom. The woman lay on the bed, staring at the man.
Vividly Alex remembered tucking Francesca into his bed the morning after the last fire. Would she come to him after this one? Would she be able to? Or would something happen to her today?
The thought sickened him so much his stomach heaved. He closed his eyes to quell the nausea.
Exactly thirty-five minutes passed before Diana called again to report that Francesca was still safe. Half an hour later, Alex caught the lightning bolt across the TV, indicating a special bulletin. Hurriedly he picked up the remote, pressed the sound button and leaned forward, bracing his forearms on the desk.
“Channel Thirteen reporting on the ChemLabs fire in downtown Rockford. We’re told all of the endangered buildings have been evacuated. The Red Cross has set up emergency hou
sing for residents of Dutch Towers and other displaced people at the Disciples Church on Ford Avenue. The community is safe, folks.”
But what about the firefighters?
As if the commentators heard him, the female reporter said, “Meanwhile, the blaze rages. Chief Chase Talbot tells us that every available firefighter is on the scene. Here’s John Evans with Chief Talbot.”
Again the camera switched to ChemLabs. Evans stood in the foreground of the building. Alex could see the hungry flames behind him. Next to the reporter was a tall man of dressed in firefighter gear. “Chief Talbot, can you update us on the fire attack strategy?”
The chief frowned. “Entry into the building has been delayed because of the danger of chemical explosions. We’ve mounted an exterior attack and will stick with that until it’s safe to go inside.”
Inside? Into a building full of chemicals. Oh, God!
The reporter asked, “Was…is anyone inside?”
The chief scowled. “We have no way of knowing that.”
“What are the chances of someone inside surviving this?”
The scathing look Talbot gave the reporter said it all.
Chagrined, the reporter cleared his throat. “How endangered are the firefighters?”
“All firefighting is dangerous,” Talbot said soberly. “But our personnel is well-trained in chemical fires. They’ve had recent refresher courses. And they’re good men and women.”
A reporter’s gleam came into the newsman’s eye. “How many women are here today?”
No, please, don’t focus on the women.
“Three.”
Alex wondered if Chelsea was there, too.
“Chief, can we—”
Suddenly a low rumbling, like distant thunder, sounded in the background. The chief dashed away.
“On the scene here, it’s like some sort of—”
The screen went blank. There were long seconds of dead time.
Then the two anchors came on. “It appears we’ve lost contact with our reporter in the field. We’re trying to reestablish communication.”
The anchors’ eyes darted off camera. They glanced nervously at each other.
One straightened. “We’ll return to our regularly scheduled programming until we can—”
“No!” Alex shouted at the TV. “No, don’t…” He raced to the phone.
After a split-second ring, Diana answered. “Ben?”
“No, it’s Alex.”
“Oh, God, Alex, were you watching?”
“Yes.”
“Get off this line. Ben will call.”
Fourteen minutes later—Alex tracked the time on the Tiffany clock that sat on his desk—Diana phoned him back. “She’s all right. There was another explosion. Two firefighters were hurt. One was Dylan O’Roarke.”
“Oh, no.” Francesca would be devastated if something happened to her friend.
“He’s on his way to the hospital, but he’ll be fine. No burns. He has a concussion.”
Why couldn’t it be Francesca? At least she’d be safe.
“Alex, are you there?”
He swallowed. “Yes.”
“Would you like to come over here? Wait with me?”
Alex felt his stomach clench. Could he share this fear that ate away inside him like acid? “No, thanks. I’ll stay put.”
She hesitated. “All right. If you change your mind, just come over.” She gave him brief directions.
“Call me, Diana, when you hear anything.”
As the afternoon progressed, Alex tried to work. A few times, employees brought something to him to sign or review, but they left quickly, understanding his distraction. Richard stopped by every half hour, the strain evident in his face, too.
Diana continued to phone with updates. She’s on the ground now…She and Ed Knight relieved the firefighters on the west side of the building…She’s filling in for the roof crew.
Alex passed more hours like a sleepwalker. With each special bulletin, his mind cleared enough to listen, but the rest of the time, he kept seeing Francesca’s face, laughing as she told him stupid firefighter jokes; he kept remembering the silken texture of her hair as it threaded through his fingers; he kept hearing her moans when he was inside her.
Abruptly he stood and threw down the folder he held. He grabbed his sports coat, left his office, stopped by to tell Richard where he was going and was at Diana’s doorstep twenty minutes later.
She answered the bell immediately. “Alex, hi.”
“Anything new?”
“No. Ben just called.”
In the living room, Alex sank wearily onto a tufted sofa. Diana sat next to him. “How are you holding up?”
“I’m a wreck.”
Reaching out, she squeezed his hand.
“How did you do this, Diana? Endure this waiting? I’m in agony.”
Her eyes turned bleak. “I didn’t do it, remember? I left them because of these kinds of worries.”
“I can understand why.”
Diana frowned. “Don’t make any decision now, Alex. And think very hard before you take any action. I—”
A special bulletin flashed on the screen. Diana’s hand clutched his arm. Again the faces of the anchors. “Fire officials report the blaze is under control enough to go inside. Crews have been organized to enter the building…”
Alex buried his face in his hands.
An hour later, Ben called.
“Oh, wonderful.” Diana looked at Alex. “It’s under control. New crews are coming in for salvage and overhaul. Francesca’s finished.” She turned to the phone. “What? Oh, yes, yes, please.”
Diana glanced at Alex, covering the mouthpiece. “Do you want to speak to her first?”
Alex stared at Diana. His knees were weaker than when he’d been sick with a virulent flu. His stomach cramped spasmodically. Standing, he shook his head and walked out of the condo.
oOo
More exhausted than she’d ever been in her life, Francey unlocked the door to her house and stepped into the foyer. Every muscle in her body ached. Though she’d taken some analgesic, she had a dull throb in her temples. As she closed the door, she wondered where Killer was. He usually greeted her as soon as she got home, nipping a welcome at her feet.
And why had she left the light on in the living room?
Before she had time to panic, she spotted Alex on the couch, an arm crooked over the back, sipping a drink. He was encased in shadows, but she could see his suit coat was off, his tie askew. His hair was rumpled.
“Alex, hi.”
“Hi.”
Francey crossed to the living room, her sagging spirit lightened by his presence. She needed him more than she wanted to admit. “How long have you been here?”
“I came about seven. I got in with the key you gave me.”
“I wish I’d known. I tried to reach you but you didn’t answer your cell. I’ve been at the hospital.”
“I figured.”
“What have you been doing all this time?”
“Thinking.”
Francey hesitated. After the fire, she’d thought about him all night long, had been unnerved when she couldn’t talk to him. “I’m glad you’re here.”
Without a word, Alex stood, set down his drink and approached her. She recognized the look in his eyes a moment before he grasped her shoulders. “Tell me now, if you’re too tired or too sore for this.”
Raising her chin, she felt a resurgence of the adrenaline that had pumped through her all day. “I’m not too tired or too sore.”
He yanked her to him. The kiss was long and drugging and tinged with savagery. He tore off her T-shirt, her shorts, then her undergarments.
His frenzy was contagious, and passion exploded between them like an inferno. Francey clawed at his clothes, too. She wanted Alex with equally fierce intensity.
Soon, he had her pushed against the wall. His only moment of sanity was when he reached into the pocket of his slacks for a condom. Hi
s grip on her bottom so strong she winced with the discomfort.
The two of them climaxed in seconds.
Francey awoke to darkness. The red numbers on the clock by her bed winked 3:00 a.m. She reached out for Alex, but he was gone. Somehow they’d gotten upstairs. He’d made love to her as tenderly as the first time was violent. She shivered with the memory.
Easing out of bed, she groaned. The stiffness in her muscles had doubled. She wished they were at Alex’s so she could slip into the hot tub. Donning a summer robe, she left the bedroom and wended her way downstairs. She found him staring at the firefighter print Beth had given her months ago. He was fully dressed—right down to his wing tips.
“Alex?”
He didn’t turn.
She crossed the room to him and slid her arms around his waist. “Why are you dressed?”
Slowly he pivoted. When he looked at her, she was stunned by what she saw. Sadness so deep it hurt to look at him. And hopelessness.
“Do you love me, Francesca?”
“What?”
“I asked if you love me.”
When she hesitated, he grasped her arms. “If you don’t want to say it first, I will. I love you. Like I’ve never loved anyone in my entire life.”
Her breath hitched. “This is unexpected.”
“Do you love me?” he repeated tightly.
And suddenly it hit her. The truthful answer to his question. The depth of her feelings for him. “Yes.”
He swallowed hard.
“Alex, what brought this on?”
“How can you possibly not know?”
“The fire.”
“Yes.”
“You were worried.”
He drew in a shaky breath. “Worried doesn’t begin to describe how I felt all afternoon.”
“I’m sorry the attack took so long. I’ve never been involved in anything that lasted so many hours.”
“Did you know the rescue was televised?”
“I heard. That must have been awful for you.”
He stared at her.
“Talk to me, Alex.”
If possible, his face got even bleaker. He raised his hand and brushed his knuckles down her cheek. They were rough, as if he’d scraped them on something. “I want you to marry me.”
Her jaw dropped. “M-marry you?”
