Into the Flames

by Multi-Author

  Duncan raised the extinguisher again and started spraying. Flames dropped away under his assault, only to rise up again, seemingly unbeatable. He sprayed and moved, an inch at a time, until he was facing the back wall.

  As he glanced to his right, intending to turn and cover the length of the long wall looking for her, something gleamed to his left. He turned to find a metal door.

  Was it possible?

  Pulling the sleeve of his oversized jacket to cover his hand, Duncan wrenched the handle of the door sideways. The latch disengaged and he pulled it open. Frigid cold wafted out to greet him, along with a mist he at first thought was smoke but quickly realized was just frost from the cold air meeting the inferno.

  It was a walk-in freezer. Duncan’s view of the room was obscured by a side of beef that hung from stainless steel hooks high above his head. He reached out, shoving the frozen meat aside, and finally spotted her.

  Hilda was huddled on the floor at the very back of the freezer, her skin pale as ice, and she wasn’t moving.

  Chapter Seven

  Her first awareness was of cold. A bone deep gnawing type of cold that felt like death. But there was a delicious warmth too, incongruously nestled up against the cold. She was moving, bouncing along in a jarring way that had her teeth clacking together as her body tried to fight off the chill.

  Lights flashed on the other side of her closed eyelids and someone shouted as the jolting movement stopped and she was lowered onto something firm but not hard.

  “Tell me she’s going to be all right.”

  She knew that husky voice…felt a stir of alarm at the fear threading through it.

  Duncan!

  Unbidden, another time and place intruded, bringing to mind a soot stained face contorted in fear and pain. Medical personnel surrounding a stretcher, a child-sized form draped over its surface. She remembered the wide, pain-filled gaze, fixed unwaveringly on her. He held her gaze, unblinking, as they cut away his shirt, pulled the fabric away from ravaged, blistered flesh.

  She knew then that he was fighting not to show the pain. With an uncommon type of strength far beyond his years, he was struggling not to let her see what her carelessness had done to him.

  The memory tore a chunk from her lungs, ripping away her ability to breathe. And with a strident cry of horror, she surged upward, out of the nightmare, and opened her eyes to a more visceral kind of trauma.

  “It’s okay, honey. You’re okay.” Duncan slipped a finger over her cheek, skimming hair away from her eyes.

  Hilda grabbed his hand. “I’m so sorry!”

  He frowned. “For what?”

  She shook her head. “For what I did to you when we were kids. For starting that fire.” Tears ran down her cheeks and she sobbed under the power of her remorse. The sob turned into a fit of coughing that brought her up off the stretcher, doubling her over.

  Duncan rubbed her back and shouted at somebody to give her oxygen.

  A mask appeared in front of her face. Hilda tried to shove it away.

  “No!”

  She blinked as Duncan scolded her. “Let them help you, Hilda.”

  She shook her head, her cheeks wet. “I’m okay.” She tried to climb off the stretcher, shoving desperately at the EMS tech’s hands as the woman tried to stop her.

  “It’s okay, let her stand.” Duncan wedged himself between Hilda and the tech, helping her off the stretcher.

  She stumbled as her feet hit the ground, her knees buckling. Duncan wrapped an arm around her waist. “Lean on me, honey.”

  But she couldn’t stand that he was being so nice to her. She shoved him away too. “Stop! I don’t deserve it.”

  When he frowned, she asked the question she’d wanted to ask for years. “Why didn’t you ever blame me for what happened to you? Why did you try so hard not to make me feel bad?”

  He glanced toward the other people standing nearby and, for the first time, Hilda realized that she was drawing an audience.

  Duncan extended a hand toward the street. “Step over here with me.”

  She did, because she’d asked him a question and she wanted to hear his response.

  When they’d put enough distance between them and the crowd, Duncan turned back to her, his handsome face dark with anger. She blinked, surprised at the emotion. She’d expected pity, or even annoyance, but never anger.

  “All these years, Hilda… All the time that’s passed since we last saw each other… Why would you ask me such a stupid question now?”

  She shook her head, at a loss. “It’s not stupid. If I hadn’t been playing with matches…”

  Duncan reached out, his long fingers wrapping around her arm. He tugged her closer, his grip firm but gentle. “You said you weren’t playing with matches. Did you lie?”

  She shook her head, frowning. “No…I…don’t remember doing it, but…”

  “Because you weren’t playing with matches that day. You wouldn’t have done it.”

  She wrapped her arms around herself, the uncertainty of that time so long ago like an ache she couldn’t stop. “You don’t know that.”

  “I do know that because I know you. Nobody knows exactly what happened that day. Josh wasn’t in that room with you. He doesn’t know. He was just mad because you missed his game. Your father shouldn’t have believed him.”

  She held his glance, seeing the intensity there. For whatever reason, it seemed as important to him as it was to her that she not feel guilt over that long ago fire. “If I didn’t start that fire then who did? Somebody else had to have been in the house. Josh was at his game and my dad was at work.”

  He tugged her up against his long, hard form, his face lowering to hers. “I’ve gone over that day in my mind a thousand times. Believe me, if I could have explained what happened I would have. I only knew that you weren’t responsible.”

  She held his gaze for a long moment; awareness flashing between them like sparks. “I don’t remember,” she admitted. Hot tears welled in her eyes. “But you almost died.” She shuddered, the thought still enough to make her heart pound with fear.

  His hard, green gaze softened as he shook his head. “This is about Josh isn’t it? It’s about what he said to you the other day.”

  “It’s everything, Duncan. It’s seeing you again. It’s the fire at my house.” She glanced toward the still smoldering restaurant. “Almost dying here.” She took a shuddering breath. “But yes, Josh’s meanly accurate reminder was definitely part of it. I can’t ignore the fact that—”

  Duncan lowered his head and his lips were suddenly on hers. All thoughts of that distant time…the residual guilt…evaporated under an instant, overwhelming sensation of need.

  Her body opened to his like a flower embracing a golden beam of hot sun. Her mind swirled beneath an avalanche of sensation.

  The Duncan she’d known all those years ago faded into the background as the Duncan she held in her arms in that crystalline moment flared brighter. The childish dreams she’d nurtured so long ago…when she’d imagined him marrying her and living with her inside a pretty white house with a picturesque picket fence…were reduced to ash in the fire of her response.

  She snugged her fingers into his belt, arched her hips and tugged to bring him closer, opening herself to him fully.

  He made a husky sound of need as her lips parted, his tongue sliding hotly across hers as one big hand pressed against her back, driving the hard points of her nipples into his chest. He broke the kiss with a kind of desperate brusqueness, resting his chin against her hair. His hands stroked gently down her back, stopping at her waistline. “I’m sorry, honey. I shouldn’t have done that. This isn’t the time or place.”

  Hilda looked up at him, her lips still tingling from his kiss. “I’m glad you did, Duncan. I was wrong to scream at you like that.” She shook her head. “I’m just so confused right now.”

  His gaze darkened and two lines worked their way into the space b
etween his dark brows. He stepped back and nodded.

  She had to curl her fingers into her palms to keep from snatching him back.

  “Which is why kissing you is the last thing I should have done.” He shoved his hands into his pockets. “Do you need a ride home?” His tone was so cool…so frigidly remote…that Hilda clamped her lips closed on the words she’d nearly spoken. Words that would have asked him to take her home himself. Instead she shook her head. “I’m fine. I can make it home myself.”

  Without another word, she turned away, nearly running to Sissy’s car in the need to escape him. She could feel his eyes on her back as she hurried away. And she would have given anything to know what he was thinking.

  She was almost to the car before she realized. The keys were in her purse, which was still inside the restaurant. Hilda jolted to a stop, her gaze sliding to the smoldering building with shattered windows and flames still leaping from the second level, where her office was located.

  She sighed.

  “Is there a problem?”

  Hilda closed her eyes as he moved up behind her. He stopped so close to her back that she could feel his heat, smell his delicious sandalwood and fire scent. She sucked in a breath and turned, seeing the distant fire flaring in his sexy gaze as he looked down at her. “My keys are inside.”

  His wide, kissable lips curved upward in the corners and Hilda’s knees knocked together under the impact. “I’ll take you home. Just give me a minute to talk to the Battalion Chief?”

  Hilda nodded, biting her lip as she watched him stride away. His fine form looked every bit as delicious from the rear as it did from the front.

  “Hilda! Honey are you all right?” She turned to find Adam Standish hurrying toward her. She threw herself into his arms and let him hug her tight. “I’m fine. But your beautiful restaurant…” Her voice broke on the words and he hugged her tighter.

  “Shush. Don’t worry about the restaurant. It’s just stuff. Insurance will take care of it. I’m just so glad you’re safe.”

  She nodded, dragging a hand under her eyes. “I’ll call the insurance company in the morning.”

  He shook his head. “No. You have enough to worry about with your house. I’ll take care of it.”

  “Okay. Thanks.”

  The two of them turned to look at the still blazing building. Adam sighed. “It’s really an ugly coincidence that your house and the restaurant both burned down in the same week, isn’t it?” He cast a questioning look in her direction but she simply nodded.

  “They told me it started in the kitchen. Do you know what happened?”

  Hilda shook her head. She felt guilty for lying but she didn’t want to be the one to tell him about the arsonist. Besides, they weren’t sure yet that the firebug actually had anything to do with it. “I was getting a glass of tea and something ignited over by the stove.”

  His eyes widened. “Wait, you were in the kitchen when the fire started? Oh honey…” He pulled her into another hug. “I could have lost you.”

  She blinked, feeling embarrassed by his over-the-top affection. He’d always been kind, but her boss had never before been so effusive with his feelings.

  When she pulled back he laughed. “I’m sorry. I’ve embarrassed you. I was just thinking how upset your dad would be if anything happened to you.” Shaking his head, Adam touched her shoulder. “Do you need a ride somewhere?”

  She bit back the lament about having nowhere to go. “Thanks, I have a ride.” She hoped he wouldn’t ask who was giving her a ride or where they were taking her…because she had no idea.

  “Okay. Good. I’ll talk to you in a few days? We’ll have to discuss whether we should rebuild or relocate.”

  “Of course. Bye, Adam.”

  * * *

  The sign on the door said, Manager. He knocked and waited as the person inside shuffled slowly toward the door. He could hear the soft wisp of slippers sliding across hardwood. Then silence. He stood straight and still as he imagined the person inside the apartment perusing him through the peep hole. “Do you know what time it is?” The voice was brittle, weighted with age.

  Her question was muffled by the door. He smiled in response, knowing he was being observed. “I’m really sorry, ma’am. I wanted to talk to you about an apartment.”

  “You’ll need to come back in the morning. My hours are nine to four.”

  He frowned and let disappointment show in his expression. “Oh.” He sighed, allowing his shoulders to slump pathetically. “Can you tell me where there’s a hotel around here then? I just arrived from out of town and I’m dead tired.”

  Silence filled the space between them. Finally he heard the telltale snick of a lock and tightened his lips against the smile trying to escape.

  The door opened a crack and a face appeared, several inches below where he expected it to be. A rheumy hazel eye showed in the crack. “I don’t have any vacancies right now. I’m sorry.”

  He nodded, shoulders dropping another fraction of an inch. “I understand. It’s just that I’m starting a new job tomorrow. I’d hoped I could find a place before I started.” Shrugging, he started to turn away. “Thank you for your time.”

  The door opened another crack. “There’s a place down the street. It’s a bed and breakfast but they do long term rental too.” The small, wizened face folded into a grimace. “My advice though is, don’t eat the eggs.”

  He allowed himself to smile and then laugh.

  The old lady’s wrinkled lips tipped up in an answering smile.

  “I appreciate that.” He reached a hand toward the manager and when she clasped it, his smile widened. He tightened his grip and jerked, slamming her head into the door frame. As she crumpled quietly to the ground, he shoved her inside and stepped in after her, closing and locking the door behind him.

  * * *

  Three hours after the fire started, Duncan was carrying a bag containing the badly melted coffee pot from the restaurant’s kitchen toward his truck. He was heading to the hospital with it, intending to get it x-rayed.

  Duncan was nearly to his truck when his phone rang. He looked at the screen but didn’t recognize the number. Punching it, he moved quickly away from the hub of activity in front of Standish’s. “Hello?”

  “Duncan Yves?” It was a woman. He didn’t recognize the voice, but she sounded like she was college age.

  He placed the coffee pot into the backseat of his truck and looked around for Hilda. He spotted her sitting on the hood of her car and started toward her. “This is Duncan. Who am I speaking to?”

  “This is Bernie Oggs. I’m a reporter with the Indianapolis Star.”

  He stopped, digging in his pocket for his keys. “Bernie? You always make phone calls at two thirty in the morning?”

  “Part of the job, I’m afraid. I’ve been monitoring the radio and heard the alarms called for Standish’s. I thought you might be there. You and I need to talk.”

  Duncan stopped in front of Hilda, frowning. She gave him a questioning look which he ignored. “What would I need to talk to a reporter at the Star about?”

  Hilda’s eyebrows lifted in surprise.

  “I just received an anonymous tip that you’ve known the city has an arsonist for weeks, Mr. Yves. And that you’ve been sitting on that knowledge. I thought you might want to give your side of the story before I publish it.”

  Chapter Eight

  Bernie Oggs had bright red hair that looked like she’d pretty much given up on taming it. It stuck out like a curly aura around her face, held off her pale, unlined forehead by a pale, pink headband. Her features were delicate, making the afro of bright hair even more dramatic, and she had the brightest, bluest eyes Duncan had ever seen.

  The reporter was tall and broad shouldered, built like a swimmer. Despite the girlish voice on the phone, she appeared to be in her late twenties, early thirties.

  As Duncan and Hilda approached her table in the nearly des
erted diner, she watched them come with an intense gaze that seemed to miss nothing.

  Duncan decided in the moment she took his hand, sizing him up as she compressed his knuckles with an iron grip, that he would not underestimate her. “It’s nice to meet you, Ms. Oggs. This is Hilda Bennet.”

  Bernie turned her assessing gaze on Hilda but, to Hilda’s credit, she didn’t wilt beneath it. Instead, Hilda straightened her shoulders and looked the reporter in the eye. “Ms. Oggs.”

  “Please,” Bernie indicated the booth across from her. “Sit. Would you like coffee or,” she indicated the remains of a piece of pie on the plate in front of her. “…cherry pie? They make the best pies here.”

  Declining her offer on both counts, Duncan let Hilda slide into the booth ahead of him and then sat down. He didn’t want the reporter to think the meeting was going to be a pleasant one for her, so he leaned in, his expression inflexible. “Before we get started, I want to know who you got your information from.”

  The reporter scrubbed a napkin over her lips, leaving behind a slash of cranberry tinted lipstick. “I wish I knew.”

  “What does that mean?”

  She shrugged. “I didn’t get a name.” She leaned in too, as if to let him know she wouldn’t be intimidated. He could respect that about her. But he didn’t have to like it.

  Duncan’s temper spiked. “You’re accusing me of deliberately putting the lives of the people in this city in jeopardy on the word of someone whose name you don’t even know?”

  “Was it a man or a woman?” Hilda asked. Her soft voice cut through the tension between Duncan and Oggs like flame through tissue paper.

  The reporter glanced her way. “A man. He called himself the Artist.”

  Duncan barely stopped himself from reacting. He tamped down on the surprise and clasped his hands together in front of him, addressing Oggs in a dismissive tone. “All due respect, Ms. Oggs—”

  “Call me Bernie.”

  “Okay, Bernie, you don’t have any idea who this person is. He sounds a little crazy.”