by Kylie Brant
His radio crackled and a voice sounded. “Herb, we went back to the cabin like you said.”
Wentworth reached for the mic. “Find the SUV?”
“Haven’t had time to look for it. We just pulled into the lane and saw smoke.”
Cam’s heart stopped. Then resumed its beat, thudding so loudly in his chest that it sounded in his ears.
The deputy’s voice continued. “When we got closer to the place we saw the cabin was on fire. We’ve already got a call in to the fire department.”
“They may not be able to wait that long.” Cam didn’t wait for Wentworth to respond. “Our victim is in that cabin. Possibly with a small boy.” Any doubt about that had dissipated as soon as the deputy started talking. “You need to find an entry point.”
“Who am I…”
“That’s DCI Special Agent Cam Prescott from Des Moines.” Wentworth had the pedal to the floor and flipped on the siren. “He has reason to believe there are people on that property. Do you have access?
“Negative. The only door is in flames. Fire is worse in the front, but the smoke makes it difficult to get too close.”
“How long for the fire department?” His chest felt like it was being hollowed out by a dull blade.
The sheriff gave him a sympathetic look. “Eight, ten minutes, tops.”
Bleakness settled over him like a leaden blanket. He’d followed his instincts down here and they were screaming at him now.
And they told him that Sophie didn’t have eight more minutes.
* * * *
“To the bedroom,” Sophia shouted, giving the boy a small nudge to get him moving. They ran to the room that hadn’t been boarded shut. She tore the pieces of tape Henry had cut off her wrists pushed him further into the room, slamming the door behind her. She felt along the wall inside for a light switch, but once she found it she realized that the electricity must be off.
Smoke was curling beneath the door. She coughed as she took Henry by the shoulders, moving him carefully, inch by inch until they reached the opposite wall. “Stay here for now.”
He whimpered. “Are we going to burn up?”
“No. I promise.” But she was all too aware that she was making a promise that she might not be able to keep. She did a survey of the room through touch alone. The same heavy furniture. Headboard and bedside table. Her fingers explored the mattress. Bedding could be stuffed in the crack of the door. Already Henry was gagging from the smoke.
But there were no sheets or blankets. She grabbed the bare pillows she found and went back to the bedroom door. It was already hot to the touch. As best she could, Sophia wedged the pillows in the opening beneath the door. Smoke still wafted in along the sides, but there was an immediate improvement.
Then she went back to her search. One window, boarded, just inches away from where she’d parked Henry. A small closet without doors. Another opening that led to a tiny bath. A metal stall shower. Toilet. A sink hanging on the wall. And nothing else.
For a moment Sophia wanted to drop to the floor in defeat.
“I…it’s hard…to breathe,” the boy gasped. Sophia tried the spigots in the sink. No water. Then a thought occurred and she turned to the toilet. Ran her fingers along the top. Then lifted off the heavy porcelain tank cover. Went back to the bedroom with it.
Setting it on the bed for a moment, she slipped the ruined jacket down her arms, wincing as the movement pulled at the burn on her shoulder. The ruined material was dropped on the bed. The blouse beneath had been slit too, and she took it off, ripped it into strips. She tied one around Henry’s mouth and nose and another around her own. Moving the boy to the doorway of the bathroom, she lifted the tank cover from the bed. Then, with more determination than coordination, she began banging the porcelain against the plywood.
* * * *
“We need to wait for the fire department,” Maria warned. But the car had barely started down the lane before Cam was unfastening his seatbelt. They took a bend in the drive and when they cleared it, he had a full view of the cabin.
It was a scene from hell.
Flames were dancing across the roofline and shooting out a window on the side of the house closest to the road. He opened his door and jumped out even as the sheriff pulled to a stop behind another county car. “We need tools. Something. Open the trunk.”
Wentworth eased his bulk out of the car and then stood rooted in place, watching the blaze. “Dammit, Prescott. I don’t carry equipment for this. The fire truck will be along any…”
“Look for a window that hasn’t blown out. That might give us entry inside.” Unwilling to wait for the man’s acquiescence, he strode to the car and reached in, pulling the keys.
“Don’t go off half-cocked. We still don’t know if this is even the place…”
One of the deputies tore his gaze from the conflagration and said, “We went back and checked after talking to you last time. When we went up the lane toward the road, our headlights reflected off something. We took a closer look, and there’s a vehicle parked about thirty yards inside those trees over there.”
Cam didn’t need the man’s words to know that they were at the right place. Too late. Too damn late. The words were a silent mental taunt. And he knew that if he failed right now, the regret would eat him alive.
He used the fob to open the man’s trunk, then stuck his head in, rummaged around. Among the law enforcement equipment found inside, Cam found some useful objects. Rags. A car jack. A gallon jug of water. Those he took.
A siren could be heard wailing in the distance. Maria moved over to him. “Prescott, you are not going near that cabin, and that’s an order. Wait for the experts.”
He unscrewed the lid of the water, drenched three rags and tied one of them over his face. Shoving the blanket and other two rags toward her, he said, “Follow me.” Without waiting to see if she obeyed, he ran toward the house.
The heat from the blaze was scorching. The deputies had said the front was a loss, so he concentrated on the back of the cabin. The fire was at the peak of the roof, slyly slithering down toward the rear. Smoke billowed from it, stinging his eyes, blurring his vision.
But in the pockets between plumes of smoke the flames provided illumination that the hulking trees and stingy moon did not. Two small windows on this side of the house. Both of them still intact. He went to the nearest one, broke out the glass with the jack, but still hadn’t broken through the enclosure.
The windows were boarded from the inside. Recalling the deputy’s earlier report, he stepped back and cocked the jack like a bat. Swung it at the wood and heard it splinter.
Forms took shape beside him. He glimpsed a tan uniform and Maria running past. To the other window, he hoped. He swung again, and then a third time before the jack broke through the wood.
Before he could he wind up again something flashed in the opening he’d made, smashing more wood to the side. Knocking it away from the window completely.
And then a small shape came flying through it. Cam barely dropped the jack in time to get his hands up to catch a screaming, wiggling body. The boy.
“Sophie!” The rag muffled his voice, and the smoke had turned his throat raw. Her name on his lips felt like a prayer. “Sophie!”
And then she was there, framed in the ruined window, her face darkened with soot. Eyes wide with fear. He saw her place her hands on the sill, try to hoist her body over it. But she was too short. “I can’t…”
He raced along the back of the house with the child, coughing, his lungs strangling on the smoke. He shoved the boy at the deputy and found Maria. Grabbed a handful of her shirt and tugged her back with him to the window. “Get on my shoulders. Help pull Sophie through the window.”
There was an ear-splitting crack as something gave in the house. The blaze on the roof rolled down the dry shingles toward them, a crackling tsunami of flame.
He bent down and Maria mounted his shoulders. Rising, he approached the opening where Sophie could st
ill be seen.
“Take my arms,” the SAC shouted. “I’ll pull you.”
Perspiration poured down Cam’s face, his muscles quivering as he willed Sophie to move. She made another attempt to hoist herself up, got her head and shoulders out the window. Maria reached forward and grabbed her beneath the arms. Cam backed up slowly and Sophie was pulled from the fiery building one slow inch at a time. Once freed, her weight drove them all backward and he went sprawling, the women landing on top of him.
There was a roar as the roof collapsed and finding his feet, he scooped Sophie up into his arms and ran side by side with Maria. Away from the wall of fire and toward the road. To safety.
The county cars had retreated to the outer road to allow the emergency vehicles access to the lane. He stopped a distance away from the clanging vehicle, reaching up to claw the damp rag from his face. To pull down the fabric over hers. She twined her arms around his neck, and he bent his face to hers for a kiss that was far more primitive than tender. All the gut churning panic from the day poured into it, every bleak moment of despair chugged out of him in a torrent of emotion he was helpless to control.
Sophie accepted the unrestrained fury of feeling. Returned it in kind until the storm inside him calmed. The weight of her in his arms, the press of her body against his gradually healed all the places inside him that had been stripped raw.
He tore his mouth away. Rested his forehead against hers for a moment while his pulse steadied. “You gave me a few bad moments today.”
She gave a half laugh that turned into a coughing spasm. Concerned, he set her on her feet, one arm keeping her close to his side. “You need to get checked out by the EMTs.”
“Henry…” Sophie craned her neck, trying to spot the boy in the darkness.
“He’s already at the ambulance. We’ll contact his dad.” Cam could empathize with the hell Adams had gone through with his son kidnapped. He didn’t deserve to be kept in the dark any longer. “Where’s Baxter?”
Releasing a shuddering breath, she nodded her head in direction of the cabin. “Her body is in there.” Her voice was hoarse and she had to stop in the telling several times when she was seized by a spasm of coughing. “She was describing the torture techniques she was going…to use on me. My wrists…and ankles were bound. She’d just lit a cigar. She had plans to make me number seventeen. Henry…took her gun and shot her.”
His gaze jerked to hers. “The kid did that?” To know that her survival had depended on the actions of a six-year-old boy was enough to have bricks of tension returning to his muscles again.
“I’ll have Adams notified.” He took his cell out and texted the request to Jenna, along with the news of Sophie’s safety as they walked to the mouth of the lane where the law enforcement had collected. He still had his arm wrapped around her waist. He’d release her later, when the reality of her rescue sank in. After the glacial fear had completely thawed in his veins.
But not yet.
Sophie made a beeline for the boy, who was sitting in the open back door of the ambulance being checked over by an EMT. Soot had collected on his face around the area where the fabric had been, so he looked like a surprised raccoon. When he saw Sophie, his eyes lit up and he pushed away the oxygen mask to speak. “I get to go home now, don’t I?”
“Pretty soon, buddy.” She reached out to push his hair away from his face. “I’ll bet your dad will be calling any minute.”
His face sobered. “He might be mad. I shot the monster. Dad always says not to ever ever touch his guns.”
“I’ll tell him you had to do it. You were a hero, Henry. If it hadn’t been for you, she would have killed me. So thank you.” Leaning down, she kissed him lightly on the forehead.
“You’re a hero, too.” He paused, doubled over to cough before adding, “You pushed me out the window so I didn’t get burned up.” He thought about that for a moment. “I was really scared.”
“Me, too. But we’re safe now.”
His gaze traveled to the cabin, completely engulfed by flames the firefighters hadn’t been able to tame. “I’m glad the monster is dead.”
It was a sentiment that Cam could whole-heartedly share. “We’re all glad the monster is dead.”
* * * *
With every fiber of her being, Sophia wanted to go home. To just spend an entire day with Cam holed up in his condo while they forgot the rest of the world for a few precious hours. Later there’d be briefings with the team, meetings with the DCI administration and media to dodge. But first she desired nothing more than time alone to decompress with Cam.
As it was, her wish was delayed by nearly twenty-four hours. Both she and Henry were treated by the EMTs and taken to the local hospital overnight for further observation. Cam remained at her side throughout, his cell phone silenced, although he was constantly answering texts and email on it. The wrap up on a case like this would be substantial, she knew. The returned calls waited until the ride home, during which time she drowsed, his low tones on the phone a reassuring murmur.
His condo epitomized an American male’s residence, centering around an enormous TV and sound system, and missing all the little touches a woman would consider homey. But as soon as Sophia walked through the door after the drive home from Centerville she felt an immediate sense of comfort. The sensation intensified when he secured the door and re-engaged the alarm, the gesture reinforcing her need to lock the rest of the world away for just a few hours.
She let out a sigh. “Man cave, sweet man cave.” The first thing she wanted to do was change. A female Appanoose deputy had loaned her a change of clothes to wear home. Not that she didn’t appreciate the thought, but the yoga pants, tee shirt and flip flops likely belonged to the other woman, who towered over Sophia by at least five inches.
He flashed a grin. “I know you’ve had issues with my decorating style in the past, so I had something brought in to welcome you back.”
Curious, she entered the living area from the hallway and stopped. Blinked. There were flowers everywhere. On the kitchen counter. On the coffee table. The entertainment center. All pink roses with an occasional white one scattered throughout each arrangement.
“I gave Jenna the security code, and she delivered them for me.” He shoved his hands in the pockets of his trousers, watching her expression carefully. “It occurred to me that I had no idea what your favorite flower is, but I thought these looked like you. You have a suit this shade, the color of cotton candy. It makes you look…” He seemed to search for a word. “Delicate. But you’re not, Sophie. What you’ve been through in the last month…” His throat worked, and it took him a moment to continue. When he did his voice was husky. “You’re stronger than you look. Thank God.”
Touched, she went to him and stood on tiptoe to brush her lips over his. He took his hands out of his pockets to slide them around her waist. “They’re beautiful. And thoughtful. No one has ever given me pink roses before.” Even as she uttered the words it occurred to her that she could probably count on one hand how many times in her life anyone had given her flowers, including her ex-husband. “And there are different kinds of strength. After yesterday I’ve discovered that I seriously need to start pumping iron.”
Physical weakness was another type of vulnerability. She’d never forget the helpless feeling she had lying on the floor, bound hand and foot, and at Baxter’s mercy. She knew exactly what her fate would have been if Henry Adams hadn’t picked up that gun and killed the woman.
A mental image of the lit cigar flashed through her mind. Baxter would have numbered another victim, and Sophia’s body would now be buried in the smoking remains of the cabin.
“There are different kinds of strength.” He stroked up her spine in one smooth movement, and then down again. “When it comes to that brain of yours, you’re unparalleled. After you were taken, I went over your case notes again to determine a focus for where to start searching.”
