Get out! Or I’ll make you.
She wasn’t going anywhere.
Soundlessly, she shut the door and waited for her eyes to adjust. Every scary axe-murder movie she’d ever seen conveniently rushed through her brain at that moment. Her heart thumped like there was a competitive paddleball game being played inside her chest. Suddenly remembering her costume, she reached for her belt and slid the police nightstick out of its holder. She weighed it in her hand like a baseball bat. Nice and heavy.
The costume originally came with a hollow plastic police stick, no more dangerous than a pool noodle. But after her first gig at a college party, she’d swapped it out for a hefty rolling pin that she painted black—just in case there were too many beers and not enough witnesses around.
She’d only used it once, but at least she knew it could break a finger or two.
There’d been no tip that night.
Something brushed against her leg. She bit her lip hard to keep from screaming as she looked down to find Colin at her heel. If only it weren’t so damn dark, things wouldn’t seem so scary.
From memory, she could visualize the light switches on the far wall behind the desk. Forcing her legs forward, she moved inch by inch, trying to soften her footfalls, to be stealthy, like she really was a cop about to bust the bad guy. Although she didn’t think flashing her plastic badge pinned over her left boob would be very convincing with the fishnets.
By the time she crept across the linoleum floor and skirted around the desk, her breaths were coming in quiet, panicked gasps, as though the air were thinner there compared to the other side of the room. Like climbing Mount Everest. She just hoped there was nothing to see at the top.
With her back to the wall, she inched her way to the light switch by the kitchen. The nightstick shook in her hand, but she gripped it tighter. Before she could flick on the lights, a caustic scent wafted through the air, burning her nostrils. Wrinkling her nose, she flinched away.
Something dropped on the floor by her foot, making her jump. Her eyes darted down. A red plastic canister rested at her feet. It was then that she recognized the smell. Gasoline.
The sight was so unexpected that she frowned at it while her brain groped for an explanation. That is, until a match struck in the kitchen, piercingly bright, and illuminated a silhouette.
The scene hit her with nauseating horror that made her stomach shrivel up. She covered her mouth with a hand and yelled through her shaky fingers, “No! Don’t do it.”
The person spun around. It was a man, but that realization only came as an impression, as vague, shadowed features and a stalky figure. She strained to see through the dark, but dots of light blurred her vision from the quivering flame.
The match was burning low, dancing toward his fingers. Piper clenched the nightstick in her hand but was too afraid that if she attacked him the match would surely fall and ignite the gasoline.
Piper tried to steady her voice, to remain calm. “Please. I’ll let you leave. Just don’t do it.”
He snorted, as if she could stop him. In response, he flicked the match aside with the carelessness of someone who’d just lit a cigarette. She screamed as it fell onto the floor, automatically lunging forward as though she could catch it. With a deep woofing sound like the bark of a breathy Neapolitan Mastiff, that tiny flicker of light set off an explosion.
The flash of light blinded her. A wave of heat hit her like an oven door opening—if Hell had ovens. The force of it threw her back against the counter, nearly knocking the fish tank onto the floor.
Everything happened at once. The heat, the light, the high-pitched fire alarm needling her eardrums, the bright white light blinking above the exit, telling her to get to safety. Colin was barking now too, although she could barely hear him. Overwhelmed, Piper tried to blink against the mid-day sun that had risen in the kitchen, just in time to see the man barreling toward her.
She automatically raised her weapon. As he plowed into her, she brought it down. It connected with a crack, and she was reminded of her Little League Softball days.
The man cried out at as they both went down in a twisted pile on the floor. Piper’s hands flew out to catch her fall. The nightstick rolled away, out of reach.
The arsonist struggled to get to his feet, but she kicked the backs of his knees so they folded under him. He wasn’t getting away that easily.
The fire was growing eerily brighter behind them, casting violent light and shadows on the reception room. With her too caught up in the struggle, Piper’s only thought was of keeping him there. They wrestled behind the desk, arms swinging, legs flailing, as the arsonist desperately tried to escape. But Piper wasn’t going to let that happen. If she could only just see his face, she could put a stop to all this.
Ashes and embers fluttered down on them. Piper hardly noticed as they landed on her and singed her bare skin. It was hot, even in the reception room. Soon she was soaked with sweat, and then water as the overhead sprinklers kicked in. Instead of it being a reprieve, it was no different from having a hot shower in a sauna.
She wasn’t alone in her battle. Colin was doing his best to defend her by nipping the man with his sharp razor teeth. But dachshunds were bred for hunting badgers and this guy was definitely bigger than a badger.
The intruder wormed away. Piper clawed at his sodden clothes, gripped his coat, his arms, his hood, but she was tiring quickly. She was grunting, and swearing, and cursing him, but she could barely hear herself over the alarm.
He lurched for the back door, and Piper slipped on the linoleum. She lost her grip and he managed to wrench away from her. He reached up and grasped the door handle. When she pounced on him again, something jangled against her side. The handcuffs. Just what every good fake cop needs.
Reaching around, she gave them a good tug, ripping the belt loop they were hooked on. Slapping one cuff around his wrist, she clamped the other around the door handle.
The intruder tugged at his bonds while Piper groped under the desk for her rolling pin, but it was lost. She searched the desk for something weighty or sharp. Hopefully both. She grabbed the three-hole punch and turned in time to see a backhand swinging toward her face.
The blow landed on her cheek, throwing her back against the desk. As she went down, her head cracked on the edge. It wasn’t like the cartoons; stars didn’t flash before her eyes. It was a constellation. The Milky Way. Apparently, she needed to buy stronger handcuffs.
Piper tried to get to her feet, but he blocked her under the desk. His leg drew back and he kicked out at her. It connected square on her chest, knocking the wind from her lungs. Stunned, she crumpled to the floor.
He lurched toward the door. All Piper could do was watch. Watch and claw at her constrictive clothes, coughing and gasping for air, unable to manage anything more than tiny squirrel breaths.
The man tugged on the door handle, the broken handcuff still dangling from it, but he hesitated in the doorway. Over the steady pulsing alarm and the thunderous crackling coming from the kitchen, Piper could hear vicious snarling. Colin had a hold on the man’s pant leg. Not ready to let him go, either, Colin jerked and yanked violently on the hem, thrashing his head about, ears flopping left and right.
“Colin, no!” Piper yelled, but it was barely a whisper, too quiet to hear over the commotion.
The arsonist wrenched back in a tug-of-war, trying to free his leg. He finally tore himself away, but Colin just sprang at him again. This time he must have caught the man’s ankle in his jaws, because he screamed out and his knees buckled.
Snarling like a Rottweiler, the man wound up and gave a powerful shake of his leg. The fabric tore. Colin flew across the linoleum. There was a thunk as he hit something. A high-pitched yelp.
“Colin,” Piper croaked.
She watched as the attacker slipped into the back, coat flapping behind him as he sprinted for the exit. Caught in the moment, Piper made for the door, but when she stood up she choked on the first few breaths. S
he felt dizzy. The back of her throat stung. It smelled and tasted like she’d just wrapped her lips around her VW’s exhaust pipe and given it a thorough blow job.
Suddenly, she became aware of her surroundings. Of the thick, black smoke pouring from the kitchen door. It billowed up, like polluted water flowing upwards to curl along the ceiling tiles. There it pooled in a hot, toxic blanket that threatened to fall and smother her and Colin.
Through the kitchen door, she could see the room glow like daylight. The ignited gasoline flowed down the edges of the countertops, the tables, and the chairs, dripping onto the floor like molten lava. The reality of it slammed through her one-track mind.
It had only been maybe a minute since he’d dropped the match, but that minute allowed the fire to spread. That minute might have meant the deaths of all her beloved dogs locked away in their kennels.
22
Hot Dogs
Fire extinguisher. Fire extinguisher. Dammit, Piper thought, where the hell was it? The thing that you always hoped you’d never need, so you don’t know where it is when you actually need it.
Wheeling around, Piper scanned the room, the walls, the exits. She had to duck her head to keep below the smoke. And there, by the entrance, fixed to the wall, was a small red fire extinguisher.
As she ran for it, Piper found Colin limping toward her, tail tucked between his legs.
“Oh, come on, boy,” she said as she shooed him toward the door to the kennels. She couldn’t worry about him at the moment. He’d be safe back there. For now.
When she opened the door, she noticed another full red gas can sitting on the corridor floor.
“That asshole,” she said.
Once he was finished with the front reception area, he had planned on dousing the back of the building where the dogs were held captive in their kennels. Not that she would have expected any less, but the imagery it conjured made her wish she could get her hands on him again.
Shutting Colin safely in the back, Piper bolted across the room. She knew the building’s system was rigged to alert the authorities, so she didn’t have to waste precious time making the call herself. She just hoped she could keep the flames at bay until the fire department arrived.
When she reached the fire extinguisher, she grabbed the metal hammer and smashed the glass. The canister was heavier than she expected, or maybe she was weaker. As she wrenched it out of the casing, it dropped to the floor.
Half-carrying it, half-dragging it over to the kitchen, she gasped as she reached the threshold. It was as though she stood at the mouth of a dragon. Between coughs, she could barely catch her breath as the hot air pushed out at her. Her exposed skin prickled in the radiant heat. And she had a lot of exposed skin.
She squatted low to the floor where the air was clearer. The metal on her belt buckle burned against her stomach where it made contact. It was cooler below the thick cloud forming overhead, but it was creeping lower and lower by the second. The crackling was so loud, so constant, like a thousand hands crumpling plastic wrap.
Piper crept as close to the kitchen as she could stand until she could aim the extinguisher inside the dragon’s mouth. Fingers shaking, she yanked the pin, aimed, and fired.
The nozzle kicked back in her hand. She gripped it tighter as the white powder shot out. However, the second the sprinkler water showered on it from the ceiling the chemical fell down in heavy clumps. Only the small drizzle of water wouldn’t be enough to douse the flames, considering the amount of accelerant the arsonist had splashed around the room.
Cringing from the heat, she inched closer so the stream would reach the worst of it. She swept the hose back and forth at the base of flames. They fought back like they were alive. And hungry.
The fire had grown fast, already consuming the cupboards, licking up toward the ceiling. Stray flares danced around the room, searching for new objects to alight. The round vintage table was engulfed, the chairs, the wall of greeting cards. Linoleum tiles curled in on themselves.
A stack of romance novels on the shelf next to her ignited spontaneously. The gust of fresh flames forced her to stumble back a foot. She noticed an imprint of her melted boot sole where it rested a second before.
The glass door on the microwave suddenly burst, the glass shattering. She screamed in surprise but held her ground. Tears streamed from her stinging eyes. She blinked past the pain and into the light, focusing on controlling the hose.
Piper hadn’t even tackled the second set of cabinetry before the white mist spewing out of the extinguisher sputtered and died.
“Shit.”
Staring at the job left before her, she shook the nozzle like it would come back to life. But it was no use. The canister felt considerably lighter and she knew it was empty. Frustrated, she threw it aside. It hit the floor with a hollow clank.
Piper took a step back, and then another. She had two choices; she could spend the next precious few minutes grabbing another extinguisher and battling the fire or give up and try to get some of the dogs out of their enclosures and to safety. Some. But not all.
In the end, that was her priority. At least she could save a few. It wasn’t the building that made this home for her, after all. They could always build a new one.
Just as she gave up, a jet stream of white powder shot past her and into the kitchen.
Jumping out of the way, she spun around to see Aiden ducked low, advancing on the flames with a new extinguisher. For a mind-boggled second, she thought she was imagining the sight of him there. Or maybe she’d died and he was an angel sent to pluck her up and take her to Heaven.
Or, more realistically, Hell.
Just to be sure, she reached out to touch him. He was solid. But still her angel.
“Are you okay?” he yelled out over the alarm.
She didn’t quite know the answer to that, so she said, “I’m going to get the dogs out.” Her throat felt dry and scratchy as she spoke, and she began coughing uncontrollably.
“Okay, bring another extinguisher back!” he called over his shoulder.
Piper wrenched open the back door to a cacophony of barking, whining, howling, and a mixture of other noises all saying the same thing. Danger! Danger!
She could barely see a thing. Except for the few dim night-lights they kept on for the dogs and the flashing beacon above the exit sign, it was dark. Groping along the wall, she flicked on the lights.
“I’m coming!” she called.
Barreling into the back, Piper nearly tripped over Colin. He was standing on the other side of the door, anxiously dancing from paw to paw.
“Colin, get back,” she said. When he didn’t move, she repeated the command, her voice angrier than she’d ever sounded. There was no time.
As she pulled rank on him, his ears drooped even more than usual. Tail tucked between his legs, he scampered farther down the corridor.
The sprinklers were going off back there too, but the air was clearer and Piper could breathe easier—except for the throbbing pain in her chest the shape of a shoe print. Away from the flames, her panic lessened. She could think straight again.
Starting with the lower kennels, she opened them one by one. With deft fingers, she unlatched each of the doors and flicked them open. She didn’t wait to see if the dogs were brave enough to come out as she hurried toward the spare fire extinguisher in the back.
By instinct, the dogs knew to run in the other direction, toward the door to the backyard. A tidal wave of wet fur rushed past her legs and ankles, nearly taking her out. Only Colin remained by her side until she came to the end of the long hall.
She waded through the jostling bodies and opened the fire door. They immediately flooded outside, filling the small courtyard, yipping and howling in agitation.
Colin hesitated in the doorway, looking up at her with those sad puppy eyes. Why aren’t you coming?
“Get!” she yelled. “Go!”
With no time to waste, she prodded him out the door with her foot. Tail tuc
ked, head lowered, he scampered outside with the others, a pathetic look of rejection on his narrow face. It broke Piper’s heart, but she would worry about his sore feelings later. He was safe, and that was the important part. She shut the door so he wouldn’t follow her back inside.
A new extinguisher rested in a bracket by the door. She swiped it off the wall, ready for the weight this time. Using her shaking legs, she hoisted it up and cradled it as she ran to the front.
Aiden had already run out of suppressant. He met her halfway down the corridor. His eyes were red from the smoke and round with stress. He’d lost his suit jacket, and his white button-down shirt clung soaking wet to his tense muscles. Using his sleeve, he wiped at the beads of sweat and water that rolled down his forehead and into his eyes.
She handed over the new extinguisher and automatically reached up to touch his cheek. It felt hot. “Are you okay?”
“I’ll be fine,” he said in a scratchy voice. “Get yourself out. I’ll see you outside.”
“I will. But I have to get the rest of them out,” she said. “I won’t be long. I promise. Don’t wait.” She didn’t want to have to worry about him too.
A disapproving frown screwed up his face, but he didn’t waste time lingering. He wheeled back to the kitchen, calling over his shoulder, “Don’t take too long!”
He was about to disappear into the ominous glow on the other side of the door, back to fight the fire, to put his life in danger. She felt the wind escape her lungs, sucked out like she’d been kicked in the chest again. Because it suddenly hit her, just how much it would hurt if anything were to happen to him. If he walked though those doors and didn’t come back.
“Aiden!” she called to his back. “Be careful.”
Halfway through the door, he paused and gave her a look that told her he understood everything she had just felt. It was only a brief look, but she hoped it was her own feelings being reflected back at her.
Must Love Wieners Page 18
