Burned Too Hot: A Thriller (Val Ryker series Book 2)

by Ann Voss Peterson

  “They will. Give them a second. Please.” But she could see the words were wasted. He’d made his decision. He’d given in to the panic and hopelessness that had been nipping at his heels a long, long time.

  They were all going to die.

  She turned to Lund, to say goodbye, but he was right there, grabbing her, pulling her, then scattering her crutches and sweeping her into his arms.

  He ran, faster than she’d thought possible, around the front of Engine One, around the front of Ladder One, still another truck in the way, still too far to go to get out. Ladder One’s back door was open, a jumble of dull yellow coats with neon yellow strips piled on the facing seats. Lund leaped for the door, heaving her body upward, throwing her into the coats. He leaped in after, partially closing the door and covering her body with his own.

  And then the world exploded.

  Chapter

  Twenty-Nine

  Lund

  Lund knew the bomb had detonated, but for a second, he didn’t hear or feel or see a thing.

  Then everything was moving.

  A force kicked him in the chest, knocking the breath from his body.

  Engine One flew sideways in a powerful lurch, hitting the rig they were in like a freight train, sending the whole mess careening into the smaller Unit One and pinning it to the wall.

  He gasped, taking in nothing, a vacuum. Another gasp. Blind panic. Then searing pain.

  A moment passed before he realized Val was moving, grabbing the backup facemasks, hooking them up to the oxygen tanks positioned on the back of each seat. Then she was pushing one over his face.

  He tried to take another breath.

  Nothing.

  Just that feeling.

  Suffocating.

  Dying.

  Fuzz on the edge of his vision.

  Screaming from the inside.

  Then a whoosh of air, and he was coughing. Fire engulfed his chest, not flame, just the burn of it. An excruciating bite that doubled him over with each breath.

  Val fumbled with the straps on his mask, fitting them more securely over his head, testing the seal against his skin.

  Cough and gasp.

  Cough and gasp.

  Lund could feel the oxygen rush now with each gasp in, but he couldn’t hear the whoosh. He couldn’t hear anything. But outside the windows of the fire engine, the smoke-filled garage had taken on a glow he knew well.

  Fire.

  He struggled to his hands and knees. Each breath felt like a stab to the chest, but at least he was breathing. At least he and Val were both alive.

  But they wouldn’t be if they didn’t get out of here before the fuel in the trucks ignited.

  Lund handed Val one of the extra pairs of bunker pants. He hadn’t known Johnson would hit that detonator. He’d hoped the firefighter would see reason, that now that he’d attained his dream of chief, he’d have a reason to live.

  Lund had been fooling himself.

  But at least they’d been able to reach the truck in time. At least they were alive.

  And he was damn well going to keep them that way.

  They struggled into the pants, the boots, the coats. He hadn’t had time to grab helmets, so they had to make do with the soft, fire-proof hoods.

  Val said something, he could see her lips moving.

  To answer he tapped his ear and shook his head. No doubt, she was deaf, too, the blast stunning their ear drums if not damaging them, maybe severely.

  Every movement brought agony. His breath came fast, in a shallow pant. His heartbeat raced, slamming against his ribs, but he couldn’t hear his pulse’s beat.

  Collapsed lung? Punctured? He supposed it didn’t matter. Not unless they got out of this garage.

  Once they were dressed, they helped each other slip the shoulder harnesses of their respective oxygen tanks on their backs, detaching them from the brackets fastening them to the backs of the seats. Once their gear was in place, he pointed to Val and himself and motioned to the door.

  Val nodded.

  He grasped the lever, lifted it, and pushed.

  The door didn’t budge.

  Damn, damn, damn.

  He placed his boots against the door, then motioned to Val to do the same. A nod of his head, and they both pushed.

  The door opened this time, leaving a four inch gap.

  Lund glanced around the interior. Smoke clouded everything, making it difficult to see. He spotted the other tool he’d made sure was in the compartment.

  The Halligan bar.

  He grabbed it in both hands in front of his body, then jammed the tool into the space. Putting his weight into it, he pried the space wider as well as he could from the inside, his chest in agony.

  The gap widened by an inch.

  Val wasn’t very big, but with the bulky gear, there was no way even she could squeeze through. He couldn’t even begin to fit. They had to find another way.

  Of course, the only other way was the other side of the truck, and from the look of it, that would likely put them smack into the fire.

  Unless…

  He looked at the front seat. It would be a tight squeeze to get up there, one he might not make, even if he hadn’t done whatever he’d done to his chest.

  But Val…

  Lund motioned to Val, pointing at the truck’s front seat followed by turning a phantom wheel, the universal sign for driving.

  Val nodded her understanding and a split second later, she was squeezing around oxygen tanks and over seat backs. She slid into the seat and cranked the ignition. The engine fired to life, despite the damage from the blast. Then she shifted it into gear and hit the gas.

  Ladder One was sitting at an angle, having been moved by the explosion. On one side, a fiery Engine One, on the other the smaller Unit One, both scraping against the sides, steel screeching, a feeling along Lund’s nerves more than a sound.

  It moved about an inch.

  Val revved the engine, straining, shuddering.

  Two inches.

  Three and four.

  A whole foot.

  The front fender hit one of the brick pillars between doors, steel crumpling.

  “Push it!” Lund yelled, although she probably couldn’t hear any better than he could. “Keep going!”

  Whether she heard or not, Val kept going.

  She hit the overhead door in slow motion, metal, glass, and wood holding for a moment, then shuddering, shattering, splintering, bending. Ladder One’s engine strained, then slowly scraped and broke and the whole thing forced its way into daylight.

  Val

  Val was shaking so badly, she couldn’t find the door latch.

  Two police cars sat on the apron, one Olson’s, Blaski still in the back seat, the other from the county. Another car turned in, followed by an ambulance. She turned back, trying to see Lund over the back of the seat.

  He was watching her. Still breathing.

  After the explosion, she hadn’t allowed herself to feel, to think. She’d just reacted, done what she needed to. But now it hit her how close both of them had come to death.

  All because she thought she could talk Johnson down.

  All because Lund thought he could save her.

  She lifted her hand to her face. Fingertips tracing wet cheeks, she realized she was crying. A tremor shook her, and she gripped the wheel.

  The driver’s door opened, and Olson looked up at her. “Thank God,” he said, his words barely discernable over the ringing in her ears. He lifted his arms to help her climb down. By the time her feet hit the pavement, the other officers were at the back door, freeing Lund.

  It wasn’t until they were out of the rig that Val could really get an idea of the damage.

  Fire raged behind them, engulfing Engine One. There was no back wall of the garage, but a gaping hole. The privacy fence around the lot was already burning, as were the leafless trees and, worst yet, the closest apartment building.

  “Clear the vicinity now,” Lund yell
ed. “Two trucks, two smaller vehicles. Full fuel tanks.”

  Everyone moved back, doing what they could to set up a perimeter.

  “Nancy?” Lund said.

  “She’s out,” Olson said, pointing to where the fire dispatcher stood behind the patrol cars, flustered but unhurt.

  “Johnson?” Val asked. She assumed he went up in the explosion, but she hadn’t seen it with her own eyes.

  The sergeant shook his head.

  “You saw him?”

  “A piece.”

  Val wasn’t sure how to feel, so she opted to feel nothing at all. “We need to get on the horn, call for more help.”

  “On it. Asked for all available units. Baraboo, Lake Delton, Reedsburg, they’re all sending everything they have. County is already on the way. Bomb squad is en route from Dane County, too.”

  “Kinda late.”

  “He might have more.”

  Val nodded, although she’d believed what Johnson had told them. He had little reason to lie.

  Of course, Olson was on top of it. He was born for this. “You sure you want to be a lawyer?”

  One side of his lips smirked, the equivalent of a guffaw in most people. “Go talk to EMS. You two look awful.”

  “We need to evacuate the people in those buildings,” Lund said, looking as if he intended to do it single handedly, never mind what Val would guess was either a collapsed lung or broken ribs.

  “Olson’s got it,” she said.

  Lund shook his head.

  “You can’t even breathe. What good are you going to do? You’ll just force others to rescue you.”

  He shook his head again, then his shoulders slumped. “Blue canaries. Racing into a firestorm they aren’t prepared to handle.”

  “We cops are like that.”

  “It’s a wonder we firefighters can keep you alive.”

  “It’s a wonder we EMTs don’t just wash our hands of the lot of you,” Carruthers barked. An older man with wire-rimmed glasses and brusque efficiency bordering on rudeness, Oscar Carruthers had seen everything, done everything, and didn’t suffer fools. “Isn’t this the second time in just a couple days that you’ve gotten blown up, Lund?”

  After establishing that Val’s injuries were mostly cuts and scrapes, and her bloody nose and headache didn’t come with a complimentary concussion, the EMTs handed her a towel and focused on Lund.

  Val wiped the blood from her nose. She felt horrible, but that was nothing compared to the pain Lund was in with each breath.

  Of course, it could have been worse. They could have been killed. Carruthers could have honed in on the fact that Val’s leg was barely holding her up or that she couldn’t move her hand properly. Johnson could have escaped and been out there somewhere.

  Like Pender was.

  How she’d forgotten about the psychologist for even a second, she wasn’t sure. Maybe she did have a concussion. But since she didn’t have time to stop and find out, she located Olson instead.

  “It’s Pender, Pete. Bix Johnson said he made the bomb for her, that she blackmailed him.”

  “Where is she now?”

  “I haven’t seen her since she gave us Blaski.” Information Val now assumed was totally false, designed to keep suspicion away from Bix until Pender could pick up her bomb.

  An explosion seemed to shake the earth itself. The fire surged, black smoke pouring from the shell of a building. And they had at least three more fuel tanks to go.

  “Pender can wait,” Val said. Protecting the public took priority. Besides, Pender didn’t have the bomb, so how much damage could she do? They’d track her down, find her. She wouldn’t get away with this. “How long for fire trucks?”

  “At least twenty minutes.” Olson yelled over the roar of the fire. “The rate this is spreading, we need to evacuate this complex and the next one, too. Maybe more. The county is giving me everything they’ve got, and I still don’t have enough bodies to get all those buildings cleared.”

  Val looked up at Olson. “Let’s go.”

  “You’re not going anywhere. Hell, you should be on your way to a hospital.”

  “But I can—” Val’s phone rang, only slightly louder than the residual ringing in her ears. She pulled it out of her pocket and checked the display.

  Oneida.

  “Talk to me.” Val had never known Oneida to whisper, but it sure sounded like that was what she was doing now. “You’re going to have to speak up.”

  “You’re at the fire station?”

  “Yeah.”

  “What’s happening there?”

  “Armageddon.” Val gave her a brief overview. “I need you to send everything you can get your hands on.”

  “Already have. Val, do you know where Grace is?”

  “Home.”

  “She’s not. Ginny Jones called when she arrived at your farm, but Grace wasn’t there.”

  Val’s mind buzzed, her palms sweating. “The rental car. Grace was driving it. You were working on that, before I told you I found her, right? Tell me that’s right.”

  “Right, right, the tracking system.”

  Val waited for Oneida to do her thing. When the dispatcher came back on the line, she sounded breathless. “Grace is in Baraboo.”

  “Where in Baraboo?”

  “She’s… It looks like she’s at the morgue.”

  Chapter

  Thirty

  Grace

  By the time Grace’s mind cleared enough to really track where one thought left off and the next started, she realized she was in a car. Her dad’s rental car. At least that’s what she thought. The ping in the engine was the same, and like before, the radio was tuned to the public station.

  Had she dreamed the rest? The soft bed? The girl from the bus? The little kid who smelled like graham crackers?

  She didn’t know. So many weird things had scrolled through her mind, she didn’t have any way to tie it all together. She still couldn’t see, but now she understood she had a blindfold tied around her eyes, some kind of thick fabric. She couldn’t move her hands, but now she understood that they were tied. She felt the car slow down and speed up, felt it bank around turns, and finally felt it come to a stop. Heard the engine switch off.

  “Stay here with Grace,” a woman’s voice said. “I’ll be back in just a little while.”

  Grace didn’t recognize the voice. She’d swear she’d never heard it before, and yet the woman knew her name. And who was she talking to? Someone watching her. Someone guarding her. But her tone was weird. Like she was talking to a child.

  Grace sniffed the air. Car smell, diesel fuel, her own sweat. No graham crackers.

  Maybe this wasn’t real either. Maybe Grace was still locked in the swirling dreams. The nightmares.

  Only last time she hadn’t felt in danger. This time she was really, truly scared.

  She concentrated on breathing, the way Aunt Grace had taught her to do when she was stressed. In-two-three-four. Hold-two-three-four. Out-two-three-four.

  The breath was real. The warmth of the sun on her face was real. The slam of the car door was real.

  And the sticky fingers stroking her cheek…

  The sweet smell of graham tickled her nose. The little kid. He was there. He was real.

  “I can’t see,” Grace said.

  No one answered.

  The fingers again, stroking her hair.

  “Can you uncover my eyes?”

  Again nothing.

  “Please? I want to see you.”

  Seconds passed. An engine roared to life outside the car. It sounded like they were at a construction site. If only Grace could see what was going on. If only she could reach her phone.

  “Was that your mommy?”

  “Hmmm.”

  It was the baby, all right. The one who had climbed into her lap. The one who smelled like crackers.

  “Can I see you?”

  Fingers touched her, gently, tentatively. But they didn’t remove the blindfold.
Instead they traced the white line of her scar.

  Grace’s throat felt thick. Her heart fluttered in her chest, beating too fast.

  “Why is this happening?” She said, not really expecting an answer, her voice embarrassingly thin, like that of a little girl.

  And that’s when she started to cry.

  Lund

  “What the hell is happening?” Lund’s chest burned with each breath, his headache had returned, and he’d added numerous pains to his inventory. But that didn’t mean he was ready to return to the hospital to be tortured by Nurse Sadie.

  So when Val spun abruptly and limped to her car, he’d escaped the attentions of old man Carruthers and jumped into her passenger seat before she had a chance to drive off. “Talk to me, Val.”

  “It’s Grace. She was supposed to stay at the house, but now the LoJack on the rental car she was driving shows she’s at the morgue.”

  He was obviously missing something. But even though what she said made no sense, her urgency and the worry etching her face was all he needed. “I’m going with you.”

  “You can’t even breathe.”

  “I’ll manage.”

  “No, Lund, you really need to—” Val reached for her phone, even though Lund hadn’t heard it ring. “Ryker.”

  She listened for a moment, then her eyes flared. “Thanks, Oneida.” Turning off the phone, she shifted into gear. Rubber screeching against pavement, the car accelerated onto the highway.

  “What is it?” Lund asked.

  “The jail. Someone just called in a bomb threat.”

  “Johnson didn’t say anything about another bomb.”

  “I don’t know. Maybe Pender phoned in the threat to get Hess out in the open. A last ditch effort before we catch up with her.”

  “But why is Grace…” Lund’s mind whirred. Pender at the jail. Grace at the morgue. Val’s urgency had nothing to do with the bomb threat or the doctor or whatever revenge she planned for Hess. “You think Pender has her?”

  Val pressed down harder on the accelerator until the Taurus was soaring over bluffs and surging through valleys. “I keep seeing that letter in my head. A gift to celebrate your upcoming release.”