"Enough for a damn modeling troupe," he muttered.
"I beg your pardon?" Her tone lowered the temperature in the terminal by ten degrees.
"Nothing. Your opening made a real splash," he continued as they walked out of the terminal.
"It met our expectations."
"You're getting write-ups in Newsday and Business Week." He shrugged when she looked at him. "I heard."
"And Women's Wear Daily," she added. "But who's counting?"
"I've been. It's great, Natalie, really. I'm happy for you. Proud of you." He set her luggage beside his car, and his limbs went weak. "God, I've missed you."
She stepped back, evading him, when he reached for her. He was not going to hurt her again, she promised herself. She would not allow it.
"Okay." Slowly, stunned by the ache that one quick rejection caused, he lifted his hands, palms out. "I had that coming. I've got plenty coming. I'll give you the chance to take all the shots you want."
"I'm not interested in fighting with you," she said wearily. "I've had a long trip. I'm too tired to fight with you."
"Let me take you home, Natalie."
"I'm going to the office." She stepped back and waited for him to unlock the car. Once inside, she sat back and shut her eyes. She just sighed when Ry laid the bright yellow flowers in her lap.
"They, ah, haven't gotten any more out of Clarence," he said, hoping to chip at the wall she'd erected between them.
"I know." She couldn't think about her suspicions yet. "I've kept in touch."
"You moved around fast."
"I had a lot of ground to cover."
"Yeah." He dug out money for the parking attendant. "I got the picture, after I chased you around Atlanta."
She opened her eyes then. "Excuse me?"
"I couldn't get a damn cab," he muttered. "You must have hooked one the minute you walked out of my apartment."
"Yes, I did."
"Figures. I'm running the marathon to your apartment, then you're gone when I get there. I see the note, figure the airport, and get there in time to see your plane take off."
She felt herself softening, and stiffened. "Is that supposed to be my fault, Piasecki?"
"No, it's not your fault, damn it. It's my fault. But if you could have sat still in Atlanta for five minutes, we'd have settled this."
"We have settled it."
"Not by a long shot." Turning his head, he aimed a deadly look at her. "I hate it when people hang up on me."
"It was," she said with relish, "my pleasure."
"I might have strangled you for it when I got down there. If I could have caught you. 'No, Ms. Fletcher's at her shop.' Then I get to the shop, and it's 'Sorry, Ms. Fletcher's gone back to her hotel.' I get back to the hotel, and you've checked out. I get to the airport and you're in the sky. I spent hours chasing my tail, trying to catch up with you."
She shrugged. She didn't want to be pleased, but she couldn't prevent a little frisson of pleasure at the frustration in his voice. "Don't expect an apology." Still, she gathered up the flowers to keep them from sliding from her lap when he braked.
"I'm trying to give you one."
"There's no need. I've had time to think about it, and I've decided you were absolutely right. I don't like the style you used, but the bottom line rings true. We had some interesting chemistry. That's all."
"We had a lot more than that. We've got more than that. Natalie—"
"This is my stop." Forgetting her luggage, she bolted out of the car. By the time Ry had parked, illegally, she was waiting for the security guard to open the front door of her building.
"Damn it, Natalie, would you hold still?"
"I have work. Good evening, Ben."
"Ms. Fletcher. Working late?"
"That's right." She breezed past the guard, with Ry at her heels. "There's no need for you to come up with me, Ry."
"You said you loved me."
Ignoring the guard's speculative look, Natalie pressed the elevator button. "I got over it."
Panic spurted through him, freezing him in place. He barely made it into the elevator before the doors shut in his face. "You did not."
"I know what I did, I know what I didn't." She jabbed the button for her floor. "It's all ego with you. You're causing a scene because I didn't come back when you called." She tossed her hair back. Her eyes were bright. Not with tears, he saw with some relief. But with anger. "Because I don't need you."
"It has nothing to do with ego. I was—" He couldn't admit he'd been scared, down-to-the-bone scared. "I was wrong," he said. That was hard enough, but at least it wasn't humiliating. "It was you—there in my place. I asked you to come because it was so obvious."
"What was obvious?"
"That it couldn't be real. I didn't see how it could be real. Who you are, the way you are. And me."
Her eyes sharpened, narrowed. "Am I following you here, Inspector? You dumped me because I didn't fit in with your apartment."
It didn't have to sound that stupid. His voice rose in defense. "With everything. With me. I can't give you… the things. The first time I remembered I should give you flowers once in a while, you looked at me like I'd clipped you on the jaw. I never take you anywhere. I don't think of it. You've got friends who live in mansions. And look, damn it, you've got diamonds in your ears right now." He tossed up his hands, as if that should explain everything. "Diamonds, for God's sake."
Her cheeks were hot now. She was all but radiating heat as she stepped toward him. "Is this about money? Is that it? You broke my heart over money?"
"No, it's about… things." How could he explain what made no sense at all anymore? "Natalie, let me touch you."
"The hell with you." She shoved him back, bounding through the elevator the minute the doors open. "You tossed me aside because you thought I wanted you to get me diamonds, or a mansion, or flowers?" Furious, she tossed the daffodils on the floor. "I can get my own diamonds, or anything else I want. What I wanted was you.''
"Don't walk away. Don't." Swearing, he rushed after her. Somewhere down the long corridor, a phone rang. "Natalie." He grabbed her by the shoulders, spun her around. "I didn't think that, exactly."
She rammed her briefcase hard into his gut. "And you had the nerve to call me a snob."
Out of patience, he rammed her back against the wall. "It was wrong. It was stupid. I was stupid. What more do you want me to say? I wasn't thinking. I was just feeling."
"You hurt me."
"I know." He rested his brow on hers, tried to get his bearings. He could smell her, feel her, and the thought of losing her made him weak in the knees. "I'm sorry. I didn't know I could hurt you. I thought it was just me. I thought you'd walk."
"So you walked first."
He drew back a little. "Something like that."
"Coward." She jerked away. "Go away, Ry. Leave me alone. I have to think about this."
"You're still in love with me. I'm not going anywhere until you tell me."
"Then you'll have to wait, because I'm not ready to tell you anything." Phones were ringing. Wearily rubbing her temple, Natalie wondered who would be calling so long after hours. "I'm raw, don't you understand? I realized I loved you and had you break it off almost simultaneously. I'm not going to serve you my emotions on a platter."
"Then I'll give you mine," he said quietly. "I love you, Natalie."
Her heart swam into her eyes. "Damn you. Damn you! That's not fair."
"I can't be worried about fair." He stepped closer, and reached out to touch her hair. His hand froze when he saw the flicker of light at the end of the hall. It danced through the glass in a pattern he recognized too well. "Take the fire stairs down, now. Call Dispatch."
"What? What are you talking about?"
"Go," he repeated, and dashed down the hall. He could smell smoke now, and cursed it. Cursed himself for being so intent on his own needs that he'd missed it. He saw it, the crafty plume under the door that flowed out, sucked in.
She was right behind him. He had time to see the flames writhing behind the glass, time to judge. Then he turned, leapt and knocked Natalie to the ground as the window exploded. Lethal shards of glass rained over them.
Chapter 12
She felt pain, sharp and shocking, as her head thudded against the floor, and pinpricks of heat from the glass and flame. For a terrifying moment, she thought Ry was unconscious, or dead. His body was fully spread over hers, a shield protecting her from the worst of the blast.
Before she could even sob in the breath to scream his name, he was up and dragging her to her feet.
"Are you burned?"
She shook her head, aware only of the throbbing, and the smoke that was beginning to sting her eyes, her throat. She could barely see his face through it, but she saw the blood.
"Your face, your arm—you're bleeding."
But he wasn't listening. He had her hand vised in his, and was dragging her away from the flame. Even as they dashed down the hall, another window exploded. Fire roared out.
It surrounded them, golden and greedy, unbelievably hot. She screamed once as she saw it race along the floor, eating its way toward them, spitting like a hundred hungry snakes.
Panic gripped her, icy fingers clutching at her stomach, squeezing her throat, in taunting contrast to the heat pulsing around them. They were trapped, fire writhing on either side of them. Terrified, she fought him when he pushed her to the floor.
"Stay low." However grim his thoughts, his voice was calm. He gripped her hair in one hand to keep her face turned to his. He needed her to hold on to control.
"I can't breathe." The smoke was choking her, making her gasp for air and expel what little she had in gritty coughs.
"There's more air down here. We don't have much time." He was aware—too well aware—of how quickly the fire would reach them, how well it blocked their exit to the stairs. He had nothing with which to fight it.
If the fire didn't kill them, the smoke would, long before rescue could reach them.
"Get out of your coat."
"What?"
Her movements were already sluggish. He fought back panic and yanked her coat from her shoulders. "We're going through it."
"We can't." She couldn't even scream at the next explosion of glass, could only huddle, racked by coughing. Her mind was dull, stunned by smoke. She wanted only to lie down and draw in the precious air that still hovered just above the floor. "We'll burn. I don't want to die that way."
"You're not going to die." Tossing the coat over her head, he dragged her to her feet. When she staggered, he lifted her over his shoulder. He stood, fire lapping on both sides, a flaming sea around him. In seconds, the tidal wave would reach them, and they'd drown in it.
He gauged the distance and sprinted into the wave.
For an instant, they were in hell. Fire, heat, the roaring of its anger, the quick, ravenous licking of its tongues. For no more than two heartbeats—an eternity—flames engulfed them. He felt the hair, on his hands singe, knew from the intense heat on his back and arms that his jacket would catch. He knew exactly what fire did to human flesh. He wouldn't allow it to have Natalie.
Then they were through it, and into a wall of smoke. Blinded, lungs straining, he groped for the fire door.
Instinctively he checked it for heat, thanked God, then shoved it open. Smoke was billowing up the stairwell, rising as if in a chimney that meant fire below, as well, but they didn't have a choice. Moving fast, he ripped the smoldering coat away from her and leaned her against the wall while he stripped off his own jacket.
The leather was burning, sluggishly.
Dazed by the smoke and teetering into shock, Natalie slid bonelessly to the floor.
"You're not giving up," he snapped at her as he hauled her back over his shoulder. "Hang on, damn it. Just hang on."
He streaked down the steps, one flight, then two, then a third. She was dead weight now, her head lolling, her arms limp. His eyes were watering from the smoke, the tears joining the river of sweat rolling down his face. The coughing that seized him felt as if it would shatter his ribs. All he knew was that he had to get her to safety.
He counted each level, keeping his mind focused. The smoke began to thin, and he began to hope.
She never stirred, not even when he tested the door at the lobby level, found it cool, and staggered through.
He heard the shouts, the sirens. His vision grayed as two fire fighters rushed toward him.
"God almighty, Inspector."
"She needs oxygen." Still holding her, Ry shoved the offer of assistance aside and carried her outside, into clean air.
Lights were swirling. All the familiar sounds and scents and sights of a fire scene. Like a drunk, he weaved toward the closest engine.
"Oxygen," he ordered. "Now." Another coughing fit battered him as he laid her down.
Her face was black with soot, and her eyes were closed. He couldn't see if she was breathing, couldn't hear. Someone was shouting, raging, but he had no idea it was him. Hands pushed his own fumbling ones aside and fit an oxygen mask over Natalie's face.
"You need attention, Inspector."
"Keep away from me." He bent over her, searching for a pulse. Blood dripped down his arm and onto her throat. "Natalie. Please."
"Is she all right?" With tears streaming down her face, Deirdre dropped down beside him. "Is she going to be all right?"
"She's breathing," was all Ry could say. "She's breathing," he repeated, stroking her hair.
Mercifully, most of the next hour was a blur. He remembered climbing into the ambulance with her, holding her hand. Someone pressed oxygen on him, bound up his arm. They took her away the minute they hit the E.R. His panicked raging came out in hacking coughs.
Then the world turned upside down.
He found himself flat on his back on an examining table. When he tried to push himself upright, he was restrained.
"Just lie still." A small, gray-haired woman was scowling at him. "I like my stitches neat and tidy. You lost a fair amount of blood, Inspector Piasecki."
"Natalie…"
"Ms. Fletcher's being tended to. Now let me do my job, will you?" She stopped what she was doing and eyed him again. "If you keep shoving at me, mister, I'm going to sedate you. My job was a lot easier when you were out cold."
"How long?" he managed to croak.
"Not long enough." She knotted the suture, and snipped. "We picked the glass out of your shoulder. Not much damage there, but this arm's nasty. Fifteen stitches." She granted him a smile. "Some of my best work."
"I want to see Natalie." His voice was raspy, but there was no mistaking the threat underneath. "Now."
"Well, you can't. You're going to stay where I put you until I'm done. Then, if you're a very good boy, I'll have someone check on Ms. Fletcher for you."
Ry used his good arm and grabbed the doctor by the coat. "Now."
She only sighed. In his condition, she was well aware, she could knock him back with a shrug. But agitation wasn't going to help him. "Stay," she ordered, and went to the curtain. Pushing it aside, she called for a nurse. After a few brisk instructions, she turned back to Ry. "Your update's on the way. I'm Dr. Milano, and I'll be saving your life this evening."
"She was breathing," he said, as if daring Milano to disagree.
"Yes." She moved back to take his hand. "You took in a lot of smoke, Inspector. I'm going to treat you, and you're going to cooperate. After we've cleaned you out, I'll arrange for you to see Ms. Fletcher."
The nurse came back to the curtained opening, and Milano moved off again to hold a murmured consultation with her.
"Smoke inhalation," she announced. "And she's in shock. A few minor burns and lacerations. I imagine we'll keep her in our fine establishment for a day or two." Her face softened when she saw Ry's eyes close in relief. "Come on, big guy, let's work together here."
He might be weak as a baby, but he wasn't goin
g to let them shove him into a hospital room. Over Milano's disgusted protests, he walked out into the waiting area. Deirdre sprang up from a chair the moment she saw him.
"Natalie?"
"They're working on her. They told me she's going to be all right."
"Thank God." With a muffled sob, Deirdre covered her face.
"Now, Ms. Marks, why don't you tell me what the hell you were doing outside the office tonight?"
Taking a deep breath, Deirdre levered herself into a chair. "I'd be glad to. I called Natalie's brother," she added. "I suppose he's already on his way out. I told him she was hurt, but I tried to play it down."
Ry merely nodded. Though he hated the weakness, he had to sit. Nausea was threatening again. "That was probably wise."
"I also gave him the bare bones of what I found out earlier today." She took a long breath. "I haven't been in the office the last couple of days—I've been nursing a cold. But I took work home. Including files and a couple of computer disks Natalie gave me before she went on the road. I was running figures, and I found some discrepancies. Some very large discrepancies. The kind that equals embezzlement."
Money, Ry thought. It almost always came around to money. "Who?"
"I can't say for sure—"
He interrupted her, in a tone that made her shiver. "Who?"
"I'm telling you, I can't be sure. I can only narrow it down, considering how and where the money was siphoned off. And I'm not giving you a name so you can go off and beat somebody to a pulp."
Which was exactly what he had in mind, she was certain. Despite the fact that he looked like a survivor of a quick trip to hell, there was murder in his eyes.
"I could be wrong. I need to talk to Natalie," she said, half to herself. "As soon as I was sure of what I'd found, I tried to contact her in Colorado, but she'd already left. I knew she'd go by the office before heading home. It's the way she works. So I decided I'd meet her there. Tell her what I'd found out." She tapped the briefcase at her feet. "Show her. When I parked outside, I glanced up. I saw—She shut her eyes, knew she would relive it over and over again. "I saw these crazy lights in some of the windows. At first I didn't know, then I realized what it was. I called 911 on the car phone." Unnerved by the memory, she pressed a hand to her mouth. "I ran inside, told the security guard. And we heard, like, an explosion."
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