Fire Angel

by Susanne Matthews

  Standing in the kitchen doorway, she shook her head and looked around the living room at the decrepit, damaged furniture, searching for something that might click, like an old-fashioned alarm clock that needed rewinding and only ticked occasionally. The television set in the corner was silent. There was no radio, no wind-up clock. She smiled at Jackson, who stood near the open door.

  “Do you hear that?” she asked, “that clicking sound?”

  Jake walked in carrying two cups of coffee. She was about to speak when the click sounded, much louder this time. Jake elbowed the door open wider to let Sam come in behind him, and all hell broke loose. Bang! The explosion ripped through the ceiling bringing it all down on top of her. Everything went black.

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  The blast from the collapsing roof propelled Sam backwards off the veranda and sent Jake and the coffee cups flying into the air. He landed hard on his stomach, the wind momentarily knocked out of him as slats and beams from the porch roof covered him, leaving the screen door hanging by its bottom hinge.

  “Jake, are you okay?” Sam asked, pulling the heavier slats of the porch’s roof off his back.

  Jake blinked. For a second he didn’t know where he was, and then it all came rushing back.

  “Alexis!” he panted out the word, trying to get up.

  His left side ached like it had the day of the roadside bombing. Where was Alexis?

  “Alexis,” he shouted, but the terrified cry was little more than a croak. Where had she been? In the kitchen doorway? Would the doorframe have provided any support? What if she were badly injured? He tried to turn over, but a beam held him solidly in place. He couldn’t move his prosthesis.

  “Forget me. Get to Alexis,” he yelled at Sam kneeling beside him. The man’s forehead was bleeding. “She and Jackson are still in there.”

  “Holy shit,” Pierre exclaimed, running up the sidewalk and stopping at the base of the steps. “What the hell happened? I thought you said the building was stable.”

  “It was,” Sam said, shoving debris aside in an effort to get into the house. He grabbed a large chunk of drywall and heaved it away, allowing Jake to see into the room. “Someone rigged the ceiling to come down. Not sure how yet, but you can bet your ass I’ll find out.” He spat the words through clenched teeth. “That wouldn’t have happened by itself.”

  Jake’s heart stopped. Somehow, while the storm had kept them all sitting around the inn playing “what if,” the bastard had had free rein to do whatever the hell he wanted. Why hadn’t the firefighters who’d checked the place seen that?

  “How the hell did you guys miss this?” he yelled at the firefighter beside him, his voice still hoarse.

  “My men and I don’t have X-ray vision,” Sam answered, his anger palpable. “To do this much damage, he would’ve had to place explosives under the insulation. I don’t know when and how. I swear it wasn’t there the night of the fire. The local boys assured me they’d secured the scene. Now, instead of bitching about it, tell me where she and Jackson were.”

  Somewhat mollified, Jake shoved his fury aside.

  “She was in the kitchen doorway,” Jake said. “Jackson should be about three feet ahead of me. Why didn’t you know the ceiling was rigged?”

  “Jake, we didn’t go up there. When we arrived this morning, the walkway had been cleaned and the stairs were barricaded. I assumed the local volunteer firefighters had done it—we did ask them to keep an eye on the place. I didn’t look. I should’ve. This is my fault,” he said, pulling out his radio. “This is Sam Quaid. I need a unit at the house in Paradise and I need it yesterday. Send the local volunteer squad here and three ambos if you can. The ceiling’s collapsed, Jake McKenzie’s injured, and there are two people trapped inside.”

  Jake coughed. What the hell? Why was he suddenly so wet? That wasn’t blood he smelled.

  “Son of a bitch,” he cursed, struggling to try and free himself, but the debris held him tightly in place.

  What he’d assumed to be water dripping down from the ceiling inside the house was gasoline. He sniffed again and coughed, realizing that the liquid was running along the floor towards him, soaking his clothing.

  “Sam,” he shouted, his voice stronger with this extra fear as he strained to reach around and remove some of the material pinning him in place. “We’ve got another problem. There’s gas running under the debris. Alexis and Jackson have to be covered in it just like I am. It’s dripping from the insulation. If anything sparks, we’re all going up in flames.”

  “Pierre, get him away from here. I don’t care how you do it, but that doorway needs to be cleared now. You two,” he called to the other officers who’d come running from behind the house. “Ms. Michaels and one of my men are buried under that. We need to get them out now.”

  Jake tried to free himself as Pierre and Tomkins, his partner moved the debris off of him.

  “Shit,” Pierre said.

  “What is it?” Jake asked. “Something’s still holding my leg down. I can’t move it.”

  “And you won’t. There’s a six-inch spike running right through the knee of your artificial leg. To get you out, you’re going to have to lose the leg.”

  Sick laughter bubbled up inside him. How many people got to lose the same leg twice? What more could go wrong?

  “Alexis? Can you see her?” he asked, suppressing his macabre humor.

  “No, but they’ve uncovered Jackson. He doesn’t look good.” Pierre shook his head. “Your prosthesis is smashed all to rat shit. The good news is the rods are broken and only wires seem to be holding it together above the knee. I’ve got bolt cutters in the Hummer. I can cut you free. We have to get you out of the way. How could this happen? The chief had regular patrols going by here.”

  “But the ice storm and then the snow left you really short-handed. The guy has to have a four-wheeler and a snowmobile. The weather might’ve inconvenienced him, but it didn’t stop him. Do whatever you have to do to get me loose. I’ve got to get to Alexis.”

  He would crawl through Hell to get to her, and if this place went up in flames, that was exactly where he would be.

  Pierre ran out of the house.

  “How is he?” Jake asked Sam who knelt next to the still body about a yard away from him.

  “Unresponsive, but he had his helmet on—unlike you—and that may have saved him. The ambos should be here soon.” Sam left his downed man and moved to Jake’s side. “Your head’s bleeding as is your arm. Did you black out?”

  “Maybe. I don’t know.”

  “Lieutenant Quaid, we found her,” one of the officers cried.

  Jake’s heart pounded so hard he thought it might burst from his chest. “Is she alive? Go to her. I’m fine.”

  “You’re not,” Sam said, standing. “We can’t do anything for your leg, but we’ll get you over to the car as soon as Pierre frees you.”

  “You’re bleeding, too,” Jake pointed out. Why was the man lollygagging here?

  “Just a flesh wound. I’m fine. Like I said, you weren’t wearing your helmet. Let’s hope to hell she was.”

  Sirens screamed in the distance.

  “Here comes help,” Sam said, moving away to go and assist in uncovering Alexis.

  “I’m not leaving her, Sam,” Jake shouted, thrashing on the floor, desperate to free himself and follow the firefighter. “My leg may be useless, but there isn’t anything wrong with my hands. I can dig through the debris as easily as the next guy.”

  Pierre arrived and, with Tomkins’s help, he cut away the metal wires above the knee joint and released him, helping him upright. His left thigh bled profusely. Had he cut an artery? Was that why he was lightheaded?

  Dismissing the pain and the dizziness, he leaned heavily on Pierre’s shoulder.

  “I can work on my stomach if I have to,” Jake said. “We have to get her out, get them out. This place could go up at any time.”

  “And you with it. Be reasonable,” Sam cried fro
m his place next to Alexis. “Get him out of here. That’s an order.” He turned toward the rescue squad, jumping out of their truck. “I need two backboards in here now!”

  Running feet slapped the snowy sidewalk and then the wooden veranda.

  Despite his refusal to leave, Pierre and Tomkins carried Jake over to the ambulance that had arrived on the heels of the fire engine.

  “What in blazes happened?” Ev cried, getting out of his car. “Linc assured me the structure was sound.” He ran his ungloved hands through his hair. “How many people are in there?”

  “He outfoxed us again, Ev. He’s always one damn step ahead of us.” Tears clogged Jake’s throat. “He used the storm to his advantage and rigged the ceiling to collapse. When it did, it must have ruptured gasoline cans. Alexis and Jackson are still inside. They’ve got to bring them out quickly, a spark or anything could set it off at any time. I don’t know how he did it; there had to be a switch of some sort, a trigger mechanism. Somebody wanted to stop us from finding evidence, which means that there was evidence to be found.” He shook his head. “Her case. Find her pink case. If she found anything, it’s in there.”

  Memories of the roadside bomb explosion and his helplessness merged in his mind with today’s disaster. The smell of gasoline had been strong that day, too.

  “Have we gotten anything from other jurisdictions? There has to be information out there to help us.”

  Ev nodded. “It’s not much. We received a death certificate for Mackenzie Holden. The boy died when he was six, almost thirty years ago. Whoever used that name to lure Slaney to the cabin had to know that. The death occurred in Orillia. I’ve asked for more information.”

  Jake nodded. It wasn’t much, but...

  “Matt, weren’t you stationed near there?” he asked the man who’d joined them.

  “About a hundred miles away, but I knew a lot of the guys who worked up there,” Matt admitted. “Let me make a few calls. If there was anything suspicious about the death, there might be something in their archives.”

  Another fire engine pulled up, this one from North Bay, and the men raced inside to help those at work moving slabs of drywall and wood to get to the ones trapped under it. One firefighter carried a “saws all”. They couldn’t risk using power tools. Within minutes, they carried Jackson out on a backboard. Jake was relieved to see that the young man was awake, but it was obvious he was in a lot of pain. He watched as the firefighter was loaded into the ambulance beside him.

  The “William Tell Overture” sounded loudly, startling him, and when it reached the second movement, the back of the house exploded into flames.

  “No! God! No! Alexis!” He screamed. The burning house was replaced with a vision of a burning truck hitting the mine and exploding. He relived the horror of the screams of the men trapped in the inferno as his Hummer hit the third device and flipped over, ripping him from the vehicle, and tossing him like a broken doll fifty feet away.

  He blinked and he was on the street once more. Seconds passed like hours as he watched the fire spread. He’d done it again. He’d failed to protect the one he loved from his enemies. He’d brought her here. This was his fault. Agonized tears of grief ran down his cheeks unheeded.

  “They found her! Here they come,” Everett shouted. As men rushed to help those carrying the backboard down the stairs.

  The men were no more than twenty feet away from the structure when a second explosion rocked the house throwing all sorts of debris into the air, forcing the neighbors to run for cover. The firefighters who had just begun to pour water on the burning structure turned the hoses onto nearby houses to prevent the fire from spreading. If the wind picked up, the entire neighborhood and who knew what else could go.

  Everett scrambled to the phone to order all power and gas cut to the area.

  Jake had been told that the fridge and stove in the house were propane gas. He’d assumed they’d been turned off, but if the killer could rig the roof, he could rig the gas. Those carrying the stretcher had just managed to keep their feet and hold onto their precious cargo. Within seconds, the structure became a fireball that eliminated all traces of whatever had happened there before.

  Jake watched as smoke and flames engulfed the house. Tears of frustration and anger raced down his cheeks. He didn’t care who saw them. He’d failed her as he should have known he would. When she needed him to have her back, he hadn’t been there for her. He didn’t even know how badly hurt she was. She might be dead for all he knew.

  He saw that one of the firefighters carried Alexis’s pink case. She had joked about her girlie case, calling it her good luck charm. She said it glowed in the dark. Had she been right? Would the contents of that silly pink case help them find the person who’d done this?

  The only thing he cared about right now was the still figure being loaded into the ambulance next to his. He wanted to rush over to her, but he was immobilized by his own injury. He wished the roadside bomb had killed him. If it had, she wouldn’t be hurt like she was.

  * * *

  Damn! First, they didn’t open the frigging door wide enough, then, when he decided to off her here instead, they get her out in time. What the hell was going on? Was this Karma’s idea of a joke?

  He needed a cigarette—a joint would be better—but there was no way he could have one here, not with all these people around. He popped two pieces of gum into his mouth instead.

  He craned his neck for a better look. Maybe she was dead. It was hard to tell, but since they hadn’t covered her up yet ... In the event she recovered, he could go back to the strategy he’d formulated to teach her a lesson and have a little fun. If she was too badly injured and push came to shove, he could always help her along the way he’d helped Angus. What he couldn’t do was let her talk to anyone about whatever she’d found.

  From his vantage point he saw them put a cervical collar on her and strap her to a back board. Her face was covered in dirt. There was a heavy gauze pad, already red, over most of her head. Those fancy yellow overalls were torn and covered in blood, and she appeared to be having a great deal of difficulty breathing. He watched them slip her into a body bag, but they didn’t close it over her face. Still alive then.

  Whiffs of gasoline floated over to him on the wind. Man, she had to stink. He hated that smell. It reminded him of Mack—one of the reasons he almost always used the full-service stations. The time he’d spent at Duffy’s playing cards and sucking up to the bastard had been his own form of torture.

  The paramedic placed an oxygen mask over her face. As soon as the stretcher and paramedic entered the ambulance, Everett slammed the doors shut and signaled the driver. The lights and siren burst into action and the vehicle pulled away. Taking her to the trauma center, no doubt. He’d check on her later.

  The irony of this was killing him. Completely incapacitated, Jake stared forlornly after it, and he fought not to chuckle and draw attention to himself.

  “Ah, poor bastard lost your girlfriend again—and your leg. Sucks to be you,” he mumbled.

  He’d stood across the street and watched them when they first arrived, waited as they’d opened the door, but they hadn’t opened it wide enough to bring down the ceiling which meant he needed to resort to plan B. He’d been about to detonate the bombs when Jake, of all people, had opened the door wide enough to do the trick. How fitting. Once he realized he’d triggered the collapse, Jake would have to live with that for the rest of his life. Talk about icing on the cake.

  Sam Quaid walked over and handed Jake a crushed firefighter’s helmet. If she’d taken a hit that hard, helmet or not, she would have a severe head injury.

  It had been quite the feat of engineering to rig the house. He’d come and gone throughout the storm, marching right down the sidewalk in the firefighter’s uniform he’d stolen. They probably didn’t even realize it was missing. He’d return it in a day or two—no harm, no foul. He’d planned to start the fire as soon as the ceiling collapsed, immolate her on a
pyre of Jake’s making, but technology had let him down. The battery on the burner phone he’d left in the vehicle had lost too much of its charge to pick up a signal.

  He hadn’t dared use his in case they could somehow trace it. That’s what happened when you relied on inferior materials. Leroy had learned that lesson the hard way. He’d scrambled to find an alternative and there it was, right next to him, sitting on the front seat of Jake’s unlocked SUV. Wasn’t it great when a plan came together like that? If they did figure out where the call that activated the second bomb came from, how would Jake feel knowing it was his? Too bad she hadn’t roasted alive, but he’d take what he could get. Whatever evidence was left behind was gone now.

  If she survived the day, he would send her roses—maybe add a toy mouse and a candle to the bouquet—a subtle message that this was the end of the game. His groin tightened. He’d disliked the idea of killing her without having a chance to enjoy her, but it looked as if Fate might have something else in mind. He smiled.

  The firefighters had the fire under control. Time to get back to work.

  * * *

  Jake sat on the tailgate of the ambulance. He couldn’t face life without her. He’d already lost so much, he couldn’t lose her, too.

  The paramedic cleaned the cuts and scrapes on his face, arms, and hands, slit his jean, removed the rest of the broken prosthesis, and examined his thigh and the stump. There was some bruising and bleeding—the debris had missed the artery, but it would be a while before he could strap on another prosthesis.

  “You’re going to need stitches to close that cut,” Glen Hazlet said. “When we got the call to come here again, I almost refused. The best thing that could happen to that place was to be destroyed.” He shook his head. “I know that’s insensitive, but Jake, if you’d gone in and seen them ... we’ve got to get you out of that clothing and wash you down. It’s damn cold out here, but I can’t chance taking you inside the ambulance or the ER that way and I’m fresh out of body bags. A spark could light you up like the Fourth of July.”