by Jodi Thomas
Mark tried to see her moving in the crowd in front of him. She couldn’t be more than a few steps ahead of him! She couldn’t already be in harm’s way!
As they neared the bomb site, the smoke thickened the cloudy night. One of the buildings burned, splashing flames and smoke into the air. A fire truck screamed past them as people fled the scene at the same pace people were running to help.
Miller was at Mark’s heels when they turned the corner. Men rushed to set up roadblocks and civilians directed traffic with flashlights.
The smoke, the screaming, people everywhere. Suddenly Mark was losing Blaine all over again.
“No!” he yelled and shoved his way past onlookers gathering. He stumbled over fire hoses and bumped into cars with windshields shattered from falling bricks.
He fought wildly toward the smoke. “Blaine’s in there!” he screamed.
He’d been on the edge of sanity, balancing feelings he’d never allowed to surface. Now he was about to take the short step over and nothing would stop him. He ran, blinking away the smoke, yelling Blaine’s name, listening for her answer.
Two uniformed policemen finally blocked him, forming an iron gate he couldn’t seem to get around.
“I have to get past!” he yelled, feeling all reason slipping and no longer caring. Blaine, his baby, his future, his life were all just beyond the men holding him back.
“Hold on, buddy!” one yelled. “No one goes closer. It isn’t safe.”
“My wife’s in there!” He shoved forward. “My wife’s in there!”
The bandage came loose from his forehead and his wound started bleeding again, but still he fought. He heard one of the men holding him yell for help. A moment later strong hands felt as if they were pulling him apart. They shoved him into the back of a police car and slammed the door.
Mark pounded on the windows like a wild man. No one heard his cries. “Blaine!” he shouted. “God, Blaine don’t leave me again.” He’d let her slip from his grip one more time.
Thirty-Five
Blaine took off running the instant she heard the radio report. She knew the Annas would be at their post at the bus stop as they were every night…as they had been the night she’d walked from the bombing and again the night she’d been knifed.
As she ran she pieced together what must have happened. The bomber had come into the café with a bomb and somehow left with the wrong bag. It was all her fault. She’d been the one he was trying to kill. Not the Annas.
Tears streamed down her face. If they were hurt it was all her fault. She’d been so worried about protecting herself, she hadn’t found a way of stopping the madness. Blaine knew his face. She could have stopped him before now. She’d had one last chance earlier tonight when he’d been in the café. She should have thrown herself between him and the door. Maybe she could have slowed him for a few seconds, just long enough for Miller to run from the back.
Then he would have been caught and there would not be another report on a police radio of a bombing.
But she hadn’t. She’d been afraid. She’d thought about when she should have acted and now the Annas, and others, might be hurt.
When she crossed the street at the hotel, she entered a war zone with people lying everywhere. Most were crying, bleeding, asking for help. A few looked like broken toys tossed into traffic. Ambulances and police cars screamed from every direction and chaos whirled like smoke in the streets. Bricks, along with whole chunks of the building, littered the walk. Broken glass sparkled in car lights like diamonds amid the dust.
She ran past several cars damaged by debris, with injured people crawling out the doors while stoplights blinked off and on in double time above them. The smell of blood thickened the smoky air and flames from the roof of a building stretched into the sky.
Blaine moved, fighting her way as the cries of those around her blended with her own screams of panic.
When she reached the spot where the stop had been, nothing remained but rubble. If she hadn’t known it to be a bus stop she would have thought it only a junk heap from a construction site. A fine dust thickened the air and settled over everything, turning the world to gray.
“Help me,” a man whimpered from a few feet away. “Please, help me. I’m trapped. I can’t move my leg.”
Blaine took a step, but others rushed to the man beneath part of the wall that had stood behind the stop only minutes before. She spread her hands out, fingers wide as she searched in a broadening circle.
“Anna,” she called. “Vanilla Anna, where are you? Chocolate Anna. It’s Mary. Where are you?”
A fireman looked at her as though she’d lost her mind, but he had his hands full trying to help the injured tonight, so he didn’t bother her.
Blaine’s eyes burned from the smoke. The heat from the fire made it seem midday in July and not night. She knew she had only a few minutes before Miller caught up to her and he, or Randell, or even Mark would order her away, as if now that she was pregnant her brain must be leaking out and she no longer had the sense of a child. She had to know the Annas were safe before she left the scene.
Her circle almost reached the building now as she moved. Hope climbed into her thoughts. Maybe the Annas had gone to the bathroom, or for some reason were late to the stop. Maybe they hadn’t been here at all and were safe.
Just as she breathed a sigh of relief, she saw two huddled mounds of rags in a doorway. Scattered, broken bags surrounded them, their treasures of plastic forks and sugar packets sprinkled around.
Blaine ran to the Annas as a white light scanned the area and a speaker somewhere yelled for everyone not authorized to move behind the barriers.
“Anna!” She hugged the old black bag lady. “Oh, Anna, I was so worried about you.”
The hard old woman’s face was wet with tears. “I’m all right,” she said, holding herself away from Blaine’s hug. “I got us as far as here, but she don’t want to walk anymore. She keeps falling down. I told her we have to stay together, but she’s not listening.”
Blaine knelt beside Vanilla Anna. For a moment, she looked as if she was simply sleeping. But she was far too still.
“Anna?” Blaine tried, then remembered what a few of the homeless called the little bag lady. “Momma, are you all right?”
A dirty old hand reached out to cover hers.
“Momma.” Blaine patted Anna’s hand. “I’m home. I practiced, just like I promised.”
Anna smiled. “I knew you’d come home, child.” Her voice only a whisper now. “They said you was lost in that tornado, but I knew the wind would bring you back one day.”
Blaine glanced up at Chocolate Anna. The big woman nodded. “She lost her three boys and one little girl thirty years ago when a twister hit Lubbock.” She shoved tears away with her palm. “A nurse at a clinic told me about it once. Said her daughter went to school with one of Anna’s sons back then and she remembered the family, but I never let on like I knew.”
Vanilla Anna’s grip relaxed around Blaine’s fingers.
Blaine touched her face, begging Vanilla Anna to open her eyes.
The old bag lady had on several layers of clothes, but even in the heat of the fires burning so near, she wasn’t sweating. It fact, she seemed cold.
“Anna!” Blaine shouted. “I need you to come with me. We’re feedin’ muffins, the best you ever ate, down at the café.” Blaine pushed back tears. “I figure I owe you another one for loaning me those good shoes. Get up now and go with us. This isn’t anyplace for you to be.”
Blaine framed the old woman’s face with her fingers. “Come on, Momma, the kids need you.”
Vanilla Anna’s head fell forward into Blaine’s hands.
“Anna!” Blaine screamed as blood soaked through the layers of clothing at the old woman’s neck and spread across her fingers. “No!”
She wanted to declare that this was all her fault. She was the one who should have died. But Anna wasn’t listening.
Blaine grabbed her s
carf and blotted at the blood as if it would go away if she pushed it back.
Chocolate Anna sobbed openly, her big body rocking from side to side as grief took control.
Miller’s low voice told Blaine to step back as his big hands gripped her shoulders and he helped her to her feet.
“I tried to stop the bleeding, but I can’t tell where it’s coming from.” Blaine shook so badly her words came out choppy. “I think she’s hurt in the back of the neck. I’m afraid to move her.”
He knelt in front of Anna, gently moving his hands to the sides of the woman’s throat. A moment later he stood, his fingers now stained with blood. “I’ll get help. Don’t move her.”
He ran toward the ambulances pulling up near the blockade. Men unloaded kits of supplies and stretchers, but the bleeding seemed to be everywhere. Firemen tried to get to the fire, now consuming an entire building, but they had to move the injured first.
Blaine knelt and closed her fingers around Anna’s dirty hand. She gripped tightly as though she could somehow force the woman to hang on.
Great sobs broke from Chocolate Anna as she slid to the ground beside the doorway. Her cries could easily be heard all the way to heaven.
“Hang on, Anna,” Blaine cried, wishing her arms were wide enough to hold both women. “Miller will get help. You’ll see.”
She leaned down, praying to feel Vanilla Anna’s breath on her cheek.
But there was nothing.
Thirty-Six
Mark watched the insanity around him from the silence of the inside of a police car. Adrenaline ran so thick in his veins he felt as if he might explode at any moment.
All his life everything had had an order, a logical path he could follow. Emotion was never a factor. He’d never loved, or hated, or cried, or felt until Blaine disappeared from his life, and now he was being driven crazy with feelings. The need to get to her had long ago transcended any reason and now overshadowed his basic survival instincts.
Detective Randell passed by, talking with a uniformed officer. The bumbling cop who had trouble talking to Tuesday without stammering was now in his element. Randell was snapping orders, displaying an authority and seasoned reason that surprised Mark.
When the cop was within five feet of the car, Mark hit the window with all the force he could manage, rocking the police car.
Randell looked up. A second later, he jerked the door open. “What the hell are you doing in there, Anderson? I thought you were back with the women at the café.”
“Bl…Mary followed you here.” Mark climbed from the back seat.
“Hell. I’ve got all I can handle without some pregnant lady running around. Next thing you’ll be telling me Tuesday’s here passing out muffins.”
Mark shoved past Randell. He didn’t have time to talk to the cop.
“Where do you think you’re going?”
“I have to find her.”
Randell yelled. “Then find her, Anderson, and get out of here. This is no place for either of you.”
The uniform policeman made a move toward Mark, but Randell waved him back as he ordered, “Stay out of trouble, Counselor, or I swear I’ll throw you in jail myself.”
Mark weaved his way through the police cars and fire trucks just as he’d done a month before. Then he hadn’t known how death could rip a man’s heart out. Then he hadn’t understood about loss.
But now he did. He would not lose her again.
He spotted Miller at the edge of the crowd, watching the activity as he always did.
Mark hurried toward him, but he didn’t have to say a word, Miller knew who he was looking for.
“She’s straight ahead in a doorway with the Annas.” Miller pointed twenty feet away. “I’ve got a medic pulling out a stretcher right now. We’ll be headed in that direction soon. He’ll take care of Anna, but you need to get Mary out of here.”
“I’ve heard that before,” Mark mumbled, wondering why everyone felt the need to tell him what he already knew he had to do.
Miller grabbed his arm. “I mean it. Get her somewhere safe, fast. I saw the thin man moving among the crowd of onlookers.”
Mark stared at the old warrior’s eyes and knew what he was about to do. “You’re going after the bomber, aren’t you?”
“Just take care of your wife,” Miller whispered. “I’m not your concern.”
Mark was gone before Miller’s words had registered. Mark glanced back. Miller knew.
Mark reached the crowded doorway just behind two paramedics.
“Everyone needs to step back,” one medic shouted.
Blaine stood, sobbing as the two men knelt beside Vanilla Anna.
“No pulse,” one said as the other pulled away clothes so that he could find where the bleeding was coming from.
They worked like a polished team, fighting to save a life as they’d been trained to do. Chocolate Anna huddled farther into the corner by the door. Sailor June stood guard above her, daring anyone to get too close. Blood dripped from the black woman’s hand, but she wouldn’t let anyone touch her.
Mark heard Blaine call his name from a few feet away. He turned, opening his arms, knowing she’d come. A moment later she slammed against him, almost knocking him off his feet. He took the blow like an electric shock and felt his heart kick into action once more. His wife was safe. He repeated Miller’s words in his mind. “Take care of your wife.”
She sobbed, crying his name over and over.
Mark put both arms around her and wished he could protect her from all the world. He took a deep breath, taking in the smell of her. How few times over the years they’d been married had he smelled the fragrance that was simply her.
“God, how I missed you, Blaine,” he whispered as if they’d been parted for days and not minutes.
She rocked in his arms, putting her head on his shoulder as she calmed. The world had gone mad around them, but for a few seconds they held one another knowing that all was right between them.
He cradled her against him, digging his fingers into her soft hair. Not blond. Not straight, as it had always been. How he’d loved watching her blond hair move in the light. Mark laughed as he spread out his fingers and her curls caressed him. How he loved the feel of her hair now.
She felt so right in his arms.
He spread his hand over her abdomen and whispered, “Is our baby all right?”
She nodded against his shoulder. He knew she didn’t want to watch the men work on Anna, so he tried to help her think of other things—of anything but the person laying a few feet away.
“How far along are you?” He tried to make his question casual, but others were already forming in his mind. “I haven’t even asked.”
“Almost five months, I think.”
The men shifted Anna to the stretcher and one gave a thumbs-up sign. “We got a pulse. Faint, but we got one.”
Blaine cried into his shoulder.
He pulled her close against him and whispered, “God, you’re beautiful pregnant, Blaine.”
The ambulance pulled close to the curb behind them. The medics lifted Vanilla Anna into the back without another word. Their grim faces told Mark they doubted the old woman would make it, but they’d done their best.
Chocolate Anna complained loudly when they tried to help her into the back also. “I don’t need no hospital. Just fix up my friend and we’ll be on our way. We ain’t used to breathing the air in those places. It’s not good for us.”
A man in a white lab coat worked on Vanilla Anna, frantically connecting her to life support. He glanced up and motioned the men to lift Chocolate Anna into the ambulance.
Chocolate Anna looked at Blaine. “Do I have to go?”
Blaine left Mark’s arms and spoke to the men holding Chocolate Anna. “Turn her loose. She doesn’t like to be touched.”
They followed her orders.
She then looked at Anna. “Go with Momma. She might need you, and you know how the two of you have to stay together. I’l
l watch over your bags, don’t worry.”
Chocolate Anna nodded.
“Let them take care of your arm while you’re there.”
“All right,” Anna said as she stepped up into the ambulance. “But I’m not taking off any of my clothes.”
The medics closed the doors and slapped the back of the truck. A moment later they were on to the next injured person and Mark stood alone with Blaine.
He held her gently, feeling her pain in wave after wave of sorrow that racked her body. Part of him wanted to cry with her. Part wanted to pick her up and swing her around with pure joy. He’d found her, his mate, and nothing else mattered. All that counted was that she was near.
Finally, she stopped crying and he kissed away the last few tears.
With an ache in his heart, he tried to figure out why he hadn’t seen how strong she was. He was a man who loved a woman who was far more than he thought her to be.
“We need to get out of here,” he whispered as his hand moved to her back.
“I know.” Blaine pointed toward the corner of the doorway. “Grab a few of Chocolate Anna’s bags. She’ll want them.”
Mark reached into the corner and lifted two heavy shopping bags with handles that had been reinforced with plastic. One handle slipped and he had to pick up several pieces of clothing and stuff them back into the bag.
When he turned to leave, Blaine had vanished.
He glanced around. Expecting to see her only a few feet away.
Nowhere.
Only a blue cap lay by the curb where she’d stood.
Thirty-Seven
Blaine fought the grip on her arm as the bomber dragged her down a side street away from all the people. Only a few inches taller than her, he could barely circle her shoulder with his arm and keep his hand over her mouth. All these weeks he’d been so much bigger in her nightmares. Now she realized he was simply a greasy little man.
She could taste the oil on his fingers. Jerking her head, she tried to break free enough to scream. His hand pushed into her teeth, splitting her lip in the corner.
