CHAPTER FIFTEEN
ON THE MAD dash to the Scratching Post, Jude called Daniel to explain the situation. There was no reason to phone 911. With the security system they’d installed, emergency crews had been notified the moment the fire alarm sounded.
Adrenaline surged through his veins as if he were hooked to an IV. His muscles felt bigger, his bones stronger, like steel. His heart galloped toward a finish line he couldn’t see.
Ryanne sat in the passenger seat of his truck, as still as a statue. He’d wanted her to stay behind, this woman who’d shared dark pieces of her past, giving him a glimpse of the little girl she used to be, with dark, wavy hair and a mischievous gleam in her eyes. A gleam that slowly faded as loved ones had let her down and moved on, and adults had betrayed her trust. If she were hurt today...
When Jude noticed a fire just outside the town square, multiple fire trucks already on-site, he hung up on Daniel.
What was the likelihood of two fires happening on the same night? Not high.
Over the years, Jude had seen firsthand how terrorists operated. He suspected Dushku had set this fire first in order to keep the firemen busy. Too busy to deal with a second blaze.
Bastard!
One way or another, Ryanne was going to be hurt today. If not physically, then mentally or emotionally. Hell, even financially.
Already pale and waxen, she pressed a hand over her mouth and cried, “Belle and the kittens.”
“I haven’t forgotten. They are my first priority.” Belle could probably escape through a window, if one had been left open, or even through the bar, but she wouldn’t be able to carry out all of her babies.
Panic waited at the periphery of his thoughts, but years of situational training and actual combat helped keep it at bay. Act now, react later.
“Call Vandercamp,” he said. “Let him know we’re going to need him at the scene with medical supplies. Just in case.”
She obeyed, and ended the conversation with, “Get there as fast as you can, Brett.”
Jude glanced in the rearview mirror. Despite breaking speed records, Daniel and Brock had already caught up with him, and now remained on his six.
“If the bar burns down, I’ll lose my livelihood, home and every memento I have of Earl.” Never had Ryanne’s voice sounded so hollow. “All in a single night.”
He would sell an organ on the black market, if necessary, to buy her a new home. “Stuff can be replaced. You’ll always have your—never mind. I can’t believe I was about to tell you the trite things others have said to me. I’m sorry.”
Streaks of black painted the horizon, an obscenity in the sky, and Ryanne whimpered, only strengthening his rage. Dushku had done this.
Dushku would pay.
The truck crested the hill, the Scratching Post finally coming into view. Smoke billowed through the windows, and flames crackled along one side of the building. Perhaps most of the structure could be saved?
He drove off-road, speeding toward the bar, his truck’s tires flinging dirt and gravel.
The patrons had gotten out safely, their cars already out of the lot. Some of the people had stuck around; they either needed medical attention or morbid curiosity had kept them close. A few stragglers were filming the destruction with their phones. Idiots!
Dushku and his men were there, too, watching...smirking.
There were no firemen on the premises, as Jude had suspected. If the other fire hadn’t been raging in town, they would have beaten him here.
He parked, grabbed the blanket from the back and jumped out. Knowing Daniel and Brock would protect Ryanne, he wasted no time, sprinting into the building to rescue Belle and the babies. The adrenaline still surging through his veins gave him strength, dulling any flash of pain in his leg.
“Jude!” Ryanne screamed.
He ignored her. He had to if he had any chance of success—and survival. Just before breaching the front door, he took a deep breath of air, knowing he had to hold it as long as possible, and wrapped the blanket around the lower half of his face. Already his eyes burned and watered, intense heat making him feel as if he were cooking from the inside out.
At the moment, the blaze was somewhat contained. A perfect circle crackled around the bar...where bottles of alcohol were stored—directly beneath Ryanne’s apartment.
This had been a targeted strike meant to harm the owner. The property was simply collateral damage.
As Jude raced forward, he narrowed his focus—get in, get out. He jumped and dodged, but not quickly enough. Flames lashed his arm, singeing his shirt, leaving a white-hot line of blisters in their wake. He hissed, but didn’t slow, taking the stairs three at a time.
Smoke burned his eyes, his throat. Can’t stop. Can’t go back without those cats. Light-headed, a bit unsteady, he punched the code in the lock and shouldered his way past the door.
Soot: everywhere. Temperature: hellish. In the sunroom, an agitated Belle prowled in front of her babies.
A flurry of movement behind him. Brock flew into the room.
“Ryanne—” Jude began. The single word scraped his throat raw; he suspected he’d already sustained esophageal burns.
Between coughing fits, he said, “She’s safe with Daniel.”
He hated that his friend was in danger outside of combat, but welcomed the aid. Working together as they’d done a thousand times before, they placed the entire fur family inside a laundry hamper, using wet towels to prevent any more smoke inhalation.
Brock led the way out, and Jude carried the hamper. By the time they reached the stairs, the blaze had already spread. Half of the banister was engulfed, plus a few of the steps. Too dangerous. If the wood snapped, they’d plummet. They backtracked, returning to the apartment.
Jude opened the window in the sunroom, and cool night air gusted inside. Droplets of water misted over him, cool and welcome, and he frowned. Why?
The answer clicked. Two fire trucks had finally arrived. Lights flashed nearby, men in full bodysuits working to douse the fire.
“Over here,” he shouted, but he knew he hadn’t been heard over the roar of the flames and firehoses. No matter. A truck’s ladder was already extending up to him, thanks to Ryanne, who was pointing in his direction.
As soon as the edge reached the window, he practically shoved Brock out and handed his friend the hamper. Jude followed him out.
Just a little farther...almost there...
His foot hit land, and someone rushed over to hustle him toward a waiting ambulance. Light-headedness had graduated to full-blown swimming, but the second his gaze landed on the smug Dushku—who hadn’t moved from his spot among the crowd—he erupted, pushing his way through the masses to get in the old man’s face.
“You think you’ve won? You have no idea the hell you’ve unleashed.”
Dushku withdrew a linen square from his pocket and wiped his glasses, as if Jude’s presence had dirtied them. “You lost, Mr. Laurent. Accept defeat gracefully, and be thankful you and yours survived. This could have ended much worse.”
Hard hands locked around Jude—Daniel. “We can deal with him later, after we’ve watched the security feed and proven he’s responsible. Now’s the time you take care of yourself.”
Dushku revealed no hint of emotion.
Daniel dragged Jude to an ambulance, where he was hooked to an oxygen mask. Then Daniel went to check on Brock while Jude searched the surrounding area for Ryanne. No sign of her.
“The brunette,” he said, trying not to panic.
“The Mexican hottie? She’s fine, sugar, you have my word,” the medic replied. “Like everyone else, she’s being kept at a distance for her own safety.”
“I need to see her.” Had to assure himself that she was all right. He removed the mask and leaped from the vehicle.
“Hey,” the medic called. “Your blood pressure is too high and—” His voice got lost in the murmur of the crowd and the roar of the water spray.
Jude found Ryanne with Belle and the kittens, as well as Daniel, Loner and Brett Vandercamp. All four labored furiously, using some sort of suction on the kittens to clean their nasal passages.
Ryanne’s cheeks were colorless, her bottom lip swollen. Her front teeth had left two little puncture wounds in the center. She lifted her gaze, spotted Jude and cried out. In a blink, she was flying across the distance. When she threw herself into his arms, he caught her, his eyes burning all over again. Damn smoke. As weak as he was, impact sent him stumbling back, sharp pains lancing through his leg.
“Sorry, I’m sorry,” she rushed out. “Are you okay? You’re covered in soot and your skin! Your poor skin.” Her chin trembled as she looked him over. “So many blisters.”
“I’ll be fine.” He stared at the bar, the flames dying as water from multiple hoses sprayed.
A stray thought hit him: if the bar burned down, Ryanne would no longer be a bar owner. She could walk away, start a new life.
What. The. Hell? He was so prejudiced, he welcomed the destruction of Ryanne’s livelihood?
He deserved every blister, and more.
“Jude.” Her hand fluttered over her heart. “Did you just...smile?”
Did he? “The cats are alive and well,” was all he said. A statement of fact.
“Yes,” she replied, her tone flat now, “but you weren’t looking at the cats. You were looking at my home.”
* * *
“YOU DID,” RYANNE SAID, before Jude had a chance to respond. “You rarely smile. I have to fight you for a single grin, yet you willingly, happily give one while my home burns down. You hate the fact that I sell alcohol. I bet you hate yourself, too, for screwing me.”
She remembered the words he’d spoken to her the night she’d discovered Dushku was selling Savannah in her parking lot.
Frankly, I’d rather let it burn to the ground.
It. Her bar. Well, he’d certainly gotten his wish.
“I’m sorry,” he said. “It was a momentary lapse of judgment. A moment of insanity.”
Maybe he believed that, but he only fooled himself.
She’d fooled herself, too. He hadn’t stayed away from her these past few weeks because she’d been a wrecking ball to two and a half years of self-imposed celibacy. He’d stayed away because he’d found her lacking. She finally saw the truth. To Jude, the Scratching Post would always be the bane of his world. She would always be the bane of his world.
She was shaking so hard, she felt as if she were seizing. Her cats were alive, at least, some in better condition than others. Jude—their rescuer and her betrayer—had escaped the flames with only minor injuries.
“From the looks of things,” she said, “the firefighters will soon extinguish the blaze. Perhaps you’d like to light a match.”
“Ryanne—”
“No. I didn’t serve the boy who killed your family, but you treat me as if I’m the one responsible.” Could she really spend the next couple months of her life with this man?
Tears stung her eyes.
“Ryanne,” he repeated, reaching for her.
“No.” She leaped out of range. “Don’t. I mean it.” Not here, not now. She might break down, and she’d rather die than break down in front of Dushku. “We’ll talk later.” Tomorrow, maybe. Or next month. Or when she returned from Rome. Or never. Her lockbox of hurt threatened to burst open at any second.
“I’m taking Belle and her babies to my clinic,” Brett said, snagging her attention. “Will put them all in the oxygen tank.” He pointed to Loner, who was covered in soot like everyone else. “You. Can you come with me? Ryanne can’t leave, and Jude needs medical attention. My assistant is at home in bed.”
Loner nodded, eager to help. “You just have to tell me what you want me to do.”
“Carry the hamper, I’ll carry the equipment.”
The two rushed off, and though Ryanne would have liked to follow, she clasped Jude’s arm as he coughed, nearly hacking up a lung.
“You’re getting medical assistance. Don’t protest,” she snapped when he opened his mouth.
As she ushered him to the ambulance, he closed his mouth. Opened it again. Closed it again.
Brock sat on a gurney, a clear mask covering the lower half of his face.
“Well, well.” A redheaded medic bustled in the back, searching for another mask. “My other sexy patient decided to return. Couldn’t get enough of me, sugar? Understandable. Hardly anyone can.”
Jude eased beside Brock, looking anywhere but at Ryanne.
Red anchored the mask around Jude’s nose and mouth while saying to Ryanne, “Sorry, honey, but we’re taking these two to the emergency clinic in Grapevine, and there isn’t room for you. You’ll have to follow us.”
“No. We’re staying here,” Jude said. “We can’t leave until we speak with the authorities.”
Her tremors intensified, a ten on the RW Afflicter Scale. “I’ll stay behind, and you’ll go.” They needed time apart, and she needed time to think. Emotions were too high right now, too raw.
“No. I’m staying with you.” He removed the mask despite the medic’s protests.
“Yes,” she snapped. “Put the mask on. Now.”
At the same time, Red said, “If you want to recover in a timely fashion, you’ll suck up oxygen like a good boy. Otherwise you’ll be knocked on your ass for days, unable to argue with your hottie.”
“Don’t worry. I’ll stay with her.” Daniel approached her side, draped an arm over her shoulders. “Go,” he told the medic. “Get my boys the care they need.”
Red banged on the window that blocked him from the driver, and shut the door. Ryanne’s gaze remained on Jude until the last possible second. Anger pulsed from him. No, anger wasn’t a strong enough word. Rage. Why? Because circumstances forced him to leave...or had he’d realized he couldn’t fix what he’d just broken? Her trust, yes, but also the fragile bond between them.
The lights on the vehicle switched on, the siren blaring. As the ambulance pulled away from the parking lot and motored down the road, Ryanne’s knees threatened to buckle.
“He’ll be okay. He’s survived far worse.” Daniel looked her over, concern tightening his features. “Will you be okay? Let’s find you a chair so you can sit down.”
No way. Dushku and company still watched, though they’d returned to their side of the street. Afraid of Jude? “There’s too much to do.”
“Ma’am? Are you the owner of this bar?” A fireman covered in soot stepped up, his gaze focused on her.
“Yes.” I can do this. “How can I help you?”
“As soon as the smoke clears,” Fireman said, “you can check out the damage, but I think you’ll be pleased to know the worst of it is localized to a single area.”
Waiting to go inside was torture. Was her best friend—her bar—dead or alive?
Finally approval came and she raced inside, alternating waves of relief and dismay hitting her. The counter would need to be replaced, and her liquor supply was history. No, not true. She wasn’t completely wiped out. She still had a large stash of moonshine and locally sourced beers in the basement.
Her office and the stairs leading to her apartment would have to be rebuilt, but everything else simply needed a good scrubbing. Soot covered many of the walls, most of the tables and chairs. A layer of ash covered the dance floor, but outside the bar area, the wood planks were in perfect condition.
Jude would be disappointed.
Her teeth ground together.
Different men and women spoke with her. Dazed, she forgot their names. All but Officer Jim Rayburn, who didn’t try to hide his smirk, and the arson investigator. The latter asked her a million questions about her whereabouts and maybe kinda sorta looked at her as if she were to blame. Whatever. The truth would come out. And really, she was too shocked to care what anyone thought. In less than an hour, her entire world had been turned upside down.
“There’s no question the fire was set deliberately,” the AI told her. “An investigation will be launched. If someone was paid to do it, or if they acted alone, we’ll find the truth. So, if there’s anything you’d like to tell me, now is the time.”
“Oh, I know the fire was set deliberately, and I can guess Mr. Dushku over there paid someone. He’s wanted my bar since he decided to open a club across the street. Ask Jim Rayburn. I’m pretty sure he’s on Dushku’s payroll.”
As Jim blustered, she pulled her phone from its sheath on her leg, then showed the fireman and Daniel what little security feed had been sent to her in-box.
Thank God Jude had insisted on cameras.
Maybe she’d misinterpreted his smile? Maybe he had been thinking about the kittens.
Maybe she was an idiot, trying to justify his actions.
AI’s expression softened somewhat. “I’d like a copy of that.”
“Sure thing. I’ll make sure you receive security feed for the entire day,” Daniel told him.
“Much appreciated.” AI focused on Ryanne. “If you want to gather some of your belongings, one of the officers will accompany you. I’m sorry to say you can’t be in here without an escort until the investigation is complete.”
Tears momentarily obstructed her vision. “No, thanks.” Everything smelled like smoke, and would constantly remind her of what had happened, and all she’d lost. “I’ll be fine.” Would she, though?
Jude hadn’t even gotten to use the grab bars she and the girls had installed.
Ugh. That was her main concern? After everything he’d done? What is wrong with me?
The guy patted her on the shoulder, an awkward and failed attempt at offering comfort. Then he told her he would be in touch and padded off, leaving her to deal with the wreckage of her life—alone.