I groped along the walls. Trying to find my way. To make sense of where I was.
Disoriented, I fumbled, trying to focus.
A wall.
An oven.
The pantry.
Oh God, the pantry.
The door was closed.
When I’d left this evening, it’d been wide open. I was sure of it. I’d been moving things in and out and had propped it open.
I slid my hands over it, feeling, searching. Relief wrenched from me when I found the latch. I managed to drag it open.
Smoke billowed inside. It was at the same second I heard Frankie’s cry.
“Frankie!” It was a shout.
Joy.
Solace.
Fear.
Each emotion rushed me. One after another.
Because I couldn’t breathe and I couldn’t see and everything hurt so bad.
The radiating heat and the asphyxiating smoke.
But there was no chance I was giving up.
Flames bloomed just outside the pantry door, consuming the kitchen, eating away the plaster and wood and memories.
I dropped to my knees and crawled across the floor. My hand came into contact with something that moved. A foot. A leg. A tiny body that I pulled into my arms, holding her against my chest, burying her face in my shirt.
Because I’d do anything to protect her. To save her.
Dizziness swept through my being. Head. Body. Soul. I fought to stay coherent. To stay awake. To fight.
I clutched Frankie to me, rocked back, and screamed.
42
Rex
Irushed through the doors of the police station. I’d been on the phone with my mom the whole way over, trying to get as much information from her as I could and settle her down at the same time. Which was a ridiculous notion in and of itself, considering how close I was to coming unglued. Torn limb from limb. Janel’s fist punched right into the center of my chest, the bitch ripping out my still beating, bleeding heart, holding it hostage in her corrupt, vicious hand.
Never in a million years would I have imagined she’d stoop this low. Of course, I’d had no clue how deep her betrayal went, either.
Treason.
Treachery.
It was nothing less.
