She yelled and turned on him, flailing her arm. “How dare you! Let go of me!”
He refused to let go until she was out of danger.
“Let go of me! Let go! How dare you?” Anger and grief shredded her voice.
That was how her husband had treated her, wasn’t it?
With a crushing in his chest, a crushing of his hopes and dreams, he turned to her. That lovely face warped with betrayal and fury.
He pointed to the bathtub. “That was directly over your head. It could fall at any moment. I had no time for niceties.”
She glanced behind her, and her jaw softened.
“Aleida.” He waited for her to turn back to him. The fire in her eyes dimmed but didn’t die. “Aleida, I am not Sebastiaan. I will never hurt you, but I refuse to pussyfoot around you either. I only wanted to protect you.”
Liquid filled those lovely eyes and shimmered in the firelight. “Oh, Hugh. I’m sorry. You’ve always been—”
A crackle and a crash. The bathtub fell into the flames, sending up sparks and dust.
The man on the ledge cried out and sank to his knees. His ledge was much smaller now.
“Stay put, sir!” Aleida cried. “The rescue party will arrive soon.”
Now that it was safer, Hugh dragged over a sandbag, ripped it open, and scattered the contents onto the fire.
But the flames had taken hold, licking up the wall, consuming the jumble of furniture.
Aleida scrambled to the street and flagged down a fire crew with a trailer pump.
Hugh’s story! With the fire crew on the scene, he could return to work. He motioned for MacTavish to move the van out of the way of the pump, and he snatched up the microphone. “The fire crew has arrived. Ah yes, and a rescue party too. Therescue party is raising a ladder to aid a gentleman in a rather precarious situation. Now the hoses have been turned on, and streams of water leap toward the flames.”
Not leaping. Trickling. Hugh’s jaw and his microphone lowered.
One of the firemen cursed. “No water pressure.”
“The Thames—it’s at low ebb,” his mate said. “I was afraid of this.”
The flames cackled their evil laughter, rising, sending out whirls of black smoke. Filling Hugh’s lungs.
Aircraft droned, guns pounded, and bombs screeched to earth.
Hugh dropped to his knees, and a blast of sound and light and heated air threw him flat onto his face, ripped the helmet off his head.
Aleida! There she was, on hands and knees in the street, staring at him wild-eyed. But safe, thank goodness.
A great grumble and crack of masonry and wood, and the back wall of the house collapsed in a cloud of dust and smoke.
Hugh cried out, yanked off his headphones, and plunged into the rubble, Aleida beside him. The man in the towel! The two men with the ladder! Hugh followed the ladder and the cries.
He and Aleida burrowed, tossed aside rubble, and the rest of the rescue party joined them. The two men who had held the ladder emerged, kicking off debris, bloodied and white with dust. Aleida guided them to the street.
Moans led to the other man, and they dug him out. “My ... towel,” he said.
Nakedness was the least of the man’s worries. A twisted leg and a deep gash on his torso were more pressing matters.
Hugh’s chest seized, and he coughed. No. Not now.
After he removed his notebook and pen from his pocket, he took off his coat, draped it over the man’s shoulders, and arranged some privacy. The rescue party carried the man to the curb.
