The possibility of losing Maggie to fire—to his nightmare—was worse than anything he’d survived in prison. Worse than the burn unit. Worse than the years of isolation.
He’d survived all of it. She had to survive this.
He yanked the collar of his shirt over his mouth and nose and ran for the burning garage.
“Jesus Christ, Sutter!” Knox shouted behind him. “At least take this!”
He caught the bandana Knox tossed without breaking stride, wrapping it around his lower face as he hit the side door of the workshop. The metal handle seared his palm when he grabbed it, but the pain barely registered. He shouldered through the entrance and into hell.
The heat hit him first. A wall of it that stole the air from his lungs and made his eyes water. Then the smoke, acrid and choking, so thick he could barely see three feet ahead.
“Maggie!”
The crackle of flames was the only answer. Burning wood. The hiss and pop of something chemical catching fire. The roar sounded too much like the warehouse, too much like the worst night of his life.
His hands started to shake. The old scars on his palms felt tight, pulling with every movement. He could smell burning flesh even though nothing was burning yet, could hear screams that weren’t there, could see?—
No.
Focus.
Maggie.
“Magnolia!”
A cough. Faint. To his left, past a workbench engulfed in flames.
He all but swam through the smoke and fire toward the sound. The heat was unbearable now, searing through his clothes, but he didn’t slow down. Couldn’t.
Then he saw her.
Maggie, on her knees, trying to drag Landry fucking Whitaker’s unconscious body toward the door. Her face was streaked with soot, tears cutting clean lines through the grime. She looked up, and the relief that flooded her expression nearly broke him.
“Anson—”
“Leave him.”
“No.”
“Why the fuck—” He stopped. Now was not the place for their first argument as a couple. “I got him.”
He grabbed Landry under the arms and hauled him up, the dead weight making his shoulders scream. “Can you walk?”
“Yes, but Laura?—”
“Who’s Laura?” He scanned the smoke-filled space for another person, but couldn’t see more than a few feet in any direction. The smoke was too thick.
“My star student, Sarah, is Laura. Laura Kemp. She’s my stalker. She did this. She tried to kill Landry—” She broke off, coughing harshly.
The words didn’t make sense. Sarah was a victim. Bruised and terrified. She’d come to Haven House running from an abusive husband.
“What?”
“I’ll explain later. Right now we need to get her out.” Maggie pointed toward the back corner of the workshop where a woman lay crumpled against the wall, smoke curling around her still form. “Please. She’s disturbed and needs help.”
“Go. Get outside. I’ll get her.”
“Anson—”
