“Go!”
She went, stumbling toward the door, and he followed, dropping Landry near the exit before turning back. The smoke was thicker now, the flames spreading fast. His lungs burned. His eyes streamed. But he pushed forward, dropped to his knees beside Sarah—Laura, whoever she was—and lifted her over his shoulder.
The garage groaned. A beam overhead cracked, showering sparks.
He ran.
The cold air outside was a blessing. He laid the woman on the snow-covered ground and doubled over, coughing so hard his ribs ached.
And then Maggie was there, her hands on his face, his shoulders, checking him for injuries.
“I’m okay.” The words came out hoarse. “Are you?—”
“I’m fine. I’m fine.” She was shaking, or maybe he was. Hard to tell.
Knox appeared with an oxygen mask. He pressed it against Anson’s face. “Breathe. Just breathe.”
He pushed the mask away. “Check Maggie first.”
“I’m okay,” Maggie insisted, but Knox was already fitting another mask over her face.
“Breathe,” Knox ordered them both, then turned to check on Landry and the woman. “What the hell happened in there?”
Maggie tried to speak but coughed instead, the sound tearing through her chest. Anson pulled her against him, one hand cradling the back of her head while she dragged in oxygen. His heart hammered against his ribs, adrenaline still coursing through his system.
He’d done it. He’d faced the fire. And he’d gotten her out.
“Sarah—Laura—whatever her name is,” Maggie managed between gasps, “she’s been stalking me. For years. She’s the one who broke into my apartment in Tampa.”
Knox’s head snapped up. “What?”
“She faked everything. The bruises. The husband. All of it to get close to me.” Maggie pulled the mask away again. “She kidnapped Landry from jail and was going to burn him alive.”
“Hollis!” One of the women from Haven House ran up, her face white with panic. “Has anyone seen Hollis? She ran into the garage when she saw the flames—she was looking for Sarah and Maggie—and now I can’t find her!”
Knox went rigid. “She’s still in there?”
“I don’t know, she’s not answering her phone?—”
Knox was already moving, headed for the garage. Smoke poured from the open door. He reached for the frame and Anson grabbed his arm.
“Don’t. You won’t survive it now without gear.”
“I don’t care.” Knox wrenched free, and the raw terror in his voice was enough to tell Anson everything he needed to know about how the firefighter felt about Hollis. “She’s in there.”
Ghost appeared at Anson’s shoulder, River and X right behind him. “Fire department’s still two minutes out.”
Two minutes. Hollis could be dead in two minutes.
Anson looked at the garage, at the smoke seeping from every opening, at the flames visible through the windows. Every part of him that had survived the warehouse fire in Virginia was screaming at him to stay back, to wait for the professionals, to not go back into the fire.
But he’d already done it once today. He could do it again.
“We need buckets,” he said. “Fill them with snow. We’ll dump it on the flames and make a path.”
“That’s insane.” River stared at him. “You’ll never put it out in time.”
“We don’t have to put it all out. Just enough to get to her.”
