The fire chief walked up just then, tall, silver-haired. Jenny searched her mind for his name but couldn’t remember. She hurried toward him, Cain at her side.
“I’m Jenny Spencer. I own the Copper Star. Did . . . did everyone get out?”
“The bar had just closed. We’re sure all the customers got out of the saloon. We’re pretty sure the staff had all left for the night.”
“What about the guests in the hotel?”
The chief shook his head. “Looks like the fire started upstairs. By the time we got here, the place was already engulfed. We’re hoping they got out, but we aren’t really sure.”
A little sound came from Jenny’s throat.
“Her brother and his girlfriend were in there,” Cain said.
“His name is Dylan Spencer. He’s a firefighter.” Jenny glanced around, desperately hoping to see them.
“I know Dylan,” the chief said. “I haven’t seen him. I’m sorry. At the moment, we aren’t sure of anything.” The chief hurried to join his men, who were shooting huge streams of water up at the burning structure.
Jenny looked at Cain and couldn’t stop the tears from rolling down her cheeks. “Oh, God, Cain. What if they . . . didn’t get out?”
Cain gripped her shoulders. “Dylan’s smart, and he’s good at his job, right?”
“He’s . . . he’s the best.”
“And he knows his way around the hotel, right?”
“That’s right. We both spent a lot of our childhood up here.”
“So if he can’t come down the front stairs, how does he get out?”
Jenny looked up at him, trying to collect her thoughts. “Through the new section. We installed a new emergency exit when we remodeled. The stairs come out behind the Liberty Theatre.”
“Let’s go!”
Clutching each other’s hands, they raced around the corner, skirting the flames, then ran down Jerome Avenue, past the theatre, heading toward the back to the building complex that covered most of a city block. Firefighters from Jerome, Clarksdale, and Cottonwood surrounded the blaze, fighting the flames, working frantically to keep the fire at the Star from spreading to the businesses around it.
When they rounded the rear of the building toward the emergency exit behind the hotel, there was a sea of firefighters, but no sign of Dylan or Summer.
Cain pulled Jenny into his arms, but she couldn’t control the trembling. “They aren’t here.”
Cain gave her a little shake to gain her attention. “Okay, he couldn’t get out through the main entrance or the emergency exit in the new section. What’s he do next?”
She tried to think, but she was petrified, her brain scrambled and foggy.
“If there’s a way, Dylan knows it,” Cain said. “What’s he do, Jenny?”
Smoke burned her eyes. The tears kept coming. So did a vague memory from her youth. “The original fire escape. An old wooden staircase in the old section. It was rotten, a hazard that needed tearing down. I meant to do it. I-I just hadn’t gotten around to it.”
His grip tightened on her shoulders. “So it’s still there, and Dylan knows about it?”
“Yes.” Cain took her hand, and they started moving again, heading farther around behind the main brick structure. The staircase was close to the far end of the old section. But when they reached it, the stairs were no longer there. Instead a crumpled pile of smoldering ashes lay on the dirt where the stairs should have ended.
Jenny’s legs went weak, and Cain scooped her up in his arms. He started striding farther along the block, and she realized he was heading for a cluster of people gathered around an ambulance.
Jenny’s heart seemed able to beat again. “I see them!”
Cain set her on her feet, and she raced toward her brother, threw herself into his arms. He was covered with soot and sweat, but he was alive.
“I’m okay,” Dylan said. “We’re both okay. When the outside stairs collapsed, Summer dropped the last few feet and broke her leg, but she’s going to be all right.”
