Then the screaming started.
She forced her eyes open. Smoke poured from the shattered windows of Brew & Mortar, thick and black, and through the haze she could see flames licking at the counter, spreading fast. People stumbled out to the sidewalk, coughing and bleeding.
She needed to get up, to move, to help.
She pushed herself to her feet, her legs shaking, but determination gave her strength. As she moved through the open space where the door had been, the smoke was worse than she'd expected, choking and hot, burning her throat with every breath.
A table had overturned near the entrance, trapping a young woman. Her face was streaked with blood.
"Can you move?" She dropped to her knees, already assessing the situation. The girl was conscious but disoriented.
"I—I think so—" the girl stuttered.
She shoved the table aside, then pulled the girl to her feet and helped her outside, running into the good-looking man who had come into the café, then left.
"Do you need help?" he asked.
"There are more people in there," she returned as he moved past her.
There were a dozen or so people in the street, some bleeding, some burned, everyone dazed and terrified. Thankfully, fire engines and ambulances were arriving. She handed the girl off to a paramedic and then turned to go back into the building, but a firefighter blocked her way.
"We've got this," he told her.
As they went into the burning structure, the man she'd seen before came out of the smoke, his arm around a barista, who was crying but didn't appear to be too badly hurt.
Feeling helpless, she looked around the scene, wondering how she could best help, but before she could move, a firefighter ran down the sidewalk toward her. When she saw her Uncle Danny, wearing his turnout gear and chief's hat, his warm brown eyes filled with concern, she almost lost it.
"Kara? Were you inside?" he asked in shock.
"I'd just left," she said, pulling herself together.
"You're hurt. You're bleeding."
"It's nothing."
He ignored her comment, flagging down a paramedic. "She needs to get checked out," he ordered.
"I said I'm fine." But even as she protested, she could feel the sting of cuts on her hands, the ache in her shoulder, the pain in her knees from where she'd hit the ground.
The paramedic had her sit down on the curb while her uncle went back to work on the fire.
"Any trouble breathing? Dizziness? Ringing in your ears?" the paramedic asked as she checked her blood pressure and oxygen levels.
"No. Yes. A little." Kara let the paramedic work, too tired to argue, and her gaze drifting back to the café.
Brew & Mortar was a disaster. The windows were blown out, smoke was still pouring from the interior, and while the fire was easing now, it had destroyed the interior in only a few minutes. As her gaze moved away from the building, she noted that the street had been cordoned off, with police cruisers blocking traffic, and a growing crowd of onlookers pressed against the barriers.
She scanned the crowd for the man in the wool coat, but she didn't see him anywhere. She didn't really know why she was looking for him. Although it was strange that he'd entered the café, left quickly, then returned after the explosion. It probably meant nothing. It was just her years of investigative training making her suspicious of any action that seemed out of sync.
"Your oxygen levels are good," the paramedic said. "But you should go to the hospital, get checked out properly?—"
"I'm fine. Please help the others. I'm okay."
As the paramedic left, she got to her feet, feeling more aches and pains now that the adrenaline surge was wearing off. Her throat felt dry and raw, but she was lucky not to be more seriously injured. She'd seen a few people loaded into ambulances who hadn't looked very good.
Pulling her phone from her bag, which was thankfully still hanging around her neck, she called her boss.
"Colter," he said crisply.
