As the three men were leaving the boardroom, Patrick’s phone rang. “MacGregor,” Patrick answered.
“Get to the hospital. It’s Margaret. We’re on our way. I need your family there. Now.”
fifty
JONATHAN
Jonathan wasfurious that Mags wasn’t listening to him. The chance of an intruder still lurking in her office was high.
He was already running toward the underground parking garage when he realized she was going to investigate. His heart was pounding wildly, and telling himself to calm down wasn’t working.
“Mags, stop. I’m on my way. Wait outside for me,” he pleaded.
“I’m looking inside now, and not one thing is out of place.”
“I’m still coming.”
As he slid into his car, he heard Mags gasp. There was some sort of…explosion, a structural failure. Fear like he’d never felt before had him speeding across town.
Her phone had gone silent, and when he tried to call it again, he got a recorded message. Without hesitation, he dialed emergency services. The operator was giving him the runaround when he said to send fire engines or an ambulance, something, anything to the gallery. When he had to admit that he wasn’t sure what had happened, another fifty questions started.
Jonathan hung up and dialed Coll Barr. He and MacGregor had friends on the Dublin force and could make things happen faster than his family could.
As soon as he heard the phone connect, he didn’t waste any time. “Call the police that you know in Dublin, Coll. Something’s happened to Mags. I’m not there yet, but I was on the phone with her, and I thought I heard an explosion. She isn’t answering.” He could hear the quaver in his voice. There was no need to pretend a stoicism he couldn’t manage.
“Thomas is calling them now. The bitch admitted to planting a bomb before she skipped town. Be careful when you get there. Keep your head and call me the very second you have eyes on my niece.”
“I’m pulling up now. Oh, Christ. Oh, Christ.” Jonathan could hear Coll yelling his name, but it felt like a ghost had placed soundproof muffs over his ears.
People milled around the debris littering the cobbled street behind the gallery. The lower-level entrance and attic were missing portions of the walls, but for the most part, the two-hundred-year-old structure was still standing.
The attic was filled with black smoke billowing from the roof, and there was no sign of Mags, which meant she was still inside.
He left his car in the middle of the footpath and ran for the stairs, or what was left of them. Several bystanders shouted at him to stop. Never. Not until Mags was secure in his arms. At the entrance, Jonathan tore off his shirt, buttons flying. He used the arms to secure the material around his lower face, helping ward off some of the smoke choking the air.
“Mags!” he shouted as he tripped and scrabbled up what stairs were intact while bypassing loose brick and wooden beams.
The smoke was dense, black, and choking. The fire appeared to be contained in the attic. The tarry smoke would have beensure death if the outer wall hadn’t sustained enough damage to let some of it out.
He used the material from his dress shirt to wipe sweat and smoke from his forehead and eyes. He said a silent prayer when he heard sirens coming.Thank Christ.
“Mags! Damn it, answer me,” he yelled, the effort had him bending over and coughing in gut-twisting hacks.
Almost to the top of the stairs, where the worst of the damage outside the room seemed to be, he stumbled over more debris, making him fall forward. His knees landed with a painful thud on the edge of the hardwood while his hands flew out to stop his forward momentum.
Except his palms didn’t come down on more wood and debris. Instead, he felt something warm and soft. With a cry, he ran his hands over what had to be Mags' body that was sprawled at an odd angle over what must be the top few stairs.
“Mags. Mags. Mags,” he chanted. “I’m here, baby, please be okay.” Through the thick smoke, which only seemed to be getting worse, his fingers finally found her neck. She had a pulse, steady and thumping.
Tears stung his eyes. Her unmoving silence had portended something altogether different than life. He quickly ran his hands over her body, figuring out by touch the best way to lift her. He heard shouts outside. Soon, he would have help from the firemen and paramedics.
He lifted her body, cradling her tight against his chest and praying that she had no internal injuries that he was making worse by moving her.
He grunted as something large hit his side. In the same moment, he felt Mags’ shoulder against his chest shift.
He huffed out a wheezing chuff of surprise. “You and your damn bag, Mags.” As gingerly as he could with little to no sight,he found the bag’s strap and pulled it free of her arm and onto his.
With one arm securing her to his chest, he used the other to feel the walls as he retraced his steps, thankful that he’d had the presence of mind to knock most of the debris to the side during his ascent.
