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I’m in the chair shifting positions for the fifth time when I realize that smell is getting stronger. My brow furrows, and I sniff again, longer. It’s not just a dusty old furnace smell, it’s more like a chemical… but not like pot or cigarette smoke…
Turning in my seat, I look out to the parking lot. Empty. Turning back, I realize the scent is coming from inside my office. I stand and walk around the perimeter sniffing, but I can’t figure out… Until I reach the short hall leading to the tiny storage room.
I dash down it, bursting through the door without thinking, when I’m hit in the face by intense heat and an overwhelming stench of chemicals. I don’t have time to turn on the light. Flames shoot up from the back cabinets.
“No!” I scream, searching everywhere for the fire extinguisher. God, do I even have one?
My foot kicks the door shut, and I’m in the dark except for the orange light of the flames. The smoke chokes me, and the chemicals in the air burn my eyes. They burn my lungs. I’ve got to get out of here, but the door won’t budge. Twisting the knob, I choke out a scream for help, pounding on it with my palm.
I’ve never seen fire move so fast. It’s so hot, and I’m trying not to faint. Pounding noises come from the other side of the door, but they’re so far away… Oh, God, the key is stuck in the front door!
My brain barely has time to register Sawyer…
“Help me!” I try to scream, but way back here, behind two closed doors, I know it’s not loud enough.
I can’t breathe. Dropping to my knees, I realize the air is clearer on the floor, and I lie on my stomach facing the crack under the door. Consciousness slips away, and the last thing I remember is Sawyer’s possessive hold on me…
32
Sawyer
I’ve kept the same routine every night this week. We finish dinner, I get in my truck and drive past Mindy’s office to be sure she’s gone then past her apartment to be sure her car’s parked there. Then I come back and go to bed.
Part of it was just wanting to know she made it home safely and not wanting to crowd her with a bunch of texts. The other part was I didn’t want her at that office alone after dark.
I’m actually relieved it’s Friday, and I’m headed to our meeting to review her design concept. At least now she won’t have a reason to work late… Until her next job, I suppose.
With a chuckle, I realize until she says we can be together again, I’ll probably be making this drive every night after dinner. With all that’s happened in the last few days, I’m cautiously hopeful it won’t be too much longer.
Our coffee date was good, but I’ve been feeling strong since last night, since I read the letter she wrote to me. I wanted to take it, keep it, and re-read it like a mantra. Perhaps it was a bit hasty to kiss her, but I couldn’t hold back any longer. After seeing the truth of her heart, I needed to show her I felt the same.
It was difficult not to do more—like take her hand and pull her into the dining room and tell the family everything then take her home and spend the night loving her. The startled look on her face, even with her cheeks flushed and her lips parted, reminded me she said no.
She’s not ready.
But hell, I’m just waiting for her to say the word. I miss her pretty eyes, her silky hair, the feel of her fingertips sliding along my jaw. I want to kiss her again. I want to hear her laugh.
I want her to hold my hand like she used to, fingers entwined, palm against palm. I want her to look at me the way she once did, with so much trust. I’m finally back to the place where I can take care of her, where I can deserve that trust.
Maybe today…
The excitement of these hopes is dampened when I turn into the parking lot. I don’t know why, but I sense something’s wrong.
Mindy’s car is in the lot, but the glass doors of her office are dark. Not dark like the lights are off… It takes a beat for me to realize they’re being obscured by ugly gray smoke. Looking up I see tiny traces of smoke rising from the back of the building. Jumping out of my truck, I’m hit with the smell of fire and chemicals.
“NO!” I run to the front doors, grabbing the handle and pulling, but it won’t budge. “What the fuck?”
Beating on the glass, I cup my hands around my face and peer into the space. My stomach drops. I can’t see a th
ing.
“Mindy!” I shout at the top of my lungs. Pressing my ear to the glass, I don’t hear her.
Fumbling for my phone I almost drop it as I quickly dial 911. The operator comes on with the usual questions, but I cut straight to the chase.
“This is Sawyer LaGrange. I’m calling to report a fire in progress at the old Mexican cantina. Someone’s trapped inside. I need help NOW!”
Dropping my phone, I pull back and hit the glass doors with my shoulder as hard as I can. Pain shoots to my elbow, and the fucking doors don’t budge. Standing back, I lift my leg and kick it as hard as I can, but the glass is shatterproof. It bursts into an array of tiny squares held together with thick plastic.
