Fire Born (Firehouse 343) (31 page)

As she rolled onto her stomach and tried to focus, Ronnie suddenly screamed. Martie looked up, and to her horror she saw that Graham had managed to pull his knife, which was now sticking out of Ronnie’s stomach. He jerked it out and stabbed her again, pulling the knife out one more time
and watching Ronnie drop to the floor
before turning to Martie.

“Now it’s just you and me, bitch,” he snarled, punching the other cheek as he reached her and knocking her back to the floor. Martie’s stomach heaved and she fought the blackness again, rolling clumsily away from him. Graham grabbed her arm an
d rolled her onto her back once more
, straddling her on his knees as he angrily jerked at her fly.

“I’m going to have you, Martie,” he taunted her. “I’m going to fuck you hard and fuck you fast, and while I’m pounding my cock inside that wicked pussy of yours you’re going to beg my forgiveness
.”

He then drew the edge of the knife blade across her throat, leaving a trail of Ronnie’s blood in its wake. “And if you don’t, I will kill you while I fuck you.”

“Graham, please.”

He paused, and a smile spread across his face. “Please what?” he prompted.

“Please don’t hurt me,” Martie had been about to say, but instead felt her heart sing Hallelujah when a voice—Chris’s voice—called out her name.

“
Martie!
”

“No!” Graham roared, shoving to his feet. He push
ed his suddenly flaccid flesh back into his pants, hastily doing up the fly as he
made his way over to the bedroom door.

“Chris,” Martie called out weakly, coughing as she sat up. “Chris! I’m here! We’re here!”

“Shut up!” Graham shouted, stepping back to her long enough to hit her again, his backhanded strike sending her crashing to the floor a third time. Through the haze of pain she watched as he then walked over to the burned-up dresser by the door and grabbed a container sitting there, what she realized with growing terror was a plastic gas can.

Graham popped the tab on
the spout and started pouring the contents
across the doorway.
Martie immediately recognized the smell of acetone. He
pulled a lighter from his pocket, flicking it open as he poured more of the
liquid from t
he canister around the room.

She could hear Chris and at least two others pounding through the building, opening doors as they searched, the sound coming from below. Fighting the nausea and pain, she cried out to him. “Chris! Up here! He’s going to start a fire!”

Graham turned to her as he tossed the now-empty canister aside. He held up the butane lighter, and she could see from the look in his eyes that he was ready to go. He’d been caught and there was no way out for him now. But if he was going, then he was going to take them all with him.

“Graham, don’t do it!” she pleaded. “You’ll kill us all if you light that fire.”

“That would be the plan, my dear,” Graham replied, sounding almost sad. “I love you, Martie. I wanted you so much, and you betrayed me. I would have given you anything and everything you ever wanted. But you lied to me. You betrayed me, and now you’re calling for that fucking loser!”

As he spoke, she could hear Chris and his companions (the police, she hoped) enter the apartment they were holed up in.

“Martie!”
Chris called.

“I’m not going to let it happen,” Graham said. “He can’t have you. You’re m
ine, Martie. And now…you always will be.”

With a flick of his thumb, the flint was struck and a flame appeared. Graham turned as Chris appeared in the doorway,
then
threw the lighter.

***

It had taken a minute or two, Chris couldn’t be sure, but by the time the ambulance arrived for Larry, he’d gotten the man’s heart beating again. As the medics brought their equipment, he leaned over the injured man and said, “I am begging you… Please tell me where they are.”

“Sir, I need you to move out of the way,” one of the EMTs said.

“No, he needs to tell me where he took them!”

Chris felt a hand on his shoulder. “Chris, he’s not going to be able to tell anyone anything if you don’t let the medics stabilize him,” Scott said softly.

A guttural cry born of fear, anger, and frustration escap
ed him as he stood and gave the EMT room to work. The medics started
immediately, taking Larry’s vitals and assessing his condition. Chris began to feel the panic closing in again, stealing the breath from his lungs. Martie was out there, possibly suffering at the hands of a madman, and he could do nothing help her.

“We’re going to find her, Chris,” Scott assured him again.

He turned to the detective at his side. “I want her back, man. I don’t care what she’s done, I want her back.”

Scott nodded in silent understanding
,
then
looked down at the medics as they worked. The one who had urged Chris to move said to Larry, “Try not to talk right now sir. We need you to stay calm.”

Larry gurgled again, and Chris could see his lips moving. The medic leaned down to catch his words,
then
turned to look up at them. “He said
‘
Breckon
’
—that mean anything to you?”

Chris and Scott exchanged a look.
The
Breckon
Apartments—that was where this nightmare had all started. That was where, it appeared,
it
all would end.

He turned and walked up to the driver of the
truck that had struck Larry
. “I need to borrow your truck,” he said.

The driver, a kid who couldn’t be more than twenty-two if a day, blinked, appearing to still be somewhat dazed by the fact that he’d run a man down.
“Uh…sure.”

That was all the permission Chris needed, and he headed for the driver’s side door.

“Chris, wait a minute!” Scott said. “You can’t go down there, not without back-up.”

He whirled even as he pulled the door handle to open it. “And you sure as fuck can’t go down there with sirens blaring—the bastard that has them might kill both Martie and Ronnie!”

Scott scowled at him. “I’m well aware of the risks. You need to let me do my job
. I’ll have units surround the building—no sirens—until we can get there.”

“We?”
Chris queried.

The detective nodded. “Clearly I’m not going to be able to leave you behind, not without using a
Taser
on you. I’d rather have you with me so I know exactly where you are.”

“Then get in, Detective.”

Scott turned toward the officers keeping the new crowd back as Chris was climbing in behind the wheel. “Cooper, call in to Dispatch. Tell them we have a possible 207
situation at 1427 West High. Suspect is likely a 417. I want them to respond Code 2.”

“Got it, Detective,” the officer replied, reaching for his mike.

Scott jogged around to the passenger side of the truck as Chris gunned the engine, pealing out backward as soon as he’d shut the door.

“We’re going to rescue your girlfriend, Chris—try not to get us killed in the process, will you?”

Chris refused to acknowledge
the attempt at humor. All he could think about was getting to Martie. He needed to see her, to touch her. To tell her he didn’t care about the background check. If she really wanted to know why he’d spent two years in a Montana juvenile detention facility, he’d gladly tell her—he would do whatever she wanted so long as he got to hold her again. He just wanted her back in his arms, where she belonged.

Because he wasn’t driving an official vehicle, he could hardly expect other drivers to get out of his way. He laid into the truck’s horn whenever he got stuck behind someone actually following the speed limit, and more than one middle finger or “Fuck you!” was thrown his way. Chris ignored them all because nothing else mattered except getting to Martie in time. When he finally screeched to a halt in the street outside the
Breckon
Apartments building, he noted that three patrol cars had already arrived.

Throwing the gear shift into park, Chris jumped out of the
borrowed vehicle and ran for the entrance with Scott on his heels, the detective instructing the uniformed officers to surround the building.

“
Martie!
”
Chris hollered as loud as he could once he’d set foot in the lobby.

A yell came from somewhere up above—he couldn’t be sure if it was the second or third floor. He ran for the stairs as another voice sounded, and he thought he heard his name. This spurred him on, and he remembered to call out a warning to Scott and whichever officer had followed them in about the missing step as he took the stairs two at a time. The door to apartment 2A was already partially off the hinges from being kicked in by Terry or Football ten days ago—Chris knocked it off the rest of the way with his own boot. Every door in the apartment got the same treatment, and he could hear Scott and the officer in the other apartments doing the same.

“Chris! Up here! He’s going to start a fire!”

Fear and joy lanced through him at the sound of Martie’s shout—he was relieved beyond measure to know she was still alive, but knowing her kidnapper was about to light the place up had turned his blood to ice. He flew as fast as he could out of 2A and headed for the third floor without waiting for Scott or the uniform, though they were just seconds behind him. Instinct led him straight to apartment 3C, where he could hear the kidnapper yelling, and when he went through the door he called out to Martie again.

The strong scent of nail polish remover led him to
the
bedroom, where Jessica used to sleep and Calvin had been struck down, just in time to watch as a man turned to him, eyes wild and lighter open. The lighter went into the air and although everything in him wanted to dive for it, he could not. He wanted to protect Martie, and instead he had to turn and shove Scott and the officer trailing behind him out of the way.

There was a whoosh as the chemical caught, effectively sealing off the room. Chris
turned back and tried to look inside to Martie.
Through the flames, which circled nearly the entire room, he could see her, and a rage that was surely hotter than the fire burned in his veins when he saw that his quarry stood behind her, her hair in his hand, a knife at her throat, and her shirt hanging open, baring her chest.

“She’s mine now, redskin!” he taunted.

“I’m
gonna
kill you when I get my hands on you, asshole!” he retorted angrily.

“Oh no, I think not,” the man replied, coughing as the smoke caught in his lungs. “You see, we are surrounded. The fire will get to us before you do, and then Martie and Ronnie and I will be together forever!”

A hand grabbed Chris by the arm, and he swung his fist as he turned. Scott narrowly avoided the right hook, ducking away just in time. “Chris, we have to get out of here,” he said, coughing as he did so.

“No.
I’m not leaving her!” he fired back.

“You’re no good to her dead!” Scott challen
ged. “Your guys are on the way. W
ork with them to get the fire put out
—then
we deal with the motherfucker.”

“Damn it, Scott! He’s got a knife to her throat,” Chris pointed out. “He’s going to kill her before we get through.”

“He’s right about that, you know!” the man behind the flames called out. “Both my little whores and I will be long dead before you can reach us.”

Chris wanted to scream. The crazy bastard had put his own life at risk by starting the fire, which meant he believed he had nothing else to lose, and he was messing with their heads.
In that moment he wanted nothing more than to wrap his hands around the psycho fucker’s throat and squeeze the life out of him.

The smoke was spreading quickly, as was the fire. The plaster and wood comprising the inside walls of the apartment were already weakened from the previous
fire,
and it wasn’t taking much at all for them to catch again. Reluctantly Chris moved with Scott away from the
bedroom
door, the uniformed officer having already been sent back down to join the others outside.

“Do you have your gun on you?” he asked, coughing as much to cover up the question as to try and clear his airway.

“Of course I do,” Scott replied, his hand over his mouth now.

“You have to shoot him. Can you hit him without risking Martie?” Chris asked.

“Are you serious?” Scott asked. “Chris, we have to get out of here before this place falls down around us!”

“I told you I’m not leaving her!” he fired back. “If you want to leave, the
n get out! But give me your gun
and I’ll do it myself.”