An eternity later, she opened her eyes again. This couldn’t be
happening to her.
Why are You letting this happen to me?
She couldn’t be trapped in her own house, not when Mandy needed
her. Mandy. The hospital.
The thought of her daughter seemed to steady her. She took a
cautious breath. The dust had settled again. Calmly, quietly, she had to assess
the situation.
Trying not to think beyond the next moment, she attempted to
move one part of her body at a time. Something had hit her in the head,
obviously, but it didn’t seem too bad. Her arms moved, free of the debris. Her
ribs—she winced. Her ribs hurt, but she didn’t think anything was broken. Her
legs—
Her legs were trapped. Cautiously she flexed the muscles and
wiggled her toes. Nothing hurt. She pushed herself up onto her elbows so that
she could see what was going on.
The rough-hewn beam that had supported the archway lay
diagonally across her legs. Four-by-four, at least, and it must weigh a ton.
Thankfully it had fallen so that it wedged against the opposite wall, keeping
that deadly weight off her body.
She wasn’t hurt. She was just trapped.
The wave of panic came again, the primitive terror of being
trapped and helpless. She fought it down. She wouldn’t get out of this by
letting herself panic. She had to think.
Maybe, if she moved very carefully, she could wiggle her way
out. Bracing her hands against the rubble, she pushed her body backward.
Nothing.
Biting her lip, she fought down the fear. If she could shift
some of the rubble from underneath her, it might give her a precious inch or
two. That would be enough.
She pulled at the scraps of plaster and lath, clawing debris out
from under her with her fingers. It was slow, terribly slow, with nowhere to
put the pieces she dragged out. She tried piling them up, but they kept sliding
down over her arm.
Her finger caught on a projecting nail. She pulled the board
free, careful not to cut herself again, and thrust it away from her. She sucked
at her finger. She’d need a tetanus booster when she got out of here.
Finally she felt nothing but floorboards under her. Now. Bracing
her hands again, she pushed away from the heavy beam. Her legs slid an inch,
then another. She was doing it, she was going to get out—
With an ominous creak, the beam shifted. She froze. It was going
to come down on her—
Please, God, please, God.
The beam settled, sending up another cloud of plaster dust.
She coughed, her throat raw. It hadn’t crushed her legs. It had
just settled more firmly in place. She couldn’t get out unless someone lifted
the beam away from her.
Why aren’t You helping me?
Tears stung her eyes. Had she drifted so far from God that He no
longer heard her?
My mother would say…that we are God’s hands on
earth, put here to help each other.
Ryan had said that, or something close to it. His words had
stuck like a burr in her mind, refusing to be dismissed or forgotten.
God sent other people to do His work. To help her. Ryan. His
friends. The people from the church, the rest of the Flanagan family. In her
blindness, she hadn’t seen God at work in their readiness to help her.
Instead, trapped by her pride and independence, she rejected
people.
Not entirely. She pressed her palms against her eyes, seeing
faces against the blackness there. She’d begun, once Ryan came back into her
life, to move out of her isolation, but each time something went wrong, she’d
retreated. It had seemed safer, somehow, to stay trapped rather than risk being
hurt yet again.
She’d been trapped spiritually. Now she was trapped physically,
and Mandy was alone.
The panic came again, and she moved recklessly. The beam creaked
and settled, and now she began to feel its weight, pressing down. She could
visualize bones crumbling under that weight.
Help me, please, Father. I’ve been wrong. I
haven’t trusted You. I’ve blamed You. Forgive me. Help me now, for Mandy’s sake
if not my own. I can’t do it myself any longer. I need You.
Her tears spilled over, bitter at first, and then gradually
healing, as if they washed away all the pride, all the isolation, all the pain.
At last she lay silent, peace seeping through her. It replaced
the panic and cleared her mind, and with it came a sense of God’s presence that
was so strong she knew she would never be alone again.
Show me the way, Father. I can’t find it on my
own.
She raised her head, realizing that she could assess the
situation without panic. She was still trapped. She couldn’t free herself.
Maybe she could find a way to get help.
If she managed to throw something through the window, would
someone on the street below notice? She scrabbled through the debris, searching
for a piece small enough and heavy enough to break the window.
Her fingers closed on a piece of brick. Hefting it, she swung
her arm back as far as possible and threw it toward the closest window. It hit
the wall and bounced harmlessly to the floor.
She never had been very good at baseball. She brushed through
the rubble, searching for another brick. Nothing but fragments of plaster met
her fingers.
Her searching fingers disturbed a pile of debris. It slid away
from her, exposing a thin strip of leather. Her handbag, with the cell phone
inside!
If she could reach it—she strained, fingers stretching, and then
sank back. Not even close. But if she could snag the leather strap with
something, maybe she could pull it toward her.
There, staring her in the face, was just what she needed—the
board with the exposed nail that had cut her finger.
Thank You, Lord.
She grasped the end of the board, extending
it toward the handbag strap.
It reached. Excitement flooded through her, and she struggled
for calm. Easy, easy, she had to be careful, she couldn’t risk losing the strap
or pushing it farther away with a sudden motion.
She edged the board a cautious inch at a time, her muscles
straining to hold it steady.
Please, Father.
Her prayers seemed to keep time with the thudding of her heart.
At last the nail slid under the strap. She turned the board
until it snagged and began to pull. Careful, careful. Don’t let it slip away.
Another inch. Two. The rest of the debris slid away, exposing
the bag, still closed. Inch by precious inch she pulled the bag toward her.
Finally she could grasp it in her hands.
She fumbled with the latch, murmuring prayers of thanksgiving.
Her fingers closed around the cool plastic of the phone, and she pulled it
free.
The digital display was beautiful, just beautiful, showing her
the phone was working. It could so easily have been smashed by the falling
debris, but it hadn’t been. It was there, waiting for her, her lifeline.
Thank You, Father.
Her tears
spilled over again.
Thank You.
She could call 911, but she wanted someone else. She punched in
a number she hadn’t even realized she had memorized—of Ryan’s cell phone.
R
yan had
done this a hundred times before on the job. Why was he all thumbs now?
He knew the answer to that. Because it was Laura who was
trapped, Laura who needed him.
Ryan forced himself to focus on nothing but the screwdriver in
his hand and the lock on the front door of the townhouse.
Think,
breathe, don’t let yourself be
distracted by the need to reach her now.
She’d said she was okay. She was stuck, trapped, but not
injured. Her voice on the cell phone had sounded remarkably calm.
He wasn’t. His professional detachment had deserted him
completely.
Let her be all right, Lord. Keep
her safe.
The lock popped. He yanked open the door and raced up the
stairs, adrenaline pumping. He always loved that adrenaline rush, pouring
through him, making him feel as if he could move mountains.
Not now. Not when it was Laura. His heart pounded against his
ribs, running wild at the thought of her.
He passed the living-room door on the second floor and thundered
on up the stairs to the third floor. “Laura! Are you okay?”
He surged onto the third-floor level and stopped. The adrenaline
still demanded action, but long years of training began to take over.
Stop. Assess the situation. Don’t do anything to make it worse.
The floor was littered with bricks and plaster, and the
partition Laura had planned to remove was nothing but a jagged hole. Laura lay,
propped on her elbows, dust-covered and disheveled, underneath a mass of rubble
on the floor. But she smiled at him.
“A mess, isn’t it?” Her tone was quiet, almost conversational,
as if she came this close to disaster every day and it didn’t bother her.
“Pretty much.” He managed a smile. Keep her talking, assess her
injuries, figure out a safe way to remove her from danger.
“I tried to take the wall down myself.” She grimaced. “Pretty
stupid, huh?”
“Just a bit.” He circled her, checking out the situation. Most
of the debris was small stuff, easily moved, but the beam that had fallen
across her was another matter. “Does anything hurt?”
“Not bad. Bumps and bruises, I think. I’m sure noth-ing’s
broken.”
He circled the beam carefully and then squatted next to her.
“Are you sure? Can you feel your legs?”
Her smile reassured him. “Yes, they’re fine.” The smile
trembled. “I’m glad to see you.”
He let himself touch her cheek. “Me, too. When I got your call—”
No, he’d better not go on with how that had made him feel, or he
might lose it entirely. Laura needed his professional skill right now.
“You couldn’t have been far away. You got here in minutes.”
She didn’t know how close he’d been. He’d actually forgotten
about what he’d been doing when she called. He cleared his throat.
“I called the station. The paramedics are on their way right
now.”
She put her hand over his, pressing it against her cheek. “I’m
fine. I don’t need paramedics—I just need to get out of here.” Emotion darkened
her eyes. “Mandy could be waking up. I have to get back to the hospital.”
“Right.” That was another thing he’d forgotten about in his need
to know that Laura was safe. “But we should wait for them. The paramedic team
will have the equipment to get you out safely.”
Her hand tightened on his. “Please, Ryan. Can’t you break the
rules just this once? If you can lift the beam, I’m sure I can slide out.”
He leaned forward, balancing himself carefully with one hand
pressed against the floor. The beam was wedged against the wall on one
side—that was the only thing that had saved Laura from injury. He ought to be
able to lift it enough to release her.
He shouldn’t. She wasn’t in imminent danger, so he should wait
for back-up. But Laura was looking at him with confidence shining in her dark
eyes, and he gave in to the need to have her safe.
“Okay. I’ve broken plenty of rules already today. I guess one
more won’t hurt.”
He got into position, bracing the rough beam with his shoulder.
“If anything hurts when you try to move, you stop right away, okay? We’re not
taking any chances of making things worse.”
She nodded. “You’re the boss.”
“I’ll remember you said that.” His muscles tightened. “Are you
ready?”
Laura braced her hands against the floor on either side of her.
“Ready.”
“I’m going to take it up slowly on three. One. Two. Three.” He
pressed, muscles screaming. The beam lifted an inch, then two. He focused on
Laura’s face, ready to stop in an instant if she showed signs of pain.
She pushed herself back smoothly, swinging her legs free of the
beam. “I’m out.” Her voice wobbled. “It’s okay, I’m free.”
He lowered the beam again cautiously and stumbled the few feet
to her side. “Are you all right? Are you sure?”
All his professional detachment shattered into a million pieces
at the need to hold her.
“I’m fine. Thanks to you.” She turned into his arms, and he drew
her close against him.
She was safe and in his arms where she belonged.
Thank You, Father. Thank You.
He had no
idea how much time passed before he felt Laura stiffen. She pushed back away
from him, her
eyes wide with shock and fear.
“Smoke! I
smell smoke—Ryan, we have to get out!”
“It’s okay.” He tried to hold her, but she’d pushed herself to
her feet. “Honestly, it’s all right. Every-thing’s under control.” He hadn’t
had the time or the brains to tell her what was happening in his fear for her
safety.
She grabbed his arm and tried to pull him to the stairway. “We
have to get out,” she repeated, and he knew the memory of that other time was
stark in her mind.
“It’s all right.” He put his arm around her and eased her toward
the stairs. “We’ll go down, but you have to be quiet. There’s no need to hurry.
I promise.”
Laura wanted to grab Ryan and push him bodily down the stairs,
but he was solid and immobile as a rock. The strength of his arm around her
seemed to banish the panic that had erupted at the scent of smoke. Ryan knew
what he was doing. She could trust him.
With his arm steady around her, they started down the stairs.
“Sure you’re all right?”
She nodded, afraid to speak because her voice might betray the
extent of her weakness. She felt as if she’d been hit by a bulldozer, but she’d
be all right, thanks to Ryan. He’d rescued her yet again.
A few weeks ago she’d have angrily rejected the thought that she
needed rescuing—or needed help of any kind. A few hours ago she’d still burned
with the thought of Ryan’s betrayal. The time she’d spent trapped and alone had
changed everything.
She hadn’t been alone. That was why. God had been with her. If
was as if all her old fears had been wiped away in that short period. As if she
were a new person, seeing through fresh eyes.
Her foot caught on a step, and she would have fallen if not for
Ryan’s arm around her.
“Shh.” His voice was a bare whisper as they reached the bottom.
“Stay right behind me and don’t say a word.”
She nodded, glancing at his face. Strong, intent, focused on
something she didn’t know about or understand. Holding her hand, he led the way
toward the back of the house.
The smoky smell was stronger here, but musty, as if a blaze had
been doused with water and still smoldered. He went softly across to the back
door. Motioning for her to stay where she was, he edged the door open a crack.
She stepped closer to him, putting her hand on his back, feeling
hard muscle and the warmth of his skin through the cotton of his shirt.
“What is it?” Her question was a mere breath, close to his ear.
“It’s okay.” He spoke in a normal tone, and he opened the door
wide. “Looks like it’s all over.”
She blinked. The usually dark alley was alive with light. Red
lights whirled on the top of a police car, painting the pavement in crimson
stripes. The strong white beams of several flashlights bounced off brick and
concrete.
A shiver went down her spine. Had they come to arrest her?
“Ryan? What’s happening?”
Several men clustered around something in the alley. One of them
turned at the sound of her voice.
“Ms. McKay.” Lieutenant North actually sounded welcoming.
“Flanagan got to you, I see. Are you all right?”
“I’m fine,” she said, wary of his sudden friendliness. “Why are
you here?”
“Did we get him?” Ryan sounded impatient.
“Sure thing,” North said. “We’ve got him all tied up in a neat
package and ready to present to the district at-torney’s office.”
“Get who?” Her voice shook a little.
“Didn’t Flanagan tell you? We figured out who the arsonist was a
few hours ago. And now he’s been cooperative enough to walk right into our
arms.”
North took a step toward her, and she saw the person his body
had shielded. The person who was handcuffed, slumped between two police
officers. Bradley Potter.
The alleyway seemed to be spinning in time with the whirling red
light. “I don’t understand.”
“No, I guess you wouldn’t.” North’s voice gentled. “Mr. Potter
does, however.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Potter’s words were an
octave higher than his usual smooth tones. “You’re trying to frame me, and you
won’t get away with it. I demand to see my attorney.”
He moved slightly, and one of the officers shifted his grip. His
foot struck something that sloshed and rattled.
The beam of North’s flashlight fastened on it. A can of paint
thinner.
She could only stare at it, as conviction settled into her
bones. Bradley Potter had tried to burn down her building. He’d attempted to
finish the job tonight.
“Why would you do this? I don’t understand. What do you have
against me?” She took a step toward Potter, and Ryan grasped her arm.
“I don’t think old Brad had anything against you, personally.”
The look Ryan turned on Potter was fierce enough to scald. “You and your
renovation just threatened to sour the deal he had going.”
“What deal? How could I possibly threaten him?”
“Brad put together a group to build a new hotel on this block.
He already owned the surrounding buildings. This one was all he needed.”
“But he could have just bought the building. Goodness knows I’m
eager enough to sell. Why try to destroy it?”
“Because he couldn’t buy it and tear it down. It’s a protected
historic building, remember? None of the surrounding buildings were, so he just
bought them as they became available. I’d guess he was waiting for this place
to be condemned, but you got in his way.”
“Pure supposition.” Fear showed beneath Potter’s words. “You
have no proof at all.”
“We have eyewitnesses to arson.” North nodded to the police
officers. “Take him in.”
She watched numbly as they put Potter in the back of the police
cruiser. It pulled out, swerving to avoid the paramedic van that turned into
the alley.
“I still don’t understand.” Maybe her brain was fogged by too
many traumatic events in too short a time. “Why—”
“Flanagan can explain it all to you later.” North glanced from
her to Ryan. “We owe solving this case to him. If he hadn’t been so stubborn,
you might be the subject of the charges we’ll be making.”
She searched Ryan’s face. “Is that right? You did this?”
He shrugged, as if embarrassed. “Lieutenant North kept telling
me to use my head. I guess I finally got the message.”
He hadn’t answered the question she’d really been asking, and
maybe that was an answer in itself. Obviously, Ryan’s new job was assured. He’d
solved the case, and in the process he’d cleared her.