Where There's Smoke (10 page)

A bell tinkled when Kyana pushed open the heavy door to the brick building that housed their village’s records and the lone policeman’s office. She stepped into the stuffy building, peeking around the corners. “Hello? Is anyone here?”

“Good afternoon.” A woman spoke from behind her.

Kyana slapped her palm to her chest, over her racing heart. She hadn’t heard anyone emerge from behind the receptionist’s desk. “Oh, Laura. Nice to see you again.”

“You too.” The young Mrs. Gittleson smiled sadly. “How’s Ben holding up?”

“Eh. He never complains, but I can tell he hates seeing his house in disrepair. I think it helps to be staying in Rose’s space though. It’s probably comforting, having her things around.”

“He’s spent enough time there over the years. It’s more like an extension of his own place.” Laura nodded. “But I’m sure you didn’t come in just to chat. Can I help you with something?”

“Would you mind if I asked you some questions?” Kyana took a deep breath. “About the petition you raised.”

“Ah, yes. I was surprised you hadn’t mentioned it before.” Laura wrinkled her nose. “We were new to the neighborhood and didn’t really understand what Oak Street was all about. Dean and I are thrilled we lucked into such a tight-knit community. It makes up for the longer commute he has to make, going around town to the other side of the lake.”

It was hard to imagine her large, toothy grin as anything other than genuine.

“Who else supported the proposal?”

“Why?” Laura hesitated. “Do you think that has anything to do with the fire? The easement right clause on Ben’s mortgage expired several months ago. Didn’t it?”

“Yes.” Kyana nodded. “But I’m wondering if someone didn’t realize that. Or maybe they were just bitter?”

“Wow.” Laura perched on the edge of her desk then flipped her hair over her shoulder. “I can’t imagine anyone going to those lengths. The only other people who signed the petition were new to the neighborhood, I think. I stuck a copy in record storage in the basement. You’re welcome to have a look if you want. Fair warning though, it’s not very neat down there. Filing isn’t my strong suit.”

Refusing to ask what other possible job requirements there could be besides answering the phone, Kyana shrugged. “Sure, that sounds good.”

“If you don’t mind, I actually was planning to leave early today. It’s Dean’s birthday and I’m making his favorite, duck l’orange, for dinner. Would you lock up behind you when you leave?” She dug an enormous key ring, complete with at least ten dangly bits boasting a variety of cheesy vacation destinations, from her purse and held it out to Kyana.

“Uh, no problem.” She jangled the keys. “Don’t worry, it’s impossible to lose these. I’ll swing by and drop them off when I’m finished.”

“Maybe just leave them in the mailbox.” Laura winked.

Kyana couldn’t help herself. She laughed. After charging down here prepared to dislike the Gittlesons, she admitted Ben had been right. They were a little slow to catch on, but nice people. Maybe she’d invite Laura and Dean over to cook out sometime soon. Logan would enjoy having a conversation about something other than bad knees and the best denture cream on the market. Though she had to admit he looked pretty cute hanging out and drinking a beer with all the elderly guys on the block after quitting time.

“You got it. Thanks.”

Laura showed her to the basement. The heavy door creaked when she tugged it open. Kyana batted a few cobwebs out of her way then started down the old wooden stairs. “Now you see why I’m not too keen on spending quality time with the records.”

“I’m getting a clearer picture by the minute.” Kyana flipped on the yellow overhead lights when she reached the cement floor. “I’ll make this quick then.”

“Okay, I’m out of here. Hope you find something that helps.” Laura shut the door with a wave. Her heels clicked on the linoleum above until the front door opened, bell tinkling again, then shut hard enough to dislodge a sprinkle of dust. It rained down on Kyana.

She swiped her hands over her bare arms, imagining the number of spiders per square inch to be similar to the amount of germs in a gas station bathroom.
Blech
.

Either Laura had turned off the air-conditioning or the luxury wasn’t a line item in the tiny town’s budget. The basement grew stuffier by the minute as Kyana rummaged through stacks of paper, dismissing them out of hand since the top sheets were no more recent than last decade.

Fanning herself, she sidled over to one of the rectangular windows. After standing on a chair and worming her hands around the bars on them, she gave up on cracking the thing open. About nine million coats of paint, probably lead-filled, had sealed it shut.

“Great. Just look faster. Let’s move this along.” Kyana flew from box to box, trying to gauge which had the thinnest layer of grime on top. One looked a bit newer than the rest. She flipped the top off and grabbed a paper at random. It had a date of last spring.

Bingo.

Leafing through the documents, she came closer and closer to the general time Ben had guesstimated the petition had surfaced. A bead of sweat rolled off her forehead and dripped onto the records, smudging the ink. “Okay, this is nuts,” she muttered to herself.

While she was talking, a noise caught her attention. It almost sounded like the bell on the door. Maybe Laura had forgotten something. She decided to haul the likely box upstairs and do more investigating where she could catch her breath, never mind seeing clearly.

The damn thing weighed a ton, but she hoisted it to her hip and began to climb the open-backed staircase. A thump startled her when she was a few treads from the top. “Hello?”

No friendly voice answered this time.

“Who’s there?” She continued to ascend, her arms starting to tingle from holding the files. With the box balanced on her thigh, she reached out a hand to turn the knob.

It didn’t budge.

“What the hell?” Had the sheriff come in and locked the damn thing as part of his standard end-of-day routine? Had the ancient hardware broken?

Kyana pounded on the paneling, almost losing her balance in the process. “Someone help. I’m stuck in here. Are you there?”

As she strained for any answer at all, she heard it again. The suddenly not-so-sunny ringing of the bell on the door. No way could anyone have been upstairs yet not heard the racket she was making. The hair on the nape of her neck stood up straight and her instincts went on red alert.

And that’s when she saw it.

A wisp of smoke snaked through the gap beneath the door and rose in beautiful yet deadly formations.

“Oh my God.” She almost tumbled backward. Forcing herself to stay calm, she scurried down the stairs, dropped the box at her feet and hauled her cell from her pocket. Only to see the glaring red X of her no-signal symbol. “Shit. Shit. Shit.”

A dull roar above her turned into a pop then a
whoosh
. Dry, old timbers of the floor overhead were clearly visible from her position. They would do a hell of a lot poorer job than the asbestos ceiling tiles Ben’s house had contained to prevent the fire from eating through to her hideout.

She raced to the other window, hoping for something different than she’d found earlier. No such luck. Scanning the room, she latched on to the pile of decorations for the front lawn. She dismissed the Christmas tree and the bunny costume but landed on the pitchfork next to the cornucopia and inflatable turkey. That could work.

Kyana grabbed the tool and lunged toward the window. She didn’t hesitate to jab the rusted metal at the tiny pane of glass. It surprised her when her first blow glanced off the surface. Exertion combined with thickening smoke to induce a coughing fit. She ignored it.

The next swing cracked the glass and a third busted out several large chunks. A few more had fresh air pouring in. Thank God. Still she couldn’t see a way to get past the bars. Who had thought that was a good idea? She supposed Town Hall had made their own personal fire code. Probably to keep bored kids at bay in their ho-hum town. Petty mischief, like putting the town’s Christmas lights up in March, was common when there wasn’t much other entertainment to keep teenagers occupied.

She yanked her tank top upward to cover her mouth. Hell, she was practically an expert at this now. Abandoning her war with the grate, she crossed to the other window and smashed it to smithereens too. Climbing on top of the chair, she stretched her neck, placing her face as close as she could to the outside without risking cutting herself on the wreckage.

“Help!” She screamed as loud as she could manage, over and over, until her throat was raw. The building sat far away from the street and the small shops that lined the block near the town’s only stoplight. In the distance, she could see the glowing sign of the pizza parlor and, ironically, the back of the firehouse. No one was around.

The temperature had risen substantially. Sweat began to pour down her back. She glanced over her shoulder just in time to see flames eat a hole in the rafters. Embers plummeted to the floor of the basement and ignited a box of files.

“No!” She dashed toward the blaze, stomping out what she could. For every spark she squashed, another three lit up the dimness with angry red spots.

Fury washed over her. She’d just found Logan again and she hadn’t even gotten to fully enjoy the man. She was not about to let some asshole steal the experience of a lifetime from her. No way was she going down without a fight.

Smashing the pitchfork into the grate only cracked the wooden handle, and left her arms vibrating from the impact. She jumped up and grabbed on to the metal, letting her whole body hang from the bars. They creaked. Bouncing up and down, she cheered when one bolt stripped out of the concrete around it.

By placing both her feet on the wall, she gained some leverage. A yank seemed to loosen another corner. Not enough to give her much hope. The fire crept closer, faster than she could ever have imagined, fed by the boxes of old, dried paper.

“Help!” She knew it was pointless, but she screamed again when the heat began to feel intense enough to blister her skin. It wouldn’t be long now. Maybe she should breathe in the smoke after all. Passing out would save her from experiencing the horror of burning alive.

A tear rolled down her cheek and she dropped from the bars.

“Kyana?”

It was then she knew she was doomed. She was hallucinating. Dreaming of being rescued by the one man who really mattered. “Logan?”

“What the hell is going on? Where are you? In the basement?”

Her eyes snapped wide open. Just in time to see scuffed work boots come to rest outside her prison. “Yes! Yes! Down here. Fire. Stuck. Can’t get out. Bars.”

“Holy shit.” He didn’t waste any time. “Step back.”

There wasn’t much room to move as the flames crept closer, so she ducked. He must have kicked the metal. It rang with the reverberation of his impact. Still, when she peeked up, there were at least three bolts hanging on. Crumbling gray mortar got in her eyes. She blamed that for the moisture dripping from her chin.

The crackle of blossoming flames grew so loud she wasn’t sure he could hear her as he hammered the bars again and again with diminishing success.

“Logan. None of this was your fault. You did your best. I’m glad you’re here with me now.”

“Stop. Talking.” A loud bang punctuated each word of his command. “I’m getting you out of here. It’s loosening. I can feel it.”

“Not enough time.” She didn’t want him to wonder ever about how she’d felt. “Logan. I love you. I’ve loved you since we were kids. No one has ever replaced you in my heart. No one has ever lived up to the standard you set. I’m glad we had this time together again at the end.”

“No!” His roar would have terrified her if it’d been aimed at her. The next clang seemed ten times as loud. Especially when the bars dislodged and crashed to the floor.

She popped up and stared into his wide-open eyes. Level with her, he’d flattened himself on the lawn.

“I love you too.” He swore as he extended his hand and reached toward her.

“Wait. This first.” She swung the box of files into his grasp. Before he could argue she shoved. He pulled, tearing some things and spilling others when the box distorted to squeeze through the window. Barely. She figured it served another purpose as shards of glass rained from the opening.

And not at all too soon, Logan’s strong hand was back. This time she took it. And held on tight. His other arm reached in and she grasped that one too, locking their fingers around each other’s wrists. She didn’t have time to warn him about the jagged surface before he hauled her out.

Even if she had, the heat and smoke wouldn’t have allowed them to take their time.

A low, keening wail ripped from her throat when a remnant of the window sliced her shoulder on one side. She cringed, but no more pain followed. She writhed, helping Logan thread her through the small egress.

“Almost there, Ky. Hang on. I’ve got you.”

In the distance, men shouted. Several dashed up the hill from the firehouse while others ran back for the truck, equipped with all their gear.

Her feet cleared the window and Logan hauled her the rest of the way up into his arms. She couldn’t tell if it was her or him trembling. The world around her jittered as he ran away from the building, onto the lawn. When they’d gone far enough to ensure their safety, he dropped to his knees, cradling her against his chest.