Sara grabbed the sleeve of his turnout coat so firmly she was impossible to ignore. He whirled, frowning. Her face had lost most of its color. Her always-expressive eyes were wide and filling with tears. Her lips trembled.
Expecting her to say something, he was jolted when she released him with a cry and began to run toward the rescuers instead.
* * *
Sara covered her mouth, smothering a wail. Unless her mind was playing tricks on her, she knew this victim. She and Vicki had met and befriended twenty-something Rodrigo Salinas while in Texas on their recent, ill-fated mission trip. The trip that had taken Vicki’s life.
Gently cupping the unconscious man’s cheeks in both hands, she raised his face to get a better look. It was Rodrigo, all right. Unfortunately, the rescuers had reached him too late.
A firm grasp on her shoulders pulled her back as paramedics moved in and took over. Sara knew it was Adam. They’d been friends for so long that she could sense his presence without even looking.
“You know this guy?” Adam asked.
She nodded and met his dark gaze. “Yes. From Texas. He was part of the missionary project Vicki and I...”
“What’s he doing in Missouri?”
Good question, Sara thought. Moreover, why was he in Vicki’s empty apartment and why was it now on fire? What in the world could he have been up to?
“Good job, guys,” Adam told his men. “Was that the last victim?”
“Yeah. He almost made it to the front door before the smoke got him.” One man had removed his air mask and was coughing. A blackened smudge traced its outline on the sides of his face. “Looks like Miss Bessie was the only one to make it out alive.”
Bessie Alt? Of course! Sara took a sharp breath and coughed as a result. Had she been so upset by the involvement of Vicki’s apartment and the discovery of an unexpected victim that she’d missed keying in on such a vital detail? That was inexcusable for a firefighter, even a part-time volunteer like herself.
One glance at Adam told her he was clueless. His words confirmed it. “We’ll take care of this, Sara. Go back to the rescue squad and get some O2 to clear your lungs before you end up sick.”
“No. Listen to me,” she shouted over the surrounding noise. “I know Bessie Alt’s medical history. She has a lot of breathing problems.”
“Okay.”
“Oxygen.” She saw Adam tense when she pointed toward the duplex with her whole arm. “There must be tanks of compressed oxygen stored in there. H models, I imagine. The big ones.”
“Everybody back!” Triggering emergency evacuation protocol with continuous high-low siren blasts he shouted, “Clear the area. It’s gonna blow!”
Sara’s mind was racing ahead. The instant she was certain Adam got the picture she turned on her heel and jogged through the police lines toward the ambulance.
“The fire department’s bailing, Vince,” she told the closest paramedic. “You need to load up and get out of here.”
The shake of his head and slow laying aside of equipment confirmed the original suspicion that it was too late for poor Rodrigo. Sara gently touched Vince’s arm. “At least you tried.”
“Yeah. We got to him too late.”
“I’m sorry.” She sought to comfort him—and herself. “I guess it was his time to go.”
He dipped dark brows and scowled at her. “That why you let your cousin drown, Sara? Did you figure her time was up, too?”
As unfair as his accusation was, Sara had heard whispers far worse since returning to Paradise. And she’d learned the hard way that rebuttal was futile.
She turned from him and started away, continuing until she had put a large sycamore trunk between her and the burning building. As she peered past the tree she could see engines backing up, repositioning. Only the aerial with the snorkel nozzle stayed where it was, presumably because it could shoot water from a long way off and still be effective.
Adam remained closer to the blaze than anyone else, shouting directions and gesturing. Her heart swelled with pride as she watched him. So brave. So capable. And so blooming hardheaded. What did he think he was doing? Didn’t he have a lick of sense? Just because he’d survived roadside bombs as a marine, that didn’t mean he was bulletproof.
She cupped her hands around her mouth and shouted at him. “Adam!”
He didn’t respond. Considering the noise of the motors, pumps, sirens and yelling, plus the hiss and roar of the fire itself, chances were good he hadn’t heard a word.
Every nerve in Sara’s body was firing and misfiring. Her wobbly knees might have dropped her on the spot if she hadn’t leaned against the stout tree. If only Adam would give ground!
What was the matter with him? Wanting to do good was one thing. Unnecessary risks were another. She ought to know. Not fighting harder to keep her cousin from behaving recklessly during the Texas flood had been her worst decision ever—one she would pay for the rest of her life.
Well, once was enough. If Adam wouldn’t back off on his own she was going to drag him to safety, just the way she should have dragged Vicki.
Bolting from cover, Sara heard a distant pop and felt tiny, bothersome bits of tree bark raining down on her head. She absently swatted them from her hair. Her one and only mission right now was getting to her friend and convincing him to flee.
Screaming “Adam!” she dodged equipment and jumped fat, wet fire hoses that coiled on the muddy ground like seeping, writhing snakes. “Adaaaaam!”
He whirled. Sara crashed into him. “You have to leave. Fall back.”
He grabbed her upper arms through the heavy canvas-like turnout coat she wore. “What do you think you’re doing? Get out of here!”
“I’m saving your life!” Hearing herself screeching she decided he wasn’t going to heed her warning unless she made it more specific. “The oxy tanks. If they fall and the valves break off they’ll turn into rockets.”
“With a fireball on the other end. Yeah, I know.” Taking one last look he pushed her ahead of him in a joint dash for cover.
Sara pointed. “That tree. Come on.”
Rounding it, she flattened her back against the trunk. Adam joined her. Her heart was already pounding from the scare he’d given her. Now, it took off at a gallop. This was one of those extraordinary moments when she wasn’t sure whether to weep or laugh. His handsome face was dotted with ash, smudged with smoke and his warm brown eyes were reddened. Nevertheless, the way he was staring at her was more than disconcerting.
His focus left her face to concentrate on a spot on the tree trunk directly above her head. When he removed one of his heavy gloves and touched the bark, more powdery bits and slivers rained down.
Sara brushed them away. “Stop that. You’re making a worse mess than the first time I hid here.”
His eyes were wide beneath the brim and clear faceplate of his helmet. “What first time? When did you notice this damage?”
“What damage? What are you talking about?”
Grasping her shoulders he turned her in place, still keeping within the shelter of the broad trunk. “This. See the hole?”
“We have worse things to worry about than a wormhole in a sycamore, Adam.”
He was shaking his head and glancing from side to side as if searching for someone or something. Finally, he said, “This is no wormhole, Sara. The damage is fresh. And judging by the wood that’s been displaced,