Plain Peril Page 21
This was Mr. Wolf? Nicky sat back on her heels and pressed her palm against her chest. Probably just as well her first glimpse of him was through the attic window. It would give her time to get the flush of heat out of her cheeks. She ran both hands down her dirty jeans and brushed the cobwebs from her face. Then she made her way through the maze of equipment back to the trapdoor.
“Hey, George? I think your reporter friend has pulled up outside. Also don’t forget about the ladder.”
A fit of coughing overtook her lungs. The air was thick and bitter. Thin fingers of smoke curled through the trapdoor, setting every warning bell inside her clanging. She braced her body and hung her head through the hole in the floor. Dark smoke poured from under the door leading to the kitchen. Orange flames flickered at the serving window. Panic flooded her veins, nearly sending her headfirst through the hole.
She was alone. She was trapped. And the building was on fire.
* * *
Searing heat shot through Luke’s palm as his fingers brushed the doorknob. Gingerly he placed his hand flat against the office door. Warmth radiated through it. Bad sign. Very bad sign. The faintest whisper of smoke slipped from around the reinforced door and the lodge windows showed nothing but a reflection of trees. But somewhere inside the building a fire was raging.
He scanned the campgrounds. For a split second he thought he saw someone moving in the trees. A shadowy shape in what looked like hunting fatigues was pelting up a steep path through the woods.
“Hey! Stop! Someone needs help!” The figure disappeared and Luke grit his teeth. He didn’t have time to chase after him. And, if his old and regrettable memories of teenage mischief were correct, it would take him at least twenty minutes to run to the neighboring camp. But only moments ago he’d seen a woman in the attic window. Had she managed to get out safely? Being here is a painful reminder that I’m the last man any woman would want as a hero.
Hero or not, he might be the only chance she had.
Stepping back from the door, he called up to the empty window. “Hey! I’m going to call the fire department and then I’m coming to get you out.” There was no response but he couldn’t afford to wait. Flames were now pouring through a broken window at the back of the building. Tongues of fire licked toward the sky as he pulled out his cell phone.
He couldn’t get a signal, but he remembered seeing a red emergency telephone on a pole near the first-aid station. Luke ran for it, wrapped his jacket around his fist and smashed the glass. He wrenched the handset from the cradle. “Hello? Hello? Can anyone hear me?”
“Nine-one-one. Emergency services.” The voice was crisp and female.
“I’m at Camp Spirit on rural route eight. The lodge is on fire and someone’s inside.”
“Emergency vehicles are being dispatched to your location, can you describe—”
“No. Sorry. I need to get her out of there.”
He ran at the lodge and threw his weight into a solid blow aimed right at the center of the office door. It flew back off the hinges. Smoke poured out.
Sloshing his jacket in a rain barrel beside the door, he held it to his face and entered the building. A surge of hot air beat back against his body. He bowed his head and pushed through as smoke seared his lungs. It seemed as if the fire was fiercest in the back of the building, but it was only a matter of time before flames engulfed the office, too.
“Hello! Hey! Can anybody hear me?” A voice groaned in the darkness. “Hang on!”
In seconds he reached George. The one man Luke owed his entire life to lay pinned to the floor underneath a bookcase. He was pale but—Thank God—still conscious.
“It’s me, Luke. I’m going to get you out of here.”
Shoving the bookcase aside, he grasped George under both arms and pulled him out from under it. The air was getting hotter. The smoke was growing thicker. His mind’s eye set firmly on the faint shaft of daylight cutting through the darkness, he stumbled toward it.
Clean air filled Luke’s lungs as he hauled George through the doorway and up onto the grassy slope. He knelt beside him.
“I called 9-1-1. Help is on the way. But I saw a woman in the window. She still in there?”
George nodded. “Nicky.”
“How do I get to her? Stairs?”
“No. Just...ladder.” George’s voice was so faint Luke had to strain to catch his words. He turned back to the fire as George grabbed his arm. “Please... Take...like...” A fit of coughing stole George’s words from his lungs. Tears filled his smoke-stained eyes. “Cash box...”
The words hit Luke like a slap in the face. Was George asking him to run into the fire to find the camp cash box? Or was he intentionally reminding Luke of the very worst thing he’d ever done?
There wasn’t time for this. Shoving the question from his mind, Luke ran back toward the lodge, ignoring the pain in his lungs and the heat on his limbs. Soot coated his skin. He snapped off what remained of his tie, swinging loose over a shirt now more tatters than clothing.
A woman’s scream filled the air. He rounded the corner and saw her.
“Nicky” dangled from the skylight window, climbing hand-over-hand down the slanted roof tiles using something that looked like a knotted tarp. Clever. But she was still almost three stories off the ground, with a sheer slide to the cement below. The makeshift rope barely reached halfway to the ground. He’d have to convince her to jump and find some way to break her fall. If he missed, she’d break every bone in her body.
Smoke poured through the window above her as he ran to her aid. He could hear sirens wailing in the distance.
The tarp chain snapped. Nicky flew backward through the air. Prayers for mercy poured wordlessly through his lips as he reached out. Her body hit his chest. The force knocked him back, throwing them to the ground. His arms tightened around her, absorbing the blow, as cement knocked the air from his lungs.
She lay on top of him for a moment, her back pressed against his chest. Her face turned towards him. Her breath came fast and hard on his neck. Wild, dark hair brushed against his face, filling his senses with haunting scents of wood smoke and wild berries. “It’s okay. You’re okay. I’ve got you.”
“George... He...” She tried to speak, but could barely manage a whisper.
“He’s all right. I got him out. You okay to walk? We’d better get away from this building.”
She rolled off onto the ground beside him. He helped her to her feet, but they’d barely gone a few steps when he felt her fall against his shoulder.
“I’m sorry,” she said. “I’m not hurt. Just shaky.”
He wrapped his arm around her. “Take it slow. We’ll get the paramedics to check you out.”
Emergency vehicles poured down the camp driveway. Doors slammed. Voices shouted. Fire hoses roared to life.
“I’m Nicky Trailer, the camp director. Thank you for saving me.”
“Luke Wolf, Torchlight News. You’re very welcome.” A smile turned at the corner of his lips. Then it froze as he looked down at her face. Luminous hazel eyes looked up into his, shining like gold in her soot-stained face and sending disjointed memories cascading through his mind. His heart stuttered.
That Nicky? Still here? This many years later? Could it really be her? If so, did she even have any idea who he was?
She stumbled. Her hand brushed against his, sending an unsettling shiver through his skin. Her gaze dropped to his where his shirt laid torn open over his chest. A gasp slipped through her lips. Her eyes grew wider as she pushed him away and stumbled backward.
“Louie? Is it really you?” She crumpled to the ground.
Copyright © 2015 by Mags Storey
ISBN-13: 9781460376133
Plain Peril
Copyright © 2015 by Alison Stone
All rights rese
rved. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right to access and read the text of this e-book on-screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, down-loaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of publisher, Harlequin Enterprises Limited, 225 Duncan Mill Road, Don Mills, Ontario, Canada M3B 3K9.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events or locales is entirely coincidental. This edition published by arrangement with Harlequin Books S.A.
® and ™ are trademarks of the publisher. Trademarks indicated with ® are registered are registered in the United States Patent and Trademark Office, the Canadian Intellectual Property Office and in other countries.
www.Harlequin.com