Bracing the wall, Henry tried to ignore the blood oozing from his dominant hand. He stared at the fire and the room around him. Nothing was available to slow down the blaze. He had to get Alex out before the flames consumed the house. The hall stretched in both directions from the main staircase. Henry headed to the right first. Throwing each door open with his left hand, he glanced inside for any trace of Alex before moving on to the next room. He worked methodically, but every room sat empty.
His right hand was bleeding profusely. He wiped the blood on his shirt and refocused on locating Alex. She had to be here. Somewhere. Anywhere. He needed to commit to the task of finding her and rid himself of the debilitating emotion slowing his movements, but his overpowering love for her returned over and over to screw with his focus.
At the end of the hall, he turned and headed back toward the staircase to search the rooms in the other wing.
“Alex,” he hollered.
Smoke streamed out of the fiery room and permeated the open spaces of the house. Henry held his breath trying to avoid the toxic fumes. Moving quickly, he sucked in some less smoky air and continued his search. More doors, more empty rooms. The entire hallway was getting brighter as the fire behind him flared. If she was on a different floor, he wouldn’t have time to locate her.
Where was she? Henry fought the panic rising up in him. Stay calm and do the job. Another door, empty. There were only two more doors until the end of the hall.
He opened the closest and light streamed over his shoulder, revealing a macabre scene. He swallowed his scream. The room was smashed to bits. Chairs overturned, a broken mirror, and Alex.
His Alex.
He turned the light on and tried not to cry out at the state he found her in. Her face was swollen and discolored. A white and bloody material covered her body. He sent out a prayer that she only looked like death. He wouldn’t survive if he lost her. His heart broke apart, and the beating of those separate pieces deafened him.
“Alex. Do you hear me?” He rushed to her side.
Her pulse gave him hope. Faint hope at best, but her heart still fought for life. Moving her might worsen her injuries, but he had to risk it, or she’d die in the fire.
“Hey, Sunshine. Wake up.” Please, wake up.
Pulling the duvet around her, he lifted her into his arms. The simple task felt awkward with his damaged hand. Her body fought him at first. Blackened eyes flickered open. Alex didn’t seem to recognize anything. Her stare turned toward the glimmering light from the blaze out the door. She didn’t react. Her muscles relaxed into his arms, and her eyes closed again.
He covered her nose and mouth with the duvet as he entered the hall and kissed her forehead. She’d lost weight since Atlanta. She was thin before, but now she was emaciated. Holding her as securely yet gently as possible, he shifted most of her weight to his left arm. His right hand continued to lose blood and feeling, but he had to use it to secure her to him.
Tugging at the duvet again, he covered the rest of her face.
The fire had expanded across the third floor. He rushed to the stairs through the smoke filling the hall and past the flames coating the walls.
…
Simon knew exactly where to run. Second floor, third door on the right side. Nicola, the queen of procedure, had drawn Simon a map of her location on a cocktail napkin during one of their meetings. His beautiful Girl Guide always prepared.
Henry ran up the stairs in front of him on the way to the third floor and, hopefully, to Alex, although her location was not clear. Simon stopped on the second floor. The third door to the right stood open, waiting for him. He paused, preparing himself for an armed assailant or an empty room. Nothing, however, could have prepared him for the scene inside.
Her room, decorated in a non-Nicola pink floral theme, appeared as though it awaited a new guest. The bed was made, the dresser cleared, and Nicola’s small suitcase was zipped and ready to go. She wouldn’t be going anywhere.
Blood splattered the closet door and the adjoining walls. Nicola, wearing the black dress that had drawn the admiration of the men at dinner, lay in a crumpled heap on the floor. Her eyes stared toward the ceiling. No fear resided in that gaze. She stared down death the way she faced all of life’s challenges, with ballsy determination.
Simon stopped feeling. An icy numbness covered his heart. His mouth froze into a frown. This was part of the game, but the game had turned sinister and foul. He no longer saw the point of it. They’d survived a long time, but both of them had ignored the risks increasing against them with each new assignment.
Only a small hole had entered her chest, but Simon knew the other side would show the true devastation of the mortal wound.
He knelt by her side. Placing his gun down next to her, he closed the eyes that touched him in his sleep, the ones he wanted looking at him every morning, the ones he wanted to see in their children. Brushing her hair back, he let his fingers absorb the waning warmth in her skin.
“I promised to have your back, sweetheart, and I let you down. I’m so sorry.” A chill crept through him and sucked away that part of his soul that longed for a simple life with a complicated woman.
Footsteps at the door caught his attention. Pascal, one of Luc’s boys. “Simon Dunn. Come to reconcile with your ex-girlfriend? You’re too late. Unlike you, when Luc is done with a woman, he prefers not seeing them with their exes, or anyone else for that matter.”
Simon slid his hand toward his gun, but the Glock pointed in his face stopped him.
Pascal stood over him with a pleased-as-shit grin on his face. “Luc will be curious to know how your dead body came to rest near the remains of his latest whore.” He tapped Simon’s face with the nozzle to indicate he should step away from Nicola.
Simon glanced back at her. She was dead. His frozen heart wouldn’t break, so long as he left it undisturbed.