Bellings grimaced. “Who are we kidding? We'd both be on that truck if we could. We're junkies. Why else would we hang around here as much as they let us?”
“You're right.” She tried to smile. She had to get out of here. “Bye, Dave. See you.”
He tilted his head. “You okay? You look a little pale.”
“It must be the light in here. I'm fine.” She quickly led Sam from the room and out of the firehouse. Brace yourself. It might not come. But she had that damn prickling in the back of her neck. She had gone only a few yards down the street when the blinding pain knifed through her head.
Black smoke curling over the stacked tires. The smell of burning rubber. Sirens.
Her stomach was twisting and she couldn't breathe.
It was going to be all right. She closed her eyes. Just inhale slowly and rhythmically.
Sam whined.
It was better now. The pain in her head was fading to a dull throb. She opened her eyes to see the dog staring up at her with that endearing cross-eyed soberness. “Stop worrying,” she murmured. “Just a bad moment.”
The hospital. She'd been on her way to the hospital to visit the kids. It was only a few blocks away and she didn't dare drive right now. She turned left and started up the street. “It's going to be okay.”
God, she hoped it was going to be okay.
Fire.
Brad Silver's hands tightened on the wheel of his car as he fought to keep the image away.
He couldn't breathe.
He pulled over to the side of the road and switched off the ignition. Ride it out. It was usually over quickly.
Christ, the smell.
Then it was gone and he leaned his head on the steering wheel, gasping for breath.
He reached blindly for his phone and dialed. “Dammit, Travis. I almost wrecked the car. Get me out of this.”
“Easy, Brad.” Michael Travis's tone was soothing. “She must be having a bad time. Is it still going on?”
“No, but it may come back. It has before. Why the hell isn't she more controlled?”
“Denial. How close are you to her?”
“A mile or two. She's on her way to some hospital.”
“Maybe that's it. Perhaps someone's been hurt.”
“No, it's her usual weekly visit to the pediatrics ward. She's not upset. Or she wasn't before this episode. Can you do anything to quiet her down?”
“No, I told you she was a wild card. And dirt stubborn. If she calls and asks for help, I might have a chance. Otherwise, you're on your own.”
“Thanks a lot,” Silver said sarcastically. “You're the one who told me how much help she was going to be to me. You just neglected to tell me that she might kill me before we were through with each other.”
“You knew how she could rock you.”
“The hell I did. I've never been this close to her before.”
“You can always back out and we'll try to find someone else.”
Silver thought about it. It was tempting. Kerry Murphy was a powder keg set to go off. He liked to be in control, and these last few minutes had proved he'd have the devil of a time keeping her in check enough to manipulate her.
“Brad?”
“I've devoted too much time to her to walk away. I know her inside and out.”
“Yes, you do. Probably better than she knows herself.”
“I'll handle her.”
“No force. I know what you're capable of. I don't want her damaged.”
“I said, I'll handle her. You just stand by in case I need a backup.” He added grimly, “Or an ambulance.” He hung up and took a deep breath before pulling out into the traffic again. Only a couple more miles on this freeway. If he concentrated, he could keep his guard up long enough to get to her. After that, he'd play it by ear. He didn't want Kerry damaged either, and he could usually trust his knowledge and experience to overcome his own violent impulses. He'd learned long ago that finesse was better than force. He just hoped this looming battle wouldn't prove the exception.
Or neither one of them would survive.
Orange juice?” Melody Vanetti smiled down at Kerry sitting cross-legged on the floor of the hospital lounge. “You've been reading to the kids for the past hour. You must be a little dry.”
“Thanks, Melody.” She took the orange juice from the nurse. “I seem to be forgotten for the moment. Sam's on center stage.” She grinned. “Not that I'm surprised. I don't know any child in the world who'd prefer a grown-up to a dog.”
“You're great with the kids.” Melody tilted her head. “But you look a little tired today.”
“Nah,” Kerry said. “I'm good. Even if I wasn't, I wouldn't dare complain. These guys would make me feel ashamed.” Her smile faded. “Who's the new kid? The one with his arm around Sam.”
“Josh. Came in with burns on his arms. We're stalling until DFACS can make sure they weren't inflicted by his grandmother.”
“Sweet.” The kid looked to be only four or five and he was hugging Sam, his face buried in his throat. She felt a wrenching pang as she saw the bruises on his face. But he was smiling now, and that was no surprise. Kerry had found that kids responded to Sam no matter how damaged they were. “If I can help, let me know.”
“What could you do?”
Kerry shrugged. “Find someone to declare the grandmother's house a fire hazard so she wouldn't have a residence to bring the kid back to? I don't know. Just do me a favor and let me know.”
“Sure. It's nice of you to care.” She started for the door. “I have meds to give. I'll come back and check on you later.”
“We'll be okay. And the kids aren't going to get into any mischief as long as they have Sam to play with.” She checked her watch. Everything must be all right at the tire company. She'd been here over an hour and she'd been fine. A dull throbbing headache, but that wasn't unusual. It was a big fire, a dangerous fire. Naturally, she'd be nervous and afraid of—
Backdraft.
An oak door on the third floor.
Smoke. He can't see.
Who couldn't see?
Two men climbing the stairs toward the door.
The burning stairs were crashing behind them.
Go back. Go back, Charlie.
It was Charlie. Oh, God, she'd known it would be Charlie.
They'd reached the third floor.
Don't open the door, Charlie.
Backdraft. Backdraft.
He opened the door.
That deadly whoosh.
Fire. Everywhere. Hurt. He was hurting.
“Kerry.” Melody was looking down at her with concern. “Are you okay?”
No. Hurting. Hurting.
She leaped to her feet. “Sick. I have to get to the bathroom.” She ran out of the lounge and down the hall.
Hurting. Hurting.
Find a place to hide. Somewhere dark where no one could find her.
Closet.
She opened the door and slammed it behind her. Alone. The closet was dim and small and she'd be safe here. But what about Charlie?
Dear God, she could smell smoke and burning flesh. She sank to her knees and scuttled back against the wall.
Hurting. Hurting. Hurting.
2
For God's sake, shut it out.”
Someone was standing silhouetted in the open doorway, she realized dimly. A man. A tall man. A doctor? It didn't matter.
Hurting. Hurting. Hurting.
The door slammed behind the man and he was kneeling beside her. “Listen to me. You've got to shut it out.”
“Charlie.”
“I know.” He took her hands. “But you can't help him by hurting like this.”
“He's in pain—backdraft. Down . . . down . . .”
“And you can't shut it out.” He drew a deep breath. “But I can. Don't be scared. I'm coming in.”
What was he talking about?