Flash Flood (19 page)

“If I had to be with anyone tonight, I’m glad it’s you,” Ryan said.

“So you have plans of us drowning together?”

“Nope. I have plans of us being rescued together.”

“Thanks for the clarification.”

“Hey,” he said, “did you remember to get the bottled water?”

“It made one of the first trips upstairs, but if you’re not picky, dip your cup anywhere around. Drink at your own risk.” A crash sent a streak of fear through him. “Alina?” Nothing.

“Alina?”

Bile rose to his throat, and his heart thudded against his chest. He couldn’t get to her fast enough. “Alina.” His flashlight first found her legs, then her upper torso. She lay against his desk, her head leaning dangerously close to the water. A file drawer balanced on her chest. With an unprecedented display of strength, he heaved the drawer onto the floor and swept her up into his arms. “Say something, Alina. Oh, I’m so sorry. I shouldn’t have involved you in this stupid stunt.”

She moaned. “I’m … all right. Just stunned.”

He passed through the water with his sights on the steps. “Where are you hurt?”

“Banged my head. Fell backward.”

He couldn’t hold her and shine the flashlight at the same time to see the extent of her injuries. “It’s time we hit the high and dry floor.”

“Im … sorry.”

“Hush. This is Ryan, the guy who—”
has loved you for eight years
. “The guy who is the head of this operation.” He managed to lay his flashlight atop her, and she held it in place while he floundered through the water and up the stairs.

“Ryan.”

“Hush. There’s no need to talk.”

“I have to say this.”

His heart sped into overdrive. Had she broken a bone? Internal injuries? “Are you sure it can’t wait until later?”

“No it can’t. I’ll change my mind.” Long moments passed before she stirred. “About back then … You weren’t to blame. It was nothing you did.”

He bent and kissed the top of her forehead. The thought of her swatting him with the flashlight crossed his mind, but he didn’t care. For six years he’d fretted over what he’d done to cause their breakup. In less than ten seconds, the years of worry vanished. “Thank you.”

At the top of the stairs, he laid her on the carpet. “Wish we had a sofa or a blanket here.” The lantern light rested beside a couple of sweatshirts, and he snatched them up—not sure what to do with them since her clothes were wringing wet. He angled the flashlight to the right of her face. “Show me where you hit your head.”

She touched the back of her head, near the crown. “Ouch. I feel a little knot.”

“Anyplace else? Your back? I don’t see any blood.” He felt the spot where she complained. A huge lump had already formed. He’d read somewhere that was good—no lumps after a fall signaled a concussion for sure. “I’m going to get some ice.”

“I’m sure I’m fine.”

“What’s one more trip to the break room? I might find some leftover donuts while I’m there.”

“I do have a request. See if there are any other clothing items left hanging in the utility closet. We both are soaked.”

“Got it.” He left her and hurried down the steps. Each trip he made to the first floor brought a few more inches of water, and the rain continued to pelt against the windows. No wonder the businesses and homes in the lower elevations had flooded to the second floor. By now those same places could be covered to the roof peaks. He gulped. Once he had Alina settled, he’d look for a way to get to the roof. He remembered having the light sticks, but something told him to wait awhile longer, although the nudging made no sense.
Lord, keep Alina safe and rescue us
.

In the utility room, Ryan found a greasy pair of coveralls that most likely belonged to Fred. The garment would cover the man’s two-hundred-pound frame; it would swallow hers. He’d change into the coveralls and give her what he had on—except his pant legs were wet, too. Nothing else remained. Everything else she’d already taken upstairs. Gathering up the ice into a towel, he made his way back to Alina. Water topped the second step.
Seeping in like a predatory animal
.

Her eyes were closed, and the sight of her alarmed him. He needed to shine the flashlight over the rest of her for blood. Her jeans needed to come off and probably the shirt, too, and he hoped she fared well enough to complete the task.

“Let me take a look at the rest of you.” He pointed the flashlight beam at her feet. “Alina! Where are your boots?”

“Surprise,” she whispered. “I only found one pair in the closet, and they weren’t my size.”

Fury raced through his veins. “You are worse than a child. I can’t believe you did this.”

She propped herself up on her elbows. “Nothing you can do about it now.”

“We’ve got to find a way to get you warm.” He shined the flashlight near her face. Pale. She could be in shock, and all he knew was to wrap her in blankets, which they didn’t have.

“This is not how I planned things,” she said. “I wanted a medal of honor from Neon and a management position here in Radisen.” She laughed, but it sounded pitiful. “A raise and a new car, clothing allowance …”

He forced a smile. He had to stay calm to keep her calm. “If you had orchestrated tonight, I’d be a little concerned about your mental condition. I found these coveralls, but they’re huge and smell like grease.”

“Probably Fred’s.”

“The same.”

“Good. I can wrap up twice and be comfy cozy. This is no time for me to be picky. Mind if I use one of the sweatshirts?”

“Knowing your habit of hiding things, I’m checking through all the things you brought up for a clean pair of socks.” He rummaged through the hodgepodge of foodstuff and supplies from the kitchen until he realized she hadn’t lied about the socks. “Can you change by yourself, or do you need my help?”

“I can manage, if you can escort me to the ladies’ room.”

One more time, he picked her up.

“Really, this isn’t necessary,” she said.

“Why don’t you save your strength? The night is young. In fact, I’m still so furious that it’s better you say nothing. I might drop you.”

“A little bump on the head doesn’t make me an invalid.”

“Given your judgment of what is necessary and what isn’t, I’ll call the shots from here on out.”

“Just exactly what you do best.”

She’d nailed him with the one trait he detested most about himself, but he refused to back down. He intended to take care of her whether she liked it or not.

Alina took so long to change that he banged on the door several times to make sure she hadn’t fainted. When she did emerge, she clung to the door and wall. Without waiting for her to protest, he carried her back to the spot near the lantern.

“Do not move. I’m heading down to see if there is anything else we might need. Promise me you will stay glued to this spot.”

She turned her head away from him.

“I could tie you up.”

“All right. I get the message.”

Saturday, 12:15 a.m
.

Alina turned off the flashlight while Ryan traipsed through the first floor. No point in wasting batteries. She shivered. She’d never known such depth of cold—crying cold, made-her-want-to-scream cold. Dry clothes had helped, and she refused to complain. Ryan had done all he could to make her comfortable, and she recognized his old zeal to fix the world’s problems.

The pain in her head hammered away each time her heart beat, and like an obedient child, she held the ice pack in place. A half dozen Tylenol sounded good, and she had a bottle of them in the bag from the break room. Changing clothes had taken forever: First she feared getting physically sick; then she nearly fainted. She wanted to close her eyes, sleep for hours, but with a banged-up head, she knew that wasn’t smart.
Lord, I pray I don’t have a concussion. I’m already depending too much on Ryan
.

Fear seized her, and she closed her eyes against the nightmarish thoughts racing through her brain. If she and Ryan didn’t make it through the night, who would take care of Anna? Who would visit Anna and take the time to brush her hair and roll her wheelchair out into the sunshine? Who would point out the butterflies with their colorful wingspan and pick flowers for Anna to smell? Who would hold her when life frightened her? Granted, Anna was the beneficiary on Alina’s life insurance policies, but money didn’t buy love and devotion.
Oh, Lord, keep my precious sister safe. May there always be someone to love her
.

A tear trickled down her cheek. She needed to be stronger. After she took two Tylenol and the ice reduced the size of the lump on the back of her head, she’d think clearly again. Timidity and failure had never characterized Alina, and she shoved away the thought of falling to them now.

She eased back onto the carpeted floor with the ice firmly against her head. Weariness made her long to take refuge within the sweet confines of blissful sleep. In an unconscious state, she wouldn’t have to think about the flooding, her feelings for Ryan, Anna, or her job situation. She shook her head to put some life into her body.
I can’t sleep. I need to help Ryan
. Memories danced across her mind, beautiful days with Ryan. Slowly her thoughts swung to the many regrets … Anna’s accident … Mom’s disappointment … breaking the engagement with Ryan … the years of loneliness. She understood God had forgiven her sins, but the reminders lived with her like a cancer that slowly enveloped her life.

Joy had settled in her life in three ways: her acceptance of what Jesus Christ had done for her, the love she felt for Ryan, and the precious moments she shared with Anna. God had not abandoned her, but the knowledge did nothing to stop the insidious reminders that she might not live to see her sister or Ryan again. Taking a deep breath, she gave in to the tugging at her eyelids.

Saturday, 1:45 a.m
.

The water had risen to slightly above Ryan’s waist. Too cold for any human. Even his bones ached. Why hadn’t he changed back into his wet dress pants? Stupidity. Mr. Executive blows his itinerary. Foreboding nipped at his heels. The water rose as though a spigot had been turned on high. If it continued at this rate, it would reach the second floor long before the light of morning. Wading through this mess made no sense. He needed to check on Alina.

He’d found nothing on this trip—a sure sign not to enter the murky kingdom again. Thunder rumbled. He could only imagine Alina’s hysterics if they needed to plop themselves on the roof in the midst of an electrical storm.

Once he mounted the steps, he called out for Alina. Nothing.

“Alina.”

When no response met his ears, panic shook him. He hurried to her side, desperate to see if she could be roused and yet cautious not to drip water on her. “Alina, wake up.”
Lord, please, we don’t need a serious head injury
. He nudged her gently, all the while calling her name. He shined the flashlight near her face; the ice packet lay beneath her head. Deathly still. Her coloring hadn’t improved. Cavernous pits, deep enough to hide in, lay beneath her eyes.

“I’m … I’m awake,” she said.

He blew out a ragged breath. “You scared me.”

“I’m tired, Ryan. Sorry. Didn’t mean to frighten you.”

“How long have you been asleep?”

“Not sure.” She yawned. “You think I have a concussion?”

“Crossed my mind.”
More than once
.

“Remember, I’m a morning person, and it’s probably after midnight.” Her words were slurred, but she was coherent. “This lump is a problem only if you can’t awaken me.” She closed her eyes. “Can I sleep a little longer?”

“I suppose.” He wanted her awake and sitting up—complaining, teasing, anything but sending jabs of alarm across his mind. He peered into her face and fought the urge to pull her into his arms. “Keep in mind I’m going to nudge you every hour.”

“Go right ahead. Anything else, Doc?”

“Yes. Where’s the entrance to the roof?”

“Did you hear a helicopter?”

No, sweetheart, but I hear thunder
. “I want to be ready.”

She pointed behind them. “There’s a door in the right-hand corner that leads up a few steps to the roof.

“Okay. Got it. You rest, and I’ll do some exploring.”

Snatching up a flashlight, the radio, and the light sticks, he walked to the right corner and found the door.

Locked.

Alina had left her personal keys by the paper sack full of foodstuff. He couldn’t think of a single reason why she’d have the key, but he prayed she did. Once he retrieved her keys, he attempted to open the door with every key on her ring. None of them fit.

Plan B.

“Superhero” had never been listed on Ryan’s résumé as one of his attributes, but desperation had a way of manufacturing muscles and determination. Standing back from the door, he took a deep breath. Praise God it wasn’t steel. Various TV and movie scenes flashed before his eyes. Of course they all had cardboard doors or stuntmen to handle the obstacles. He kicked it hard. The force shook it but did little else. With his borrowed steel-toed boots, he planned to do much more damage than the slight indentation. He kicked again. And again. Why did everything have to be so hard?