Vigilante Mine (5 page)

"We will." McLelas headed for the reinforced door with a stride so confident Amanda wondered if he planned to demand it open.

"Your 'express rail' technique won't work on steel plating. I'll call for help on the two-way." She sucked in a calming breath and thought she caught a faint whiff of smoke.

They were in the safest area in the building. The secure file room had a two hour fire-resistance rating. They'd be fine until the cavalry arrived. Shrugging it off, she rummaged for her bag in the debris. She surfaced, victorious, with the handheld radio. "Dispatch, I've got a 10-66 on three."

Static.

"The third floor is on fire." McLelas stooped by the door and growled. Actually growled. Then he took up pacing along the walls.

His mother had died in a massive fire. Had he been there too?

She deliberately widened her stance, though her heart hammered in her chest. Memories were powerful and trauma was indiscriminate. It could turn normal, composed behavior violent in an instant. She caught her breath as he whirled around and paced the other way. Was her sexy businessman about to panic?

Amanda held up a palm. "They'll come. Don't freak out on me, McLelas."

"I don't 'freak out'." Despite the curt assurance, the way he stalked around the perimeter reminded her of a caged wildcat.

She could handle wild. Now. Post-bullet hole, she'd talked Charlie into unarmed take-down drills until one too many grueling sessions had ended with him on the mat and her knee at his throat. Wrestling McLelas to the ground with a few dirty moves
—
any means necessary
—
held more appeal than it should have.

Amanda crossed her arms and leaned against a worn file cabinet. "Good. I left my Taser in my other pair of jeans."

"Why the hell would you need a Taser?" Deep brown eyes focused on her face and his forehead crinkled. The manic edge in his stare gave way to comprehension. "I was just thinking."

"Intense."

A wolfish smile swept across his lips. "Always."

What a piece of work.
But with his return to flirting, McLelas was well out of any danger zone she'd sensed.

Amanda brushed her concern over his mental state aside and dropped her arms. "This room will hold against fire long enough for the local fire department to get us out, if it comes to that."

He raised an eyebrow. "And how long might that be?"

"The walls are rated for two hours. We'll be fine."

"Of course we will," he said. McLelas tugged on the corner of his glasses then tapped hard at the discreet receiver looped over his right ear. "We just need a way out."

"Trust the firefighters to do their job." Amanda tried her radio again.

A muscle jumped in his jaw. "I trust three people in this world. I'm one of them."

All playfulness left his eyes and she knew his mistrust lay in memory. Old Town had burned fast and hot; the city's fire crews hadn't stood a chance. But one tragedy, no matter how massive, didn't mean there weren't good people behind the uniforms, doing their best to save lives. She didn't regret her words. A world incapable of trust was a world without hope, and in Relek City Amanda needed to store up all the hope she could wrap her hands around.

When her emergency call received static a second time he added, "We're not waiting."

They were trapped and her radio continued to crackle like no one was home. A sick feeling invaded her calm. What if other areas of the building hadn't been so lucky? What if the men and women she worked side by side every day were injured? Dead? Dying?

"No, Zach, I do not have a sledgehammer," McLelas said. He was staring down the door again, a half-smile on his lips and his hand to his ear.

The two-way dropped to her side. Sure. His team of bodyguards would save them. Unease started in her right shoulder, and this time the phantom pain refused to be ignored. Amanda rubbed at it with her fingertips. She'd lost a former partner already this year; neither she nor the department was prepared for another loss. She retrieved a water bottle from her workout bag, letting the cool liquid battle her edgy nerves.

She came to her companion's side. "Either the whole building's on lock-down or they can't reply over that migraine-inducing excuse for an alarm."

McLelas turned a dismayed expression up at her.

She offered a drink. "You okay?"

He blinked, flicked a look at the door, and then pushed off his knees to stand. "Zach says the ceiling's not steel. All the fire has to do is climb. And it will. Quickly."

"Your bodyguard is wrong. The whole room is reinforced." Amanda tilted her chin up, but as he took the water bottle, her gaze slid past his face and over his head. She hadn't imagined the smoke. Rolling white clouds obscured the sound-dampening ceiling tiles. "Ah."

McLelas followed her wide eyes and swore. "Still want to hang around for your trusty fire department pals?"

"Unless you're planning to teleport us out of this room." She rummaged through her bag for a towel. "Or has this 'Zach' found a back door?"

"Not yet." The sound of ripping fabric followed by the swish of liquid came from his direction. He shoved a soggy piece of thousand dollar suit into her hands. "Cover your nose, mouth."

She pushed the makeshift filter against her face then narrowed her eyes, searching for the telltale metal of a vent in the wall. The smoke was trickling in from somewhere. A slow leak. Blocking it would buy more time for the rescue team. Would it be enough?

"Great news." He pointed straight up when she shot him a look. "Ducts."

"Right." Buildings in this part of town had plenty of old, wide ventilation winding through the ceilings and walls, but Amanda had trouble believing someone would design a security hole that large for the "secure" file room. She moved to study the near wall. "Help me find this leak and stop wasting your time."

"There is no time," he said, then flashed a huge grin. "My cavalry has blueprints."

Smoke rolled faster, darker, and there was no rescue team. The crumbled shelf rack McLelas chose for a ladder teetered precariously.

Amanda reached over to stabilize the metal. "I can admit when I'm wrong."

A sound-proofing panel crashed to the floor, followed moments later by the vent cover.

"Ah, but can you admit I was right?" he asked.

One strong hand helped her into the ventilation shaft. Thickening darkness pushed from every side. McLelas took the lead like he'd been poring over the precinct's blueprints himself and she crawled, one-handed, after him. She had no doubt he had directions from "Zach". If the bodyguard on the other end of his earpiece got them out of the crushing air of this tunnel alive, he was worth whatever McLelas scribbled on his paycheck.

Her eyes burned and she coughed, squeezing her eyelids shut as her lungs rebelled.

"Grab my ankle." Had he turned a corner? "Our out's just ahead."

Her fingers encountered a men's dress shoe worth more than her entire wardrobe. She took a shallow breath and put her trust in the man leading her to safety.

"Whatever you say, McLelas." Amanda slid her hand around a warm, toned calf and the muscles bunched under her fingers.

He slid backward and one of his arms wrapped around her shoulders, waist, then hips, hauling her up his side until the damp cloth over his nose met the arch of her neck. A thrill of pleasure danced down her spine.

He took a slow, measured breath by her ear. "Is 'Ryan' really that hard to pronounce?"

Reason fled as
his brain worked overtime, replaying a single, explosive kiss that had burned hot as the fire around them. He forced himself to keep moving, undone by the detective's too-trusting grip on his pants leg. For Amanda, he'd entered a lust-fueled purgatory.

Would redemption be enough?

"Turn left when you hit the wall. It's tight, but it'll take you straight out the side of the building." Zach's voice pinched in concern. "Move it, bro. The place is still burning."

Old ductwork. Wide enough, but he was sure it wouldn't hold long. The heat and fire-resistant sheeting warmed under his palms. His fingertips discovered the turnoff. He slid a hand along the arch of Amanda's spine, urging her in front of him, down the tube to the left, as fast as she could crawl.

Halfway through
 . . . 

Hot metal crunched under his knee and his heart punched into his ribs. Ryan seized Amanda's ankle. Thick, oily smoke hit his tongue. "Zach?"

"It'll hold. Just keep going." Confidence had returned to his brother's words. "Jay's commandeering oxygen."

He pushed Amanda's leg forward. If Zach's danger sense said they'd get out, they'd get out.

A loud crash behind him rattled their escape route. Heat swept through the air in waves and the crackle of burning timber roared in his ears. No time to filter. Red-orange flickered off the metal surrounding them, highlighting edges of black and gray puffs of smoke. The deadly blaze beneath the shaft reflected around them as it licked its way into the air vent. Fire would soon overtake their escape route. If the metal didn't collapse, it would melt.

On the other end of the line, Zach covered up a chuckle by clearing his throat. "Well, maybe that piece won't hold."

"How is that funny, jackass?"

"Ever try telling a hungry German shepherd you've killed his master?"

Sadistic little
 . . . "Zach!"

"Yeah, yeah. 'Jackass.' I know."

A second reassurance never came. Ryan felt the woman in front of him falter, heard her cough.

"Go, Amanda!" he shouted against the whoosh of flame.

The floor of the shaft groaned under their hurried movements, a string of metallic curses. Precious seconds later, horizontal bars of white light pierced the shaft. A round outlet vent set in the exterior wall. One of Amanda's fists pounded the fixture. Punching was futile. The metal was too thick; they'd get more leverage by kicking it loose. Ryan reached for her forearm and missed, but she caught the motion and squinted in his direction. He pointed at her feet.

Then he desperately fought to breathe as she squirmed against him to get into position in the tight space.

Teamwork took care of the vent cover faster than he'd expected, and the last barrier to their freedom plunged three stories to the asphalt. Fresh, frigid winter air warred with humid smoke.

Ryan pushed his just-for-show glasses higher on his nose but before he could locate a way down, he heard stirrings of chaos below. Reporters, sirens, confusion, and shouted attempts to restore order beat into his temples like a hangman's drum. If he didn't control the additional volume now, he'd overload. Mid-jump from a burning building wasn't an optimal time to pass out. Concentrating, he closed his eyes and strained his filters.

Something went wrong. Outside stimulus dimmed in his ears, but instead of focus, he couldn't lift his eyelids. Dread coiled tight in his stomach.

"Spiritwalker."

The back of his head hit the warm vent.
Romeo? Why do you keep calling me that?

"Move, Spiritwalker."

"Ryan." A dry whisper. Amanda's hands shook his shoulders, pulled at his body. "Don't quit now."

His detective's voice roused something fierce in him that went beyond lust. Re-energized, Ryan's eyes cracked to narrow slits. She had pushed the strip of fabric against his face with one hand, pointing past his nose with the other. Urgency creased her soot-streaked forehead. He strained to see through the smoke. A fire escape lined the building to their right. Jay was there, leaning over the rail, his fingers twitching in rapid sign language as he mouthed simultaneously, "Any day now!"

Zach had done it.

By the time they reached the ground, the fire was out. Both he and Amanda were fussed over by harried EMTs. She sat huddled on the bumper of an ambulance not far from him, wrapped in an orange blanket and clasping an oxygen mask to her face. Heat had given her gold and brown hair an adorable, frazzled texture and with that weary look, she could have climbed out of a bed instead of a burning building. An image of one feisty detective
—
wrapped in silk and lace and sliding under those sheets with him
—
sparked in his brain. A fresh lance of need torqued through his blood.

His body didn't get a vote. As it was, getting close wouldn't be easy. She didn't care about his money. She cared about integrity, and he'd already folded that hand.

Jay's hard grip locked onto Ryan's shoulder. Anger tightened his youngest brother's gaze but his fingers twitched anxiously and his cheeks were pale. "This is your idea of a lunch break?"

Ryan cracked the mask off his jaw to respond and Jay pinned him with a glare that could melt glass. With their abilities, who knew
—
maybe it could.

"Less talking, more breathing," Jay said.

Ryan lifted his hands in surrender and slumped against the ambulance door. The inevitable grilling he'd receive that evening would be long overdue and well-deserved. Considering the regularity he had to lecture Jay and Zach, he let his little brothers take victories where they could.