In one fluid movement, he stood and jammed a finger into Franklin’s eye socket.
The big man howled in pain and slapped his hand over the injured orb. Jake whipped around, pulling Claire up. “Run.”
She hesitated. Fearing she’d die by his side, he swung her by the arm and catapulted her past Burlington.
Burlington’s head snapped around, following Claire.
Ready to inflict serious damage, Jake barreled toward Burlington.
Chapter Fifteen
Claire inhaled heaven.
Granny Marie’s apple strudel must have just come hot out of the oven. Its cinnamon scent permeated her bedroom. Exhaling, her stomach rumbled and her mouth watered in anticipation. In a few minutes it will have cooled enough to eat. This time she wouldn’t rush in to cut off a slice and burn her mouth on a steaming apple. For once, she could wait. Anyway, her toasty-warm bed was too comfortable to leave.
Rolling onto her back, she reached for the covers to snuggle deeper. Her heavy arms slid across her warm body. There were no covers, only her bare skin sticking to slick leather upholstery. The truth unfolded slowly. She wasn’t in bed. No. It must be the couch.
Had she fallen asleep in the living room and kicked off the blanket in the night? How had she ended up sleeping on the couch? Had she been watching a movie? Struggling to remember, her thoughts moved as if they were mired in honey.
A crackling, popping noise snapped in the distance. Why would Granny Marie be making popcorn for breakfast? It didn’t make sense, but Claire couldn’t grasp why. Everything seemed off, but she couldn’t put her finger on it.
As she stretched, a tingling sensation burned up both arms. Damn, she must have slept on her stomach with her arms trapped underneath her. She flexed her fingers, trying to increase circulation in her numb limbs.
Only half awake, Claire sniffed the air hoping for another burst of cinnamon apple. An unexpected richness snuck in with it. She wrinkled her nose. Olive oil. Why did she smell olive oil? Straining to open her eyes, confusion swamped her sleep-addled head.
A sudden tension coiled tight in her stomach. She needed to do something, but what? A glimmer of the truth lay just beyond her mind’s reach, but like a half-remembered dream, it floated in her subconscious, swaddled in a fog.
Again, she tried to pry her eyes open, but the lids were too heavy. Panic ratcheted up her heartbeat, her blood rushed in her ears. Something was wrong. Why couldn’t she open her eyes? Why was it so hard to move? She tried to call out for help. Her tongue, thick and heavy in her mouth, hampered her efforts and only a soft moan came out.
Struggling not to lapse back into a dazed state, she inhaled deeply.
Smoke invaded her lungs. Choked her. Coughs racked her body as her lungs gasped to inhale clean air.
The violent spasms jarred Claire fully awake. Her eyes snapped open. She couldn’t make sense of what she saw.
She was on the couch in Harvest’s break room.
Naked.
Jake lay nude at her feet.
Candles, so many candles, surrounded them, their wicks alive with fire. It looked like a romantic tryst gone desperately wrong, as if they’d passed out after making love.
An oily trail dotted the hardwood floor, leading to the room’s only exit. Smoke snuck in under the door in a skinny column of gray.
Everything came back to her. Jake had poked Franklin in the eye, thrust her toward the door and gone after Burlington. As he had struggled with Burlington, the goon recovered enough to rush Jake. All three had gone down. Unable to leave him like that, she’d run full throttle into the melee. They’d rolled in a ball of flailing arms and kicking feet, chairs and tables knocked over by the combatants.
In the middle of the brawl, a sharp object had pricked her leg. Ice had surged through her veins and her body had gone slack. Though her vision had turned hazy, she’d seen Burlington looming above her, a half-filled needle in his hand. She’d wanted to lash out at him, but couldn’t lift her arms or legs. Helpless, she had sunk into a sea of desperation.
Unable to move, she had stared up at the ceiling while the skirmish had gone on around her. Fighting the effects of the drug, she had turned her head in time to see Burlington plunge the needle into Jake’s shoulder. He’d reared back and roared before collapsing to the floor.
She’d wanted to reach out to Jake. Touch him. Brush his hand with hers. But the drug was too powerful. Her vision turned dark. Unable to move or see, only her hearing connected her to the world.
“The other vial broke when the table flipped over. Half a dose will have to do for them both, Mr. Franklin. Take them to the break room and strip them. Light the candles in there. You will start the fire with whatever is flammable on the premises. It is a restaurant; it should not be hard to find something that will do the job.” Burlington had paused, his footsteps pounding on the hardwood floor away from her and toward the backdoor. “This cannot look like arson at first blush, Mr. Franklin. Do not disappoint me in this. Oh, and one final thing…”
At that point, she had fallen completely into the void. Saw nothing. Heard nothing. Felt nothing. Until now.
Terror ripped through her. She had to wake up Jake. They had to get out. She sprang up. Too quickly. The room wavered before her. Afraid if she closed her eyes, she wouldn’t get them open again, Claire concentrated on the doorknob. Silver. Round. It seemed so far away. She counted to twenty and tried to keep her breathing steady as smoke filtered in under the door.