The dispatch supervisor’s voice flowed over the line. “Sorry to hit you on your day off, Sheriff, but we’ve got a less than happy New Year underway, and Chief Nelson asked us to make you aware.”
Chief Nelson headed the fire department. Booker used his shoulder to hold the phone to his ear and dragged his pants on. “What’s happening, Michelle?”
“Structure fire at Nido Point Plaza. It’s the little shopping center on the southwest corner of—”
“I know it.” A jolt of adrenalin charged his system. Babycakes occupied a storefront at one end of the plaza. Lauralie “Anyone inside? Any injuries?”
“Yet to be determined. According to witness reports, the entire east wall of the building is engulfed. FD’s on the way.”
“So am I.” He felt for his keys, but then remembered he didn’t have them…or his car. “Shit. I need a ride. Send a unit for me.” He rattled off the address.
“Will do.”
“Thanks. Call me if you get any new information.” He disconnected, yanked his sweater over his head, and then scanned the floor for his shoes. Lauralie might well be in that building, and here he was, miles away, with no car, no radio, wearing last night’s clothes, and…fuck…in possession of her phone. He grabbed it, shoved his feet into his shoes and sprinted out the door. Dammit, when he got his hands on her, he was going to—he didn’t even know. At this point he couldn’t think past finding her.
Desperation sent him around the building to the carports, in the hopes of seeing her car, but her slot sat empty. He jogged to the front, dialed dispatch, and waited, helplessly, while nightmare scenarios played through his mind.
The supervisor picked up. “What do you need?”
“Do you have eyes on the fire?”
“Yep.”
“Any vehicles in the parking lot? A black Ford Expedition?”
“Hold on.”
While he held, a cruiser approached the complex. Booker raised a hand to catch the attention of the deputy behind the wheel. Dave Petty nodded back, a late-career member of the department coasting toward retirement—but a capable coast. Dispatch popped back on the line while he slid into the passenger seat. “No vehicles in the parking area. My eyewitnesses can’t get a look behind the building without approaching the fire. I’ve instructed them to stay back. FD’s just arrived on the scene, along with two of your units.”
“Got it.”
He switched to radio, contacted the units, and requested a search for vehicles behind the building. Then he slipped back into helpless waiting mode, and silently told himself she wasn’t there. She would have parked in front. She always parked in front.
Petty pulled up on the plaza before anyone reported back. Booker leaped out of the cruiser, instinctively cataloging details as he approached the scene—his deputies establishing a perimeter and keeping a growing crowd of onlookers at bay, fire trucks occupying strategic points in the parking lot, and firefighters racing to unfurl hoses. Flames devoured one side of the building. Smoke rolled from the structure in thick, dark clouds. He didn’t need a fire science degree to know the blaze originated in the bakery. The first team got a hose on the fire. He headed over, ready to commandeer the damn thing and drag them through the door.
A blaring horn and the screech of brakes whipped his head around. He looked up, and nearly passed out from relief at the sight of Lauralie’s black Expedition lurching to a stop by the curb of the street leading to the plaza. An instant later she rushed around the front of the car. Eyes wide and riveted on the fire, she careened down the landscaped slope to the parking lot. He ran toward her, prepared to
intercept 110 pounds of frantic woman before she did serious damage to herself.
She lost her footing three quarters of the way down, and started to slide, but he caught her before she tumbled to the asphalt.
The impact of their bodies knocked a gasp out of her. She would have bounced off him and continued running, but he had his arms around her, and locked her to him even as she fought to get free. Giving in to bone-deep relief, he buried his face in her hair. Wet hair, full of sand, salt, and the scent of the ocean. She’d left him asleep in her bed and escaped to go surfing. They’d talk that shit out later, but right now he didn’t care. She wasn’t inside the bakery, and that’s all that mattered.
Her struggles gradually subsided, but her body succumbed to bone-rattling shakes. She said something over and over against his chest. Keeping himself between her and the sight of the burning building, he adjusted his hold to let her raise her head.
Her hoarse, broken words immediately reached him.
“Let me go.”
“Not a chance.”
“It’s mine. I have to see. I have to.”
He bundled her over to the cruiser—out of the way of people, equipment, and the worst of the smoke—and put her in the backseat. Then he parked himself by the open door. That’s when he realized his back pocket vibrated nonstop. Word traveled fast. He pulled her phone out and handed it to her.
She stared at the glowing screen so long the vibrations stopped, and then she lifted utterly defeated eyes to his. “I can’t talk to anybody right now.”
A part of him wanted to gather her into his arms, and promise he’d hold the world back, but allowing her to withdraw into her misery didn’t do her any favors. She needed support, even if she didn’t want to admit it. The buzzing began anew. He held out the phone once more. She wouldn’t respond to sympathy—at least not from him—so he resorted to scolding. “You have friends, and right now they’re frantic to know you’re okay. Don’t put them through what I experienced this morning.”