Torch (Unbreakable Bonds 3)

“You won’t touch—” Rowe started forward again, nearly getting free of Noah’s grasp.

“Let’s go!” commanded a new voice. They couldn’t see the other speaker hidden around the corner of the building, but the guy nodded. He reached in the pocket of his hoodie and pulled out a ball.

Noah’s stomach lurched at the sight. Even in the darkness, he knew the guy was holding a tennis ball bomb. When he was a kid, he had friends with access to the Internet and the Anarchist’s Cookbook, which detailed how to make that quick and easy explosive. The guy needed to only throw it against a hard surface to get it to ignite. And suddenly the chemical smell filling the alley made sense.

“Fuck,” Rowe said in a near whisper. Apparently he’d also figured it out. They’d run directly into a trap.

They turned as one and ran back the way they came. The man’s cackle echoed down the alley above their pounding footsteps, but for only a second. Flames suddenly roared behind them as the tennis ball was used to ignite the chemical covering every inch of the alley. The fire consumed the oxygen in the narrow path and charged down the alley like a wild bull set loose on the streets of Pamplona. Blistering heat replaced the biting touch of cold hanging in the air.

Rowe rushed out of the alley and dove between two parked cars, tucking his body in to a roll as he hit the street. Noah launched himself over the trunk of a late-model Cadillac and hit the ground in a roll, praying that the street remained empty due to the night club fire. They didn’t need to escape the fire only to get hit by a car.

Sitting in the middle of the street, Noah looked up to see Rowe stripping off his leather jacket and beating it on the ground to put out the tiny flames still licking at it.

“Your shoes!” Rowe barked.

Noah looked down to see that the soles of his shoes were actually on fire. How he’d not caught that was stunning, but then his attention had been on making sure that Rowe was safe. He pounded his feet on the ground, crushing out the last of the flames, the rubber soles squishing and sticking to the pavement like hot tar. Fucking shoes were ruined, but at least he and Rowe were still alive.

More shouts filled the night as people noticed a second fire burning in the alley down from Shiver. The worst of it had already burned itself out, but the various trash cans that had filled the alley were still ablaze. The fire department would need to come down and put out this fire before it spread to the interior of either of the buildings.

Dragging his jacket on the ground, Rowe collapsed next to Noah, leaning against the Caddy Noah had launched himself over. He dropped his head back and closed his eyes. Sweat trickled down his brow and dripped off his jaw. Noah couldn’t remember ever seeing Rowe look so tired.

“I hate this fucker,” Rowe mumbled.

“Fuckers,” Noah corrected, settling against the car next to his friend. He kept his eyes open, watching as police and firemen raced to where they sat and the burning alley. Didn’t matter. The danger was gone…for now. “There’s definitely two of them. You heard the other voice.”

“Doesn’t make sense.” Noah looked over to see Rowe’s expression twist up before he opened his eyes. “Everything I’ve read about arsonists, every fucking thing, says these psychos work alone. Solo. No partners. No teams. No gangs. Solo. And that one”—Rowe jerked his thumb back to the alley—“that one is supposed to be the shooter. Not the firebug.”

“A tag team of at least two is the only way they could start two fires plus set up this trap.”

Resting his arms on his bent knees in front of him, Rowe clenched his fists. “This was our fault.”

Noah jerked back from Rowe, turning so that he could clearly see his face. “How the fuck do you come to that notion?”

“We failed to catch the douchebag at Toast. He knows we’re getting closer so he’s getting desperate. He went after Lucas and Snow tonight and set a trap for me. I thought we could use this as a chance to go after Jagger. I was wrong.”

“Rowe—” Noah put his hand on Rowe’s shoulder, but Rowe shoved to his feet, hand tightening on his singed jacket.

“We need to stop these fuckers now before somebody else dies. To hell with Jagger.”

Noah swallowed down what comforting words he could scrounge together. Rowe was right. The arsonists were getting too fucking close and Noah didn’t want to face the fact that what little success they’d had so far was basically luck. They were lucky to be alive and that kind of luck always ran out.