Saving Grace (Madison Falls) (30 page)

She jolted. Did he think Sophia might see them together? “You’re still leaving in the morning?”

“I need to get back.”

“Okay. But—”

The sound of Nancy’s office door opening jarred them apart. Devon’s face became instantly businesslike. “Grace, it’s been a pleasure.” He turned toward the hallway, holding out a hand to the now-approaching Nancy. “Good luck with the run.”

Nancy accepted his shake. “Mr. Sinclair. Thank you for everything.”

“The pleasure,” he slid Grace a meaningful glance, “has been entirely mine.”

He nodded farewell to them both and slipped out the front door.

Grace felt as if the wind had been knocked out of her. How could he leave so abruptly?

“You about done?” Nancy sounded spent.

“What?” Grace tried to bridle her focus. “Oh, almost.”

“I’m too tired to wait. Mind locking up?”

Grace nodded, her smile vague. Devon’s hasty departure must have been a show for Nancy’s sake. Surely he wouldn’t leave town without a real goodbye. Maybe he’d be waiting for her at her house when she got there.

“So,” Nancy had worked her way toward the door. “I’ll get the main switch. Just leave the lamp in the window on so you can see to get out. And would you unplug that old coffee contraption? I don’t trust it.”

Grace agreed as she headed for her stand. She’d finish quickly and hurry home.

She tried to shrug off her doubt. Fifty thousand dollars was a lot to lose, but Devon hadn’t been mad at all about the deal falling through. It would be just fine.

She grabbed a wet towel and finished wiping down the counter. Renting out her house should be easy. She’d call Spritz in the morning. Now that it looked like the theatre would be staying open, she’d happily donate Salvatore and train her replacement.

The important thing was that she had the painting back. She smiled to herself. If she planned carefully, she could find a safe place to live in New York before Kirk got wind of her re-emergence.

Tossing the towel onto the counter, she looked around the clean-enough stand and flicked off the light with a satisfied smile. Soon she’d be going home, even if it was to some high security version of her real life.

She threw her purse over her shoulder and sighed. She’d managed to help Sam, but she still had concerns about him. She shrugged. That was none of her business. There was only so much that money could fix.

Suddenly, a screeching noise pulled her right out of her skin. She reeled around, her eyes darting to the ceiling in recognition of that frightening sound.

There was no doubt about it. It was the smoke alarm.

Chapter 38

Smoke
.

The lobby air grew murky in the split second it took Grace to propel herself toward the front door. Her mind raced as she clutched her purse and reached for the doorknob. Then a terrible thought forced her abrupt halt.
The painting
.

Whirling around, she saw bright orange flames lapping at the wall between her stand and the box office.
The cord
. Why hadn’t she unplugged it?

Fear surged through her veins. Precious moments were wasting in indecision. She had no choice. She had to go back.

Taking a deep breath, she bolted in the direction of the stand, unable to see clearly through the thickening air. Eyes burning, her fingers frantically felt the doorframe and the counter beyond. Her mind raced. Where had Sam put it? Panic propelled her to feel her way along the wall.

Something bumped against her abdomen as a rough surface scraped her palms.
The crate!
She grabbed at its rough corners, rotating around and thanking God for her luck. Struggling to see through the dark haze, she loped forward. In spite of the diffused lamplight penetrating the smoke, she could barely see through her slit-open eyes. She reached out a hand and felt for the doorframe.

The moment her fingers touched its edge, an orange flame blazed up from out of nowhere, igniting the edge of the crate. She shrieked, tossing the enkindled object away from her and stumbling backward.

What had she done? She surged forward, intent on rescuing the painting, but flames illuminated its distinct shape as the wood flared up like a bonfire. Her hope for the future was going up in smoke.

Distraught and disoriented, she allowed the blazing heat to drive her back into the stand. The flames overtook the lobby, blocking her way to the exit. There was no way out.

Hot smoke seeped into her lungs. Thinking fast, she grabbed for both halves of her door, slamming herself into the stand and shutting out all light but the pinstripe of orange that outlined the doorway.

Drowsiness encasing her, she hit the floor, nearly overcome with the pungent air. Through slit eyes, she caught sight of something hanging off the edge of the counter and thrashed for it. She fingered soft wet fabric and silently thanked herself for ignoring her own instructions about hanging up the wet bar towels. As quickly as she could, she shoved the towel into the space under the door, slowing the rush of smoke. That bought her some time, but now what?

Heaving herself to her knees, she felt something weighing against her leg. Her purse. Her
phone!
Why hadn’t she thought of that sooner?

She touched the familiar softness of leather and plunged to the breathing space near the floor. Sputtering for breath, she pawed at the pocket she had opened a million times but now struggled with. At last the snap gave way, and she fumbled with the phone. Something was wrong. There was no comforting blue glow. It was dead.

No!
She always kept her phone charged. Why now? Terror surged in her throat as she sat up, trying to revive the plastic promise of hope to no avail. Gasping, she fell back, her head hitting the rough wood of the floor. Soot filled her mouth like a bellows, but a gut-wrenching cough did little to clear her passages.

Desperation and lack of oxygen swamped her judgment. What if no one noticed the building was on fire? She let out a voiceless moan, feeling herself slip out of consciousness. Her eyes burned and she lidded them to a fast-forward version of her life.

A picture flashed in her woozy mind. A similar moment in her recent past when she had lain in an alley, blood oozing from her abdomen where Kirk had plunged a switchblade. She had all but blocked out that horrible moment when she’d felt life leaving her, but now a critical detail came to mind. She had drawn on some hidden source of strength and had managed to pull herself to the street where people had finally helped her. Where had that strength come from?

In a wisp of memory, it came to her. She had, for the first time in years, cried out to God. It had helped her then.

Her voice failing her, she silently pleaded.
Help me, God. Help me now.

She sputtered, struggling for air that seemed to come a little easier. She forced the thickness into her lungs.

As if beyond her will, her lids peeled open. The heaviness in the room burned her nose and eyes, but an unfamiliar calmness gave her clarity. As she studied the floor in front of her face, a narrow strip of dim light caught her attention. She reached out a weak hand to touch it, and the wall above the light seemed to give just a little.

The door
.

She’d paid such minimal attention to the passage from her stand into the rehearsal space that, like Nancy, she had forgotten it existed. Now, its discovery breathed fresh life into her.

With tremendous effort, she raised her leaden body.

Keeping her head close to the floor, she flung her hand upward, fumbling for the doorknob. Her hand enclosed the orb, which had already absorbed heat like a branding iron. She forced her hand to twist before pulling it away.
Locked
.

A wail of frustration sat tacit in her lungs.
God, please
.

Then she remembered. The drawer. That old key ring.

With the determination of a swimmer about to take the gold, she filled her lungs with air and pushed herself to her knees. She felt for the handle and gave it a too-forceful yank, sending the drawer and its contents plummeting.
No
. She groped across the expanse of floor, causing twist spoons to go clanging across the room.

Falling forward, she struggled for breath, giving in to the need to melt like butter on the floor. As she did so, her hand touched something metal. A spoon. Moving her fingers ever so slightly, she felt the shape of something familiar. Not a spoon. A key.

She flailed, finding the ring with flaccid fingers. So many keys. Would any of them fit this door? She forced herself up to her knees, fumbling. A jingling noise. She pulled the edge of her sleeve over her hand and felt for the door knob, struggling to separate one key from the others on the ring. There were too many of them. She didn’t have time or strength to guess wrong.

The tip of the first key found the keyhole, but refused to go further. She felt for the next one along the ring and prayed for a miracle. Touching the hole in the door, she held up the tip of metal, and pushed. It went in.

Sputtering a laugh, she turned the key and pushed open the door. She fell onto the landing and went no further. Where was her strength?

Smoke filled her nose, and darkness overtook her.

In the next instant, she was vaguely aware of strong hands grabbing her shoulders and pulling her upward.

“Come on, stand up!”

A familiar voice. Her groggy mind failed to identify it. She got to her knees, then, with help, to her feet. Someone had their arms draped around her, forcing her to hobble. Her knees gave a little. Steps…that’s right…from the landing. Clumsily, she navigated her way down. A vague light. The windows…the outside door.

A rush of fresh air filled her lungs, and her legs dragged her as far as they could. A scuttle of noise…shouting. She collapsed onto hard pavement.

“Breathe, breathe!” A voice from somewhere above her commanded.

Flat on her back, she coughed uncontrollably. A siren wailed amidst frantic shouts. She looked up into a face, its features still unclear. She forced herself to focus.

Directly above her was a pair of piercing eyes. She knew them well.

Those eyes belonged to Kirk.

Chapter 39

“I love you Tracy!” Kirk screeched at the top of his voice. “I love you! Don’t you get that? Why are you doing this to us?”

He pounded a palm on the steering wheel of her Beetle before gripping it again with a maniacal fierceness. His other hand clenched the handle of a switchblade, which he pointed in her direction. She stared at it—a grim reminder of their last encounter.

She lifted her eyes, momentarily transfixed by the huge diamond stud in his right earlobe. A new ornament since she’d last seen him. By the light of the dashboard she noticed another, more disturbing, addition to his usually impeccable appearance. He was wearing gloves.
Gloves
. The implication sent her fuzzy mind into a tailspin.

Squirming in the passenger seat, she averted her eyes from the dizzying darkness as her car careened along the curvy country road. She cleared her soot-caked throat and summoned her courage. “Kirk, I—”

“Why did you leave me?” Angry and hurt, his voice was as terrifying as his presence.

She leaned her shoulder against the door, distancing herself from him as much as she could. “I just—”

“Why didn’t you tell me about your little problem? I could have helped you.”

Her ‘little problem’? Was he serious?

“I could have bought that theatre for you if it would have made you happy. I could have bought that whole town. All you had to do was ask.”

A pressure started to build inside. How did he know about the theatre? Her only hope was to calm him down. She feigned composure. “How did you find me?”

His sideways look implied the idiocy of that question. “I always find you.”

Her heart chilled.

He chuckled, the topic clearly improving his mood. “It was so easy. All I had to do was wait. I knew someone would come to me sooner or later. You’ve got friends here. Did you know that?”

Coldness encased her body.
Sophia
.

He let out a cackle that seemed alarmingly detached. “Hey, at least you did me a favor.”

“A favor?” Her voice sounded small.

“Sure. I never thought you’d buy a car, but I’m really glad you did. It handles nice for an old piece of junk.”

She withered a glare. What was he getting at?

“I thought I’d have to use my rental car, which would have presented a serious problem. Not that it would have made much difference to me, but this just makes so much more sense.” He tipped her a raised eyebrow. “Good thing I don’t mind walking.”

“I don’t understand.”

He faced her with a disgusting leer. “You will.”

Trying futilely to still her pounding heart, she looked out at the dark masses passing by the window.
Mountains.
She recognized this route. It was what Sam had called the old highway.

Suddenly, her blood ran cold. They were headed toward the falls.

Her voice quavered. “Where are we going?”

A sly smile played on his thin lips. “I got a tip on a great romantic spot. I think you’ll find it inspiring.”

The menacing insinuation chilled her to the bone. What was she going to do? If she let him take her to the falls, she wouldn’t stand a chance. She closed her eyes, bringing back the vivid images of that day with Devon. The roar of the water, the feel of the slippery rocks under her feet, her dizzying loss of balance.

Kirk’s sharp voice cut into her thoughts. “Hey, have you got any paper in here?”

“What?” Her groggy mind failed to comprehend.

“Paper. Do you have paper?” He stabbed at the air in her direction.

Her head spinning, she reached into the glove box, pulling out an old receipt and a pencil.

He nodded eagerly. “That’ll work.”

Fear made a slow climb up her spine. “What do you want me to do with this?”

“I want you to write what I tell you.”

Reluctantly, she poised the pencil, waiting for him to speak.