Читать книгу Where There's Smoke... - Barbara McCauley - Страница 9

Emily Barone stood in the small back office of Baronessa Gelati and watched the single white piece of paper slowly roll into the copy machine tray, then lie flatly on top of the three other copies she’d already made. Light flickered on the dimly lit walls; the machine shuddered, then clicked to a stop.

It’s not true, she told herself for the hundredth time. It can’t be.

But Emily knew in her heart that the evidence she’d found against Derrick was true. There was no other explanation, nothing that could absolve, or forgive, what her brother had already done.

Or what he still planned to do.

Her hand shook as she reached for the incriminating piece of paper that proved Derrick’s crime: he intended to sell secret recipes from the family gelato business to a rival company.

He’d been careful not to raise suspicion, Emily knew. Even as Derrick’s secretary, Emily might not have ever noticed anything amiss if earlier today she hadn’t accidentally overheard a few whispered words of a phone call on his private line, words that had made her uneasy. When he’d left his office a few minutes later, she’d gone in and pushed redial, only to hear a receptionist for Snowcream, Inc., Baronessa Gelati’s biggest competitor, answer the phone.

She’d had to wait until the plant had closed this evening and everyone left before she could search for evidence to confirm Derrick’s betrayal. It had taken her nearly an hour to jimmy the lock on his desk, another fifteen minutes to find the file containing detailed notes from his conversation with Grant Summers, CEO of Snowcream. The file also contained dates and times Derrick had met with Summers, listed the amount of money to be exchanged for the information and the Swiss bank account the money would be transferred into.

Emily swallowed the lump in her throat and blinked back her tears. She knew she was naive. At twenty-four, she still tried to see the good in people, still hoped that in the end a person would do the right thing. She’d prayed she’d been wrong about Derrick, hadn’t wanted to believe that her own brother would steal from anyone, let alone Baronessa Gelati.

She was glad her father, Paul Barone, had chosen to become a lawyer rather than go into the business Grandfather Marco had started over a half century ago. Just the thought of taking this damning information to her parents made Emily sick to her stomach. It would kill her mother to learn that her son was capable of such a betrayal.

But it was possible her parents might never have to know, Emily thought as she turned off the copy machine. Her father’s brother, Carlo, ran Baronessa. She knew she couldn’t look the other way, that she had to take this evidence to her uncle. She knew he would have a solution that would quietly remove Derrick from his position as VP of Quality Assurance Department and possibly even cover up any potential scandal to the company or the family.

Uncle Carlo would know what to do; Emily was certain of it. With his booming, deep voice, he was a little intimidating at times, but he was a good man, a fair man who loved his wife and children and was fiercely protective of the entire family.

At the sound of a door closing in an outer office, Emily froze. Quickly she reached across to the single table lamp she’d turned on when she came in. She stood in the dark, listening, heard a quiet shuffling sound, then nothing. Slowly she moved toward the closed blinds over the small copy-room window and peeked out through the side. She’d left the outer lights off, but she could see the outline of a tall, thin man at one of the desks.

She gasped as the man turned. Dear God! It was Derrick!

When he glanced in her direction, Emily jumped back. She’d never been a good liar. If he found her here, she knew she’d never be able to talk her way out of this mess. He’d only have to look at her face to know what she’d discovered, and he’d be furious. She couldn’t confront him yet, not until she talked to Uncle Carlo.

Pressing her back to the wall, she waited, then finally heard the outer door close. Slowly she released the breath she’d been holding. To be sure he’d left the plant, she’d wait a while before she came out. She could take no chances that he might return and find her putting the file back in his desk, or discover her on her way out with the copies she’d made.

After several minutes, there were still no sounds, except for the soft ticking of the copy-room wall clock and the beating of her own heart. The office was quiet. Thank goodness. She breathed a sigh of relief. She’d wait two more minutes and—

Once again she froze. And sniffed.

Smoke?

She flipped on the lamp again and glanced down. Thin ribbons of wispy gray smoke curled up from underneath the door.

Oh God, no…

She shoved the blinds apart and looked out. Flames shot up from the middle of the office and were spreading quickly across the room.

Why hadn’t the alarm gone off? And why hadn’t the sprinklers come on? Unless Derrick—

No! She couldn’t believe that he would do such a terrible thing. Selling secret formulas was one thing, but arson was another. He couldn’t—wouldn’t—commit such a heinous crime.

She grabbed her purse and both files. There’d be no time to replace the original back into Derrick’s desk, but she couldn’t think about that now. She had to get out quickly, before the fire completely engulfed the office. Since there was no window to the outside from the copy room, she had no choice but to make a dash across the outer office and hopefully skirt the flames. If she could get to the windows overlooking the street two stories below, she could attract someone’s attention. If worse came to worst—and she prayed it wouldn’t—she would have to jump.

She gulped in air, then threw open the door and ran. A blast of heat made her stumble, but she recovered and kept going. In the distance she heard the wail of sirens and the sound gave her hope. They’re coming, she thought as the wail and the deep sound of horns grew louder. They’re almost here.

The fire crackled around her, sparks flew, singeing her face and bare legs. The smoke burned her throat and her eyes. But she made it to the window, was reaching for the handle when the sound of a loud crack from behind her made her whip her head around. She watched in horror as the heavy steel bindings that supported the dropped ceiling gave way. Like a giant zipper opening, the ceiling ripped apart, raining metal and plaster tiles. Frantic, Emily turned back to the window, but the crack overhead rushed toward her like a hideous, furious monster.

Helpless to stop it, she went down.

“This is Hemming Taylor from KLRT.” The pretty blond reporter held the microphone close as she spoke to the television cameraman. “First on the scene and reporting to you live from Brookline, Massachusetts, where behind me a fire rages inside one of the buildings that make up the Baronessa Gelati manufacturing plant. It appears that flames have already consumed the third floor of the plant’s main offices, and as you can see—” Hemming pointed with one hand and the camera swept up to catch a full shot of the building “—the fire seems to have spread to the second floor, as well. Firefighters already on the scene are working valiantly to douse the flames, and an unconfirmed report of a woman inside the building has heightened the tension among the firefighters and onlookers alike. We’re told that the call came in approximately ten minutes ago and—”

An explosion from the third floor had the reporter and crew running for cover. Car alarms blared from the streets, and firefighters working outside the building dropped to protect themselves from flying debris.

Inside the building, in the smoke-filled stairwell between the first and second floors, the blast from overhead threw Shane Cummings to his knees. He recovered quickly, stood and glanced back at his partner, Matt.

“You okay?” Shane yelled over a second, smaller explosion.

Matt lifted a hand, gave Shane the go-ahead sign, then pointed to the door leading to the second story.

As a unit, Shane and Matt moved up the stairwell. Shane knew they were quickly running out of time, that they should get out now, but the security guard working the building across the street had insisted he saw a woman in a second-story window that faced the street. Two minutes, Shane told himself as he kicked the door open with his boot. Two minutes and they were out of here.

“We’ve entered the second story from the stairwell.” Shane had to yell into his radio headset over the crackle of flames and crashing debris. “The room is approximately forty by fifty, charged with heavy smoke, the ceiling is down. Female reported at east window and we’re heading there now.”

“Negative, Cummings.” Chief Griffin’s raspy voice crackled over the radio. “The third floor is engulfed. Get your butts out of there now.”

“Five minutes.” Shane glanced back at Matt, who nodded. “Then we’re outta here pronto.”

“No heroics, Cummings,” Griffin barked. “That’s a command, dammit. Get your ass out of there now.”

“Two minutes,” Shane negotiated. “Get a ladder at the window and we’ll come through there.”

While Chief Griffin erupted into a litany of expletives and threats, Shane hunkered down under the cloud of smoke and pressed forward. Matt moved with him.

Adrenaline pumped through Shane’s blood as he edged around a wall of flames, then spotted the windows across the rows of desks in the office. Between the rubble and the smoke, it was impossible to see if anyone was lying on the floor. He made his way across the room, then spotted a pair of long, bare legs protruding from under a pile of ceiling tiles.

“Found her,” Shane yelled back to Matt, then spoke into his headset again. “This is Cummings. I’ve located the female approximately six feet from the east window. She may be unconscious. Do you copy?”

The hiss of static came back, then Griffin said, “We copy, Cummings. Get her and get the hell out of there.”

“My plan exactly. Over.”

Dropping to the pile of rubble on the floor, he pitched broken tiles and chunks of plaster until he finally uncovered the woman’s still body.

She was young, probably early twenties, Shane noted as he scooped her up into his arms, and he doubted she tipped the scales past a hundred pounds. Though dust and soot covered her, he saw no evidence of burns on her clothes or her bare arms and legs.

When he stood, her hair fell away from her face and her eyelids fluttered open. He saw the confusion and fear in her eyes as she looked up at him.

“I’ve got you,” he yelled. “Is there anyone else in here?”

He couldn’t hear what she said, but he hoped like hell her answer was no. Another explosion from somewhere overhead made him stumble backward. Shane gritted his teeth and held the woman close while debris rained down on them. She buried her head against his chest.

“We have to go out through the window,” he yelled over the thunderous roar of the fire. “Can you hang on?”

She nodded, then slid her arms up and circled his neck tightly.

Holding the woman in his arms, Shane stepped to the window and opened it, felt his own lungs burn from the cloud of smoke that poured out into the crisp night air. He heard the din of men and women working below, saw the flash of red lights spinning from the trucks. There were shouts, then the ladder appeared.

“Here we go.” Shane shifted the woman to one arm so the upper part of her body draped over his shoulder. He held her tight, then backed out of the window. Matt was right behind him.

Shane had barely stepped off the ladder when another explosion blasted through the second story, blowing out the windows. He dropped to the ground, shielding the woman’s body with his own. She shuddered against him, held tightly to his jacket while glass and pieces of brick crashed down on them.

Shane quickly glanced behind him to make sure Matt was all right, then breathed a sigh of relief at the sight of his partner picking himself up off the sidewalk and giving him a thumbs-up.

None too gently, Shane scooped the woman back up into his arms and made a dash to the waiting paramedics, who slid her onto a gurney and slipped an oxygen mask over her face. As they carried her away, Shane watched the woman lift her head and hold his gaze. She looked so small lying there, shivering. The sight of blood trickling down her soot-smudged forehead made Shane’s stomach constrict. He started to follow her, but was stopped short at the sound of Chief Griffin’s bellow.

“Cummings!”

Griffin, five foot ten and built like a bull, came charging at him. “I told you to get the hell out of there,” the chief roared. “I oughta suspend your ass for such a stupid stunt.”

Shane removed his helmet and wiped the sweat on his brow. “I didn’t have a—”

“Save it,” Griffin barked. “You’re bleeding, dammit. Go with the ambulance, then get your butt back to the station to file a report.”

“Yes, sir.”

The camera crews had already converged on the ambulance like spring locusts. Ignoring the microphones shoved in his face, Shane pushed his way through the crowd and climbed into the ambulance. The woman seemed to relax when he sat beside her. When he covered her slender fingers with his own and smiled down at her, she smiled weakly back, then closed her eyes and slipped into unconsciousness.

Five seconds later, with the siren wailing and the lights flashing, they were headed for Brookline Hospital.

“Emily…Emily…”

The distant sound of a man’s voice pulled her out of the thick blanket of fog surrounding her, worsened the ache in her head and the burning in her chest. She felt as if she were floating somewhere, disembodied….

“Emily, can you hear me?”

Go away, she wanted to say, but couldn’t make her mouth move. Couldn’t make any part of her body move. She heard the ring of a telephone…a man calling for a nurse…the squish-squish-squish of rubber soles on a tile floor.

Where am I? she wondered. And why did she smell smoke? Smoke and antiseptic…and a man’s cologne?

“Emily, wake up. It’s Derrick.”

Derrick? She didn’t know anyone named Derrick. But the voice was closer now, persistent. She tried to open her eyes, but they were so heavy and she was so tired. She didn’t know who Emily was and she didn’t care. She just wanted to sleep.

“I called Mom and Dad,” the man said, “but they’re at the opera and I had to leave a message. Emily, for God’s sake, open your eyes and talk to me.”

I don’t want to talk, she thought, and rolled her head away. The sheets underneath her were cool and crisp, the blanket covering her soft and warm. She felt soft and warm, she realized. And sleepy. So very sleepy…

“What were you doing at the plant?” The man’s voice turned to a harsh whisper. “You’d already left before me, why did you go back?”

She had no idea who was speaking to her or what he was talking about. She felt the moan vibrate deep in her throat, then the pounding in her head increased.

Slowly she opened her eyes, saw the blurred outline of a man standing over her. He was tall and thin, his hair and eyes dark brown. She blinked against the light and the pain, watched the image take shape. His features were sharp, his mouth pressed into a thin line. The black suit he wore was tailored, his tie a shimmering silver against his white dress shirt. The strong spicy scent of his cologne made her cough.

He leaned in closer and took her hand in his. She wanted to pull away but hadn’t the strength.

“Talk to me,” he said, still keeping his voice low. “Tell me why you were at the plant.”

I’m in a hospital, she realized as she saw the tube running from her arm up to the hanging IV bag beside her bed. “I—” She drew in a slow, painful breath. “I don’t know.”

His hand tightened on hers. “What do you mean, you don’t know? How can you not know?”

I don’t know how I don’t know, she tried to say, but her lungs were burning and her brain felt as if there were shards of glass tumbling inside. She struggled to keep her eyes open and focused on the man questioning her, struggled to keep her thoughts from bumping into one another. Derrick. He’d said his name was Derrick.

“You left the plant thirty minutes before me.” He narrowed his gaze. “I watched you drive away. What were you doing there?”

“I…don’t know…what you’re talking about,” she managed to say, but the words cost her and she started to cough again.

“Dammit, Emily, what are you—”

A knock at the half-open door stopped him. With a frown, Derrick straightened. “What is it?”

“I came to check on Emily.”

That voice. Deep, a bit hoarse. So familiar, she thought. So comforting. Though her eyelids were heavy, she lifted her gaze toward the doorway.

“Who are you?” Derrick demanded.

“A friend.” The man wore faded jeans, a denim jacket and black boots. His gaze flicked over Derrick as he moved into the room. “Who are you?”

“Derrick Barone.” Derrick stood and squared his shoulders. “Emily’s brother.”

Emily felt her pulse skip as the man moved closer to her bed. She knew him, she was certain she did. She just didn’t know how.

He was tall, close to six feet, his chest broad and upper arms solid muscle. His sandy-brown hair was short and neat on the sides, just long enough on top to allow several thick strands to dip down in the middle of his forehead. His eyes were green—no, blue. Both, she finally decided, and held her breath as he turned his incredible gaze on her.

“How you feeling?” he asked her.

Before she could attempt an answer, Derrick stepped forward. “Excuse me. I didn’t catch your name.”

“Shane.” He kept his eyes on Emily. “Shane Cummings.”

“I know most of my sister’s friends,” Derrick said. “I don’t believe we’ve met.”

“We haven’t.” Shane moved around Derrick and came closer to the bed. “Hey, Cinderella, how you doing?”

Cinderella? Why would he call her that? she wondered. She doubted she’d left any glass slippers behind or—

Pain seized her, shot like an arrow through her temple, had her gasping for breath and squeezing her eyes shut.

Fire…flames everywhere…smoke…

The sounds came back to her. The crackling heat, an explosion, shattering glass.

She reached out, felt the comfort of Shane’s large hand closing over her own.

I’ve got you….

She heard Shane’s voice, felt his arms lifting her out of the ashes and rubble. He’d carried her down a ladder, covered her body with his to protect her. Stayed with her.

That was all she could remember. Nothing before that moment he’d scooped her up in his arms, nothing after he’d climbed into the ambulance with her.

As the pain eased, she opened her eyes and saw the concern in his furrowed brow.

“Shall I get the doctor?” he asked quietly.

“Now, see here.” Derrick smoothed a hand down his tie. “I don’t know who you are, or why you’re here, but my sister’s been through a terrible ordeal. I would appreciate it if you would—”

“Mr. Barone?” A redheaded nurse stuck her head in the door. “Your parents are on the phone at the desk. They asked to speak with you.”

Derrick glanced at Shane, then Emily. “I’ll be right back. If you need anything—”

“I’ll be here,” Shane said evenly.

Derrick frowned, then followed the nurse.

“You…saved me,” Emily murmured.

“You mean just now, or earlier?”

“Both.”

He smiled down at her. “Do you remember me?”

“The fire… You carried me out….”

When she started to cough, he squeezed her hand. “The doc says you’re going to be fine, but you’ve sucked some smoke into your lungs, which is going to make them burn for a day or two. And since a ceiling came down on your head, I suspect that’s gotta hurt, too.”

She nodded, then reached up and touched the bandage taped high on her temple. “What happened?”

“We were hoping you might be able to tell us. You were the only person in the building when it caught fire.”

“Building?”

“Baronessa Gelati.” When she did not respond to the name, Shane lifted a brow. “Where you work.”

She closed her eyes, felt the pounding in her brain start up with renewed vigor. Why couldn’t she remember?

“Mr. Cummings.” A blond woman wearing a white doctor’s coat and black skirt came into the room. “I believe I sent you home.”

“I was on my way, Doc.” His expression innocent, Shane stuck his hands into his front pockets and stepped away from the bed. “But when I saw Miss Barone was conscious, I thought she might be able to tell us how the fire started.”

The doctor threw a dubious glance at Shane, pushed her black-rimmed glasses up her nose, then looked at Emily. “I’m Dr. Tuscano. How’s that head of yours feeling?”

“Like it’s trying to hatch,” Emily said weakly.

The doctor smiled. “I had to give you a few stitches along your hairline, but they should heal without a noticeable scar. We’re giving you pain medication in your IV right now, but if you do well through the rest of the night, we’ll take you off in the morning. Other than the laceration on your head, some bumps and bruises and a little smoke in your lungs, you’re in great shape considering your ordeal.”

“Shane saved my life,” Emily whispered.

“I believe he did,” Dr. Tuscano agreed as she made a note in Emily’s chart. “Your family will be very happy to hear you’ll be all right.”

“My family?”

The doctor paused in her writing and glanced up. Frowning, she set her chart down and pulled a small flashlight out of her pocket. “You don’t remember the accident?”

“No.” Emily winced at the light the doctor shone in her eyes.

“Do you know who you are, where you live?”

Who she was? The pain in her head spiraled. She gathered from the conversation her name was Emily Barone. But she didn’t know who she really was. Nor where she lived. “No.”

“Hmm. A mild concussion, but nothing severe.” Dr. Tuscano slipped the flashlight back into her coat pocket and picked up the chart again. “Except for your parents, who are on their way here now, you should have no more visitors.”

“Dr. Tuscano—” the redheaded nurse stuck her head back in the doorway “—you’re wanted on line three. Dr. Heaton.”

“Be right there.” Smiling, the doctor patted Emily’s hand. “I’ll be here in the morning to check on you. We’ll see how you feel after a good night’s rest.”

Emily watched the doctor leave, then slowly turned her head toward Shane. He stood at the foot of her bed, his hands still in his pockets. She saw the worry in his gaze, had the strangest desire to touch his cheek, to comfort as much as to be comforted.

“I better go,” he said after a long moment. “I just wanted to make sure you were all right.”

But she wasn’t all right. She didn’t know who she was, or what had happened to her; she had stitches in her head and an IV stuck in her arm.

She felt like a child. Alone and frightened. The only person she knew, the only person she could remember, was Shane. She didn’t want him to leave. She knew if he were here that she would be all right, that she could go to sleep and nothing would happen to her.

“Thank you for coming.” She silently cursed the tears burning her eyes.

“What’s wrong?” Frowning, he moved closer. “Are you in pain? Should I call the doctor?”

“No.” She turned her head away. “I’m sorry. It’s silly.”

“What’s silly?”

“I thought maybe…if you wouldn’t mind…”

“What?”

“Could you…” She turned her head back to face him. “Could you stay with me, just until I fall asleep?”

He stared at her for a long moment, then nodded and reached for a chair and sat. “Yeah,” he said with a smile. “I could do that.”

“Thank you.”

She knew he was watching her, but it didn’t make her feel self-conscious. It made her feel safe.

She welcomed sleep, was certain that when she woke, her world would make sense again. That she would remember. Her eyelids grew heavy, and with a soft sigh she let the darkness wash over her.