Savage Ice (Ice Breaker Cold Case #10)

Prologue

Excitement hummed through his blood.

Five…

Four…

Three…

Two…

The engine purred to life before Beau LeBlanc could even finish counting down to one. A sleek, beautiful purr of power from the Jag—a ride that had to be worth an easy one hundred grand. If you were gonna buy something so expensive, then you really should protect your possession a whole lot better. And not say, let a teenager swipe it in less than five seconds.

A wide grin curved Beau’s lips as he prepared to get the hell out of?—

Smoke.

He stilled right before pulling the driver’s side door closed. The night was still. Damn quiet. Nothing was happening in the Garden District. Sure, he knew folks would be partying it up hardcore on Bourbon Street, but this was the tamer part of the Big Easy. The sophisticated, rich-as-hell part. Gated homes. Security cameras. Fancy rides that just begged and sweetly pleaded to be stolen by an enterprising person such as himself.

But…

The scent of smoke grew stronger.

He should ignore the scent. He had a job to do. People who would be waiting on this car. Drive away. Yep, that was exactly what he should do.

Except…

Had he just heard the faintest crackle of flames?

Beau found himself sliding out of the Jag. He didn’t turn off the engine. He was just going to take a quick peek and come right back. Satisfy his curiosity. He hurried around the edge of the tall bushes. Turned the corner on the street and staggered to a stop.

Holy shit.

The house was en-freaking-gulfed. Flames were bursting from the mansion. Red, orange, and gold, the fire seemed to be eating the lower level of the massive structure. As he watched, one window erupted and sent chunks of glass spraying into the night. A soundless whistle escaped him because he’d never seen a fire like this. Maybe in a movie once. Not in real life. Not up close. Not so wild and hot and so?—

“Help me!”

His gaze whipped up to the second floor. Then up higher. Third damn floor. Because the house—mansion—was huge. A window was partially open on that level, and he saw a small arm waving in the night.

Someone was trapped in that house.

The rest of the rich-as-hell street was dead quiet and dark. No one was rushing to the rescue.

“Help!”

So he…did.

Beau hurtled from the darkness and straight toward the flames. He didn’t slow down when he reached the front door. Instead, he just barreled into it as hard as he could. It flew open. He’d thought it would be locked and that he’d have to ram his way in, but it gave him no resistance. Smoke filled his lungs and he coughed and choked as he raced for the stairs. He felt the fire grab his shoulder. A white-hot, burning touch that pierced him straight to his soul, but Beau didn’t stop.

He rushed up the stairs. The smoke followed him. Seemed to choke him. His eyes watered and his chest heaved and somehow, he actually made it to the third-floor landing. But then he froze because the smoke was so thick, and he didn’t know where the hell the victim was and…

He was no damn hero.

Why was he in the house?

Criminal. Piece of trash. Should lock his ass up. Gang thug.

Whispers filled his mind as he hesitated. Beau knew exactly what he was.

His shoulder throbbed and ached. He needed to get out of there.

“Help!”

The scream came from the right. Spinning in that direction, he yanked up his shirt in an effort to cover his mouth. With one hand, he held the shirt, and with the other, he reached in front of him as he searched for the door. The acrid scent of smoke—and was that gasoline?—surrounded him.

It was freaking pitch black up there. His hands touched something. Big. Sturdy. Wooden?

He’d thought to find a door, but, hell, this felt like some kind of shelf or cabinet or?—

“Help!”

The scream was coming from behind whatever the fuck this was. Beau heaved and shoved, and he heard wood grate as the damn thing gave way and flew to the side. Then he stumbled into a room and?—

“Thank you!” A body collided with his. Much smaller. Softer. Feminine. She coughed and shuddered against him. “Someone—someone put the bookcase in front of my door—” Coughs interrupted her. “I-I couldn’t get out!”

He grabbed her hand. “We’re getting out. Now.” He felt dizzy and sick, and her hand was way too fragile in his grip. He had to get her out of that nightmare.

They turned, hurried back to the stairs…and saw hell waiting.

The flames were eating their way up the stairs. Smoke was so thick.

His lungs seemed to clog.

She trembled against him. He hauled her back into her bedroom. Kicked the door shut. Grabbed a cover from her bed and shoved it beneath the door.

“We’re going…” Coughs broke through her words. “To die…”

The hell he was. No way was he dying as some dumb teen. He had plans. He was gonna be feared. Respected. He would have his own bar. Have his own crew. Have his own damn Jag that wasn’t stolen.

He was going to have everything he wanted.

She threw her arms around him. “I don’t want to die.” Her hand scraped over his right shoulder. Pain blasted through him and almost brought Beau to his knees.

She had some kind of nightlight glowing in her room. Small. Square. The only illumination in the place. But her window was open. Open a few precious inches, anyway. The window she’d been using before when she called for help.

He pried away from her and grabbed the pillow from her bed. Beau ripped the pillowcase in two. “Put it over your mouth.” One part for her. One for him. Like the scrap would do much good, but it was better than nothing. Then Beau rushed for the window.

“Jammed,” she muttered. “I-I couldn’t get it…h-higher…”

Yeah, it was jammed. Screw it. He drove his fist through the glass. The glass shattered. He started bleeding, and he just punched harder. He punched until the windowpane was gone, and he could gulp in air. Except that air just tasted of smoke, too.

If they didn’t get out of that room, they were dead.

He looked back at her.

Small. Long hair that tumbled over her shoulders. Oversized pajamas. Hunched shoulders. Shudders shook her body again and again.

What was she? Like, a hundred pounds? He could handle that. Maybe. His idea was a real shit one, but it was the only idea he had. “Get on my back.”

She didn’t move.

“I’m—” He almost hit his knees as dizziness flooded through him, and Beau threw out a hand to grip the window frame. His blood smeared over the edge. “I-I think I can crawl down.” There was some kind of gutter or drain or some shit that extended down the length of the house. He’d spied it a moment ago. Or at least, Beau thought he had. With all the smoke, it was hard to be sure of anything.

Fuck. Maybe he should just jump. It was the third story. He could survive a jump from that height, couldn’t he? Sure, maybe he’d wind up with some broken bones, but getting his bones smashed would be better than burning alive.

She hopped onto his back and held on tightly. A death grip.

He might survive the jump, but Beau didn’t want to risk her. He needed to make sure she got down without any broken bones. Or burns. Or…

Hell, I don’t even want her scratched.

Slowly, carefully, he climbed out of the window. Grabbed his lifeline—because, yeah, that was how he thought of what was some kind of long drain—and started to descend. Her legs were curled around his waist. Her arms locked around his neck. His right shoulder pulsed with pain, but he ignored it. Down, they went and?—

And he felt the fucking lifeline give way. Heard the screech over the crackle of the flames and knew in that stunned instant that they were both going to fall. He twisted his body, moving so that he’d be beneath her and the ground rushed up to him as?—

Oomph.

He hit. They’d made it halfway down before the fall. The impact shuddered through him because he’d taken the worst of it. She was on top of him, and as he fought to suck in a gulp of air, she rose above him.

“Be okay!” A choked plea from her right before her fingers ran over his face. “Please, please, don’t be broken!”

Too late. He’d been broken for a long time. Ask anyone. His would-be foster parents. The social workers. The mom who’d ditched him long ago when she left him sleeping in a church pew and never looked back. The asshole dad who’d never cared a bit about him. He was no good to anyone. Worthless. Trash. He was?—

“My hero,” she breathed.

He blinked and stared up at the angel above him.

“You’re my hero.”

Sirens wailed in the distance. And, beyond his angel, he saw the flames shoot from the third story window.

Someone was stroking his hand. A soft, gentle touch.

Beau slowly opened his eyes. At first, he wondered where the hell he was. A white room. Antiseptic smell. Bright light trickled through the shades to his left. But then he saw her.

A pretty teen with long, reddish blond hair. She perched in the chair near his…hospital bed? She held his hand, and she sent him the sunniest smile he’d ever seen in his life. Dimples winked in her cheeks.

“You saved my life.”

The hell he had.

Wait…

Oh, yeah, he had.

“You’re a hero.”

Nah. He was a jackass. A car thief. A gang?—

“You’re the most amazing person I’ve ever met.”

His chest began to ache. Beau lifted his right hand to rub it and—shit, his shoulder hurt.

She clutched his left hand all the tighter. “You got burned on that shoulder, but you’re going to heal. You ah…” Her eyes—a truly incredible shade of deep, dark green—drifted down his body. “I’m afraid you broke a lot of bones when we fell. When I…” A rush of her breath. “When I fell on top of you. You’ve got some cracked ribs, too. But I swear, you are going to heal. The doctors say that you will be fine in a few weeks.”

He didn’t look down at his body.

He looked at her hand, holding his.

“My name is Avalon,” she said. “And…what’s your name?”

Avalon. He swallowed. Could have sworn he tasted ash. But Beau made his gaze lift to her face. She looked close to his age. Maybe a little younger. Innocent. Beautiful.

And she…she was staring at him like he was some kind of superhero.

“Beau,” he heard himself mutter.

Her smile came again. A smile that flashed her dimples once more.

His heart beat faster. Beau knew trouble when he saw it. And he was staring straight at some serious, serious trouble. Only that trouble was disguised as a cute teen girl.

“You’re my hero,” she told him.

He’d never been that before. And he knew he never would be again. He was on a different path. One full of destruction and pain. But…

But for just a moment, with her, he became something else.

Something—someone—who wasn’t so disturbed. Who wasn’t chased by demons and pain. Someone who could touch something good and not destroy it.

He became Avalon’s hero.

And she…

She became his hope.