Chapter 43
forty-three
The first thing Anson saw was smoke.
Black and thick, billowing from the detached garage at the back of Haven House. Flames licked through the broken windows of Maggie’s workshop inside, orange and hungry, and for one frozen second his vision tunneled. The warehouse. Virginia. The screams.
Then Boone slammed the truck into park, and the spell broke.
“Maggie.” Her name ripped from his throat as he threw open the door and ran.
Knox was standing in the driveway, shouting into his radio something about a structure fire and two potential victims.
No.
Maggie was not a victim.
“I’m going in.” He tore across the driveway, engine noise swelling behind him as more Valor Ridge trucks pulled up, spitting gravel.
“Anson, wait!” Knox caught his arm. “The fire department’s three minutes out. We need to wait for—”
He yanked free. “She’s in there.”
“You don’t have gear. The smoke will—”
But he couldn’t wait. Wouldn’t.
The possibility of losing Maggie to fire—to his nightmare—was worse than anything he’d survived in prison. Worse than the burn unit. Worse than the years of isolation.
He’d survived all of it. She had to survive this.
He yanked the collar of his shirt over his mouth and nose and ran for the burning garage.
“Jesus Christ, Sutter!” Knox shouted behind him. “At least take this!”
He caught the bandana Knox tossed without breaking stride, wrapping it around his lower face as he hit the side door of the workshop. The metal handle seared his palm when he grabbed it, but the pain barely registered. He shouldered through the entrance and into hell.
The heat hit him first. A wall of it that stole the air from his lungs and made his eyes water. Then the smoke, acrid and choking, so thick he could barely see three feet ahead.
“Maggie!”
The crackle of flames was the only answer. Burning wood. The hiss and pop of something chemical catching fire. The roar sounded too much like the warehouse, too much like the worst night of his life.
His hands started to shake. The old scars on his palms felt tight, pulling with every movement. He could smell burning flesh even though nothing was burning yet, could hear screams that weren’t there, could see—
No.
Focus.
Maggie.
“Magnolia!”
A cough. Faint. To his left, past a workbench engulfed in flames.
He all but swam through the smoke and fire toward the sound. The heat was unbearable now, searing through his clothes, but he didn’t slow down. Couldn’t.
Then he saw her.
Maggie, on her knees, trying to drag Landry fucking Whitaker’s unconscious body toward the door. Her face was streaked with soot, tears cutting clean lines through the grime. She looked up, and the relief that flooded her expression nearly broke him.
“Anson—”
“Leave him.”
“No.”
“Why the fuck—” He stopped. Now was not the place for their first argument as a couple. “I got him.”
He grabbed Landry under the arms and hauled him up, the dead weight making his shoulders scream. “Can you walk?”
“Yes, but Laura—”
“Who’s Laura?” He scanned the smoke-filled space for another person, but couldn’t see more than a few feet in any direction. The smoke was too thick.
“My star student, Sarah, is Laura. Laura Kemp. She’s my stalker. She did this. She tried to kill Landry—” She broke off, coughing harshly.
The words didn’t make sense. Sarah was a victim. Bruised and terrified. She’d come to Haven House running from an abusive husband.
“What?”
“I’ll explain later. Right now we need to get her out.” Maggie pointed toward the back corner of the workshop where a woman lay crumpled against the wall, smoke curling around her still form. “Please. She’s disturbed and needs help.”
“Go. Get outside. I’ll get her.”
“Anson—”
“Go!”
She went, stumbling toward the door, and he followed, dropping Landry near the exit before turning back.
The smoke was thicker now, the flames spreading fast. His lungs burned.
His eyes streamed. But he pushed forward, dropped to his knees beside Sarah—Laura, whoever she was—and lifted her over his shoulder.
The garage groaned. A beam overhead cracked, showering sparks.
He ran.
The cold air outside was a blessing. He laid the woman on the snow-covered ground and doubled over, coughing so hard his ribs ached.
And then Maggie was there, her hands on his face, his shoulders, checking him for injuries.
“I’m okay.” The words came out hoarse. “Are you—”
“I’m fine. I’m fine.” She was shaking, or maybe he was. Hard to tell.
Knox appeared with an oxygen mask. He pressed it against Anson’s face. “Breathe. Just breathe.”
He pushed the mask away. “Check Maggie first.”
“I’m okay,” Maggie insisted, but Knox was already fitting another mask over her face.
“Breathe,” Knox ordered them both, then turned to check on Landry and the woman. “What the hell happened in there?”
Maggie tried to speak but coughed instead, the sound tearing through her chest. Anson pulled her against him, one hand cradling the back of her head while she dragged in oxygen. His heart hammered against his ribs, adrenaline still coursing through his system.
He’d done it. He’d faced the fire. And he’d gotten her out.
“Sarah—Laura—whatever her name is,” Maggie managed between gasps, “she’s been stalking me. For years. She’s the one who broke into my apartment in Tampa.”
Knox’s head snapped up. “What?”
“She faked everything. The bruises. The husband. All of it to get close to me.” Maggie pulled the mask away again. “She kidnapped Landry from jail and was going to burn him alive.”
“Hollis!” One of the women from Haven House ran up, her face white with panic. “Has anyone seen Hollis? She ran into the garage when she saw the flames—she was looking for Sarah and Maggie—and now I can’t find her!”
Knox went rigid. “She’s still in there?”
“I don’t know, she’s not answering her phone—”
Knox was already moving, headed for the garage. Smoke poured from the open door. He reached for the frame and Anson grabbed his arm.
“Don’t. You won’t survive it now without gear.”
“I don’t care.” Knox wrenched free, and the raw terror in his voice was enough to tell Anson everything he needed to know about how the firefighter felt about Hollis. “She’s in there.”
Ghost appeared at Anson’s shoulder, River and X right behind him. “Fire department’s still two minutes out.”
Two minutes. Hollis could be dead in two minutes.
Anson looked at the garage, at the smoke seeping from every opening, at the flames visible through the windows. Every part of him that had survived the warehouse fire in Virginia was screaming at him to stay back, to wait for the professionals, to not go back into the fire.
But he’d already done it once today. He could do it again.
“We need buckets,” he said. “Fill them with snow. We’ll dump it on the flames and make a path.”
“That’s insane.” River stared at him. “You’ll never put it out in time.”
“We don’t have to put it all out. Just enough to get to her.”
“I’m on it,” Jonah said, and sprinted toward the house, shouting for Jax to help.
“Ghost, get me an ax,” Anson said, not taking his eyes off the building. “We’ll make a new exit through the side wall if we have to.”
Ghost vanished without a word while X and River raced for the snow banks, scooping handfuls into whatever containers they could find. The women from Haven House joined in, forming a bucket brigade from the main house to the garage.
Knox paced along the wall like a caged animal, his training as a firefighter warring with his desperation to get to Hollis. His eyes were wild, searching for any sign of movement through the windows.
“Hollis!” he bellowed, voice cracking. “Hollis, answer me!”
A faint cry came from inside—not words, just a sound of distress that could have been human or the building itself groaning under the stress of the fire. But it was enough for Knox. He lunged toward the door again, and this time Bear caught him in a bear hug from behind.
“Wait for the water to do its work,” Bear growled, struggling to hold the firefighter back.
Steam hissed up with each bucket of water, thick and blinding, but the fire fell back just enough.
“Again!” Jonah called.
Another bucket. Then another. Slowly, they carved a path back inside. Anson took the lead, but Knox was at his shoulder, both of them pushing forward step by step, dousing flames as they went.
“Hollis!” Knox’s voice broke.
“There!” Anson pointed toward the storage area where flames blocked the entrance. They dumped more snow, creating a narrow path through the fire.
Inside the storage room, they found Hollis collapsed near some shelving, overcome by smoke. Knox scooped her up immediately, cradling her against his chest as they fought their way back through the flames.
Outside, Knox lay her on the ground and tilted her head back, checking her airway. She wasn’t breathing. He covered her mouth with his and gave her his air. “Come on, come on—”
Nothing happened. She remained still, lips blue. Knox gave her another breath, then another, his movements growing increasingly frantic.
“Breathe, goddamnit,” he whispered, voice breaking. “Please, Hollis. Breathe.”
The assembled crowd fell silent, the only sounds the crackle of fire and the wail of approaching sirens. Anson felt Maggie’s fingers dig into his arm as they watched Knox fight for Hollis’s life.
“Please,” Knox begged, pressing his mouth to hers again. “Don’t you do this to me.”
Hollis’s chest remained motionless. Knox’s face contorted with anguish as he began compressions, counting under his breath, tears cutting tracks through the soot on his face.
“One, two, three—” His voice cracked. “Don’t you leave me, Hartley.”
Just as the first fire truck rounded the corner, Hollis convulsed beneath Knox’s hands. Her body arched, and she coughed violently, drawing in a ragged, desperate breath.
“That’s it,” Knox murmured, relief flooding his face as he turned her onto her side. “That’s it, breathe.”
She coughed again, her whole body shaking with the effort, then dragged in another breath. Her eyes fluttered open, unfocused and confused.
“Knox?” Her voice was barely audible, broken by smoke damage.
“I’m here.” He gathered her against his chest, his big body trembling as he pressed his face into her hair. “I’m right here.”
The paramedics swarmed around them, gently prying Knox away so they could work. He stood back, watching with naked fear as they fitted an oxygen mask over her face and loaded her onto a stretcher.
“That man’s in love,” Bear muttered, coming to stand beside Anson.
“No shit.” Anson flexed his fingers and winced. His hands were a mess—skin split open, blood mixing with soot, the old scars angry and raw. He hadn’t felt the pain until now, but suddenly it hit him in waves, stealing his breath.
“Jesus, Sut,” Bear rumbled. “Your hands.”
“It’s nothing,” he lied, even as the pain intensified.
“The hell it is.” Bear snagged a paramedic. “His hands are already scarred from a previous fire. He needs treatment.”
Maggie was there suddenly, eyes wide as she saw his hands. “Anson, oh my God.”
“I’m okay,” he insisted, but the words sounded weak even to his own ears. The adrenaline was wearing off, and his knees felt suddenly rubbery.
“No, you’re not.” She slipped her arm around his waist, supporting him as he swayed. “You’re going to the hospital.”
“Not without you.”
“I’m coming with you,” Maggie assured him. “We’ll go together.”