Page 11 of The Blame Game

“We’ll head up,” the fireman said, patting his arm reassuringly. “He’s probably on his way down now or went out the other exit, but we’ll check thoroughly, okay?”

“Thanks,” Dom said, his voice rough.

Dom paced while he waited, gaze never leaving the door. But although person after person came out, there was no sign of Sawyer.

Dom absently patted his trousers, thinking maybe he should try calling, in case Sawyer had come out a different exit, but his pockets were empty. His phone and wallet were probably in his overcoat, still hanging on the hook by the condo door.

Dom cursed under his breath. He should have taken the time to grab it. Should have made sure Sawyer was out safely too.

Where the fuck was Sawyer? What if something had happened to him? What if he’d gotten trapped in the bedroom?

What if he hadn’t made it out?

Stomach knotted, Dom shouldered his way through the crowd of people that firefighters were trying to keep away from the building, but when he reached the tape they’d used to cordon it off, one of the firefighters stopped him.

“You have to stay back,” she shouted over the noise.

“My friend’s in there!”

“Sawyer Barnett?”

Dom nodded.

“Our team is looking for him but you can’t go back in!” she called back. “It’s too dangerous.”

“I …” Dom said weakly, knowing she was right but hating it.

Stomach churning, Dom stared at the door, willing Sawyer to come out.

He waited for agonizingly long minutes, fear rising with every person who appeared who wasn’t Sawyer.

When Sawyer finally stumbled out, soot-streaked and leaning on a firefighter, Dom’s knees went weak.

He pushed past the firefighter he’d been talking to earlier, ignoring her shouts this time as he ducked under the tape.

“Jesus, you had me worried,” Dom barked when he got closer, wrapping an arm around Sawyer’s waist. “Are you okay?”

Sawyer looked up, startled, eyes vibrantly blue in his charcoal-smudged face. “What are you … get out of—” but his words were cut off by a coughing fit.

“Your friend’s lungs are irritated by the smoke. We need to get him checked out by the paramedics,” the firefighter said grimly. “You can talk more later.”

Dom subsided, letting go to follow in their wake as the crowd parted to allow them through. A paramedic rushed over, helping Sawyer to the ambulance.

“He’s got some smoke inhalation,” the firefighter said, guiding Sawyer to sit on the rear bumper of the open ambulance. “No burns though.”

“We’ll take care of him,” the paramedic said. He looked at Sawyer. “Hey. I’m Gregory. What’s your name?”

He was already reaching for an oxygen mask.

Sawyer’s glance darted toward Dom and he thrust something out. “Here’s your phone and wallet. You should get out of here.” He began coughing again.

Dom automatically took the items, frowning as he tucked them in his pockets. “I’m not going anywhere until I’m sure you’re okay. Was that what took you so long? Did you stop to grab these? Jesus, I could have replaced them, you know? They’re not worth your life.”

“Didn’t want—didn’t want anyone to know—”

Sawyer coughed again and Gregory made a tsking noise.

“Hey, I need you to put this on,” he said firmly, sliding the mask over Sawyer’s nose. “And I need to get some info from you. You can speak, but leave the mask on and try to say as little as possible. Tell me what your name is and if you have a history of asthma or other breathing-related difficulties.”

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