Page 89 of Inferno

Julio let them fall first, rather than stepping off the ledge. He needed them to fall horizontally not vertically.

Samantha screamed.

Wind battered their clothes.

He looked over her shoulder enough to know his aim had been spot on.

A second later, they slammed into the inflated canvas the firefighters had set up. They hit the bottom and bounced up, nearly launched off the side. Hands caught them, dragging the two of them to the ground.

Samantha flushed, grasping hands to stay upright. Julio let one of the engine guys help him stand, then he slid his arms around her waist and tugged her close.

They were alive.

Julio lowered his mouth to hers, sweeping her up toward him at the same time. He heard a hoarse laugh, and she touched his cheeks, then her arms snaked around the back of his neck.

Someone whooped.

Julio found a slice of joy in the middle of chaos. Peace and life, hope and love—all of it there even in the midst of darkness and pain. The way it was always destined to be.

Because God had always meant them for each other.

He lifted his head and looked around. There was still so much work to do. Cleanup. Disaster recovery.

“Someone find me the chaplain!” he yelled.

Hmm. Unless Samantha wanted to wait for her sister to get back in town. Yeah, she probably did. “Actually…”

“No, I like this idea.” She smiled. “If I can speak, I’ll say ‘I do’ to you anytime.”

Julio grinned. “Sure?”

“We can have a reception later. Make a fuss.”

Julio whooped. “We’re getting married!”

EPILOGUE

Two days later

Samantha pulled the car over to a lot designated for first responders helping with the cleanup. The police department, fire department, and city hall had been decimated. Most of the buildings on the street would have to be pulled down and completely rebuilt.

At the last count, twelve people had lost their lives—including the man responsible, Dominic Tennet. A career arson investigator who’d been hiding a dark and dangerous secret for decades. In the coming weeks, no doubt additional cases would be pulled out of the proverbial file cabinets, attributed to him, and then marked closed.

She parked the car and tugged both paper cups of coffee from the cupholders before making her way to where Julio should be.

In the command center, where cleanup efforts were being coordinated from. A series of white canvas tents with the sides rolled up. White folding tables. Clipboards. Two staffers fromcity hall in office attire, completely out of place in the dust and debris of what was left of the street.

He stood to one side, looking over a table and something spread over the surface—building blueprints. Around him stood four firefighters, their uniforms slightly different than the Benson guys. Each one had RESCUE written across the shoulders of their turnout coats, as well as a name along the bottom hem.

The closest one was CRAWFORD. The other names were FOSTER, RICE, and STEPHENS.

“Coda?” She had told him she was bringing coffee. He’d had an early meeting, and no one wanted to see her for at least a week. Though, she still had a report to write.

The firefighters all turned to her, and she handed Julio his coffee.

“Guys.” He squeezed between them and came over to put his arm around her. The coffee ended up on her shoulder. “This is her. My wife.” He sounded so proud of her—of them—and the rash decision they’d made to not waste a single moment more.

“Samantha.” She’d nearly said, “Jesse” but caught herself. Though, she planned to keep her maiden name for work purposes, given it was easier to say than Espinoza-Vasquez.

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