Page 108 of Silver-Tongued Devil
“Not now.” Blake kept moving, but Sawyer stepped to his left and blocked him.
“Blake?” The voice came from behind him. Dakota. He’d forgotten all about her.
Sawyer had seen her too, because he said, “Bud, you don’t have to be in a hurry for that.” His boys closed up around him. “All you need is a few trading beads or some firewater, and she’s good to go. Isn’t that right, Dakota?”
Sometimes, you made a plan. Other times, it was instinct. When you saw that unexpected receiver about to get open and you let the ball go, your arm and your hand seeming to act independently of your brain.
That was what happened this time. Blake’s arm had gone back, and his fist had gone forward. It met Sawyer’s grinning face, and he dropped to the ground. Just like that.
Blake reached back and grabbed Dakota’s hand, stepped over Sawyer, and took off. He wasn’t thinking anymore—about calling Walt, about anything. He was through the hotel lobby, out the front doors, and turning right, toward the northwest corner of the building. Toward the spot where Logan had spotted Jerry Richards in a place he shouldn’t be.
The resort’s forecourt was deserted except for a solitary bellman who’d drawn the hard duty of missing the action out back. Blake snapped at him as he passed. “Call Walt Harris and tell him to get to the northeast corner and bring his troops,” and then he’d let go of Dakota and was running. Not fast enough, but as fast as his knee would let him.
Why? Because there was something happening up there. A shower of sparks where there shouldn’t be sparks. And then flame.
Stupid shoes. Dakota couldn’t keep up.
She wasn’t even halfway to the end of the building, having fallen far behind Blake, when she saw the sparks. Her first thought was,How could that go off that wrong? It got shot all the way over the building?But how could a firework be shot exactly backwards? How could it land there?
She didn’t wait for the whirling thoughts to settle, just grabbed her phone from her purse and dialed 911.
“Operator,” she heard. “What is your emergency?”
“Fire at Wild Horse Resort.” She was breathless from running, but she didn’t stop.
“Ma’am, there’s a fireworks show tonight.”
“No. It’s not the fireworks. I’m here. The building’s on fire. It’s burning. Tell them to hurry.”
“What area of the building is this? Are you sure?”
“The front. Outside. They’ll see it. I’m sure. Send them now. I’ve got to go.”
The phone missed her purse when she tried to put it back. She heard it clatter to the ground behind her, but she couldn’t stop to pick it up. Blake was up there, backlit by the flames, and he was grappling with somebody. And then he was going down. Into the fire.
She forgot about the shoes. She dropped her purse and ran. Straight into the man who was bending over Blake, raising something overhead. She was screaming, and as he turned, she kicked.
Side of the knee.She got him there hard, he staggered, and his arm came down. He was holding a hammer. She saw it in a split second, his body backlit by the flames. The steel head struck her forearm, and the world blossomed into white-hot pain. But she was still going, her other knee driving into his groin, and he was down. On his knees.
Blade of the hand to the neck.She chopped, and he went down on his face.Kidneys. Hard.She was kicking him again and again, the toes of her shoes meeting heavy flesh.
Jerry Richards. Who’d hit Blake with a hammer. Jerry was down, but where was Blake?
She turned and saw him. Crawling on both hands and one knee.Towardthe flames. Her arm was screaming at her, but she was running to Blake. The world had closed to a tunnel, and only he was inside it. He was all she could see.
“Blake!” She shouted his name, and he turned. His teeth were bared, his eyes staring. “Get out!” she said. “Come on!”
She put her good hand down for him, and he gasped. “No. Guy. Get the guy.”
She saw him, then. A man in jeans and boots and a black T-shirt with SECURITY in white across the front, lying next to the flames that were licking up the building. She ran to him, got his ankle in one hand, and started to drag him away, and Blake was there, grabbing the other ankle. He was moving backward now, still in that horrible crab stance. And then they were dragging desperately at the dead weight of the body, getting him clear. Getting him out.
Blake heard shouts, running feet, the wail of a siren. And another thing. Eric Halvorsen, yelling like he was on the field.“Whoa whoa whoa!”
Blake tried to turn, and his knee collapsed under him. He couldn’t get up, and he couldn’t get clear, but he could see Dakota, and he could hear her. Her left arm was hanging by her side, and she was shouting to Eric, “Hold him down! Get him down!”
Blake saw him. Jerry Richards, on his feet again. Coming at him with a hammer.
Which was when Number 72 took him out. Blake’s blind side tackle, doing what he did best. Protecting his quarterback.
