Page 46 of The Promise
She shook her head, biting down on her lip, the resulting pain pulling her from her morbid thoughts. This kind of thinking just wouldn't do. She had to hang on. Michael would come. He'd saved her before and it looked like he was going to have to save her again. She closed her eyes, blocking out the menacing fire. All she had to do was wait.
Flames shotbetween broken shards of glass in the front window. Michael was aware of people in the street, of shouts and cries for help, but all he could focus on was the fire raging inside the gallery.
Cara. He had to get to Cara.
As he ran for the front door, a wave of heat rolled across the sidewalk, enveloping him. Swearing, he backed away, hands in front of his face. A shrill wail filled the air. He wasn't certain what a modern day fire wagon would look like, but he recognized a siren when he heard one. He released a breath. Help was on the way.
Turning back to the building, he watched as smoke and sparks fill the night sky, obliterating the stars. The wailing was nearer now, and down the street, he could see flashing red lights.
With a shattering crash, a window exploded, sending bits of glass tinkling down on the street like rain. He whipped around, fear lashing through him. He had to act now. There wasn't time to waste. Sprinting around the corner of the building, he prayed that the gallery had a back door.
The backside of the gallery glowed with firelight, but the fire had yet to gain a death hold here. A single streetlight lit the area around a small ramp leading up to a back door. Sending a chorus of thank-yous heavenward, he ran up the ramp and grabbed the doorknob, relieved to find that it was cool.
He pulled. Nothing happened. The door was locked. Cursing, he rammed a shoulder into the door. It didn't budge. He stepped back, his mind racing. There had to be a way in. A bush next to the ramp waved in the draft from the fire. Something behind it sparkled in the light. A window.There was a window. Bendingdown, he picked up a discarded piece of wood, and swinging it with all the force he could muster, slammed it into the windowpane. Glass flew, and mindless of the remaining shards, he forced his way through the gaping hole.
Dropping to the floor on the other side, he removed his jacket and held it over his face like a shield. The air was heavy with smoke and he could see flames shooting from the ceiling and walls. "Cara." He called her name, then waited, ears straining for an answer.
"Cara, can you hear me?" Not now, his heart pleaded. Oh please, not now. They'd only just found each other. Surely they wouldn't be separated again so soon. Not like this. "Cara." He screamed, trying to pitch his voice above the roar of the fire.
A small noise separated itself from the bedlam around him. Heart pounding, he ran in the direction of the sound, skidding to a stop in front of a smoldering mound of debris. Cara's desk leaned drunkenly against the wall, a metal cabinet of some kind balanced against the edge. Two empty packing crates lay next to the desk, one upended and the other slanting against the cabinet. The end of a screen protruded from beneath the cabinet, holding it off the floor.
"Cara?" He waited, his heart fluttering in his throat.
"Michael?" Her voice was low but audible.
He grabbed the free standing crate and tossed it aside. An arm extended from beneath the cabinet. "Cara, honey, can you move your arm?"
Her fingers wiggled and he strained to see her face in the shadows underneath the cabinet. He moved the other crate and knelt down, his face close to the floor. Her lips lifted in the tiniest of smiles. "I knew you'd come."
He reached for her hand and squeezed it. "Hold still, I'm going to try and move the cabinet."
A sound like thunder filled the air as a section of the ceiling caved in, sending flames shooting down from the floor above. Michael felt a rush of fear. There wasn't much time.
"Hurry," Cara whispered, echoing his thoughts.
He stood up and wrapped his arms around the cabinet. Bracing himself, he sucked in a breath and pulled up, stepping backward as the heavy cabinet lifted. Once he was certain it was clear of Cara, he dropped it, the resounding thud shaking the floor.
Kneeling beside her again, he lifted the screen off her. It had probably saved her life. Her face was covered with blood, but a quick examination reassured him that she only had a small cut at her hairline. "Can you move?"
"I think so."
He put a hand behind her to brace her back, and she sat up slowly. He ran his hands along her torso and legs, searching for injury, relieved to find none. The fire was growing hotter, feeding on the gallery in frenzied gluttony. The screen beside them burst into flame.
Michael, scooped Cara into his arms, holding her tightly against his chest. "What do you say we get the hell out of here?"
"I'm with you." Her whispered words held a hint of bravado.
He pulled her closer, feeling her hands lock together behind his neck. She was one hell of a lady. Dodging a burning beam, he headed back the way he had come, only to find that the wall was now ablaze, the window completely engulfed. Again fear clutched at his belly. He spun around, frantically searching for another way out.
Suddenly, with a rain of sparks and cinders, the wall gave way, and through the smoke and haze, he could see the placid night sky.
"Hold your breath, we're going to make a run for it," he yelled, pitching his voice so that he could be heard above theincreasing roar of the inferno. She nodded and buried her face in the hollow at the base of his throat. Sucking in a breath full of scalding smoke, he closed his eyes and ran.
The cool, night air felt almost frigid after the heat in the gallery. Carefully, he let Cara down, reveling in the feel of her body, warm and alive, sliding against his. They stood in the glow of the flames, watching as men scurried to and fro, trying to contain the fire.
She clung to him, tears coursing down her soot streaked face. He wrapped his arms around her in an effort to shield her from the fire's brutal annihilation of the gallery. Stroking her hair, and murmuring nonsensical words, he tried to soothe her, to ease her pain. Knowing, in his head, that nothing he could say or do would bring back what she had lost. Knowing, in his heart, that he still had to try.
Cara saton a cot in front of an ambulance, drinking luke-warm coffee. Michael was nearby talking with a fireman. He was an amazing man. Watching him wave a hand to emphasize his point, she realized that no one would ever guess he'd just recently popped into this century. He seemed to take everything in stride.
