Fire Angel (24 page)

“Do whatever you have to do to get me loose; I've got to get to Alexis.” Pierre ran out of the house.

“We'll do what we can.” Patrick had left Jackson and was removing the plaster and insulation covering him. “Your head and arm are bleeding. We'll get you out of the way and over to the car until the ambulance gets here.”

Sirens screamed in the distance.

“I'm not leaving her, Pat. Just get me over to Alexis; my leg may be useless, but there isn't anything wrong with my hands. I can dig through the debris as easily as the next guy.”

Pierre arrived and, with Patrick holding Jake's prosthesis up off the floor, he cut away the metal bar and repeated the process on the back of the leg. They helped Jake turn over and stand, but the prosthesis was useless and his thigh was bleeding.

“I can work on my stomach if I have to,” Jake said. “We have to get her out, get them out; this place could go up any time.”

“And you with it! Be reasonable!” cried Pierre.

The fire engine pulled up outside and running feet slapped first the snowy sidewalk and then the wooden veranda. The firefighters ordered the police officers to get Jake out of the way to give them better access to the house. Despite his refusal to leave, Pierre and Patrick carried him over to a waiting ambulance. Everett's car arrived at the same time. The chief ran from his vehicle and straight up to Jake.

“What in blazes happened? Linc's men told me the structure was sound. How many people are in there?”

“He rigged the ceiling to collapse, Everett; when it did, it must have ruptured gasoline cans. Alexis and Jackson are still inside. They've got to bring them out quickly, a spark or anything could set it off at any time. I don't know how he did it; there had to be a switch of some sort, a trigger mechanism. Somebody wanted to stop us from finding evidence, which means that there was evidence to be found.”

Memories of the roadside bomb explosion and his helplessness merged in his mind with today's disaster. The smell of gasoline had been strong that day too.

“Have you received any of the information we asked for on Andrew Shillingham? The more I think about it, the more I know she's right; I just can't prove it.”

“Dr. Shillingham? Nothing yet, but you know that makes no sense, Jake. The man's a healer, a hero.”

“Yes, I know it sounds crazy, but she has me convinced. I'll let her tell you about it when she gets out.”

Another fire engine pulled up, and the men raced inside to help those at work moving slabs of drywall and wood to get to the ones trapped under it. One firefighter carried a “saws all”; they couldn't risk using power tools. Within minutes, they carried Jackson out on a stretcher. Jake was relieved to see that the young man was awake, but it was obvious he was in a lot of pain. He watched as the firefighter was loaded into the ambulance.

The William Tell Overture sounded loudly, startling him and when it reached the second movement, the back of the house exploded into flames.

“No! God! No! Alexis!” He screamed. The burning house was replaced with a vision of a burning truck — Andre's truck, hitting the mine and exploding. He relived the horror of the screams of the men trapped in the inferno as his Hummer hit the third device and flipped over, ripping him from the vehicle, and tossing him like a broken doll fifty feet away.

He blinked and he was on Sycamore Street once more. Seconds passed like hours as he watched the fire spread. He had done it again; he had failed to protect the one he loved from his enemies. He had brought her here; this was his fault. Agonized tears of grief ran down his cheeks unheeded.

“They found her! Here they come,” shouted Everett. As soon as the spectators saw the firefighters, they burst into enthusiastic cheering.

The firefighters moved quickly down the steps out onto the lawn and towards the ambulance. They were no more than twenty feet away from the structure when a second explosion rocked the house throwing all sorts of debris into the air, forcing the crowd to run for cover. The firefighters who had just begun to pour water on the burning structure turned the hoses onto nearby houses to prevent the fire from spreading. If the wind picked up, the entire neighborhood and who knew what else could go.

Everett scrambled to the phone to order all power and gas cut to the area. He had been told that the fridge and stove in the house were propane gas. He'd assumed they'd been turned off, but if the killer could rig the roof, he could rig the gas. Those carrying the stretcher had just managed to keep their feet and hold onto their precious cargo. Within seconds, the structure became a fireball that eliminated all traces of what had happened before.

Jake looked over at the house engulfed in smoke and flames. Tears of frustration and anger continued to race down his cheeks; he did not care who saw them. He had failed her as he should have known he would. When she needed him to have her back, he hadn't been there for her. He didn't even know how badly hurt she was; she might be dead for all he knew.

He saw that one of the firefighters carried Alexis's pink case. She had joked about her girlie case, calling it her good luck charm; she said that it glowed in the dark. Had she been right? Would the contents of that silly pink case help them find the person who'd done this?

The only thing he cared about right now was the still figure being loaded into the ambulance next to his. He wanted to rush over to her, but he was immobilized by his own injury. He wished the roadside bomb had killed him; then, he'd never have involved her, never have had to watch her suffer like this.

They had put a cervical collar on her and strapped her to a back board. Her face was covered in soot. There was a heavy gauze pad stemming the blood coming from a cut on her head; her overalls were torn and covered in blood, and she appeared to be having a great deal of difficulty breathing. Would she be a victim of smoke inhalation? Her lungs had already taken a blow.

They had placed an oxygen mask over her face. As soon as the attendant entered the ambulance to sit beside her, Everett slammed the doors shut and signaled the driver. The lights and siren burst into action and the vehicle pulled away. Jake stared after it and prayed that she would recover. He couldn't face life without her. He'd already lost so much, he couldn't lose her too.

The paramedic cleaned the cuts and scrapes on his face, arms, and hands, slit his jean, removed the broken prosthesis, and examined his thigh and the stump. There was some bruising and bleeding, but the lower half of the prosthetic had taken the worst of the damage. He ordered Jake to remove the rest of his gasoline soaked clothing and after washing him down, gave him a set of scrubs and a heavy blanket. Jake did as he was told. It was the best they could do until he could shower at the hospital.

When the paramedic had finished, Everett came over to him.

“I won't kid you, Jake; she's unconscious, but alive. She's asthmatic, and the dust from the ceiling and the thick smoke have done a number on her breathing. She took a heavy blow to the head; the main beam came down on her and dented her hard hat. She'd have been dead for sure without it, but the door frame protected most of her body. If she pulls through, she'll be sore for a while, but nothing is broken, and she has no obvious internal injuries.” He ran his hand through his hair.

“Based on what you asked me earlier, I've sent her directly to North Bay, and she'll be registered under an alias. The ambulance has orders to drive as if they were going to Valley Hospital and veer away from that route once they're sure they haven't been followed.

“North Bay has better facilities for this kind of injury, and she'll be under twenty-four hour guard. Pierre and Patrick have offered to take the first shift. No one gets in to see her without your say-so. I've called her uncle. I know things aren't great between them, but he's her only living relative.”

He stopped speaking knowing Jake would understand why a family member, even a distant one, would have to be there. He hoped it didn't come to that. There had been enough deaths attributed to this killer.

“I'll call her boss. Go to Valley and get yourself checked out. I'll pick you up there as soon as I can, then I'll take you to North Bay. I've called Minette; she knows that you're okay, and that we'll be there soon. She'll put together a bag for you and for Alexis. Linc's men will finish up here. This will burn all night; let's hope the wind doesn't get any worse.”

Jake agreed and lay back on the stretcher. He heard the ambulance carrying Jackson pull away from the curb, its lights and siren blaring.

“Are you ready?” the attendant asked Jake. “Oh, I found this in your coat pocket.” He handed him the baggy with the two butts in it.

“Thanks; do me a favor?” asked Jake. “Don't use the siren. I have a bitch of a headache.”

Before the door closed, Jake took one last look at the fire. Was it a coincidence that Alexis had been in the house when the ceiling had come down? Somehow the killer had managed to tamper with it during the storm, which meant that it was someone who had been able to get around under those driving conditions. Dr. Shillingham lived in town. Did he know anything about construction? Hadn't he bragged about building a deck last summer?
He probably shoveled the walk to hide his footprints. Damn!

How had he known they would be here today? How had he rigged the ceiling? It wasn't a bomb, because the fire had started later. It could have been a dead man switch rigged to go off if someone entered the kitchen. What was it that Alexis had asked Jackson? Something about a clicking sound? The horror of that slammed him in the chest.

My God! The ceiling had collapsed after he had elbowed the door wide open. Had he heard a click? Had the ceiling been rigged to collapse all along waiting for someone to open the door wide enough to set it off? He had done it; he'd been the one to drop the ceiling on her.

Why had the arsonist given them so much time to get out? He would never forget that tune. The
William Tell Overture
, better known as the
Theme from the Lone Ranger
, was the music that had heralded the first blast. Why had he waited so long? If he'd set it off sooner, Alexis, Jackson, himself, and who knew who else would be dead.

The smell of gasoline from his hair and body was strong in the back of the ambulance, nauseatingly so. The paramedic moved as far away from him as he could get. Poor guy, the fumes were getting to him, and Jake was used to them. He needed a shower, several of them in fact.

“I don't usually wear this much cologne,” he joked. The paramedic laughed.

Minette was right. You made tough choices for love. He and Alexis both deserved to be happy. He would take another chance, tell her about Irena, put his feelings out there, and see what happened. He refused to believe she would die.

The vehicle came to a stop inside the ambulance bay and the technician quickly opened the door. The nurse was waiting with a wheelchair.

“Hi Jake, Dr. Shillingham will meet you in the ER. He has that new biometric prosthesis for you. Let's get you cleaned up. You stink.”

The attendants unloaded the stretcher and helped him move from it to the chair. They left to clean the bed and rid it of its unpleasant aroma.

“Thanks, Marla. Has the doctor been here all day?”

“No; it's his day off. He came in about half an hour ago. I think he was in Ottawa all day. We called him as soon as they radioed about your leg. He was on his way home; he had heard about the fire; apparently it's all over the news.”

Marla helped him transfer from the wheelchair to the shower stall and remove his hospital clothing.

“Shampoo and soap are here. If you need help, holler; I'll be outside.”

When Jake was satisfied that he no longer smelled like a service station, he rang the buzzer. As Marla had promised, she appeared with towels and fresh scrubs. He sat in a clean wheelchair and she pushed him to the ER.

The emergency room was crowded with sick children, frantic parents, and the other assortment of non-emergencies that kept the nurses hopping.

“How is Jackson?” he asked. Marla was the hub around which hospital gossip revolved. If anyone would know, it would be her.

“His left leg is badly broken in two places; he has a fractured pelvis to and his right shoulder was dislocated. He'll be out of work for a while, but he'll be fine. He's in surgery right now. That's where Dr. Shillingham is; as soon as he screws the pelvic bones together and puts a couple of pins in the leg, he'll be down to help you. I heard there was a third person involved, but she didn't come here; I don't know where she went. She must be in really bad shape or dead since our Trauma Center is one of the best in the area.”

Jake paled and turned to her, “Maybe they figured that you people needed a break after Sunday night.”

Marla's face sobered. “Jake, we've known one another our whole lives; is it true? I saw your interview on TV. Is someone we know really doing this? Sixteen people died the other night — mostly women and children. Did he try to kill you guys today?”

Jake shook his head. “I'm sorry, Marla. I can't answer that.”

“You just did. You always were a lousy liar. Here's Dr. Shillingham.”

Andrew Shillingham, a tall, balding man in his early-forties entered the room. He was dressed in green scrubs.

“Hi Jake, you look better than I expected. I thought that you'd like to know that Jackson will be fine. The pelvic break is a bad one, but if all goes well, he should be back on his feet within four months and back to work by June. Now, let me see your stump.”

Jake produced the remainder of his left leg for the doctor's inspection.

“I hear that you were in Ottawa today,” Jake said as the doctor examined his leg.

“Yes, I was at CHEO; there is a young boy there I've been treating ever since he was born. They had to amputate his leg at birth due to a complication. I fitted him with an artificial leg this morning, and he stood on his own for the first time. He's just over two. His mother and father cried.” He stopped talking and stared into space for a moment before resuming. He shook his head.