Fire & Dark (The Night Horde SoCal Book 3) (21 page)

Demon shoved him back, his face darkening. “Back off, Con. You hurt her and we have another problem.”

“It’s okay, Michael,” Faith said. “I’m okay.” She reached out and grabbed Connor’s hand. “We don’t know much yet. They’re both in surgery, but nobody’s told us much. You need to tell them you’re here. They’ve been asking for next of kin.”

Trick was at his side, his hand hooked over his shoulder. “C’mon, Con. I’m with you.”

Feeling so full of emotion he was numb, he nodded and let Trick push him toward the nurse’s desk. The woman behind the desk looked up and asked if she could help him.

He had no idea. “I’m Connor Elliott. My parents, Hoosier and Bibi—um, I mean, Jerome and Bedelia—Elliott…were in the fire? They’re in surgery? Somebody’s been asking for me?” Everything he said was coming out a question. Nothing felt real enough for certainty. He barely felt like he was even present.

The nurse nodded and picked up a phone. Connor stood there and watched her, not registering what she was saying into the receiver. When she hung up, she gave him the kind of smile you gave someone who was about to get very bad news. “They’re sending someone out.” She gestured at a row of empty seats nearby. “If you want to have a seat?”

He did not want to have a seat, so he paced instead. About five or ten, or a thousand, minutes passed before the steel double doors swung smoothly open, and a woman in full scrubs walked out. She glanced at the desk and then came right to him. “Mr. Elliott?”

“Yeah.” Trick still stood right at his side. He could sense the others approaching, too. And then a small hand slid into his, and he looked down at his other side and saw Faith. “How are my parents?”

“I’m Dr. Sugarman. Why don’t we sit?”

“No. Just talk.”

Dr. Sugarman looked surprised and intimidated. She nodded. “Okay. I’ve been assisting Dr. Philpott, who is operating on your father. He sent me out to give you a quick update and ask a couple of questions. I have information about your mother, too. I’ll start there. Your mother is stable.” The breath Connor took then felt like the first since Sherlock had called him in Vegas. “She has a badly broken left arm, and she’s in surgery to set it. She has some first- and second-degree burns on the left side of her body, and some mild smoke inhalation effects. But she is stable. Her prognosis is excellent.”

He felt Faith squeeze his hand, and he smiled a little at the doctor. “Thank you. Thank you. And my dad?”

When Dr. Sugarman took a long breath before she answered, Connor’s knees felt weak. It was bad. He knew before the doctor said another word. “Your father experienced severe head trauma, second- and third-degree burns, and his smoke inhalation sickness is much more pronounced than in your mother’s case. Dr. Philpott is working to alleviate the pressure and swelling in his brain. We’re doing everything we can for him. But I’m afraid his condition is grave.” She paused and took another of those ominous breaths. “This is a difficult thing I need to ask you, but your father’s organ donor information isn’t listed. In the event that—”

“Jesus fuck! Shut your bitch mouth!” Connor’s fist was clenched and his arm cocked before he realized it. Trick grabbed it and held on.

“Chill, brother.” Trick turned to the doctor. “I know you gotta ask shit like that, but not now. Do your job and save him.”

Dr. Sugarman nodded, her eyes wide. “I’m sorry. We are doing everything in our power. But think about that question. If I have to ask it again, there won’t be much time for an answer.” She stepped back. “I need to get back. Dr. Harris will be out to speak to you when your mother is in recovery, and Dr. Philpott will come talk to you after your father’s surgery is complete.”

Connor only nodded. The doctor turned and went back through the steel doors.

When Faith pulled on his hand and led him to sit among his family, he went. But he needed Pilar. He needed her, but he couldn’t have her. He couldn’t even call her.

She was being a hero, and he was alone.

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

Moore pulled up at the hospital entrance. “I’ll park and come up, okay?”

Pilar opened the door of his truck. “Yeah. Thanks.” She jumped out and ran inside.

It was a brightly sunny morning. They’d worked past the end of their watch, but they’d finally gotten the fire contained before it had become a full-fledged wildfire. The brush and about a hundred feet into the woods at the back of the neighborhood were charred and dead, and six homes had been completely leveled. Three others were damaged. Four people had died, and five, including Connor’s parents, were injured.

Pilar had seen the path of the fire. Like the one back in August. That one, it had been determined, was arson; the accelerant used had been isopropyl alcohol. She was sure that this fire was the same. It wasn’t her job to be sure, but it was her job that made her sure.

She felt anxious about that, like there was something she should understand, something just beyond her grasp. Something she shied away from grasping.

As she headed toward the bank of elevators across from the hospital gift shop, her phone buzzed. She’d texted Connor twice on his personal but hadn’t heard back. Hoping it was him calling now, she pulled her phone out. But no—it was her grandmother. She’d ignored a couple of calls from her already, so she answered now, pulling to the side of the elevators.

“
Hola
, Nana.”

“
Mija!
You always call after a fire. I’ve been so worried!”

“
Lo siento
, Nana. I didn’t have a chance.
Todo bien
.” She’d been so worried about Connor that she’d barely given anybody else a spare thought.

Her grandmother sighed into the phone. “
Bueno
. Any word from Hugo?”

“No, Nana. Not since Sunday. Let him go.”

“Pilar, you know I can’t.”

Thinking about Hugo made her weary. “Well, I have to. Nana, I gotta go. I’ll call later,
si?
”

“
Mija…
” She stopped and sighed into the phone.
“
Si.
Please.”

Feeling guilty, Pilar hung up and called the elevator. Moore trotted up just as the doors were closing, so she reached out and stopped them, and he stepped in with her.

“I thought you’d be up there by now.”

“Nana called. I took a sec to talk to her. She hasn’t heard from Hugo. She wants me to care like she does, but I can’t anymore.”

That was an untruth, though. Pilar cared about her brother—she cared deeply. The thing was that she wanted to stop. She wanted to be able to throw up her hands and leave him to the mess of his life. She wanted to stop feeling responsible, to stop feeling culpable, for the choices he made.

Her friend put his arm around her. “Just focus here for now. That’s what you want, right?”

She nodded. The guilt and responsibility she felt for her brother’s downward spiral was infecting every part of her mind and heart. Guilt had racked her head and even her body when she and Moore had handed Connor’s parents off to paramedics and then turned around and kept working. It had been the right thing, the only thing, to do, but she’d thought of Connor alone, finding out how badly his parents were hurt, maybe that his father was dead, and keeping her focus on the fire in front of her had taken all of her will.

Then the elevator doors opened again, and she realized that Connor had not been anything like alone. There were so many people in black leather in the waiting room that they spilled out into the corridor. Men and women, all of them somber.

And none of them Connor.

As Pilar and Moore headed down the corridor, Connor’s friend Trick stepped out of the milling mass and came straight for her, surprising her by sweeping her up into a tight hug. “Hey, Cordero. You okay?” He set her down and turned to Moore, holding out an inked and be-ringed hand. “Hey. I’m Trick.”

They’d been introduced and had even talked on the night of Karaoke Idol, but Trick didn’t seem to recall that. Understandable. “I remember. I’m Kyle.” Kyle grasped Trick’s hand, and they shook.

“Ah. Right. Sorry.”

Kyle waved off Trick’s apology.

“I’m fine, Trick.” Pilar answered the question Trick had asked her. “Where is he?”

“With his mom. Hooj is still in surgery. It’s been, fuck, seven or eight hours, I think.” He looked them both over. “Did you…was it you who…?”

She knew what he was asking. “Yeah. Moore and me both. We’re a team. But I want to talk to Connor before anybody else.”

Trick hugged her again. “Thank you.” He looked at Moore. “Thank you both.”

Moore nodded and asked, “They’re gonna be okay?”

“Bibi is. His mom. Hell, everybody’s mom.” Trick’s eyes filled, and he cleared his throat. “She’s going to be okay. We don’t know about Hooj. Nobody who knows anything has been out in hours, and the one doc who came out then wanted to know about organ donation, so…fuck.”

He dropped his head, and Pilar put her hand out and squeezed his arm. “Where’s Connor?”

“With Beebs. C’mon, I’ll take you back.”

He held out his hand, and she took it and let him lead her down another corridor. He opened the door, but he didn’t follow her in.

It was a ‘semi-private’ room, but the other bed was unoccupied. His mother, Bibi, was sleeping. Her left arm was set from her fingers to a few inches above her elbow. Soft bandages covered the left side of her neck, her left shoulder, and, Pilar knew, the left side of the rest of her body. Some of her hair had been burned away, too. A cannula at her nose was helping her get oxygen.

She seemed comfortable, sleeping deeply. She looked elderly, though. Pilar had only seen her a few times, but she was a youthful, vivacious, beautiful woman who took her appearance seriously. She looked nothing like her sixty-or-so years. Until now, at least.

At the side nearest the window, Connor sat on a chair next to his mother’s bed. His elbows were on his knees, his head in his hands. He didn’t seem to have noticed that the door had opened.

Pilar paused, her heart thumping in her throat. Connor looked so…lost, so devastated, and she understood that all those people waiting outside didn’t matter. They were family, and they loved him and his parents. No question that they were strong, steady support. But here, in this room, in this moment, in his own head, he was alone.

She walked to his side and laid her hand on his shoulder. He jumped and lifted weary, sad eyes up to her.

“Oh God, baby! Baby!” He turned abruptly and grabbed her, pulling her between his legs, locking his arms around her waist, resting his head on her chest. “I’m so glad you’re here. Oh, God.”

And he began to cry.

Stunned at his naked vulnerability, her heart aching, Pilar slid her fingers into his dark hair and held him. After a long moment, she whispered, “I’m here. I’ll always be here. I love you, Connor. I’m so sorry.”

He heaved a breath, quelling his tears. “Are you okay?” Looking up at her then, his eyes narrowed, and he took hold of her chin. “What happened to your face?”

She didn’t want to get into anything about Hugo or what had happened between them. Hugo was irrelevant. So she refocused on the more crucial matter at hand. “I’m fine. Fire’s contained. Their house, though, it—”

“I don’t care about that.” He turned and looked at his mother. Then he stood and leaned over the bedrail, pressing a kiss to her pale forehead. “Let’s step away. I want to know everything, but she needs to sleep.”

He took Pilar by the hand, but before he moved toward the other side of the room, he pulled her close and kissed her—a fierce, desperate clash of his mouth with hers. His fingers tightened hard around the hand he still held, and his other hand clasped her neck hard enough to make her blood pound in her ears. Then he broke away with a heavy gasp. “I love you so fucking much. Don’t leave.”

The scope and intensity of his words overwhelmed her as much as his kiss had. Gasping herself, she reached up and brushed his wet lips. “I’m here.”

“You smell like fire.”

She smiled. “I barely took the time to get my turnout off. I didn’t even grab my keys or anything. Moore drove me here.”

At Moore’s name, Connor winced a little, but Pilar decided to ignore that. She’d enjoyed his jealousy at first, but now she was tired of that carousel, and this wasn’t the time for their boring round-and-round about it.

He said nothing about it, though, and pulled her to the other side of the unoccupied bed. “What can you tell me? What happened?”

Her report mode kicked in, and the first thing she thought to say was that the fire had gone to seven alarms. But that wasn’t what he wanted to know. She turned her hand in his so that she was leading him, and pushed him to sit on the bed. Then she sat at his side. “Their house was the origin point. That was obvious. We were the third unit in, and it was fully involved. The wind was bad, though, and the fire was not in control. No one had been able to get inside yet, but they were finally getting it knocked back enough that Moore and I could get in.” She took a breath and closed her eyes, seeing the scene again. “Your dad was in the hallway, back from the front door, near the kitchen. Your mom was in a bedroom—theirs, I guess. A wall had collapsed, but it wasn’t fully engaged. Her arm was pinned.”

“Her hair is burnt off on one side. And—they said she was burned.”

“When we got to her, the fire was close, but hadn’t reached her. Sparks caught her hair. But otherwise I think heat, not flame, burned her. The air itself gets hot enough to burn.”

“My dad…”

“He was in the heaviest part of the fire.” Pilar recalled the track the flames had followed, remembered the sense she had that the path had been drawn from one point of egress to another, as if it had been meant to block all means of escape. What had saved Hoosier, she thought, if he had in fact been saved, was that he’d fallen on ceramic tile. The heat of the tile had burned him badly, but the fire had chased an easier path. If there had been accelerant near him, it had evaporated. Isopropyl alcohol evaporated quickly. “His head was bleeding heavily.” Had been torn open and dented, in fact. “I don’t know why. He was clear of debris.”

Connor stared at her and then looked away, over his shoulder at his mother. “He was supposed to be with us in Vegas. He got sick, and I convinced him to stay back. My mom would have been alone.” She laid her hand on his thigh, and he turned back to her. “Did somebody do this?”

“Connor, I’m not an investigator.”

“But you told me you knew about that fire before. The Bridges house. You said you could tell by the way it acted that somebody set it. Could you tell?”

Yeah, she could. And it was the same. But something kept her from saying so; she didn’t know why, but it felt wrong—dangerous—to say it. That anxiety she felt, that thing that was just out of her reach. “I don’t know, Connor. I’m sorry.”

He nodded and then simply sagged. Pilar pulled him close, bringing his head to her shoulder. “I’m so sorry.”

“I wish somebody would fucking tell me about Dad.”

“You want me to see if I can find somebody?”

His arms came around her. “No. Stay with me.”

Feeling sick with sadness and love, she held him and kissed his cheek. “
Te amo mucho
.”

After a few minutes of that quiet, the door opened, and Bart came in. Not seeing them near Bibi’s bed, he frowned and then turned their way. “Hey. Sherlock’s here. We need you out here. We got something you need to see.” Pilar thought the look he turned on her then was odd, guarded or suspicious, but he didn’t say anything.