The One Worth Waiting For (27 page)

But as the gas fumes began to scorch her thoughts and the sun climbed high into the afternoon sky, she began to forget what she was supposed to do with that time. The room became very hazy, the curtains floating in waves of gas and heat.

She dreamed she was twenty-two again, stroking her mother’s bloated cheek in the hospital, and whispered her mother’s name.

* * *

When Garret found himself standing in the rose garden again, he had the uncomfortable sensation that fate was toying with him. How many times had he tried to walk away now, only to find himself back with this woman?

Worse, no matter how many times he tried to tell himself he was doing the right thing, he appeared to be too late. He’d scoured the area around his parents’ house. He’d scoured the woods. And the only tracks he’d found in the sunbaked earth led him right to this place.

He looked at the mangled rosebushes, the scuffed ground and the trampled grass and knew his worst fears had come true.
Tonight, I fed the fire a snack. Tomorrow, it will be a meal.

Garret faded back against the roses and contemplated his options. He had only his pocketknife and no other more lethal weapon. Then again, could he actually level a gun against a man he’d once considered a brother? Zlatko had saved his life. He’d pulled Garret from the flames and carried him back to the tent for Zenaisa to tend.

Garret closed his eyes for a moment, then looked down once more at the ravaged ground. Suzanne. He squared his shoulders. He would kill Zlatko if necessary.

On his belly, he crawled to the house. Peering up through the bottom of the bay windows, he found his worst fears confirmed: Suzanne was tied to a chair, slumped over. His hands balled into fists, clenching and unclenching with unconscious ruthlessness. And Zlatko? Where the hell was his “friend”? He eased along the outside of the house.

At last, he caught sight of the huge man sitting in the middle of the entryway. Next to him appeared to be a red can. Gasoline, Garret realized, and the first beads of sweat appeared on his brow.

He couldn’t confront the man in the house, he thought immediately. Zlatko wasn’t sane anymore; his hatred had made him unpredictable. At the first sight of Garret, he’d probably drop the match and torch them all. He had to get the man out of the house. Away from Suzanne.

The shed.

Dropping back down, he made painstaking progress to the shed. Sliding inside, he contemplated the boxed-up tools and determined what to do next. He pulled out the table saw and found the extension cord; at least it was still plugged into the house’s outside outlet. Grimly, he plugged in the saw. Then he set wood scraps all around it to hold it in place and flipped it on.

He dived for the door, whipping around to the side of the shed. Sure enough, within seconds, Zlatko stood on the back porch, his dark eyes burning into the shed. The hulking man lumbered down the steps, walking toward the shed with slow, heavy steps.

He stopped halfway across the yard.

“I know it is you, Garret,” the man said simply. “But you are too late. I have the woman and she is mine now.”

Then, he turned and began to walk back toward the house. Garret felt his heart sink and swore vehemently.

“Zlatko!” he roared out, seeing the man freeze. “You want to fight, I’ll fight you. You want revenge, well come and get it.”

“I have my revenge,” Zlatko said ominously, never turning around. “She is tied to a chair in the living room.” Once again, he started walking.

With an enraged bellow, Garret charged. He could not let Zlatko back into the house; he had no other choice. The large man turned easily, standing like an oak to meet the attack. But at the last moment, Garret ducked low, driving his shoulder into the man’s stomach. They went down in a thunderous crash.

Always the faster one, Garret scrambled first to his feet—only to be struck by a massive fist across his cheek. His head snapped back, stars dancing before his eyes. He almost went down, but years of experience had taught him that fighting wasn’t about clarity. It was about adrenaline and instinct and a primal thirst to kill.

He fired back a blow while his head still rang and felt the satisfying pain of his knuckles connecting with flesh. He followed with his left and blocked just in time to keep a fist from burying itself in his stomach.

Zlatko roared his frustration, and Garret’s cheekbone abruptly exploded from a powerful left. He swung back, a glancing blow to the shoulder, then was walloped again from the side. His feet flew out from under him, and he went sprawling. Dimly, he saw Zlatko turn and, shaking his head, stagger toward the house.

“No!” Garret yelled, and scrambled forward to grab his ankle. With a savage pull, he toppled Zlatko to the ground, then scrambled up himself. Abruptly, he became aware of the smell of smoke.

The house, the house was somehow on fire.
Suzanne!
He began to run.

On the stairs, Zlatko caught him again, sending them both crashing down to the yard. This time, Garret clipped his friend twice in short succession, wanting only to get the man away from him. He had to get to the house. He had to get to Suzanne.

Zlatko reached out with a meaty hand, but Garret slammed his foot into his gut. Zlatko staggered back and Garret leaped up the porch stairs.

Through the window of the door, he could see the hazy smoke starting to roll down the hall. He stripped off his shirt, tying it around his mouth and nose, then wrenched open the door. Behind him, he could hear Zlatko lumbering up the stairs.

Garret turned sharply, pinning his friend with raging black eyes.

“What would Zenaisa think?” he demanded hoarsely. “What would Zenaisa say to see this?
Prijatelj,
my friend, I loved her, too.”

He had a momentary impression of Zlatko’s face going pale, then Garret rushed down the hall. The smoke was thick in the entryway, rolling out of the living room in choking waves. His eyes stung, the smoke searing his throat even through the filter of his shirt. Waving a hand in front of him to clear the air, he rushed into the living room.

The curtain around the window danced with the flames, the fire leaping higher and higher to lick hungrily at the ceiling. He grabbed the heavy fabric even as the fire scorched his skin. Ripping it down, he stomped the blaze out with a fast, heavy foot. But the other curtain was already burning, the fire prancing along the trail of gasoline. Even as he yanked at the second curtain, the love seat flared up with a triumphant roar.

Tears rolled down his cheeks from the smoke and his lungs began to burn. He could not pass out. He could not.

He stomped on the second curtain and watched the fire suddenly whirl around him, lapping eagerly along the gasoline trail. His exposed skin began to prickle from the heat. He needed a fire extinguisher.

There was none in the living room.

He couldn’t win, he thought vaguely, his foot stamping on the love seat. He couldn’t beat the flames anymore. Through the haze, he found Suzanne. Then he turned and saw Zlatko.

Their eyes locked, and for one moment, Garret thought he saw tears on his friend’s cheeks.

“Get the woman,” Zlatko said thickly. “I will get the fire.”

Garret nodded, jumping across the barrier of fire, feeling it lick at his jeans. Then he was beyond it, pulling at the clothesline with clumsy fingers. Suzanne sagged lifelessly, her head rolling from side to side.

He abandoned her restraints, and picked her up with the chair instead, his muscles bunching tightly. Behind him, he could hear the sharp tearing as Zlatko ripped down a curtain from the entryway and threw it over the circle of fire. Garret didn’t dare look back, but rushed Suzanne down the back hall toward the door.

They exploded into the hot July afternoon, Garret filling his lungs with huge, gasping gulps of fresh air. He carried her all the way out to the safety of the garden, his muscles beginning to burn from the strain. He set her down with a bit of a thud and began pulling on her bindings in earnest.

“Suzanne,” he cried hoarsely. Her head lolled forward. “Suzanne!” He slapped her cheeks lightly, but she didn’t respond. He untangled the last knot and yanked the clothesline from her. She sagged into his arms.

He laid her on the ground, finding a faint pulse with rough fingers. He slapped her hard, and was finally rewarded by a gulping, fluttering breath. Slowly, her eyes opened and she peered at him groggily.

“Gasoline,” she murmured.

“I know, I know,” he told her. Unable to help himself, he gathered her up in his arms and rocked her against his chest. She rested her head on his shoulders and it was the sweetest weight he’d ever felt.

Behind him, he heard the tinkling sound of shattering glass, followed by the whoosh of rejuvenated flames. He stilled, his eyes growing bleak.

Once the oxygen met the gasoline-fattened flames…

He looked at her for one last moment, then lowered her to the ground. “Wait for me, sweetheart,” he whispered. Still looking at her, he grabbed his shirt and tied it once again around his mouth. She watched him blearily, then her eyes widened in shocked comprehension.

She reached out a hand, but before she could say anything, he was already turning away from her and rushing back toward the house.

An explosion of glass filled the air, and after it, the first wail of the fire engines cut through the afternoon.

He had to crawl to get to the kitchen now, the smoke so thick, the heat so searing. Next to the refrigerator, he found what he sought: the reassuring red canister of a fire extinguisher. Thank God Suzanne was so practical about these things. Holding it tight against him, he crawled into the dining room, seeing the first teasing flicker of flames in the entryway.

Where was Zlatko?

He couldn’t make it more than halfway across the dining room, the heat so intense his skin tried to curl back from the touch. He held the fire extinguisher out and released the foam in a steady spray, relentlessly cutting a trail into the living room. Vaguely, he heard the sound of fire trucks pulling into the driveway.

He saw the dark form of a man lying in a circle of flames. And beneath the acrid odor of smoke, he caught the scent of burning skin.

He swathed the flames with the fire extinguisher, pushing forward with desperate and dangerous determination. The extinguisher gave out just as he reached Zlatko’s body, and he could see the dark, crinkled mess of burned flesh down Zlatko’s side. He grabbed Zlatko beneath his arms and struggled to drag the two-hundred-and-fifty-pound man toward the door.

Sweat rolled through the soot on his cheeks. His eyes stung with the smoke, his lungs burning with the effort. He had to get Zlatko out. He had to get them both…

The fire seared closer and the room began to spin. He was so dizzy, the fire so close, beguiling, mesmerizing. How many times had he fought the beast? And now it looked him in the eye and blazed in triumph.

He staggered, falling to his knees, and saw the fire jump in anticipation. He struggled back only to feel his hair begin to curl from the intensity of the flames.

He wasn’t going to make it. They weren’t going to make it.

Suzanne.

He pulled one last time, throwing his weight and what remained of his strength into the movement. They fell back against the front door, Garret’s hand fumbling for the scorching doorknob.

“Over here,” a voice shouted. He looked up to see a yellow-suited, oxygen-masked man approaching through the haze. “We got two over here,” the muffled voice cried out.

Garret could see the figure only dimly, before passing out against the door, his hands still fastened beneath Zlatko’s arms.

“Please tell me you’re all right.”

Garret opened his eyes slowly, squinting immediately against the harsh afternoon sun. He was alive, he determined. Alive and lying flat on his back in the grass. He tried to move, but his muscles responded only sluggishly.

“No, don’t,” Suzanne’s voice told him. “Just lie there for a minute. You inhaled a lot of smoke.”

She bent over and her face came into view, pale and covered in scratches. The hair framing her face was a long tangled mess of leaves and twigs, while her hazel eyes had darkened with worry. She shifted slightly, and Cagney’s head appeared.

“How do you feel?” Cage asked, concern furrowing his brow.

“Fine,” Garret croaked.

“You’re suffering from smoke inhalation,” Cagney retorted sharply.

“I said I was fine,” Garret insisted hoarsely. A wobbly hand reached up to caress Suzanne’s cheek. She flinched slightly, then smiled at him.

“Just a little bruised and battered,” she said in reply to his unanswered question.

“Bruised and battered?” Cagney snorted. “You’ve both fried your brains.”

But they didn’t seem to be paying much attention to Cage. Garret’s hand slid down the rest of Suzanne’s cheek to cup her chin lightly. He could hear the sound of the thundering water from the hoses, the clamor of fireman yelling to fireman.

“The house?”

Suzanne’s face stilled, then she mustered a small smile. “The living room is gone, the entryway, too. What isn’t burned is covered in soot and destroyed by water.” She shrugged a little. “I’m insured.” But she looked at Cagney with worry in her eyes.

Garret’s gaze swept to Cagney, as well. “Zlatko?” he asked at last, though he already dreaded the answer.

Slowly, Cagney shook his head. “They tried everything they could,” he said softly. “He was burned pretty bad.”

Garret simply nodded, feeling the tightness in his chest. They’d pulled each other from the flames so many times and laughed about it later with Zenaisa by the bonfires. It all seemed so far away now—the camp, the people who’d made their lives there, the women and children who’d died.

With Zlatko gone, who was left to remember them?

And he wished he could reach over and lay a hand on his large friend’s massive shoulder and say that he understood. He’d been there in that camp, and he understood.

Suzanne’s hand brushed back his hair; he shuddered at her touch.

Cagney looked up, his gray gaze fastening on something in the distance, then turned back to his brother and Suzanne. “They’re ready to take you to the hospital now.”