Now a safe distance from the fire, he eased the woman onto the grassy lawn, protecting her head as he laid her down.
Dusk cast the outdoors in long purple shadows, and billowing smoke contributed to the dark haze.
Kneeling beside the woman, Riley ripped off his oxygen mask and helmet.
“I need help over here!” He waved toward the EMTs hovering by a waiting ambulance.
He confirmed she still had a thready pulse, then gently brushed the tangle of pale blond hair from her cheeks. Riley’s heart lurched.
He knew this pretty face.
The woman he’d just pulled from the fire was 3C.
And she wasn’t breathing.
Riley’s chest seized.
He battled down haunting images of his sister’s lifeless body, her bloodless lips and pale face. His nightmare had started with Jodi.
You failed her.
Grief and guilt tangled with an iron determination not to let 3C die on his watch. He’d been too late for so many others, but he’d be damned if he’d give up on 3C….
Tipping her head back, he pinched her nose closed and sealed his mouth over hers. He blew his breath into her lungs, willing her to take in air on her own.
Nothing.
Another puff of air.
He tasted the smoke that seeped up from her throat. And strawberry. She wore strawberry lip balm. The sweet fruity flavor stood in stark contrast to the dark, life-stealing smoke and the bitter taste of desperation that rose in his throat. A fresh twist of pain wrenched his chest.
He remembered her lips curved in an enticing smile as she flirted with him in the apartment lobby. Vibrant, alluring, alive.
He forcefully swallowed the bile, the fear rising inside him as he leaned his ear near her mouth, listening, feeling, watching for signs of life.
“C’mon, 3C. C’mon! Breathe, damn it!” he muttered through clenched teeth.
An EMT arrived and tried to shoulder him out of the way. “I’ll take over.”
Riley refused to budge. Instead, he bent to give her another puff of air. And another. He counted the interval between breaths with his heartbeat thudding in his ears. In his head, Riley knew only a few seconds had passed without 3C breathing on her own, but those seconds felt more like hours, years…sixteen years.
Sixteen years had passed since Jodi died.
Finally, 3C coughed, wheezed. Black smoke curled from her mouth before she dragged in a ragged breath on her own.
The relief that spun through Riley brought moisture to his eyes and left his hands shaking.
3C’s blue eyes fluttered open as she gasped for more air. Her gaze darted from one face hovering over her to another. Until it landed on Riley’s.
Her eyes zeroed in on his. Widened. Brightened.
Across from him, an EMT had an oxygen mask ready and slipped it into place over her nose and mouth.
But her gaze clung to Riley’s, recognition softening the panic and pain in her expression as she fought for each breath.
Again an EMT tried to shoulder Riley out of the way. He moved, letting the medic work, but he didn’t leave 3C’s side. He couldn’t. Something in her steady blue eyes reached out to him and held him fast.
When he stroked her sooty cheek, she lifted her uninjured arm and linked her trembling fingers with his. As with her gaze, he sensed in her touch a connection that went beyond the mere joining of hands.
Tears puddled in her eyes, kicking him in the gut and yanking a tighter knot in his chest.
He may have failed Jodi, failed Erin, failed nameless others, but he wouldn’t, couldn’t let this woman down.
Leaning closer, he whispered, “You’re going to be okay now, 3C. I’m gonna take care of you.”
The EMTs finished their preliminary exam, scooted a backboard under her and loaded her onto a stretcher. Through it all, Riley stayed beside her, squeezing her hand gently and giving her encouraging smiles.
As they rolled her toward the waiting ambulance, he trotted beside the gurney. He released her hand only when the medics slid her into the ambulance and her fingers slipped out of reach.
An EMT climbed inside and closed the back of the ambulance with a thud that reverberated in Riley’s heart, in his memory.
He closed his eyes and saw the door close on the coroner’s wagon that had carried Jodi away to the morgue.
And then it was he who couldn’t breathe for several moments. Raw emotions, unearthed by the near tragedy today, scraped through him, setting every nerve ending on fire.
“Hey, Sinclair,” Cal said, clapping a hand on his shoulder. “You okay, buddy?”
Riley gathered himself quickly, shoving down the emotions that left him so exposed and vulnerable. Buried them again.
“Yeah,” he rasped, then cleared his throat before continuing. “I’m fine. It’s just…I know her, and—” He blew out a deep breath. “That was too close. We almost lost her.”
Cal slapped him on the back. “Key word there is almost. You really came through for her, buddy. Good work.”
Riley acknowledged his friend with a nod, then headed toward the place on the lawn where he’d discarded his helmet.
He may have saved 3C today, but it wasn’t enough.
It was never enough. He had too many marks in his loss column.
Nothing would change the mistakes he’d made with Erin.
And, more importantly, he could never make up for having failed Jodi.
“The police said when they arrived at the scene yesterday, the man driving the car had already disappeared.” Ginny’s mother, Hannah West, sat forward in the hospital chair and stroked Ginny’s uninjured left arm. “They’ve been looking for him all day today, but no luck so far.”
Hannah had touched Ginny frequently throughout the day, as if repeatedly reassuring herself that her oldest of three children and only daughter was, in fact, alive, safe, healing.
“This Walt Compton fellow the newspaper mentions…if he was hurt when he crashed through the wall, his injuries apparently weren’t enough to keep him from running off before the cops arrived,” Megan Calhoun, Ginny’s best friend, said from a chair opposite Hannah.
So much for her client’s confidentiality. Thanks to the newspaper reporting the actions of Annie’s husband and mentioning the police’s top suspect by name, her mother and best friend already knew enough to fill
