Page 43 of Sizzling Desire

I shove back from the table. “Where?”

His voice is grim. “An apartment complex off Harborview.”

My stomach drops. Harborview. My pulse kicks into overdrive. I know that address. I know exactly who lives there.

“Grace.”

For half a second, I don’t move. My heart slams against my ribs, my pulse a hard, insistent thud in my ears. Then I’m reaching for my keys, shoving the case files aside like they’re nothing but dead weight.

Chance’s gaze snaps to mine, and he must see something in my face because his expression shifts. “Kane?—”

“Move,” I grit out, already heading for the door.

There’s no hesitation. No second-guessing.

If Grace is in that building, nothing else matters.

I have to get to her. And if she’s hurt—I’ll burn the whole damn world down to find the son of a bitch who did this.

Every second drags like an eternity, stretching out into an unbearable abyss of silence broken only by the roar of the engine and the wail of sirens in the distance. I’m gripping the door handle so hard my knuckles turn white, the burn of tension creeping up my arm, but I can’t force myself to let go. My heart is a war drum, hammering out a frantic beat in my chest, my pulse a relentless throb in my ears.

The streets blur past in streaks of neon and asphalt, but all I see is her—Grace, caught in the middle of this hell storm. Is she inside? Trapped? Hurt? Smoke choking the air from her lungs, flames licking at her skin?

Damn it, no.

I can’t think like that. I won’t.

Chance takes a hard turn, and the tires screech against the pavement. My gut lurches, but I barely register it. “Faster,” I grind out, barely recognizing my own voice. It’s hoarse, guttural, threaded with something raw and unshakable. Fear.

Chance’s jaw tightens. “I’m going as fast as I can, Kane.”

Not fast enough.

My fingers twitch toward my phone, dialing her number over and over again, but it just keeps going to voicemail. Her phone is probably somewhere in her bag, buried beneath a mess of receipts, gum wrappers, and whatever random shit shekeeps in there. But…what if she’s trapped, if she’s unconscious—stop.

I dig the heels of my palms into my eyes, forcing my breath to even out, but it’s useless. There’s no controlling the sheer panic roaring through me. I’ve seen too much fire, too many bodies pulled from burned-out buildings, too many lives lost in the time it takes to snap your fingers. The fire at the warehouse had started small, barely a flicker, and within minutes, it had engulfed the entire structure.

A few minutes. That’s all it takes.

I squeeze my eyes shut, picturing her as I last saw her. The tilt of her lips when she’s teasing me, the sharp defiance in her green eyes when I push too hard, the way she tosses her hair over her shoulder like she’s issuing a challenge. She has to be okay. She has to.

Chance barrels down Harborview Drive, weaving through traffic like a man possessed. We take another sharp turn, and I brace against the dashboard. The acrid stench of smoke hits my nose before I even see the flames.

Then we round the last corner.

And my world stops.

The entire complex is an inferno. Flames twist into the night sky, roaring, devouring, thick plumes of black smoke choking out the stars. The heat radiates even from here, searing through the windshield, licking against my skin like a threat.

My stomach plummets.

Fire trucks line the street, water jets slicing through the night, but it’s not enough. The building is going to collapse.

Where the hell is she?

Before Chance fully brakes, I’m throwing the door open, my boots slamming onto the pavement. My eyes scan the crowd, searching—where the hell is she? I push past the barricades, past the gawking bystanders and frantic evacuees. Myheart pounds in my ears as I scan the faces, searching, praying.

Ignoring the shouted warnings from responders. “Grace!” My voice is rough and raw. Too much heat. Too much panic.

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