Page 188 of Ice Princess

I jerk upright. “She wenthome?To her apartment?”The one that’s currently on fire?

“Is something wrong?” April asks, picking up on my panic right away.

Even Renthrow is staring at me like I’ve gone crazy.

I grunt out a thanks and hang up on April. Without warning, I ram the car into gear and reverse out of the woods while the engine growls noisily.

“Hey, hey, hey! Slow down!” Renthrow yells, grabbing at his seatbelt.

I wrench the steering wheel to the left, but we’re going at top speed and the car over steers.

“Watch out for that tree!” Renthrow bellows.

I yank the wheel the other direction and narrowly miss crashing into the tree. Renthrow flings curses at me, but I ignore him and keep my sights on the road.

The only thing I care about is getting to Rebel as fast as possible.

“You want to explain why you’re trying to kill me?” Renthrow hisses.

“Rebel’s apartment is on fire!”

He keeps his mouth shut for the rest of the ride. Not that I would have heard a word he had to say. My blood is roaring in my ears and I can barely see the road ahead.

What if I’m too late? What if Rebel’s hurt? What if I never get the chance to make up with her? To wrap her in my arms. To see her smile at me?

What if I can’t tell her that I’ll do anything to protect her, even if it means going against my entire family. What if shenever hears the truth of how many years I’ve been in love with her?

Time moves slowly until I get to Rebel’s apartment. The first thing I notice is that the building is intact and undamaged. There are no orange flames crawling up the brick walls. No police cars. No firemen.

“Looks like a false alarm,” Renthrow croaks. He’s bowled over, his face slightly green. “I’m…” He makes a retching sound and pins his mouth shut. “I’m… heading home now.”

“Thanks, Renthrow.”

He stumbles like a drunken hockey fan in the opposite direction while I pound up the stairs to Rebel’s apartment.

CHAPTER

FIFTY-SIX

GUNNER

All seemed calm downstairs,but once I’m on the second floor, I smell the distinct scent of smoke.

Breaking into a full-on sprint, I pound on Rebel’s door.

“Rebel, open up!” I bark.

I press my ear to the door.

There’s no sound.

I imagine Rebel sprawled on the floor, knocked unconscious by Uncle Stewart or tied up and gagged by masked cronies that Uncle Clarence hired.

My mind about to split open, I ram my shoulders against Rebel’s door.

“Rebel! Can you hear me!”

The door in the neighboring apartment cracks open and an old woman croaks, “Who’s making all that racket… Gunner Kinsey? Is that you?”

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