Page 53 of Crossing Paths
Even though she’d barely whispered the words, Dash must’ve managed to hear her. “Go ahead.”
Fumbling to pull her phone out of her dress pocket, she winced at the brightness of the screen as it lit up. Her fingers felt huge and extraordinarily clumsy, but she managed to tap the three numbers and thencall.
“Nine-one-one. What’s your emergency?” The male dispatcher’s voice sounded too loud, and Norah had to resist the urge to hush him.
“I’m at…” When she realized that she didn’t know the street address, she mentally switched gears. “We’re in the apartment above Porter Sports—the entrance is in the alley behind the building—and someone’s throwing rocks through the windows.”
“Okay, ma’am.” As the dispatcher spoke, she could hear the tapping of keyboard keys in the background. “Someone is throwing rocks at your windows?”
“No,throughthe windows,” she corrected. “The rocks are breaking the glass and—”
Asmashbehind her cut her off. Ducking, she turned halfway around to see that the kitchen window was broken.
“Ma’am?” The dispatcher sounded more alert now, making her wonder if he’d heard the crashing noise. “Is anyone injured?”
“No.”
Dash flew to the door, yanking it open, and she mentally qualified her answer.Not yet at least.Once Dash got ahold of Leifsen or whoever was throwing the rocks, someone was about to get pounded.
“Lock this behind me,” he ordered, halfway out the door. “And stay away from the windows. Got it?”
She nodded but realized it might be too dark for him to see, so she said out loud, “Got it.”
The dispatcher was asking her questions, and she tried to focus on answering him as she hurried to lock the door. Just as she’d flipped the dead bolt, athunkcame from the kitchen. Turning, she saw a flicker of light and instinctively turned her back, hunching as something exploded behind her.
She froze in place for several moments after her ears stopped ringing. As she came back to what was happening, she did a quick mental check of all her parts, making sure she was still intact before straightening. A faint voice echoed from somewhere a few feet away, and she realized she’d dropped her phone. The apartment was much brighter than it had been just seconds ago, and she was confused until she turned to see that patches of fire were scattered around the kitchen.
Fire!the panicky portion of her brain screamed even as shemoved to grab the fire extinguisher hanging on the wall. Before she could pull the pin, athunkfrom the other side of the room made her turn her head. A clear glass liquor bottle rolled toward one of the overstuffed chairs, and the research part of her brain identified it immediately.
Molotov cocktail. Otherwise known as a gasoline bomb or a poor-man’s grenade.
Time slowed down to a crawl. She wondered why she was so calm, but nothing about this situation seemed real. Here she stood in the kitchen of the man she’d just asked on a fourth date, holding a fire extinguisher while one or more of her stalkers hurled bottle bombs through the windows.
Get down, dummy!a voice in her brain shrieked, the panicky voice that usually wasn’t much good for anything. Right now though, it made sense. She ducked behind the counter, crouching in as small a ball as she could manage, just as the bottle exploded with acrash.
This time, she kept her head and stood as soon as the sound had dulled to a quiet roar. Straightening, she swallowed, her dry throat hurting as it convulsed.
Fire was everywhere.
She took an uncertain step toward the living area just as another explosion from the other room made her jump and almost drop the extinguisher. There were too many patches of fire, and it was spreading fast. She watched in horror as it raced across the rug and spread over the couch, whatever accelerant that had been in the bottle egging it on.
That is not how I expected to burn up the couch tonight.
The irreverent thought made her choke on a hysterical laugh, but she fought it back.
Just pick a spot and start extinguishing!Her panicky voice was offering some solid advice tonight. Pulling the pin, she ran over to the couch and sprayed foam over the flame. The chair was next, and then she covered just a quarter of the rug before the extinguisher was empty, spitting air and useless flecks of foam.
The remaining flames were growing faster than ever, licking their way across the floor and up the bookshelves, eating the books that she hadn’t even had a chance to do more than glance at. A pang hit her at the sight of Dash’s cozy apartment being ruined, but smoke crawling into her lungs and making her cough brought her back to her main priority—she needed to leave.
Dropping the empty fire extinguisher, she turned to the door. The apartment was hazy with smoke, making her eyes sting and water and her lungs itch. She tried to hold back her cough, knowing she’d just suck in more smoke on the inhale. Old elementary school lessons about what to do in a fire resurfaced, and she dropped to her hands and knees.
The air did seem easier to breathe down lower, so she stayed on all fours as she crawled toward the door. Despite the light from the flames, the haze and her watering eyes made it hard to see, forcing her to feel her way. Her progress felt infinitely slow. Even though she knew the door wasn’t very far away, it felt like she’d been crawling for blocks before she finally bumped into a vertical surface.
Sliding her hand over the wall, she felt her fingers collidewith the molding around the door. She stood, groping the door until her fingers fumbled over the dead bolt. Norah hesitated before flipping the latch, Dash’s command to keep the door locked echoing in her head, until she realized that was stupid.
Unlocking the bolt, she twisted the knob and yanked open the door. Clean, fresh air brushed against her face, and she sucked in a desperate breath. That same influx of air made the fire roar behind her, reminding her that she wasn’t out yet. His apartment might be the only thing on fire at the moment, but that could quickly change. She needed to get out of the building altogether.
Closing the door behind her in the hopes that would slow the spread even a little, she blinked her blurry eyes even as heaving coughs made them water again. The stairway was dark, so she shuffled her feet, taking tiny steps to feel for the drop-off that would indicate the first step. Her hands waved in front of her, groping for the wall or—better yet—the railing.
