Page 12 of Roark
Chapter 5
Roark Donovan was fine as hell.
And rude as fuck.
But “fine” was definitely sticking in her memory more than the rudeness, and it shouldn’t be. Tamika knew this and continued to reprimand herself as she drove from the Dynasty Manor back to the cottage.
He was tall, over six feet, she could tell even though he’d remained seated during their meeting because he’d stretched one leg out to the side of the table. That was after he’d read the letter, or rather, when he’d decided the letter meant nothing to him. She still chafed at that. But apparently not enough to forego thinking about how even that long outstretched leg had appeared muscular—from his thigh down, she’d detected muscles beneath the tailored pants. Not that she couldn’t see from the waist-up view that he was in fantastic shape. His jacket had hung on broad shoulders, the collarless shirt he’d worn beneath had been molded to his chest. Her libido had kick-started into action the second she’d sat across from him.
And that was before she’d given any credit to his sculpted jaw and honey-brown complexion.
She tried to ease the car around a ridiculous round-a-bout in the center of the street and mistakenly swerved into another lane. Beeping horns yanked her out of her thoughts, and she cursed. Driving on the left side of the road was an adjustment and she’d probably end up crashing into something or, worse, somebody if she didn’t get the hang of it soon.
“Roark Donovan’s a jerk!” The words tumbled out as she struggled to right the direction of the car and to ignore the curses coming from drivers who’d rolled their windows down to yell at her—from the wrong side of the road as well.
He was a jerk because he’d been dismissive and curt and she should’ve demanded he listen to her, that he take her seriously. That was what she would’ve done with any other man. It was what she’d sworn she’d do in her life forevermore. Yet, she’d sat there and taken his flippant attitude. She slammed her hands on the steering wheel to keep from cursing again.
There was something to that letter—she was sure of it, because if not, her father wouldn’t have kept it in his work file. He wouldn’t have kept it at all. After going through all of his things because her mother hadn’t been up to it, that was the only personal letter she’d found. It was the only letter from Maxine Donovan, and it’d been in a place where her father knew her mother would never find it. Why?
She didn’t believe for one minute that her father had been having an affair, nor was she trying to get anything from Roark Donovan or his family. That was probably what the brooding millionaire thought. She’d considered that after she’d done her research on the Donovans. Rich people always thought everybody was after their money. Well, Tamika wasn’t. Her mother was living comfortably off her father’s pension and life insurance policies. She didn’t need Tamika’s financial help with anything, which maybe was a good thing, since Tamika was currently unemployed. Still, with no checks coming on the horizon, Tamika wasn’t destitute and she’d never stoop to begging for anything, especially not from a stranger. She’d just thought the letter was strange and she’d wondered if Maxine’s son would think the same thing. But he hadn’t, because he was a very good-looking jerk.
She allowed herself to crack a smile as the visual of him sitting in that dining room acting so casually unbothered filled her mind once more.
Just as quickly as she smiled, Tamika’s entire demeanor changed the moment she saw the first flashing light. Instinct had her pressing on the gas pedal harder until she almost slammed into one of the many police cars lined along the street in front of the cottage. An officer was waving in front of her car as she stopped and jumped out.
Of course, that officer continued his waving as he approached her. “Stand back, ma’am. Get into your vehicle and turn around.”
“My mother’s in there!” she yelled. “This is my mother’s house!” The last word died in her throat as she inhaled a familiar scent and her heart sank.
Her mother’s house was on fire and there was no doubt in Tamika’s mind that she was still lying in her bed. Every inch of training Tamika had kicked in, pressing back the fear already bubbling in her throat.
“It’s in the back,” she said, pushing past the officer, who was either too frail or too inexperienced to stop her. “How many trucks were called?”
Without waiting for an answer, she ran down the path leading to the driveway and made her way around one fire truck. They’d need at least two more. She could already see heavy fire coming from one of the side windows. The sitting room beside the kitchen. Six firefighters were outside the house, several of them pulling two hose lines that attacked the fire from the outside.
“Somebody needs to go in!” she yelled. “There are people inside. Most likely two, but definitely one. Upstairs in the front bedroom, there’s a woman—”
“Who the hell are you?”
Tamika turned when a burly man grabbed her arm and began pulling her away from the house. She met his gaze—beady and accusing dark brown eyes—and yanked her arm away from his. “I’m Fire Investigator Tamika Rayder, that’s who I am, and I’m telling you now, you’re gonna need to call in more trucks. And get someone inside to get them out!”
He shook his head and put his body in front of her as some form of barricade. “I’m Watch Manager Keyworth, and I don’t know you. So, stand back!”
“I won’t stand back.” She pushed at him the same way she’d done the cop a few minutes ago, but this time that didn’t work.
Keyworth was a lot sturdier than the cop. “Look, don’t make me arrest you. Back off my scene!”
“This is my house!”
And he didn’t care. All he was trained to care about was putting the fire out. He wasn’t supposed to let her in, nor was he there to take orders from her, of all people. Tamika understood his position all too well, because she’d once been in his shoes. But now things were different.
“My mother’s in there,” Tamika said, this time her voice much smaller than it had been. “You’ve gotta get my mother out of there.” Because she couldn’t die. She just couldn’t die…not like her father had.
Fear engulfed her in the next few minutes as she watched flames lick at the side of the stone walls. Thick black clouds of smoke filtered up into the air, and the scent, she coughed to keep from inhaling it. This was how it happened; it was the preamble to the reason her job existed. The fire that burned bright and full of energy but brought death and despair in its wake.
More sirens sounded, ones that were on the way combining with the ones already here. Lights continued to flash all around as firefighters dressed in turnouts, boots, gloves and helmets held on to the two lines, aiming water directly at the blaze. The fire wasn’t dying. It was hungry and vicious and still climbing, ready to claim every life in that house.
Tamika’s legs buckled; a sickly sound escaped her throat as she gasped. “Please,” she whispered. “Please, save my mother.”
