She watched him work. He strapped on his protective gear and rushed up the steps.
“Give me the hydro ram,” he shouted. One of the guys who followed handed him a sophisticated-looking tool. He had to try a few times but finally forced the door open. Smoke billowed out as Drake led the other firefighters into the building.
Her heart beat a little faster. Knowing he was fireproof certainly helped relieve some of her fear. Knowing he was such a heroic figure—and that he was hers—well, that got her heart pounding in another way. No wonder so many women go nuts for firefighters.
Someone sidled up to Bliss, and a female voice murmured, “Pretty cool, huh?”
Cool? A burning building? She turned toward the voice, ready to give the woman a piece of her mind, when she recognized her. That’s the woman who beat up Drake.
“What are you doing here?” Bliss made sure the woman understood that she knew exactly who was standing next to her and was none too pleased to see her.
“I’m watching the excitement, just like everyone else is.”
“Do you think you could do it from somewhere else?”
“Only if you come with me.”
Bliss felt something hard touch her back. She whirled around and saw a gun pointed at her midsection. Holy shit.
Reason dictated she should stay quiet and wait for the woman to tell her what she wanted. But when had Bliss ever been reasonable?
“Gun!” she yelled and grabbed the woman’s arm. She tried to press it over their heads and hold it that way until the nearest cop could reach them. She didn’t expect the woman to be so strong.
“Bitch,” the woman screamed. “You can’t have him.”
The weapon jabbed Bliss’s temple. The next thing she knew, she was being dragged across the street, away from the crowd.
“Halt!” Two cops already had their weapons drawn and trained on both of them.
“You don’t want to shoot,” the woman cried out over the noise and confusion. “You might hit an innocent woman.” Then she lowered her voice and growled in Bliss’s ear, “And by that I mean a not-so-innocent, boyfriend-stealing bitch.” Even though the woman had an accent, Bliss understood every word.
She still thinks she’s entitled to Drake. Bliss didn’t know what made psychotics tick, but right about now she wished she did. Maybe if I play along I’ll live long enough to get out of this. Not only didn’t she know if that was the right thing to do, but she couldn’t bring herself to do it.
She saw one of the cops speaking into his radio. Hopefully he was calling for backup, but would they arrive in time? The nasty Rasta dragon had managed to spirit her around the corner and out of sight. A moment later, Bliss was able to answer her own question with a resounding “No.”
Something strange was happening. She felt as if claws were digging into her shoulders. Suddenly her feet left the pavement and she was soaring up into the night sky. For some damn reason, she pictured Dorothy being kidnapped by flying monkeys.
Do something, Bliss! The only thing that came to mind was to follow Dorothy’s example and let out a bloodcurdling scream—so she did.
An animalistic sound that might have been a laugh was the only response.
***
Drake and his buddies wrestled the fire under control in about half an hour. The bank suffered irreparable damage, not only by ravaging flames, but smoke and water destruction too. The overhead sprinklers helped save some areas, but not all.
His dragon warning tingles had begun during the fire, but he’d chalked them up to the possibility of his being in mortal danger—now that he was mortal. However, they hadn’t subsided.
Drake had been focused on the job, and it wasn’t until they pulled into the station that he wondered whether or not that was the bank in which Bliss had stored her CD. He’d call her as soon as he could. If nothing else, he’d be able to reassure her that the vault and safe deposit area weren’t affected.
She might experience a slight delay getting to her valuables, but she had until Monday to produce the designs she had been working so hard on. He was proud of himself for recalling a detail that was important to her but not so much to him. Too often he’d known men who only half listened to their wives or girlfriends and paid the price later.
He hung up his gear and trudged upstairs, looking forward to a shower. Bliss would still be at work, so he could wait to tell her about his day.
A little voice in his head argued, No. You need to call her now.
Not one to ignore so many portents, he grabbed his new cell phone and punched in the number for Bliss. When her voice mail offered to take a message and get back to him, he hung up and called the bar.