Searching for Risk, page 5
“You don’t have to—”
He waved aside her protest as he stuffed his feet into his boots. “Nah, it’s fine. I’m heading that way anyway. I have to pick up Spirit from the kennel.”
At the mention of his dog, some of the tension eased out of her spine. “How is she?”
Okay, if she was more comfortable talking dogs, then he could talk dogs. Luckily, Spirit was one of his favorite topics. He opened the door and waited for her to go out ahead of him. He took the Do Not Disturb hanger off the knob and tossed it into the room before shutting the door.
Sasha stood in the hallway, self-consciously plucking at the deep-V collar of his costume shirt. He could’ve offered her another shirt from his bag, but he liked the view. And if this car ride was all the time he had left with her, he was going to be a selfish bastard and enjoy it.
“Spirit’s perfect,” he replied and started toward the elevator. “It’s like she never had that tumor. She loves agility and aced her explosives detection training. We finished the twelve-week course a few days ago, and we’re just waiting on the certification paperwork to go through.”
A smile softened her expression as she fell into step next to him. “I’m relieved to hear that. I was so nervous during that entire surgery. Poking around the brain like that is always scary.”
He stopped abruptly, and she nearly walked into him. She peeked around him as if expecting to see someone they knew up ahead.
The hall was empty.
She released her breath in a whoosh, then her brows wrinkled with confusion. “What’s wrong?”
He faced her. “You did Spirit’s surgery?”
“Um…” Her gaze bounced around like she wasn’t sure how to answer and was looking for an out. “Yes?”
He didn’t know why that hadn’t occurred to him. Of course she had done the surgery. She was the rescue’s vet, and she’d been overseeing Spirit’s recovery before he decided he wanted to be her handler. Spirit had a follow-up visit at the clinic two months ago, but Zak had taken her since he’d been in San Francisco re-certifying in explosive ordnance disposal, so he’d never talked with Sasha about her recovery before now. “You saved her life.”
Now she just looked befuddled. “Uh, I don’t know about saving her life. The tumor was benign. But we definitely improved the quality of her—”
“You are the most amazing woman I’ve ever met.”
Color flooded her cheeks. “I was just doing my job, Donovan. Nothing amazing about that.”
She didn’t see it. Was her self-confidence really so low that she didn’t know how amazing she was? “Angel, my entire life has been about destruction. I destroy everything I touch—but you? You fix. You heal. You care.”
“I’m just a vet,” she protested.
He shook his head, refusing to let her dismiss herself so easily. Not when he was so determined to make her see how amazing she was. He slid a hand under her chin and tilted her face up to his. “You are a hero.”
Her lips parted in surprise, and she stared up at him with wide brown eyes that made his chest tighten. But then she blinked, and her expression closed down. She was determined to shut him out.
She pulled away from him and lifted her chin, her spine straightening. “We should go.”
He wanted to make her see the truth. He wanted to kiss the hell out of her and then take her home—to his home—where he’d kiss her some more. She deserved all his kisses and anything else she wanted, as far as he was concerned.
But he stepped back. He would let her have space until she was comfortable with him again.
He followed her to the elevator and pushed the button for the parking garage. Silence stretched between them, and he was ready to do something—anything—to break it, but he didn’t want to push the issue again.
The elevator doors slid open, and the scent of oil, dust, and concrete flooded in. Fluorescent bulbs flickered to life on the ceiling, revealing a large, mostly empty garage with a few cars parked at random intervals. He led her to his Jeep and suddenly, desperately wished he’d taken the time to clean it. He and Spirit had practically been living out of it while attending the K9 explosives detection training course, and the interior looked like it. He quickly stuffed several empty fast food bags into the backseat and threw Spirit’s favorite blanket over them.
At least the car was relatively dirt-free, with only one muddy paw print on the dashboard.
Sasha eyed him. “Are you sure you have room in here for me?”
He stepped back, holding the door open for her. “Positive.”
She smoothed her hands down the skirt of her dress, then looked up at him with a pleasant smile that seemed to be pasted on her face. Like he was a stranger she had to make small talk with and not the man who fucked her until she screamed his name mere hours ago. He shut the door and circled the hood to the driver’s side. When he slid in, Sasha still had that fake, customer service smile in place.
“I’d love to hear about the explosives training. I bet it was fascinating. I’ve always wanted to do search and rescue with Anna, but my schedule doesn’t allow for it.”
He didn’t want to talk about his job when it felt like it was barely one conversational step above talking about the weather—just something inane to fill the silence. She was clearly shutting him out. He’d wanted to take care of her tonight. He’d wanted to give her pleasure and protect her from the ugliness of his life. He’d wanted to make her feel special.
He shrugged. “It was training.”
She glanced over at him as he started the engine. “That’s it?”
“After spending your entire adult life in the military, one training’s very much like the rest.” Though, he had to admit, having Spirit by his side made it a more pleasant experience than most of the training he endured as a Marine.
“You did explosives in the military, too, right?”
When he raised a brow at her, she glanced down at picked at the hem of the shirt. “I heard Zak and Anna talking about it once. They said you got blown up.”
Donovan returned his attention to the road. He didn’t like talking about his past, but at least she’d moved beyond the fake smile and small talk. “Yeah, I did. More than once, actually.”
Her eyes widened, and he could see the questions forming in her mind. He braced himself for them, knowing full well that he had to be honest with her if he wanted any shot at a second night.
“More than once?”
“I was in Iraq and Afghanistan. I was blown up by an IED in both places. The first time, it just knocked me out, gave me a concussion. But the second one...that one did some real damage.” His hand tightened on the steering wheel as his chest constricted at the memory. “I lost my mind.”
Her hand fluttered up to her throat and he felt her gaze trace the rope of scar tissue along his temple as surely as a caress. “You lost...”
Why was his mouth suddenly so dry? He tapped the scar. “Traumatic brain injury.”
“I’m so sorry,” she said softly.
He shrugged it off, trying to keep his voice steady. “It was a risk of the job. I knew what could happen when I signed up for it.”
“But that doesn’t make it any less painful,” she said, and he could hear the pity in her voice.
No, it didn’t make it any less painful. But he didn’t want her to feel sorry for him. He wanted her to see him as more than his scars and his past. “It’s in the past,” he said firmly. “I’m here now, and I’m whole.”
She turned to face him, her eyes searching his. “Are you?”
He wasn’t sure if she was talking about his physical or emotional state, but he knew the answer to both. “Yes,” he said. “Having Spirit with me helps. She’s...she’s like my anchor, you know? She keeps me grounded.”
Sasha nodded slowly, her eyes fixed on his face. “I could see that whenever I saw you two together at the rescue. I could see your bond. She’s an amazing dog.”
Donovan smiled, the tension in his chest easing slightly. “Yeah, she is.”
Silence fell between them, but it felt different now. More companionable as he navigated the winding coastal road. The sky was a canvas of deep blues and purples, fading into a soft glow to the east.
But it was too early for dawn.
Sasha sucked in a sharp breath. “Is that…?”
chapter eight
“Fire. Fuck!” Donovan pressed the gas to the floor and burned rubber up the hill toward RWCR, jumping out of the vehicle the moment it rocked to a stop in the circular drive.
Flames engulfed the fields behind the barn and Sasha’s clinic and crawled up the mountain toward the tree line. If the fire reached it, the entire town would ignite. It was moving fast, roaring as it consumed smaller trees and dry brush. Embers danced in the air, sparking more fires in the too-dry grass.
Shit, this was bad. The whole damn county hadn’t seen a good rainstorm since spring.
The heat was palpable, the air thick with smoke. The acrid smell of burning wood and vegetation overwhelmed the senses, and Donovan blinked hard against the sting of it.
The fire licked toward the barn, and tendrils of smoke rose up from the back of the building as the side wall caught. The columns grew taller and thicker as he drew closer until they completely filled the sky with a gray blanket that obscured the stars.
He grabbed Sasha’s shoulder, pulling her back, away from the burning building. “Go to the house! Make sure Zak, Anna, and the girls are safe.” The house was farther away from the wall of flames. She’d be safer there.
Her face was white with fear, her eyes wide and brimming with tears. “The dogs…”
“I’ll get them. Do you have any overnight patients at the hospital?”
She blinked at him like she didn’t understand the question.
“Sasha, focus!”
She shook off the shock. “No. No, we’ve been doing renovations, so I sent all of my hospitalized patients to Dr. Richards in town.”
“Okay, good.” The doggie daycare and hotel were closed down for the same reason, and all of the adoptable pets had been sent to either foster homes or the county ASPCA until the renovations were complete. So that meant there were only two dogs in their rehab wing right now: the scarred Golden Retriever, Matilda, and the newest resident, a black German Shepherd named Dante, a state police K9 who had been wounded on the job when his handler was killed. And, of course, Spirit. He’d left her here in her old kennel since he’d planned to be gone all night.
Jesus. Spirit was in there. His heart jumped into his throat as he turned toward the building.
Sasha grabbed his hand. “Be careful.”
He gave her fingers a quick squeeze. “I will. Go wake Zak and Anna.” It was weird they weren’t already awake and trying to save the dogs themselves, but he couldn’t worry about them right now.
He had to get to Spirit.
He raced toward the barn’s front door, but intense heat pushed him back. Ashes rained down on his head like snow. The fire was deafening now, a crackling roar that blocked out all other sounds. He circled the building, searching for another way in, but the flames licked at every window and doorway.
Finally, a small window caught his eye, its glass shattered and blackened from the fire, but there were no flames dancing beyond it. Without hesitation, Donovan sprinted towards it and hurled himself through the jagged opening, slicing open his arm on the glass. He was in the conference room where he attended group therapy every week. The smoke hit him like a physical blow, threatening to overwhelm him, but he gritted his teeth and pressed on through the lobby to C-wing, where all the dogs who needed a bit of extra love were housed.
The entire backside of the building was engulfed now, and the roof creaked ominously overhead. As he approached the kennels, a sense of dread filled him. What if he was too late? What if—
But then he saw a flash of gold fur in the first kennel. Matilda. The poor dog had already been badly burned once before and was tucked into the corner, pressed against the wall, her high whine barely audible above the fire. This was going to set her rehabilitation back by months.
He grabbed a leash and opened the kennel, but Matilda wouldn’t move. He gave up on the leash, picked her up, and draped her over his shoulders.
Dante, in the next kennel, was growling, his dark fur standing straight up along his spine. Shit. He’d need the muzzle, but he didn’t have time to wrestle it on the dog.
Spirit stood in the middle of her kennel, eerily silent. She was usually a vocal dog. He opened her kennel and called her, but she didn’t move. Her tailed tucked between her legs, and she crouched low, flattening her ears to her head.
On his shoulders, Matilda started to struggle, her claws ripping into his shirt and skin.
He couldn’t get them all out.
“Van!”
Relief crashed through him at the sound of another human voice. He didn’t even care that it was Ash fucking Rawlings.
“Van, where are you?”
“C-wing!” he called back, then coughed hard as smoke filled his lungs.
Ash appeared in the doorway, covered in soot, backlit by an orange glow. “Let’s go! We’re going to lose the barn.”
“Get Dante. I’ll take Matilda out and come back for Spirit.”
“There isn’t—”
But Donovan didn’t hear the rest. He sprinted out the back door into the agility yard. The fire was close. Too close.
“Sasha!”
She stood out in the driveway, the fire dancing orange over her horrified face as she watched her vet clinic ignite, but she turned toward him at the sound of her name. He heaved Matilda up over the fence. “Get her in the Jeep. Get out of here!”
“Wait—”
He couldn’t. He turned and ran back toward the barn. He passed Ash, coming out with Dante over his shoulders. The shepherd wasn’t wearing a muzzle, but he wasn’t growling either. Whatever Ash had done to win his trust worked.
Ash tried to catch his arm. “Van, don’t—”
He shook off the grip and plunged into the barn. The heat was intense now and scorched his face. The smoke had grown so thick that it felt like he was breathing in a hot blanket, but he had to keep moving. If he stopped, the flames would swallow him whole, and Spirit would die. He could hear them crackling around him as he forced himself to keep going despite the fear that was urging him to turn back. His courage had kept him alive as a boy, and he drew on every ounce of it now.
The sound of Spirit’s frightened whimpers guided him through the dense, black haze, his eyes streaming with tears. He could feel his skin blistering, his lungs screaming for fresh air, but he wouldn’t abandon his girl.
If they were going to die like this, they would be together.
Through the haze, he saw Spirit’s small form huddled in the far corner of the C-wing hallway, her fur singed and her eyes wide with terror. She had left her kennel after all but hadn’t known which way to go and instead ran toward the fire. Now she was trapped.
He took a step toward her—
And the ceiling crumbled on top of him.
Pain lanced through his skull, as bright as the fire, and his vision swam with black spots. His jaw throbbed as if someone had punched him in the face, and then he realized that, yeah, something had. The floor. He staggered to his feet and reached through the flames for Spirit’s collar. Her fur was hot, and she bared her teeth at him like he was the one causing her pain.
“Hey, sweetheart. It’s okay. I’m here now.”
She whimpered and inched toward him, tentatively licking his hand. He pulled her into his chest, trying to shield her from the heat. “Shh, I’m here. I’m here with you.”
His mind fogged, and his limbs grew heavy. He’d lost consciousness enough times to know he was losing the battle to stay awake.
But with the fire at their backs and death heavy in the air around them, if he closed his eyes now, that would be the end of Donovan Scott.
No more fighting with his scrambled brain.
No more group therapy sessions that prodded at all his old wounds until he bled.
Wood popped and crackled and groaned around them as the fire chewed through more of the structure.
No more fucking podcasts digging into his life.
The air dried out in his lungs, making it hard to breathe.
No more training with Spirit.
No more nights with Sasha.
He forced his eyes open. No. He wasn’t going out like this.
He staggered to his feet, and pieces of the ceiling fell off his back. At least none of the debris was on fire. He turned his back to the flames and pushed slowly down the hall, shielding Spirit with his body. His throat was raw, and his skin felt like it was being flayed from his bones. His vision kept clouding over, and he couldn’t think straight anymore. All he could do was move. One foot in front of the other.
He had to get to the other end of the hall. He had to get outside.
The floor cracked beneath his feet, and flames kissed his ankles. He stumbled, then caught himself and started moving again. He could see the outline of the door through the smoke. All he had to do was get through it. Just a few more feet...
Something wet nudged his arm. He looked down at his girl. Spirit was struggling to keep her eyes open. When she gazed up at him with such love and trust, it felt like a punch to his gut. His tears evaporated off his face as they fell. Fire caught his sleeve, and he batted at it. The hallway tilted and he crashed into the wall.
From the corner of his eye, he saw a flash of yellow—another person?
He tried to call out to them, but the smoke strangled him. The figure just stood there with the flames reflected in its dark bug eyes, watching. It was grinning. He couldn’t see its mouth under the—mask? Was it wearing a mask? But he knew it was smiling at him, enjoying his struggle.
