Strike (The Beat and The Pulse #10) Read online

  “I’ve got you,” I said. “You’ll be out of here in no time.”

  Shoving my arms underneath her, I lifted her clear off the ground and cradled her against my chest. She was completely out of it, her limbs limp and her eyes glassy.

  Meeting her gaze, I hesitated. Her eyes were green like…like I don’t know what. Moss, grass…a rainforest. Her ash-blonde hair was like nothing I’d ever seen before. Her skin was pale and perfect, and her lips were pink. She looked like a china doll. Delicate. Feminine.

  “The door’s stuck,” she said.

  I glanced up and saw the door through the smoke, and immediately, I saw the problem. Someone had painted it closed, and that was why it wouldn’t open. Morons.

  Holding her tight, I kicked, my boot colliding with the wood. It splintered a little, and then I kicked it again. It burst open, letting in a rush of cool, clean air, and I hurried through into the lane beyond.

  Outside, the fire trucks had arrived, their sirens and lights flashing. Hoses had been deployed, and men in their bright yellow uniforms were hurrying around, trying to get the blaze under control.

  “Oh, God,” the woman muttered, shock beginning to set in. “Oh, fuck…”

  “You’re okay,” I murmured against her hair as we moved up the lane. “You’re safe now.”

  Striding toward the closest rig, I caught the attention of a firefighter.

  “Sir… Miss…” he began, his eyes wide with shock as he saw us approach.

  “She’s inhaled a lot of smoke,” I said, setting the woman on her feet.

  The guy nodded, wrapping his arm around the woman’s shoulders. “Let’s get you on some oxygen. An ambulance is on the way.”

  Shoving my hands into my pockets, I watched him lead her away and retrieve a first aid kit from the truck. A moment later, he took out a small tank of oxygen and eased a mask over her beautiful blonde hair. Her slender fingers wrapped around the apparatus and held it over her nose and mouth as the firefighter wrapped her in a blanket.

  He glanced at me, and I held up my hand. I was fine. A little insane, but I was fine.

  Why the fuck did I just run into that building and drag a woman out of a raging inferno? Because she would’ve died if I didn’t take a risk. It was that simple. There was no other reason.

  She was safe now. She was safe, and that was all that mattered. It was time to walk away before I got embroiled in a situation that would wind up spread all over the newspapers. I could see the headlines now. Disgraced UFC fighter, Mark Ryder, spotted saving a woman from a burning building. No one would give a shit anyway. They would all accuse me of staging it as a publicity stunt to repair my reputation.

  I wasn’t the kind of guy who stood up on a stage and had a medal handed to him. I wasn’t the kind of guy who went out of his way to be a hero for kicks. I didn’t want points or accolades. I was the kind of guy who just disappeared.

  I didn’t want fame or fortune anymore. I wanted obscurity.

  So, I disappeared.

  3

  Callie

  I sat up in a bed in the emergency department at St. Vincent’s hospital, my mind swirling.

  Chestnut eyes. Sad, pained, chestnut-colored eyes.

  The curtain surrounding the bed swept back, the rings scraping over the metal bar. Outside my little safe zone, the emergency department was running at full steam. Crying babies, broken limbs, blood, coughing, and frazzled hospital staff.

  Glancing at the woman who’d appeared, I saw she was a doctor. A glamorous, six-foot, modelesque doctor. She had flawless olive skin, silky coffee-colored hair, and big hazel eyes. And she was a doctor. Life so wasn’t fair.

  “I’m Dr. Gunner in case you don’t remember,” she said, smiling with her perfect teeth. “You were a little out of it when you were brought in. How are you feeling?”

  “Better.” And inadequate.

  “You inhaled a great deal of smoke,” she said, taking the stethoscope from around her neck and sliding the earpieces into her ears. “Now you’ve had time to rest, let me just check your lungs again.” Gesturing for me to lean forward, she slid the end under the hospital gown, the cold disc making me shiver. “Deep breaths. Good…”

  “Excuse me,” I said, tugging at the doctor’s sleeve. “Has he come? The man who pulled me out of the building?”

  “I don’t think so,” she replied, removing her stethoscope. “I can have someone check if you like.”

  “Please.”

  “Well, your lungs are clearing, which is what we want. Any headaches?”

  I shook my head.

  “Dizziness? Lethargy?”

  “No.”

  “I would like to keep you for a little while longer just to make sure that bump on your head doesn’t flare up. Is that okay?”

  Great, another hour or so stuck reeking like smoke and ash. “I suppose.”

  She smiled and swept the curtain closed, leaving me in peace.

  Resting my aching head against the pillow, I breathed in oxygen through my mask and attempted to filter out the latest round of screaming children. The man in the bed next to me was busy hawking up a ball of snot stuck in the back of his throat, and I gagged.

  Think happy thoughts. Think happy thoughts…

  Imagining being lifted into the arms of my handsome stranger once more, I sighed. I hoped he’d come. He looked so sad even when he was leaping headfirst into danger to save me, a stranger. Why was he so sad?

  Bloody hell, I was fantasizing about some random guy off the street. Was that normal? It wasn’t normal. He did risk his life to save me, after all. Could you get high from too much oxygen?

  I hoped he was here. Then I could thank him. That would be a start.

  The curtain swung open abruptly, revealing my housemate and best friend, Macy. She was hastily put together, her sun-kissed strawberry-blonde hair was twisted into a messy knot on top of her head, her face was devoid of her usual flawless foundation and eye shadow—not that it made any difference to her complexion—and she was wearing her Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles pajama bottoms.

  I pulled at the oxygen mask, relieved to see her. “Macy…”

  “Bloody hell,” she cried, throwing her arms around my neck. “You scared the hell out of me, Callie!”

  “It went up so fast,” I cried. “There was nothing I could do.”

  She pulled back and tugged my hands away from the oxygen mask. “Leave that on. Get your breath back. The shop can be rebuilt, but you can’t.”

  “Oh, fuck, the shop. It’s ruined! All that work…”

  “It can be fixed, Callie.” She placed her hand on my shoulder. “What happened exactly?”

  “I…” I frowned and took off the mask. “I was painting and smelled smoke… When I turned around, the kitchen was on fire. I tried to get out, but there was an explosion. Oh, Macy, it went up so fast…” I buried my face in my hands, trembling. Tears were burning the back of my throat, and I was suddenly exhausted.

  “Shh,” Macy crooned, wrapping her arms around me.

  “I was trapped. I couldn’t… I was going to die, but then a man appeared and dragged me out.”

  “A firefighter?”

  “No,” I replied, an image of the mystery man appearing in my mind’s eye. “Just a random guy. He…”

  “Miss Winslow?” A nurse was standing at the foot of the bed. “You asked about the gentleman who assisted you at the scene?”

  “Did you find him?” I asked, straightening up. “Is he here?”

  She shook her head. “I’m sorry, but you were the only person brought in from the fire. No one else has asked about you.”

  My heart sank like a ton of bricks, and I smiled weakly. “Oh, okay. Thanks anyway.”

  “Maybe he wants to remain anonymous,” Macy offered as the nurse left us in peace.

  “Maybe.”

  “Are you feeling okay? Do you want to go home?” She fussed with my blankets. “I can ask if you like.”

  Trying to hide my d
isappointment over the no-show of my mysterious stranger, I shrugged. “I guess. I really need a shower.”

  “Good. I’ll be right back.” Macy flashed a smile and slipped through the curtain, a woman on a mission.

  Left alone again, I worried the hem of the blanket. The way the fire had engulfed the shop had terrified me, and I knew I would dream of it when I finally fell asleep, but I couldn’t get the image of the man scooping me up out of my mind. It was like his ghost had clawed its way into my soul and lodged itself there.

  He’d saved me and just walked away.

  Just like that.

  Scuffed boots. Chestnut eyes. Smoke and flame. The man smiled, his lips curving. My heart leapt, and I wrapped my arms around his neck.

  “I’ve got you.”

  Waking with a start, I clutched the sheets and blinked the sleep away from my eyes. Sunlight streamed in through the cracks between the curtains, casting long lines over the polished floorboards in my bedroom.

  Moaning, I forced my fingers through my unruly hair and fell back onto the pillow. Great, I’d almost died in a horrible fire, and now I was having sex dreams about a stranger. A hot, mysterious stranger who’d saved my life.

  Why did he just walk away like that? Why did he save me then disappear? There was shy, and then there was shy. It wasn’t like this was the latest superhero movie where the guy had some secret past he was trying to avenge with his flame retardant superpowers. Right?

  Thinking about the firefighter who’d helped me at the scene, an idea began to take shape. Maybe he knew who my mysterious stranger was. Maybe he’d given the firefighter a name.

  Rolling out of bed, I dragged myself into the shower and scrubbed my night of fitful sleep from my body. Then I dressed and grabbed my bag and keys from the hook on the back of my bedroom door.

  Macy had left for work hours ago, leaving me to wallow in bed all morning, but now I was glad for the alone time. She would call me crazy for trying to track down my rescuer hours after having a near-death experience. She was adamant I shouldn’t worry about it and had convinced herself he wanted to remain anonymous. But that was Macy. Confrontation was not her middle name.

  Outside, the sun was shining, and birds were singing, tweeting and screeching like lunatics, none the wiser of the inferno that had trapped me the night before.

  I rode the tram to the fire station.

  It was quiet when I approached, the roller doors were open, and a truck was parked inside. There were some empty spots, so I assumed everyone had gone out to another emergency. Moving closer, I could see the feet of someone working on the other side of the truck. Before I lost my nerve, I rounded the end of the massive beast and spotted a firefighter checking the equipment at the side of the vehicle. He was wearing a tight navy T-shirt and slacks, his feet shoved into a pair of black boots. He held a clipboard, his pen scratching across the paper.

  “Excuse me,” I said, my voice coming out sounding like the squeak of a frightened mouse. “Hello?”

  The man turned from his work, and when he saw me, a smile spread across his face. Like a cliché, he was extremely handsome. The clean-cut variety with his clean shave, styled hair, and wafts of cologne.

  “Miss,” he began, his head tilting to the side. He seemed to recognize me, but I wasn’t sure. “You’re the woman from the shop fire last night? On Brunswick Street?”

  I nodded. “The one and the same.”

  He turned to face me fully, his smile widening into a grin. “I was the guy who gave you oxygen.”

  “You were?” I perked up, wondering if he’d seen my mystery rescuer or had caught his name.

  “Justin,” he said, holding out his hand.

  “Oh, I…” I took his proffered hand and shook. “Callie.”

  “It’s good to see you up and about.” His gaze raked over me, his smile never fading. “Was it your shop?”

  “Yeah, it was. I was, uh…doing the painting myself to save some money, and I didn’t realize the fire…” I trailed off, feeling like a total moron.

  “It happens,” Justin said kindly, setting his clipboard down. “Fire is a tricky beast. It gets into all kinds of places unseen. You would be surprised. Do you know the official cause yet?”

  “No. I’m going to meet someone from my insurance company in a little bit. I guess they’ve been there looking.”

  “Well, in my experience, it looked like an electrical fault. It’s really common. They’ll probably send one of ours down with your insurance guy to check it out if they haven’t already.”

  I was dreading dealing with the insurance company, not to mention the police—who’d rocked up last night and taken a statement while Macy had been trying to shoo them away and get me home. Money had already been tight, and if I had to pay out anything, I would sink like a rock into bankruptcy. Everything I had went into that little store, not just my heart and soul but my entire life savings. And here I was looking for a man who might not even want to be found.

  Still, I couldn’t let it go, so I asked the question I’d so determinedly wanted to ask.

  “The man who pulled me out of there,” I began, tucking a strand of hair behind my ear. “Did he… Did he give you a name?”

  He frowned and scuffed his toe against the wheel of the truck. “I’m sorry, but he didn’t.”

  “He didn’t say anything?”

  He shook his head. “Nothing. Just told me you’d inhaled a lot of smoke. When I looked around, he was gone.”

  “Oh…” I glanced away, my heart sinking. “I just wanted to thank him, is all. I suppose he doesn’t need it…” I laughed nervously. “But thank you, to you and the other guys, too.” Lame.

  “All in a day’s work.” He flashed a dashing smile and threw in a wink for good measure.

  “So they say.”

  “Are you going down to your shop now?” he asked, changing the subject. “I can give you a ride. It’s no trouble.”

  “No. It’s okay. It’s not far…” I trailed off, disappointment still flaring. Maybe my mysterious stranger really did want to remain anonymous. What an anticlimax.

  Justin shrugged and picked up his clipboard. “Well, okay. If you ever need anything, we’re always happy to help.”

  I backed away, trying to keep a good-humored smile on my face. “Thanks,” I said, offering him a little wave. “For everything.”

  I could feel his gaze locked on me as I walked away—I mean, his flirting hadn’t escaped unnoticed—but all I could think about were chestnut-colored eyes.

  “The official cause is faulty wiring.”

  I glanced at the representative from the insurance company—a middle-aged balding man in a suit, whose name I’d already forgotten—and heaved a sigh of relief. “So I’m covered?”

  The stench of smoke was lingering, and when the wind flared up, it filled my nostrils making me want to puke. Turning, I stared at the charcoaled remains of my shop. All that money and time wasted. I would have to start all over again.

  In the cold, hard light of day, seeing the remains of my dream blackened, smashed to pieces, and wrapped in bright yellow caution tape was upsetting. I wanted nothing more than to fall to the ground and cry, but I stood in silence, waiting for the verdict from my insurance company. Bankruptcy or billionaire? Well, maybe not the second option, but compensation would be nice since the premiums were a mint and a half.

  “Totally,” he replied, putting my bank account at ease.

  “So what now?” I brushed a rogue strand of hair behind my ear.

  “We’ll have to wait for the official report to be filed with the fire department and the police. Then we need to liaise with the building owner for repairs to the electrical. When that comes through, and we can certify the work with our contractors, we can begin the rebuilding process.”

  I groaned. “How long is that going to take?”

  “It’s surprisingly quick in these kinds of cases. We can’t leave a building in this kind of condition.”

  “
Do I have to do anything?”

  “No. We’ll take care of it all. Have you given your statement to the police?”

  “Yes.” What a joyous occasion that had been.

  “I would strongly suggest you seek legal representation,” the representative went on. “The police will be in touch, but there are signs of misconduct.”

  “Misconduct?” I glanced at him with a raised eyebrow. Great, another problem to add to the pile.

  “The back door was painted shut…”

  “But I hadn’t started painting that room yet,” I argued. “That’s what I was going to do last night. I didn’t even get to finish the first coat before the kitchen exploded.”

  “I’ve noted it in my report,” he assured me. “And the wiring was patched pretty bad. Looks like a DIY job. In my professional opinion, you have grounds to sue, Miss Winslow.”

  Sighing, I turned back to the burned-out shell of The Fitzroy Cake Company and scowled. Grounds to sue? I just wanted to bake cakes and create some joy with my tasty creations.

  Thinking about the mystery man, my shoulders sank.

  “So I just go home?” I asked, wrapping my fingers around the strap of my bag.

  “There’s nothing you need to do right now but wait,” he replied. “Everything’s in motion, Miss Winslow. There’s nothing for you to worry about.” He held out his hand. “I’ll be in touch.”

  Smiling weakly, I shook his hand.

  Once he was gone, I threw a glance back at the burned-out shell of my hopes and dreams. At least they were going to be repaired, right? The Fitzroy Cake Company would still open, just a little later than I’d expected.

  There was a silver lining on the cloud that had dumped its guts on me last night, but there was something else still hovering up there. Something I couldn’t shake. Something that haunted me every time I closed my eyes.

  Chestnut eyes and scruffy boots.

  4

  Storm

  I was a point of silence in the chaos of The Underground. I was the eye of the motherfucking storm.