Any wonder? The dangerous proof was the fresh tracks in the snow, exiting the alley between the parking garage and the Sinclair Buildings side entrances.
Helen? Thats your name, right? The woman gasped as Kit peeled the wool scarf away from the bloody wound at her temple. Shed had enough training in her forensic classes to identify the long, round indentation of the wound. Those greedy bastards had hit this fly-weight woman with a pipe, or maybe shoved her into one of the scaffolding bars. But this wasnt the time for Kits innate curiosity to kick in. The woman was going into shock.
Germane!
Where was he?
Kit didnt want to leave the womans side. Briefly peeling off her sweater and baring her flanks and back to the chapping cold, Kit removed her cotton turtleneck and pressed it against Helens wound while she redressed. Where do you live? Whats your last name?
Though she moaned at the contact, Helen was fading.
Hang on. She shouted over her shoulder, Germane!
Right behind you, girl. Germane limped through the back door, carrying a blanket beneath his arm and a cell phone against his ear. He relayed information to the dispatcher as he hurried down the stairs. Thats right. The Sinclair Building at Ninth and Walnut. Looks like an elderly woman in the alley on the north side. He paused and frowned. I didnt see nothin. But if you dont get that ambulance here soon, the copsll be investigating a murder, not a mugging.
Germane? Kit took the blanket from him as he shut his phone and braced a hand on her shoulder to kneel on the opposite side of the woman. Kit winced at the bruise that must already be swelling on her shoulder blade.
His sharp eyes didnt miss a trick. How bad are you hurt?
I had a run-in with the wall, but its nothing serious. Kit skipped the details and unfolded the blanket to tuck it around Helens slight figure. Germane was already listening to the older womans breathing and checking for pupil response. How is she?
Shes got a concussion for sure. Hell, they couldve cracked her skull, as deep as that wound goes.
Kit turned toward the end of the alley where the footprints disappeared. The muggers took her purse, and she hasnt given me her name. I think its Helen, but I dont who to contact or what to tell the paramedics. Do you know her?
Keep talking to her, Germane advised, measuring the womans pulse. All I know is, she lives upstairs. Shes been in a few times, pesterin me for my barbecue sauce recipe. Says she used to make as good. Shes always by herself, though, so maybe there isnt anybody to cook for anymore.
Or anyone to call. Kit smoothed away the droplets of melting snow from the womans cool cheek. Helen? Can you hear me? Look at me, Helen.
The rheumy blue eyes blinked. Her pale lips slurred a question. Are you dead?
What? Kit panicked when Helens eyes drifted shut. No. Im very much alive. And so are you. Stay with me, Helen. She pulled the womans bony hand between her own and tried to rub some warmth back into it. Helen? Youre not alone. Stay with me.
Her cold hand went limp in Kits grasp as she murmured, Were all dead.
Chapter Two
The fire was all around him, climbing up the walls and leaping across the ceiling.
Dr. Damon Sinclair crawled toward the emergency exit at the back of his lab. The door where hed entered minutes earlier to pick up his notes for tomorrows board meeting was no longer an escape route. The glass entryway had shattered and the fire was now licking its way into the hallway on the opposite side.
Beakers exploded from the heat and rained glass on his back. Their contents fed the flames. The few sprinklers that had survived the explosion were doing little more than creating steam as they spat out water at irregular intervals.
If he hadnt smelled the chemicalsif he hadnt reacted to the searing stench of the volatile combination and dived beneath his desk to avoid the initial blasthed already be dead. The milliseconds of warning had left him with a head wound, an armful of research documentation and a chance at survival. But that chance was slim if he couldnt find a way out.
Blinded by the blood seeping into his left eye, feverish from the blazing heat, he moved forward by instinct alone. When he hit a wall instead of the exit, he knew he had to make a choice. He set the binders on the floor with a reverence for the miracles contained inside. His work could save livesit had saved lives. And now hed set it aside to save his own life.
The answers were all inside his head, anyway. Given enough time, he could recreate them if he had to. If he ever got out of this hellfire, hed have all the time in the world to
A farewell look at his work elicited a choice curse.
What the hell is this garbage? These werent his notes. Just pages and pages of numbers and equations that didnt make sense. He hurled the worthless counterfeits into the growing flames.
Was that what this was about? This treacherous, purposeful destruction, just to hide a theft?
Whoever was responsible Whoever had planted that damned incendiary Reams of notes and calculationsgone. Successful equations and rejected experiments he could learn fromgone. State-of-the-art technology designed by his own hands
His hands
Son of a bitch!
They were on fire.
Damon reengaged his brain and fought off the groggy disorientation that consumed him.
Whoever was responsible for this betrayal would not go unpunished. There were means a man of his intellect and bank account could use to make the bastard whod sabotaged his lifes work pay.
He let the rage suffuse him. Give him strength. He clutched his arms to his stomach and doubled over to stifle the flames with his own body. Youll pay. The heat from his own hands seared his flesh. Youll pay.
Help! Damon! Help me!
Miranda? A pain far more cruel than any physical torture twisted in the pit of his stomach. Oh, no. God, no. Miranda!
His wifes screams hurt worse than the scorching agony of the skin blistering on his fingers. Her terror cut deeper than the shrapnel in his forehead. Hed gladly give up any medical secret he could devise, but please, please, spare his wife.
Miranda! He shouldered aside burning tables, melting plastic and shattered glass, desperately searching through the roiling smoke. Miranda! Ans He choked on the toxic gases coating his lungs and crumpled to the floor. A hoarse cough racked his body and ravaged his throat before he could summon the strength to push to his knees. Answer me!
Damon!
Her screech of desperation drove him on. He crawled through corrosive puddles and ruined work and unknown treachery to find the only thing that truly mattered. Miranda? Please. Keep talking. Ill find Coughing cut like broken glass through his raw throat. The spasms drained his strength and he collapsed again. But he pulled himself toward her ragged sobs. Im coming. His administrative assistant. His love. His life. Work be damned. Im coming.
Damon
A chunk of ceiling gave way and crashed to the floor, shooting up a snarling roar of white heat and orange flame. Damon rolled to the side, sucking in the last breath of oxygen hovering above the floor. The firefighters and paramedics were on their way. But even if they were already in the building, they had twenty-eight stories to climb. Damon was his wifes lasther onlyhope for survival.