Ashes - Book 1 Read online

  I really don’t know how Stephanie had been able to stand me. I was nothing but a snotty nosed bitch most of the time. I’d come from a wealthy family, had always gotten what I wanted. I’d been the head cheerleader in high school too. My silver spoon was full.

  Not Stephanie’s.

  She was only able to attend school on scholarship, and still had to work several days a week to pay for any extras, like her little car or even a slice of pizza that didn’t come from her meal card. Her mom had died when she was young and her dad killed himself on the last day of her junior year in high school. She had no other family, except a grandmother who lived in North Carolina, two thousand miles away. Stephanie had tried to reach out to the woman, but learned she suffered from severe dementia and didn’t even realize she had a daughter, much less a grandchild.

  The only thing Steph and I had in common was a mutual goal of becoming nurses, although I’d had to fight my father when he’d learned I didn’t want to be an attorney, like him. He’d been so mad, had even called me horrible names and threatened to disown me. My mom had just cried and told me I’d be stricken with HIV or some other disease.

  I knew their true worry … how could they possibly introduce their daughter to their socialite friends as a lowly nurse? They took little comfort in knowing I wanted to be a nurse practitioner and run my own office someday. They wanted me to be an attorney or a doctor; even an art director or professor would have been better than having a child work in a ‘hands-on’ profession.

  I’d held firm and gotten my way, of course. Daddy could never stay mad at me for long. He still gave me disapproving glances and made remarks about how I’m wasting my life. And still attempts to set me up every chance he got with a ‘suitable’ boy.

  Setting the e-brake of my Jeep Wrangler Unlimited, I grin, remembering how pissed my dad had been when I’d refused his graduation gift of a Mercedes and traded it for this bad boy instead. Bright yellow and fully loaded, I loved it, especially when the top was down. I’d even taken it four-wheeling a month or so ago. I’d never tell my mother or father I’d done that. Or that a firefighter had been my partner in that crime. Or that we’d already screwed in the front seat, the back seat and on the hood.

  Jumping down from the Jeep, I give it a pat before I turn to admire the offices of HEAL. I’ve never been so proud of anything in my life. This place is a testimony of good versus evil. A testimony of my best friend’s strength and enduring love for others. A sanctuary for those who have been raped or sexually abused.

  Stephanie and I cut the ribbon on the center in an elaborate celebration earlier this year. Even my mom and dad attended and smiled at me with, yes, pride. The money to fund it came from the most unexpected of places after Stephanie went through some horrible shit, but that’s a different story. Now, she’s deeply in love and living the dream. In fact, she’ll be marching down the aisle almost a year from now.

  This morning, it’s my turn to open the office and get everything ready for the day. Turning the key in the employee entrance, I mentally go through my schedule. I have to remember to complete my final paperwork to begin my master’s degree in the fall.

  Pushing open the door, I jump when a hand falls on my shoulder and I whip around, keys raised in defense.

  “Help me, please,” a young girl cries. She’s breathing hard and twisting her hands together. She looks barely fifteen years old, even tinier than me. “Please,” she whimpers again, her breathing coming in great gasps. The eye that isn’t swollen shut is imploring me. She looks terrified and is shaking all over. There’s blood covering most of her face.

  Before I can respond, a man yells, “Get back here, bitch!” The voice is loud and cracks the air, followed by what sounds like boots pounding the concrete in our direction. I don’t yet see the man wearing them.

  The girl screams, her good eye widening in fright. She’s terrified and tries to push past me and into the center. I move to the side and hustle her through the door.

  “Shut the door!” she cries out. I don’t.

  I wait, wanting to see the guy, to be able to identify him, and pull my phone from my pocket. The girl is screaming, begging me to close the door, but I hesitate a little longer. I need to see. I must see him. Record him if I’m able. Put whoever did this to her behind bars.

  He rounds the corner of the building. Shit. The guy is huge. Bald. Jeans. Black t-shirt. Big as hell. I fumble for the camera on my phone. He’s twenty yards away and moving fast, faster than a big man should be able to run. I tap video and hold the phone up, recording him. Fifteen yards.

  “I’ll fucking kill you!” he roars and lifts an arm, running with his hand in front of him, shielding his face from the camera.

  Ten yards. The girl is hysterical, clutching at me now. I move backwards and the two of us push the door closed; I turn the lock just as the brute plows into it with what must be his shoulder.

  We both scream, but the door holds. I test the lock, making sure it’s turned all the way and move back as the door shudders again. I jump as the alarm system begins to wail, its voice pulsing through the building. I haven’t had time to disarm it, thank God.

  I thrust my phone at the girl, unwilling to wait for the alarm center to call us first. “Call 911.” Then I run to my office for the can of mace I keep hidden there. I run to Stephanie’s office and grab the stun gun from the bottom drawer. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Why didn’t I listen to Gage and get a real gun?

  The girl’s screaming into the phone, not making sense, crying in great heaves. The office phone begins to ring, adding to the noise. I grab my cell from her hand and yell at her to answer the other phone. The alarm company will know the address. I just need her to pick up the extension.

  The girl turns around in circles, not seeing it hanging on the wall. Her nose is bleeding harder now, dripping onto her clothes. I push her in its direction.

  “I have an emergency at the HEAL Center,” I yell into my cell and give them our address. The door shudders again and, good God, do I hear something crack? Impossible; this door is steel, isn’t it? Plus, I can’t tell over the girl screaming, the alarm wailing and my heart thundering in my ears. The dispatcher is asking me additional questions. I can barely hear him. I try to concentrate.

  “A guy is breaking down our door, right now. Please hurry.” Another crack. It’s not the door. “He’s got a gun!” Another crack and the lock on the door explodes. “He’s in!” I scream in the phone and grab the girl by her arm, pulling her after me.

  Where to go? Shit. I don’t know.

  Behind us, the door bangs open, the force slamming it into the wall. The girl screams again; so do I when the sheetrock two feet from my head is punched by a bullet.

  The closest office is mine and I pull her behind me, just as she screams and falls, taking me down and nearly pinning me beneath her. I manage to roll and get to the door, kicking it shut with my foot before lunging for the lock, just as it shudders under the man’s weight.

  I’m on my feet again and push the metal file cabinet with all my strength and yell for the girl to help me. She doesn’t move, just lies on the floor. Oh no. Please no. He shot her; blood is spreading across her shirt. With another surge of adrenaline, I’m able to push the cabinet over. It crashes into the wall, angled in front of the door.

  I search for the phone I dropped. The dispatcher is still there. “He shot her. He shot the girl. I need an ambulance. Hurry.”

  My office door shudders and I pull the girl away, dragging her to the furthest corner. She moans. Thank God, she’s still alive, but she’s nowhere close to conscious. I can’t do anything for her now. I have to make our area secure, if that’s even possible.

  Running behind my desk, I push with all my strength. The heavy wood barely budges and I’m pissed at how weak and ineffective I am. Finally, it moves an inch, then another. The door shudders and the man screams in rage moments before the lock shatters from a bullet.

  How many shots has he fired? I try to remem
ber, but I’m just not sure. I also don’t know what kind of gun he has, how many bullets it holds. Maybe he has extras? I nearly choke on a sob from not knowing.

  Sweat is pouring from me in streams by the time I have the desk against the door. The lock is broken, but he’s unable to get in. He grows more furious, pounding and kicking at the wood. To my horror, it splinters down the middle. I look around, but there’s nothing else I can use to block it. I can do nothing but stand there and watch it splinter again.

  Sirens.

  Somehow over the noise, I hear blessed sirens drawing closer. I jump as the door cracks again. I find the phone, but the line is dead; we’ve been disconnected. I jump when it vibrates in my hand.

  It’s Gage!

  The girl moans and I rush to her as I answer the call. “Gage, oh my god—“

  “I heard,” he interrupts me. “We got the call. We’re two minutes away.” I stick a finger in my other ear so I can hear him a little better.

  Two minutes. I look at the door. I don’t have that long.

  “Cops are pulling in, Beth,” he tells me. “They’re right there. We’re right behind them.”

  “Can’t wait to see you,” I say, trying for a little lightness in my voice. I muffle the squeal that tries to rip from my throat as a piece of the wood door breaks apart.

  “Hang on, Beth. We’ve got a date Friday night, okay.” His voice is calm. So calm. Almost gentle.

  “It’s not a date.” I laugh a little at our ongoing joke, a desperate cackling that I stop before it takes hold and gags me.

  “Right.” He barks out a laugh. “Not a date. What was I thinking?”

  “I’m afraid.” I hate myself for saying the words.

  “You’re a warrior. Look around; what weapon do you have near you?”

  I force myself to focus and see the stun gun where I dropped it. I lunge for it and find the can of mace too.

  “Stun gun and mace. Gage, he’s almost through the door. He has a gun.”

  “Go to the side of the door and if he sticks his hand, head, anything inside, zap the bastard. You have to hold it to his skin for several seconds to take him down. Press hard. Okay?”

  I’m breathing so hard, I begin to grow lightheaded and have to steady myself against the wall. I force myself to breathe out some of the excess oxygen. Then take smaller breaths in through my nose.

  The door shudders and a large section of wood breaks off with a loud crack. My nervous system is on overload; I don’t even react. I drop the phone in my pocket and hold the stun gun with both hands in front of me.

  “Fuckin’ bitch. Fuckin’ bitch. Fuckin’ bitch.” The man chants the words over and over. He’s pulling on the wood, making the hole bigger, but only his fingers are visible and only for a second at a time.

  I wait for my chance and inch closer to the hole he’s created, stepping up on the file cabinet, praying it holds my weight. I’m afraid to breathe. Afraid he’ll hear me and fire through the wall.

  “Police. Drop the weapon.” The voice comes from down the hall. My knees turn to water as I hear the words and I press a hand over my mouth, trying to stifle the sob bubbling to the surface.

  I begin to step back, off the filing cabinet and to the floor just as the door explodes and the man barrels his way into my office, lunging through the opening and landing on my desk.

  I scream and fall backwards, hitting my head against the wall, but scramble up and lunge toward him, the stun gun leading the way. I touch his skin and he growls, shoving me away so hard I’m thrown several feet and hit the wall again.

  Nothing. The gun didn’t do anything to stop him. I can’t believe it. The man is still on his feet, only angrier than before.

  His dark eyes scan the room and land on the girl, who still isn’t moving and is as pale as death. He takes a step closer to her. Then another. Then one more. He raises the gun.

  “She’s dead,” I lie and pray it really is a lie. I also pray that the girl doesn’t moan or move. She doesn’t.

  The nearly black eyes turn back to me, followed almost instantly by the barrel of the gun.

  “Don’t. Please don’t.” The words are a whisper. I know he can’t hear them.

  Bang. Bang. Bang.

  I scream and wait for the pain to shoot through me. It doesn’t come and when I open my eyes, I’m now looking into the madman’s dead ones as he lies a foot from me.

  “Kick his gun away!” a policeman yells at me as he’s shoving at the door. I kick out my foot and send it flying several feet away.

  Pulling myself together, I crawl over to the girl. “We need an ambulance!” I shout. “We’re going to lose her.” I lift her shirt and see the entry wound continuing to ooze blood. She’s lying in a large puddle of it, but I can’t see any intestines or organs. I roll her to her side and she moans. I pull the front of her shirt up and find the exit wound, a nasty hole in her abdomen. I look around. I have nothing in my office to treat her with. I grab a scrub jacket from the hook on the closet and use it to compress her wounds.

  Unable to push my barricade away, the officer crawls through the hole, another one right behind him. They begin pulling away the desk and file cabinet so the paramedics can get through the door.

  Gage rushes in, two paramedics on his heels. I’ve never been happier to see anyone in my life. He pulls me away from the girl, allowing room for the paramedics to take over. Soon, she’s wearing an oxygen mask and an IV line. A minute later, she’s on a gurney and being hurried out the door.

  I jump when the alarm is abruptly silenced, the sudden quiet as loud as a blast. I lay my head against his chest and it’s his strength that keeps me on my feet. I want to hold onto him, but my hands are covered with the girl’s blood.

  “You okay?”

  I don’t know how to answer, so I step away and look down at my hands. I need to be strong. I need to be cool. I can fall apart later, in the privacy of my room, but not here.

  “I need to clean up,” I say and turn from him, trying to avoid the concern etched over his face. I also avoid the dead man lying at my feet. I march to an examination room and elbow the faucet on, turning the water to hot. Gage is right behind me, and pours a large quantity of soap in my hands.

  I scrub and rinse, wincing at the steaming water, but don’t attempt to cool it down. I hold out my hands and Gage pours another generous amount into them. I hiss when I rinse and he leans around me, turning the temperature a little bit cooler.

  “I don’t need help,” I say, gritting the words out between clenched teeth.

  “I know,” he says, but doesn’t leave my side. He simply pours more soap into my hands so I can wash better up both arms.

  After I’ve washed and rinsed and washed again, I hold my hands out for more, but he sets the bottle down. He turns off the water and pulls paper towels from the dispenser. Very gently, he blots the water off my reddened skin.

  It’s his gentleness that is my undoing and I feel my insides begin to crumble. My eyes grow hot and my face contorts with the effort it takes to hold back the tears.

  Gage says nothing. He just tosses the paper towels into the trashcan and pulls me to the floor and onto his lap, saying nothing. He simply holds me while I cry.

  Chapter 3 – Gage

  “Man, my hands hurt like hell.” I set the scraper against the wall and grab the beer from the table.

  “How did you ever make it through training?” Ken says. “You have to be the biggest pussy I’ve ever met.” My best friend picks up the broom and starts sweeping up the mess we’ve made while helping his sister, Hannah, do some repair work on a tiny matchbox house she is close to moving into.

  I take a swig of my now warm beer. “You need a few more lessons with Beth on beer. This sucks.” I grimace at the cheap label.

  “Just get back to scraping; we’ll be done with this in an hour if you don’t keep acting like a woman.”

  I lift up the can, aim and fire, but Ken moves just in time. He escapes the can, but not t
he explosion of foam that sprays his shoes and the deck we spent the morning scraping.

  He growls and charges me with the broom. I dodge, but not quickly enough and feel the air leave my chest as I’m tossed into the air. Refusing to go down this easily, I manage to wrap my feet around his middle just before I splash into the pool. Through the water, I see Ken totter and finally lose his balance, landing beside me.

  “Damn, you’re quick for an old man,” I say as I break through the surface. I look around to see Ken treading water a few feet away.

  “That’ll teach you to waste beer,” he says, laughing, and begins to swim to the side.

  “The real waste is the money you spent on shit beer. Hasn’t Beth taught you anything?”

  Heaving himself from the pool, Ken sits on the side. “Speaking of Beth, how is she?” he asks.

  I go under the water again to avoid the question, then swim to the side and haul myself up before lying back on the hot surface of the deck.

  “I repeat, how’s Beth?”

  Damn, he’s not going to let me off the hook. I lift a shoulder. “You’d know more about her than me; she’s your girlfriend’s roommate, after all.”

  Ken narrows his eyes. “As you know, I’ve been in training the past three days. I don’t know shit and can’t believe you don’t either.”

  I shade my eyes from the sun and look over at him. “I haven’t seen her since the break-in.”

  “Why the fuck not?” He looks at me in disbelief.

  I sit up. “Man, you know how she is. She’s totally gone into bitch mode and is blowing me off.”

  Ken narrows his eyes again. “Do I need to toss you in the pool again for calling her a bitch?”

  I laugh and dip a hand in the water, rubbing it across my face. “Those are her words, not mine.”