“How you doing?” Avery asked.
“I don’t know yet. How’s Adam?” O’Fallon asked.
“The bullet didn’t hit an artery, so he should be all right. He said you pulled him out of there. I owe you.”
Their eyes met. “No, you don’t. You saved my ass enough times.” A firefighter trudged by toting a power unit. Behind him, another carried a cutter. The rescue was moving into high gear.
Avery leaned closer. “Adam said Gavenia’s in there.”
For a moment, the world seemed to shift under O’Fallon’s feet. His friend grabbed his arm to stabilize him.
“Maybe you should sit down,” Avery suggested.
“No, I’m okay.”
“The hell you are,” the priest said in a lowered voice meant only for his ears.
O’Fallon clamped his jaw tight to fight the raging despair, the growing awareness of loss. One night. That’s all they’d had.
“What in the hell is goin’ on here?” a voice demanded. They turned in tandem. It was a plainclothes detective. O’Fallon caught the look of warning in Avery’s eyes.
“I’m . . .” He hesitated. He’d almost said detective out of habit. “I’m Doug O’Fallon.” He paused and then asked, “And you are?”
“Detective Carstairs.” The guy angled his head toward a tall black man. “My partner, Detective Price.”
Avery moved forward, offering his hand. “I’m Father Elliot.”
A frown. “Some relation to that Elliot?” Carstairs said, pointing toward the injured cop.
“I’m his dad,” Avery replied, shaking each cop’s hand in turn. That earned him a puzzled stare. “I wasn’t always a priest.”
“What’s this about Glass being in there?” Carstairs asked.
O’Fallon gave them the Reader’s Digest version, minus the information about the recording and the fact that Glass had killed Taylor.
“This Kingsgrave woman still in there?” Carstairs asked.
“Yes.”
“Alive?”
“God, I hope so.”
Carstairs frowned. “Why does that name sound familiar?”
“She’s the psychic that’s been in the paper the last couple of days. Remember, that old murder case?” Price offered.
“Oh, yeah, that one. What the hell is she doing here?”
O’Fallon took them farther down the road as he described the botched kidnapping attempt and Gavenia’s encounter with Taylor.
Carstairs and Price exchanged looks and then huddled a short distance away to discuss the situation.
“Now it begins,” O’Fallon murmured. He tapped his jacket pocket to ensure the voice recorder was still in place. He hoped their “Get Out of Jail Free” card would do the trick.
Chapter Thirty-Seven
As Gavenia’s ears stopped roaring, terror rose in her chest. The air seemed solid and the dust caked in her nose and mouth, while the debris around her shifted like a ravenous python, eager to envelop its prey.
Shivering with fright, she huddled in the fetal position on a hard surface. Tears muddied her face, running into her mouth and leaving a salty, gritty taste. Her legs cramped as the shivering intensified. She cried out, but no one came. This time Llewellyn wouldn’t save her.
She sensed the chill presence and knew it to be Taylor’s Dark Guardian.
Agree to serve me and you’ll live.
“Go away!”
Why should I?
“Why did you let Taylor die?”
It was time to move on.
The blazing eyes filled her mind. Cold enshrouded her, tucking her into its hellish embrace. She fumbled for the rose petals, clawing them out of her pocket to hold them close. Little scent was left, and it was no match for the stench of the sooty tomb around her, but she rubbed the petals against her lips and kissed them, envisioning O’Fallon’s handsome face, his bright brown eyes, his tender kisses as he’d moved within her. She felt his powerful love. A blossom of white light bloomed around her, and chill abruptly ceased.
Tucking the rose petals into her bra, she blinked open her eyes. The hollow was completely dark.
Indistinct voices played on the edge of her hearing. These weren’t in her mind, but sounded like someone calling to her. She shouted, but there was no response.
Save your strength. They can’t hear you, a voice said softly. She found herself staring at a firefighter. He’d materialized a few feet away from her, leaning against some of the debris, clad in full gear. He was about thirty, African American, with sad eyes.
I saw your light, he said, pointing at the glow surrounding her. It’s been so dark and I didn’t know which way to go.
“How did you die?” she asked, moving so that she could see him fully. Behind her another timber sagged inward and then collapsed.
The firefighter pointed upward. I was trapped when the upper floors collapsed. My buddies came for me—they never leave anyone behind—but it was too late.
Gavenia searched around her while trying to blink more of the grit out of her eyes. Other than the glow enveloping her, there was no other light, no way to guide the soul to where he needed to go.
“What’s holding you here?”
I didn’t get to say good-bye to my wife and little daughter. I missed her second birthday party.
Oh, Goddess. “You need to go across. You’ll be at peace there.”
He shook his head. I can’t. Not yet.
A deep shiver overtook Gavenia and she bent over to try to mitigate the whirlpool of nausea in her stomach.
I’ll help you get out, the firefighter offered.
“What?” she asked, looking up, not sure if she’d heard clearly.
I’ll help you get out. I won’t leave you behind, he said.
She didn’t move, her lungs on fire and her head pounding. It would be so easy to just let go.
Come on, crawl forward a little ways.
The voice sounded so calm, so in charge. She wiggled onto her knees and cried out when a piece of metal cut into one leg.
Follow me, he said, crawling ahead of her. She followed, each movement pulling on her dwindling energy reserve.
Watch this beam, it’s unstable. Stay to the right of it, he cautioned. She did as ordered, feeling the beam shift. She held her breath and the board halted.
Keep moving; that’s it. You’re getting there.
She halted after what seemed an eternity. The cold was taking its toll.
No, you can’t stop. You won’t make it if you stop. Keep going.
“I’m too tired,” she whispered. “Too tired.”
It’s the lack of fresh air. Keep going. You’re almost there.
She curled up again, just wanting to shut her eyes and let it be over. Death wasn’t so bad; she’d seen what it was like.
If you die, you’ll never know if he loves you.
She blinked her eyes open. That had sounded like Bart, but she couldn’t see him, only the firefighter a few feet ahead, still gesturing her forward.
“Bart?” she called.
Move it, Gavenia. Time’s a-wasting. You’re stronger than this. By now your sister would have dug herself out and discovered a lost civilization in the process.
It was Bart. She couldn’t see him, but it was his chiding.
“She’s a damned mole. I’m a witch,” she groused.
Excuses, excuses. Now follow the nice firefighter and stop complaining.
His voice gave her hope. She rose to her knees and pulled herself through the tunnel, concentrating on one inch at a time.
* * *
Avery played peacemaker between O’Fallon and the detectives, but once he left to follow the ambulance to the hospital, the situation rapidly deteriorated.
“Not happening,” O’Fallon said firmly, shaking his head at Carstairs’s request that they go to the precinct so he could answer some questions.
“They’ll let you know when they find her,” Carstairs said. He angled his eyes toward the mangled build
ing. Word was that they’d dug out Glass and were winching him from the pit at that very moment.
“I’m staying,” O’Fallon said, “until they pull Gavenia out.”
“Hell, that could be days.”
O’Fallon glared at the man and shook his head brusquely.
“We can cuff you and haul you downtown,” Carstairs warned.
“I’ll do whatever you want once she’s out of there. But until then, I’m staying here. You got that?”
The blow behind his knee caught him off guard and he pitched forward. Shouting his indignation, O’Fallon felt his hands pulled roughly behind his back and the cold sting of handcuffs encircle his wrists. When he struggled, he was slammed to the ground, the side of his face kissing the gravel. A heavy foot planted itself in the middle of his back.
Carstairs said, “Now you see, we could have done this nice—”
“Is there some reason you have your foot on my client’s back, Detective?” a sharp voice demanded.
O’Fallon smirked, though the gravel made it difficult. The voice belonged to a very pissed Llewellyn.
“He wasn’t cooperating,” Carstairs replied.
“Is he under arrest?” was the quick retort.
“We asked him to come to the station. He refused. I was expediting the matter.”
“So he’s not under arrest?” Llewellyn pushed.
“No. Not yet.”
“Then get those damned cuffs off him.”
Carstairs swore under his breath and pulled O’Fallon up by the handcuffs, wrenching the sore ribs in the process. Llewellyn stepped between the men, no doubt sensing how close O’Fallon was to assaulting a cop.
“Easy,” he said. “This bullshit is going to cease now that I’m here.”
O’Fallon gave a short grunt. He gestured toward the building with his head. “I don’t want to leave until she’s out.”
“I know,” Llewellyn said. “But we might not have a choice.”
O’Fallon felt a rough hand unlock the cuffs. He rubbed his wrists, brushed off his coat, and verified that the recorder still sat in his pocket.
“She’s alive,” he said, eyeing Llewellyn. “I feel it.”
The lawyer put a hand on O’Fallon’s shoulder and nodded. “So do I.” He turned toward Carstairs. “Give us a little while longer. If they haven’t pulled her out in a half hour or so, we’ll go with you.”
The two detectives exchanged looks. “Works for us,” Carstairs said, scowling at O’Fallon.
“Come on,” Llewellyn said, guiding him away from the scene and the temptation to kick Carstairs in the ass. “I’ve got some coffee in the car. While you drink it, you can tell me what the hell happened.”
Chapter Thirty-Eight
Gavenia swore she could smell fresh air. It had to be a hallucination. Another draft, and she sucked it in with big gulps. She arched forward like a dog hanging its head out a car window. Another deep breath. A coughing fit ensued.
“Maybe not,” she muttered. Her tongue tasted like cement; her eyes burned. Even if she did get out of here, O’Fallon would probably disown her. It’d be easier to find a new girlfriend than clean her up.
You’re just about there, the firefighter reported, and gave her cheery smile.
“I better be. I don’t have much more—”
She heard voices, real ones.
“Hey!”
There was a pause, and a shout returned. She heard more voices and the grating sound of debris being shifted.
“We’re coming!” she heard. Behind her the tunnel began to cave in, foot by foot, advancing toward her, shoving dirt and dust forward.
A sudden burst of light erupted above her, beaming down like a light from heaven.
“Oh, whoa, that hurts,” she said, shielding her eyes. They teared immediately, washing out some of the grit.
“Hello?” a male voice called.
“Yo,” she shouted. She immediately thought of Seamus. “Spring me!” she called. The blood on her face cracked as she grinned. She just might live long enough to feed that parrot a few more blueberries.
A pause, and then more noise. The light grew brighter, and once Gavenia’s eyes adjusted, she realized she must be in some sort of coal chute. She looked around for her guide. He was behind her now.
You’ll be okay. They’ll help you out, he said, clearly pleased with himself.
“But what about you?”
I don’t know what to do.
Gavenia thought for a moment and then motioned. “Follow me. It’s my turn to rescue you.”
He gave her a big grin and a thumbs-up. She matched it and waited for his living comrades to figure out how to bring her aboveground.
The firefighter who helped her maneuver out of the coal chute was a hunk. Absolutely drop-dead gorgeous.
“Never fails,” she muttered as she wiggled her way out onto the pavement like a beached red whale. She only met guys like that when seriously indisposed. Like the car accident in Wales. One of the rescuers had been Scottish, quite handsome, with an accent that would have melted any woman’s heart and made her catapult into his bed. He’d talked to her the entire time they dismantled the car, telling her jokes, keeping her calm. She could still hear his voice as plainly as if he were standing next to her.
“Backboard!” someone called. She felt something hard slide underneath her and then she was moving away from the building at a quick pace. It didn’t make much sense until the low rumble behind her.
“Get clear!” someone shouted, and there was a scramble.
When they finally set her on the ground, she looked back over her shoulder. The coal chute was buried under a mountain of broken bricks.
“Too close,” she whispered, and then relaxed on the backboard. It felt oddly comfortable after her night in the pit. The fresh air delivered a high, like a toke of good pot or three strong martinis. She’d felt this before: the bliss of survival.
A paramedic knelt at her side. “Any allergies?” he asked.
“Falling buildings,” she retorted. That got her a chuckle.
“Open your eyes for a second.” She did as ordered and promptly got a light shone in them.
“How do they look?” she asked.
“They’re a really nice shade of blue,” he said. “I don’t see any sign of a head injury, but they’ll make sure at the hospital.”
“Of course they will,” she said.
He rattled off a series of questions, examining her neck, chest, arms, and down both legs.
“Nothing feels broken,” she said.
“That would be amazing. But they’ll make sure—”
“At the hospital,” Gavenia recited. She knew that drill all too well.
An oxygen cannula wedged itself into her nose. A few deep breaths gave her even more of a high.
Her ethereal firefighter leaned over and gave her another thumbs-up. She returned it. The paramedic, not realizing it wasn’t meant for him, gave her one as well. He turned his back on her, extracting tubing and a needle out of his kit.
Knowing she had only a brief moment before he returned, she pointed with a trembling hand. “You see it?” she whispered.
The firefighter’s soul looked into the distance, and a calm smile spread over his face. I do.
Thank you for saving my life.
Tell my wife and daughter I love them.
I will. Be at peace.
He strode away into the light as Gavenia closed her eyes.
She felt the cold sting of fluid as the paramedic vainly tried to clean a place on her arm. The needle stick barely register.
A hand touched her opposite arm, and her aunt leaned close to her.
“Good Goddess, girl, what have you been doing?” Lucy asked with a mock frown. The chiding was for Gavenia’s benefit, as there were tears hatching in her eyes.
“Not much. How about you?” Gavenia said.
Lucy leaned over to hug her and then apparently thought better of it. “You okay?”
/> “Yeah. Not bad.”
She didn’t see the Irish guy. What if Glass had shot him? What if he was buried in there and she hadn’t known it? “O’Fallon?” she asked, the euphoria vanishing in an instant. “Please tell me he’s okay.”
“He’s with the cops. They took him to the precinct. They wouldn’t let him stay.”
She frowned at that. “But he didn’t do anything.”
“Don’t worry; Llew’s with him.”
“What about. . . Adam?”
“He’s at the hospital. He was shot.”
“Is he going to be okay?”
“From what I hear.”
“And the other bastard?” Gavenia asked coldly.
“He’s in bad shape. They’re not sure if he’ll make it.”
“He won’t,” Gavenia said. Taylor will make sure of it.
“Ari’s on a plane back from Portland. The flights were grounded until an hour ago. She’s in a . . . bit of a state.”
Gavenia rolled her eyes. “I can only imagine.”
The paramedic posed a couple more questions and, after Gavenia answered to his satisfaction, he turned his attention back to the IV.
Her aunt hit speed dial on her cell phone. “Here, tell Llew you’re okay,” handing the phone over to Gavenia. She fumbled until she got it near her ear.
“Gavenia?”
“In the flesh.”
“How are you?”
“Filthy, cranky, and seriously in need of a sugar fix,” she said. A hearty laugh echoed down the phone. She heard him repeat what she’d said to someone. That person laughed as well. It was O’Fallon.
“Hold on. Someone wants to yell at you.” There was a pause, during which Llew must have handed the phone over to the Irishman.
“Gavenia? What the hell took you so long?” O’Fallon demanded.
“Sorry, I’m not a really great mole.”
His voice shifted in an instant. “Are you all right?”
“I’m bruised and battered, but I’ll make it.”
“Anything broken?”
“Don’t think so.”
A long sigh came through the phone, as if he’d vented hours of tension in one breath. “Thank God.”