Chapter 16

CHAPTERSIXTEEN

Brock stared at the house in absolute horror as they approached. It was one of the poorer neighborhoods in Fallport, and there were flames shooting out of every window of the house and from under the eaves. He heard Simon on the radio calling for the fire department, but all Brock could see was Finley’s car parked in the driveway. The tires were smoking from the heat of the fire that was only feet away.

She was here. And if she was inside, there was absolutely no chance of her still being alive.

That didn’t stop him from leaping out of the car and running toward the front door.

He was roughly tackled from behind. Tal and Raid held his arms as he struggled with every bit of strength he had. “Let me go!” he cried desperately.

“You can’t go in there!” Raid shouted.

“Fin’s in there!” Brock yelled back, his voice cracking.

All movement stopped when, a split-second later, the roof on the second floor collapsed.

An inhuman scream left Brock’s mouth as any hope of saving the woman he loved with every molecule in his body was crushed.

This wasn’t going to end the way it had when Caryn had rescued Lilly from a house fire. It was too late.

Hewas too late.

In the distance, he heard sirens, but Brock couldn’t take his eyes off the inferno. He’d taken too long to act when Finley hadn’t come home when she should have. He’d gotten complacent with a loved one’s safety for the first time ever—and the only person he’d ever vowed to love and protect had suffered the consequences.

Brock shut down. His entire body went numb. Nothing would be the same again. He’d have to leave Fallport. How could he stay? He couldn’t. He wasn’t strong enough to drive past The Sweet Tooth and know his Fin wouldn’t be there. To regularly see Lilly, Elsie, and the others.

Then another thought struck him, and the pain literally made him clutch his chest.

Their child.

Not only had he lost Finley…his chance to be a father had literally gone up in flames.

A sound he didn’t recognize erupted, eclipsing the roar of the flames, and he realized seconds later the noise was coming from him. A combination whimper, moan, and desperate keening. He couldn’t stop. Despair filled him. He’d failed not only Finley, but their Little Bean too. He’d never forgive himself. Ever.

Tal and Raid sat back slowly, recognizing the threat of him running into the burning building had passed. They all knew it was too late.

Then, through the fog that had descended over Brock, another sound penetrated.

He tilted his head in confusion, trying to hear it better over the crackling of the flames consuming the building and the increasingly loud sirens. He stood abruptly.

The fire engine turned down the street, and then all Brock could hear was the siren echoing off the other houses, making his ears ring. But he was already moving. He knew what he’d heard.

His name.

Adrenaline coursed through him as he frantically looked around, trying to pinpoint where the sound might have come from.

He took off running before Tal and Raid could grab him again. But he wasn’t heading for the now completely engulfed house. No, he went straight to the wooden gate on the right side of the yard. The wood was smoking, but it hadn’t caught fire yet.

“Brock, what—”

Raid didn’t get another word out before Brock was pulling frantically on the wood. “Help me!” he ordered.

Bless his friends, they didn’t ask any questions. Didn’t ask what the hell he was doing, they simply joined him in trying to open the gate. It was obviously padlocked from the inside, but that wasn’t going to stop Brock. He’d heard what he heard, and for the first time since arriving to find the home shrouded in flames, hope filled him.

The men resorted to kicking the planks of wood. First one board finally broke. Then another. When Raid knocked a third one out, Brock wasn’t waiting any longer. He got on his knees and shoved his head and shoulders through the opening. It was a tight fit, but he didn’t even feel the scrapes of the jagged wood against his back as he forced himself into the yard. Didn’t feel the heat of the flames burning just feet from his face.

The weeds were long, probably around a foot high, but as if his entire being knew exactly where to look, Brock’s gaze locked onto a figure huddled at the far back corner of the yard.

“Bloody hell!” He heard Tal exclaim as he made his way through the same hole Brock had just vacated.

Brock was already on the move. He was running through the yard toward Finley. He dropped to his knees in front of her, noticing immediately that she was practically naked, wearing nothing but her bra and panties…and, ominously, zip-ties around her ankles. The very sight of the tiny strips of plastic had his guts churning.

Her clothes and shoes were in a heap several yards from where she huddled, her knees curled in front of her and her arms clasped around them.

“Finley!” he croaked.

“Don’t touch me!” she shouted, clearly panicked.

Brock froze. “What?”

“I’m covered in gas! If you touch me, you’ll get it on you too. I can’t watch you die, Brock! I can’t! All it’ll take is one of those sparks and I’ll go up in flames like she did!”

It was obvious Finley was in shock, but Brock immediately understood the seriousness of the situation. Her hair was wet, and only now did the pungent scent of gasoline register. He didn’t think a spark would cause the liquid to ignite, but he wasn’t going to take any chances. He placed a hand on Finley’s knee—he needed the contact—and shouted to Raid, who was doing his best to break down more of the gate.

“Get a hose back here!” he yelled, then turned back to Finley without waiting to see if Raid was listening. He sat next to her, then picked her up and placed her onto his lap. She fought him for a few precious seconds…then seemed to melt against him.

As soon as his hand cupped her nape, she burst into tears. They were huge, wrenching sobs that tore Brock’s heart out. His own eyes filled with tears, and he wasn’t ashamed when they spilled over and fell down his cheeks. He thought he’d lost everything, and now here he was, holding a scared-to-death but alive Finley in his arms.

He wanted to ask what happened. How the hell she’d ended up covered in gas in the backyard of this dilapidated house, but that could wait. Reassuring his woman that she was all right couldn’t.

“She’s bleeding,” Tal said gently after a moment. “Brock, let me take a look at her.”

At his words, Finley clutched Brock tighter.

“She’s okay,” he said softly. “You’re okay,” he told Finley. “Aren’t you?”

It took a moment, but he felt her take a long, deep breath before she nodded. She lifted her head and looked at Tal, who was crouched beside them. “Cut my arms and calf getting out the window.”

“And your hips too,” Tal added.

Finley frowned. “I did?”

“She’s in shock,” he said, standing and glaring at the side of the house, as if that would make the firefighters magically appear.

But it seemed as if Tal’s impatient glare actually did the trick. Raid appeared and pointed toward the corner where Brock and Finley were sitting.

Two firefighters pulled a hose through the yard.

“She’s covered in gasoline. I don’t want to risk taking her anywhere near the house until that shit is rinsed off,” Brock explained to the firefighter holding the nozzle. He recognized him. It was Oscar. He’d been assigned as captain of the Fallport Fire Department after the former captain, and several of his close friends, were fired.

“Smart,” he said. “This will be cold,” he warned.

Brock nodded and turned to Finley. “Hold your breath,” he told her.

She nodded, and Brock motioned for Oscar to proceed.

He gently opened the nozzle until a light stream of water came out of the hose. When fighting a fire, the immense pressure of the water exiting the nozzle could actually be very dangerous, but Oscar was careful not to let it get out of hand.

Brock shivered as the water cascaded over both him and Finley. She jerked in his arms when the water hit but didn’t try to get away.

“Get her hair good.” Brock heard Talon order.

After about fifteen more seconds, the water turned off. “That should be good enough to get her to the ambulance,” Oscar said.

Brock nodded. “Thank you.” He reached a hand up toward Tal. His friend took it, and Brock felt a hand on his bicep. Raid, standing on his other side. Then he was standing with Finley in his arms. He set her on her feet gently, running his eyes down her body, noting her wounds. She was shivering, probably more from shock and reaction than from the cold.

She looked up at him, then quickly at Tal and Raid, and her gaze hit the ground…the way it used to before they’d gotten together. When she thought there was no way he could ever want her because of her size.

Brock turned to Raid. “Shirt,” he ordered.

Without hesitation, Raiden stripped off his T-shirt and handed it to Brock.

“Hang on, sweetheart. I’ll have you covered in a second.” He draped the material over her still dripping hair, and she immediately lifted a hand to find the arm hole. As soon as she was covered, she swayed slightly.

Brock swore and wrapped an arm around her waist. His clothes were soaking wet, and now the dry shirt would be as well, but he didn’t even think twice about it. Glancing at the house, he saw Oscar and the other two firefighters were using the hose to pour water on the side nearest the gate, which was now lying completely demolished on the ground.

Eyeing the fire, and deciding it was more important to get Finley out of this yard than wait for another exit to be created, he urged her forward.

“Brock, no!” she protested.

He stopped and turned her toward him. “Do you think I’d let anything happen to you? I swear to God, I would’ve walked into that burning house to get to you if I thought there was even a one percent chance you were still alive.”

He watched the fear swirl in her eyes, but he also saw trust. In him.

“Okay,” she said, voice shaky. “But if we burst into flames, don’t blame me.”

Fuck, he loved this woman. He had no idea what had happened in that house—it was bad, whatever it was. But somehow, she’d managed to escape. She was bleeding, obviously traumatized, but alive. And still able to make a joke.

“At least this didn’t happen while we were on a date,” he replied. He wasn’t really in the mood to joke back, but if she could, then he’d follow her lead.

She snorted, and the sound was so Finley, something that had tightened within Brock finally eased.

Situating himself on her right side, with Tal in front of them and Raid at their backs, Brock held Finley close as they quickly walked past the side of the house that was now simply smoking instead of engulfed in flames.

He felt Finley sigh in relief as they made it through the gate. Brock steered her toward an ambulance that was sitting behind the firetrucks.

“Finley, you all right?” Simon asked as he approached.

“I’m alive,” she told him with a weak smile.

“I’m gonna need to know—”

Brock cut him off. “Not now,” he said firmly. “She’s bleeding. And was doused with gas.”

“Fuck. Okay,” Simon agreed quickly. “But…is there anyone else in the house?” he asked.

Finley’s steps faltered, and Brock wanted to punch the police chief for upsetting her. He felt the love of his life straighten her spine.

“Hillary. Last I saw her, she was in the kitchen.”

“Okay, thanks. I’ll be by the clinic to talk after Doc Snow takes a look at you.”

“We might be headed to Roanoke,” Brock warned.

“No,” Finley said. “I don’t want to go to the hospital.”

“But the baby…” Brock said gently.

“Baby?!” Raid and Tal said at the same time.

“Guess it’s not a secret anymore, huh?” Finley said dryly. Then she sighed. “If Doc Snow thinks I need to go, for the baby’s sake, I will. But I’m fine.”

Brock could live with that. “All right. Come on, I’ll help you up into the back,” he said as they neared the ambulance.

Within a minute, she was sitting on the stretcher in the back of the well-lit truck and the paramedics were bustling around her. Brock turned to Tal and Raid. “Thanks for being here.”

“Of course. The others are on their way,” Tal said. “They’re gonna be pissed they weren’t here.”

Brock glanced at his watch, surprised to see that not even fifteen minutes had gone by since they’d arrived at the fully engulfed house.

“I didn’t have time to call Ethan until after we found Finley,” Raiden apologized.

“It’s fine. But maybe you can tell them we’re on our way to the clinic?”

“Will do,” Raid said.

“I’ll let you know what they find in the house,” Tal said.

“Appreciate it. Finley’s gonna be locked down until I know everyone even remotely connected to that fucking bitch is behind bars,” Brock said in a low, harsh tone.

“Don’t blame you,” Raiden said.

“You’ll call and tell us what happened after she talks to Simon?” Tal asked.

Brock nodded, dreading hearing the story. It was bad enough just imagining what she might’ve gone through. Hearing her talk about it firsthand might break him.

He climbed into the back of the ambulance. He didn’t give the paramedics a chance to tell him he wasn’t allowed. He wasn’t letting Finley out of his sight. Probably not for a damn long time.

“You tell them you’re pregnant?” he asked Finley gently as a medic started an IV in her arm.

“Yes,” she said softly, one hand going to her belly protectively.

“Don’t worry, we’ll get her hooked up to a monitor here in a second.”

“We good to go?” another paramedic asked from outside the vehicle.

“Yeah, let’s roll.”

When it was just the three of them in the back of the ambulance, the paramedic asked, “How far along are you?”

“I’m not really sure, but at max, eight weeks,” Finley said softly.

“Ah. It might be too early to hear your baby’s heartbeat if you’re less than six weeks along, but let’s check it out.”

Brock held his breath as the paramedic lifted Finley’s shirt and held a wand to her stomach.

At first, nothing happened as he moved the wand around a bit. But then a soft thump thump thump came through the speakers of the machine behind him.

Brock froze. The thought of Finley being pregnant had been exciting. But this was the first time it truly, fully sank in. The fast-beating heart was his child. Their child.

Finley closed her eyes and sighed.

“Fin?” he asked.

“I was so scared,” she whispered as the paramedic turned to put the equipment away.

“I’m incredibly proud of you,” Brock whispered, leaning over her. He was sitting on a bench seat next to the stretcher and he took hold of her hand.

“I didn’t do anything. All I could do was sit there and pray she didn’t shoot me,” Finley said, the agony clear in her voice.

“You got away,” he murmured.

“Only because she fucked up. I didn’t do anything to protect our baby! I should’ve fought harder. Shouldn’t have gotten out of the car… I should’ve done something!”

“Shhh,” Brock soothed. “You’re safe. Our baby’s safe. If anyone is to blame, it’s me. I shouldn’t have waited so long. I knew when you didn’t come home in fifteen minutes something was wrong, but I tried to convince myself you were just chatting with your client. And when you didn’t answer your phone, I should’ve done something right then.”

Finley shook her head. “No, it wasn’t your fault.”

“And it wasn’t yours either,” Brock said firmly. He wasn’t ever going to forgive himself for not acting sooner, but he’d do whatever it took for Finley to let go of any blame or regret she had about what happened.

Tears leaked from her eyes as she cried. Brock rested his cheek on her belly as he gripped her hand firmly. He needed to be close to her. To their baby. And while he obviously couldn’t hear or feel their Little Bean, he felt closer to him or her like this.

The drive to the clinic didn’t take long and before he was ready, he was sitting up and letting go of Finley’s hand. Doc Snow was waiting for them, thank God, and he quickly and efficiently got Finley settled into one of the rooms.

He didn’t even try to tell Brock to wait outside, which was a good thing, because there was no way he was leaving her.

To make sure things were all right with their baby, he did a transvaginal ultrasound, and the thumping of their baby’s heartbeat was even clearer and louder than it was in the ambulance as it filled the room.

“Normal,” the doctor said with a small smile. “Your baby’s just fine.”

Brock closed his eyes in relief.

“Now, will you please let me take care of those cuts?” he asked with a grin.

Brock was nodding even before Finley. She’d refused to let him do anything about the multitude of cuts on her body until he’d checked out their baby.

There were three cuts that needed a couple of stitches, including the one on her calf from breaking the window with her foot, and they were taken care of quickly and with a minimum of fuss. She still smelled like gasoline, but the dousing at the scene had done a decent job of rinsing her skin of the caustic liquid.

“You can shower when you get home, but you need to cover those stitches. Just put a piece of plastic over them and tape it down. Remove the plastic when you’re done so the wounds can breathe. Take it easy—meaning, stay off your feet. I don’t think your baby is in any danger, but you just went through something extremely traumatic, and your blood pressure needs time to come down and stress isn’t good for pregnant mommies. Or daddies,” he added with a look at Brock.

“She’ll take it easy,” he vowed.

Finley didn’t laugh. Or even smile. Brock hated to see her so upset. He’d hoped once she found out from the doc that their baby was okay, she’d breathe easier, but that hadn’t been the case. She was most likely thinking about her upcoming interview with the chief. And having to recount everything that had happened to her.

“Simon’s here,” Doc Snow said. “You want me to send him in?”

When Finley tensed, Brock knew his thoughts were correct. He wanted to tell the police chief to wait. That Finley needed some time to come to terms with everything that happened, but that wasn’t the right course of action. She needed to get it out, once and for all, then they could move on. If she needed counseling, he’d make sure she got it. But waiting to talk about Hillary fucking Kendall wasn’t the right thing for her.

Brock nodded at the doctor when Finley didn’t look up from her hands clasped in her lap. She’d exchanged Raid’s shirt for a hospital gown. He couldn’t wait to get her home, in bed, and in one of his shirts.

The doctor left and Simon entered. He pulled up a chair next to Finley’s bed. Brock reached for one of her hands and clasped it tightly.

“Would you feel better if I left?” he forced himself to ask. He didn’t want to leave her. No way in hell. But he’d do whatever it took to make this easier on Fin.

“No!” she exclaimed almost frantically. “Don’t leave.”

“Shhh,” Brock soothed. “If you want me to stay, I’m staying.”

She nodded firmly.

Brock lifted their clasped hands to his mouth and kissed her fingers reverently.

“Start anywhere that feels right,” Simon said as he pulled out his phone, set it up on a small table next to the bed where it would record video and audio of Finley, and hit record.

She took a deep breath, then spoke.