“I know,” I murmur, watching for her vet clinic’s sign. We’re getting close. “The thing is, I don’t want to push him so hard I break him.”
Finally, we pull into the parking lot at The Menagerie.
But something isn’t right.
There’s an old boarded-up ice cream shop next to the clinic, empty, and—
Oh, God.
It’s billowing smoke.
Thick plumes jet out of the side window, gathering in the narrow alley between the buildings and arcing toward the sky, flames leaping out of the open windows a second later.
Jets that lash out at the clinic.
And catch on the wood eaves lining the overhanging roof.
Ember lets out a heartbreaking squeal, already scrambling for the door before I can even stop the car. “The animals!”
Oh my God.
Oh my God, there are live animals inside...and the clinic’s catching fire.
Heart in my throat, sickness in my belly, I fly out after her, already reaching for my phone.
“Don’t rush in!” I cry, though there’s no stopping her as she bolts for the front door, ripping her keys out of her pocket.
We need help.
And I know the only man to call.
I’m hitting Blake’s contact and I can’t breathe for the three rings it takes him to pick up with a lazy, drawling, “Hey, sweetheart.”
“Blake?” I gasp, though it comes out almost as more of a whimper. “Help—help, you’ve got to hurry. The Menagerie is on fire.”
The last time I watched Blake Silverton put out a fire, I ended up trying to stay out of the way even though I wanted nothing more than to help.
This time, I wind up on the rescue crew.
Because there were over two dozen animals inside the clinic, and Ember couldn’t wait.
I couldn’t wait, either.
So we formed a relay, ferrying the cages out to my car, and working carefully between us to lift and move a ginormous St. Bernard who was too drugged and injured to walk after he’d been in a car accident. The poor thing whimpered as we eased him along, and I made sure to turn the car heater on as high as it would go before leaving him bedded down on a spare blanket in the passenger seat.
My car is full of grunting, mewing, and squawking in no time.
And my arms are full of wriggling Labrador. There’s no more room in my car, and someone’s got to hold this chocolate-colored monster while Blake and his crew hose down the clinic and the shop next to it.
At least it wasn’t as bad as the fabric place; we called it in just in time. The damage to The Menagerie looks pretty minor.
But they had to break the doors on the vacant ice cream shop to get inside with a fire hose, and the smoke is gone except for a heavy, burning, chemical scent.
Not good.
Not at all.
I don’t think fires normally smell like chemicals.
I can’t help noticing how grim Blake looks, marshaling Justin and Rich to do a few more runs with their gear to make sure they haven’t missed anything.
He looks so troubled, even if he’s standing tall and strong in those fireman’s coveralls, soot streaked down one angular, chiseled cheek.
I so wish I could go to him.
But it’s me, the chocolate lab, and my freezing cheeks. The dog keeps licking me and then leaving it to turn into frost against my skin.
Ember’s leaning hard on her husband—Doc.
He showed up even before Blake, rushing inside to save what he could, dirt streaked up and down his normally immaculate button-down. The back of his truck is full of animal carriers and blankets, too.
It took all four of us to get every pet to safety while Justin and Rich started on the flames, but at least we got them all out before they could suffer from the smoke.
Doc sighs, his lips thinning.
“We’ll start looking for a new place in the morning, Firefly,” he tells Ember.
Her eyes widen, and she lifts her head, looking up at him.
“You mean we’re...we’re abandoning The Menagerie?” she asks, her voice soft, small, destroyed.
“Not abandoning,” Doc growls, his emerald-green eyes flashing behind his glasses. “Making do while it gets fixed.”
My heart almost dies.
The man has such a reputation around town for being cold, untouchable, those green eyes flinty and a little unnerving.
But when he looks at Ember, they go so warm. There’s so much love in the way he holds her, the way he tucks her hair back, the way his voice softens just for her.
Even when they’re sad, they have it all.
A deep, secret part of me aches for someone to look at me that way.
Make that a very specific someone.
Doc half-smiles, tired and distracted. “Even if the damage was modest, we can’t keep sick animals here for now. There’ll be residual smoke and carcinogens, plus the reconstruction noise and sawdust won’t help, either. So we’ll find somewhere temporary that’s safe for them—and us—until we’re done rebuilding. It won’t take long. Promise.”
Her brilliant smile of relief is contagious. I find myself smiling, too, as she lays her head against his arm.
“I’m glad, Gray.” She squeezes his arm then, looking up at him in concern. “But are you all right? Does this bring back...you know, the memories? The lab fire?”
Doc’s face creases, and he bows his head, a flicker of pain crossing his features. He leans in and mutters something I can’t hear.
I feel weird.
Like maybe I shouldn’t be watching something this intimate.
It’s too private. I’m just an outsider here, not privy to all their pains and histories. I’m just standing here awkwardly holding an upset, nervous dog, shut out on the fringes.
I look away, glancing over the rows of pet carriers lining the back of Doc’s truck, full of angry cats, dogs, birds, even one very upset-looking pot-bellied pig.
It’s the pig’s carrier that catches my attention.
Because I think there’s a black envelope tucked into the handle of it.
Frowning, I drift closer and take the opportunity to ease my aching arms by setting the lab down in a free space in the back of the truck, right on top of a tarp so the frigid metal won’t hurt his paws. While the dog spins around in agitated circles and I try to calm him with scratches behind the ears, I brace my other hand against the edge of the truck bed and peer in for a closer look.
It’s an envelope, all right.
“Blake?” I call, looking over my shoulder.
He takes a second to break from his trance, staring up at the building with his mouth set in a grim, forbidding line. Then he looks at me, dark-blue eyes questioning, and I toss my head a little, beckoning him.
He trudges over. “What’s up, Peace? You didn’t get hurt, did you?”
“Just a little dog spit frostbite,” I say with a tired smile, nodding my chin toward the pig’s carrier. “That envelope there...that’s not normal, is it?”
His face goes dark, almost wary. He leans in to tug it free from under the carrier’s handle. It’s stuck on surprisingly hard, and he has to yank a few times before it rips loose.
He flicks the flap with his thumb and spills a folded sheet of paper into his palm.
Blue.
Just like the last note he showed me.
Oh, no.