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“Oh, God.” Avalon’s terrified voice. She pushed him onward. “Get away from the building! Get away!”
He almost fell, but her steely grip held him up. They tumbled forward. Get away. Get away.
Detective Cunningham appeared in his path. Gun drawn. “What the hell is happening?”
“Handcuff keys!” Avalon cried out. She coughed. Choked. “They’re…universal. Give them to us, now!”
His gun wavered. But then he hurried forward.
Beau spun around. Faced the fire. Faced the hell that was LeBlanc’s. How many times could one place burn? Fuck.
He still didn’t feel the pain from his injuries, and he knew that wasn’t good. How many times had he been stabbed?
“That’s blood.” Avalon’s broken voice. “Beau…?”
He felt the cuffs give way. His hands were free. He stared into the fire. The hole on the side of the building that had been made courtesy of Avalon and the Jag. Fire and smoke poured from the hole.
More of the wall tumbled down as he watched. And then—a firefighter leapt out of the flames. But he wasn’t running for Beau. His hands were extended toward Avalon. One hand gripped a knife.
No.
Beau’s now free right hand grabbed the gun that Detective Cunningham had just holstered. He yanked it out of the holster. Aimed.
Fired.
One.
Two.
Three.
Four…
Four fast blasts. The firefighter went down.
There were yells. Shouts. Screams. No, not screams. Those were the wails of sirens.
Cunningham snatched the gun from Beau. The detective ran for the fallen firefighter. The man wasn’t moving.
Beau was still on his knees, but even that felt like an effort. He wasn’t so numb any longer. Despite the fire raging, cold crept through his veins. “That’s…killer,” Beau managed.
Cunningham ripped off the firefighter’s helmet and mask.
“Lieutenant…Wesley Vaughn,” Beau muttered.
Hero.
Killer.
Dead.
Beau had just made sure of it. One more thing he needed to make sure of? His head turned toward Avalon. Alive. Safe.
That was what mattered.
He smiled at her, then pitched forward into the darkness.
Chapter Twenty-Three
