lunged forward. His injured leg buckled on the soft
sand. He fell to his knees, and the night exploded in stars and sparks and
pain.
Breathe. Crawl.
He couldn’t see, he couldn’t hear the guy. The guy who jumped into
the fire . But he could smell him burn. The stench seared his nostrils and
the back of his throat like swallowed acid.
He lurched to his feet, his heart drumming in his ears. Heat beat on
his exposed face and hands as he ran toward the bonfire, close enough to
recognize the heap on the ground as a body, a woman’s naked body fallen
forward on the sand, her skin orange in the lurid light. The image of
her—round, glowing, naked—burned his retinas.
His heart stopped.
Maggie .
53
Five
CALEB PLUNGED TOWARD THE FIRE.
Maggie.
He reached for her. Heat scorched his hands and face. Pain seared
his knee. Grabbing her bare ankle, he dragged her away from the hungry
flames.
Her hair smoldered. Shit .
He hauled her into his arms. Her head lolled against his shoulder. He
hoped like hell she hadn’t broken her neck. In the bright moonlight, she
looked like the phantom of the frigging opera, half of her face a silver
mask, the other half blackened with blood.
Staggering to his feet, Caleb ran with her toward the water, pain
stabbing with every step. It didn’t matter, not with Maggie solid and
warm in his arms. Warm and . . . alive? He fumbled for a pulse. There,
just there beneath her jaw, he felt her life flicker against his fingertips.
Thank you, Jesus .
The tide was out. He lowered her to the hard, damp sand, a sound
escaping his clenched teeth as his bad leg took their combined weight.
Methodically, he smothered the sparks in her hair with his hands. The
small pricks burned his palms.
Airway? Clear .
Breathing ragged .
Circulation . . . The gash above her left eyebrow opened like a sullen
mouth. The blood didn’t bother him. Head wounds always bled. But her
loss of consciousness worried him. That bastard must have hit her hard.
He stripped off his jacket to wrap around her. The sea whispered
across the sand, soaking his pant legs, rushing over her bare white toes
and calves. Caleb swore.
54
But the cold water revived her. She moaned.
“It’s okay,” he reassured her, even though it wasn’t, even though she
was naked and bleeding and whoever the fuck did this had jumped into
the fire. “You’re okay.”
He reached for his cell phone.
She bolted upright and rolled away from him toward the fire.
“Hey!”
He threw himself on top of her before she burned herself. She fought
him like a wild thing in a trap, writhing and clawing under him. He
restrained her with his weight, trying not to squash her, trying not to hurt
her, trying to maintain calm.
“Easy,” he panted in her ear. “It’s me. It’s Caleb. Just take it easy.”
She turned her head and bit him.
Jesus .
He clamped her jaw in his hand and squeezed. Not hard enough to
bruise—he hoped—but hard enough to get her attention.
“Knock it off,” he ordered.
And just like that, the fight went out of her. She lay under him, stiff
as a ten-dollar whore. As a corpse. Fresh blood oozed from the gash on
her forehead.
“Maggie—”
“Fire.” She squeezed the word through her teeth. “In . . . the fire.”
He’d thought she had missed her assailant’s dramatic leap into the
blaze. But maybe not. Maybe she was even worried about the guy.
Doubt wriggled, a nasty worm under the anger and the fear. She was
naked. Maybe
55
“I’m going to look,” Caleb said. “But you have to stay here.”
She nodded—as much of a nod as she could manage with his hand
still gripping her face.
Releasing her, he limped up the beach to assess the blaze. It shot into
the dark night like a beacon, ten feet high and easily six feet across,
raging on the edge of control. He was surprised nobody had called the fire
department yet. Volunteers lived for shit like
sand. He fell to his knees, and the night exploded in stars and sparks and
pain.
Breathe. Crawl.
He couldn’t see, he couldn’t hear the guy. The guy who jumped into
the fire . But he could smell him burn. The stench seared his nostrils and
the back of his throat like swallowed acid.
He lurched to his feet, his heart drumming in his ears. Heat beat on
his exposed face and hands as he ran toward the bonfire, close enough to
recognize the heap on the ground as a body, a woman’s naked body fallen
forward on the sand, her skin orange in the lurid light. The image of
her—round, glowing, naked—burned his retinas.
His heart stopped.
Maggie .
53
Five
CALEB PLUNGED TOWARD THE FIRE.
Maggie.
He reached for her. Heat scorched his hands and face. Pain seared
his knee. Grabbing her bare ankle, he dragged her away from the hungry
flames.
Her hair smoldered. Shit .
He hauled her into his arms. Her head lolled against his shoulder. He
hoped like hell she hadn’t broken her neck. In the bright moonlight, she
looked like the phantom of the frigging opera, half of her face a silver
mask, the other half blackened with blood.
Staggering to his feet, Caleb ran with her toward the water, pain
stabbing with every step. It didn’t matter, not with Maggie solid and
warm in his arms. Warm and . . . alive? He fumbled for a pulse. There,
just there beneath her jaw, he felt her life flicker against his fingertips.
Thank you, Jesus .
The tide was out. He lowered her to the hard, damp sand, a sound
escaping his clenched teeth as his bad leg took their combined weight.
Methodically, he smothered the sparks in her hair with his hands. The
small pricks burned his palms.
Airway? Clear .
Breathing ragged .
Circulation . . . The gash above her left eyebrow opened like a sullen
mouth. The blood didn’t bother him. Head wounds always bled. But her
loss of consciousness worried him. That bastard must have hit her hard.
He stripped off his jacket to wrap around her. The sea whispered
across the sand, soaking his pant legs, rushing over her bare white toes
and calves. Caleb swore.
54
But the cold water revived her. She moaned.
“It’s okay,” he reassured her, even though it wasn’t, even though she
was naked and bleeding and whoever the fuck did this had jumped into
the fire. “You’re okay.”
He reached for his cell phone.
She bolted upright and rolled away from him toward the fire.
“Hey!”
He threw himself on top of her before she burned herself. She fought
him like a wild thing in a trap, writhing and clawing under him. He
restrained her with his weight, trying not to squash her, trying not to hurt
her, trying to maintain calm.
“Easy,” he panted in her ear. “It’s me. It’s Caleb. Just take it easy.”
She turned her head and bit him.
Jesus .
He clamped her jaw in his hand and squeezed. Not hard enough to
bruise—he hoped—but hard enough to get her attention.
“Knock it off,” he ordered.
And just like that, the fight went out of her. She lay under him, stiff
as a ten-dollar whore. As a corpse. Fresh blood oozed from the gash on
her forehead.
“Maggie—”
“Fire.” She squeezed the word through her teeth. “In . . . the fire.”
He’d thought she had missed her assailant’s dramatic leap into the
blaze. But maybe not. Maybe she was even worried about the guy.
Doubt wriggled, a nasty worm under the anger and the fear. She was
naked. Maybe
55
“I’m going to look,” Caleb said. “But you have to stay here.”
She nodded—as much of a nod as she could manage with his hand
still gripping her face.
Releasing her, he limped up the beach to assess the blaze. It shot into
the dark night like a beacon, ten feet high and easily six feet across,
raging on the edge of control. He was surprised nobody had called the fire
department yet. Volunteers lived for shit like
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