Page 113 of Fatal Strike
At the stairway, he hoisted Dylan into his arms and started the descent. Flames lapped at his head and trailed down his back. For certain, the steps wouldn’t hold his weight. He placed a foot on brittle wood and stepped through it and on through another and another while holding on to Dylan.
Hands reached for him. “We got you, sir.” A firefighter took Dylan.
Jon coughed and sputtered. He thought his lungs would burst. On safe ground, another firefighter and Everson escortedhim to an awaiting paramedic. Leah rushed forward, yanking off her oxygen mask. Her gaze examined every inch of him.
“I’m all right,” he said between burning breaths. Silvia, Rachel, and Elena breathed through oxygen masks while staring at the paramedics treating Dylan. Their faces were streaked black with soot.
“Dr. Rios, his wife, and Warren responsible for this?” Jon bent to his knees to breathe.
Leah nodded. “They left a few minutes before you showed up.”
“I passed a white cargo van on the road.” Jon coughed hard again. He straightened and shrugged off a paramedic’s attempt to give him oxygen while another wanted to examine his burns. Instead, Jon grabbed a bottle of water and his dirty shirt from Leah. “Where were they headed?” His voice held the raspy hoarseness of smoke inhalation.
Everson had pulled out his phone. “I’ll check to see if a van’s been reported missing.” Within moments, Everson had a hit.
“It’s heading north on I-45,” Everson said. He gave orders for his officers to pursue the vehicle.
Jon moved toward the car. He gulped more water. “Are you coming with me?”
She raced ahead of him with two more bottles of water in her hands. “I’m driving. Got the keys?”
He patted his pocket and tossed them to her.
“I’m behind you,” Everson called.
Jon’s raw skin stung as though the flames still licked at his flesh.
“You look awful,” she said while opening the car door. “Sure you want to do this?”
“Don’t even go there.”
She roared the engine to life and whipped the car around, throwing sand and dirt in their wake. Within seconds, they were on Seawall, heading toward the Galveston bridge. “Thank God you’re okay.”
“Be careful what you say, or I might think you really believe that.” He coughed, his lungs threatening to explode.
“I think I do.” She pressed the gas pedal. “Thought I’d lost you.”
“Disappointed?”
“I’d like to punch you.” She coughed and reached for water. “But you’re in bad shape.”
“Take a look in the mirror.”
“Jon, you overcame your fear of fire.”
He leaned over, fighting the agony in his chest. “I wasn’t alone. Do I have any hair left?”
“Patches, but it will grow back. Not sure about the condition of your shoulders and back.”
His lungs felt like a torch had ignited them. “Did you get anything from Livingston or the women?”
“I heard all we need,” Leah said. “Dylan was involved with the prescription drugs but no murders. Warren blackmailed him.”
Jon had questions, but he needed to give his throat a break.
“There’s a whole lot more we don’t know,” she said. “If Dylan survives, we’ll have a better understanding of the drug operation and what Ross Kempler found.” She shot him a quick look. “Conversation’s over. Close your eyes until we catch up.”
“Fat chance.”
