Hidden in a Whisper (41 page)

Braeden looked at his watch. “That's hours away.”

“Maybe lightning did strike,” the marshal said, moving toward the door. “Whatever the reason, I smell smoke.”

Braeden moved to follow the marshal into the hallway when the lights flickered and then went off. “What's going on?” he muttered.

“Storm must have blown the lines down,” the marshal called out. He struck a match against the wall and looked to Braeden for help.

“You have any candles or maybe a kerosene lamp?”

“We have them downstairs, but if there is a fire, we've no time to be running all over the place. Tomas, you go downstairs and get us a couple of lamps out of the storage room. If you cooperate with us now, maybe the marshal can see to reducing the charges against you.”

Tomas looked at Braeden hopefully before tearing off in the direction of the stairs.

The match burned out and the marshal quickly lit another one.

“You take the west side and I'll take the east,” he told Braeden. “We'll get the folks to safety and then figure out what to do with these two.”

“It's too soon,” Reg muttered over and over. He could smell the smoke now and felt his heart racing out of control. His plans had been altered and someone had taken matters into their own hands.

Pushing his way into the hall, Reginald was unprepared when Braeden slammed him against the wall, growling low and refusing to release him even as he struggled. “Tell me where she is!” Parker demanded.

Reg shook his head. “She's mine. She doesn't love you anymore. I told her you'd left with Ivy. I told her you were already married. She never wants to see you again.” Reg laughed at the look on Braeden's face. Doubt mingled with fear as Braeden realized the potential such statements could have had on the already defeated Rachel.

“Senor Parker!” Tomas called as he brought the lamps. “There is a fire downstairs in the theatre. The stage curtains are already burning.” “That's under the west side rooms,” the marshal called. “Come on, Parker, we have to get these people to safety.”

Braeden glared at Reginald with contempt, then slowly eased his grip on Reg's shirt. Without a word, he turned and ran after the marshal. What followed next was like a macabre carnival. People poured from every corner of the second floor. Some were already in their bedclothes, others struggled to dress as they made their way to the stairs. A few of the older women sobbed fearfully, while some were in hysterics. Children, frantic in the wake of their disturbed sleep, seemed to sense the urgency and fear of their parents. This caused them to begin crying as they clung tightly to hands, arms, or even legs. Whatever they could manage to hold on to became their lifeline.

Reg stood rather dumbfounded for several moments as people streamed by him, pushing and shoving, all trying to reach the stairs first. He wondered if the fire would be a success, and even though he wasn't responsible for the blaze, he knew he had completed his duty and could go back home.

Thinking only of leaving the hotel and retrieving Rachel, Reg systematically returned to his room, took up his luggage, and made his way to join the hysterical crowd.

Braeden choked on the thick black smoke. Because the hotel lobby was open to the second floor, smoke had no trouble pouring down the hallways and up into the second story. He took out his bandana and tied it around his nose and mouth, but it did little good. Pounding on each chamber door until someone came to answer it, Braeden felt light-headed from the lack of oxygen. He had to get the people to safety, but his mind kept going over and over the words Worthington had just told him.

“She doesn't love you anymore. I told her you'd left with Ivy. I told her you were already married. She never wants to see you again.”

Braeden shook his head. He wouldn't believe it was true. God wouldn't let it be true.

  
TWENTY-SEVEN
  

BRAEDEN COULD BARELY MAKE OUT the image of Reginald Worthington as he moved toward the staircase. Without thought to anyone else or even his own safety, Braeden pushed through the crowd and grabbed the chef by the back of his coat. Turning him around rather quickly, Braeden drew on every bit of his self-control to keep from hitting the man.

“You're coming with me, Worthington,” he said angrily. Dragging Reg down the stairs with him, Braeden was surprised when Tomas appeared at the bottom. “You come with me as well,” he told the boy, and Tomas nodded and followed Braeden outside.

Half dragging, half pushing, Braeden forced Worthington to the stables and instructed Tomas to get him a length of rope. “I don't want to worry about either one of you while I'm trying to ensure the safety of our guests,” he said. Tying Reg and Tomas together, then securing them to one of the stall posts, Braeden left them and returned to the hotel.

Acrid smoke was now drifting from the open door, and as Braeden entered the lobby, he felt the air thicken and sting his nose and throat. Pulling his bandana close around his mouth, Braeden made his way upstairs to double-check for any guest who might not have found their way downstairs. He grabbed a lamp someone had thought to leave at the top of the stairs and hurriedly passed in and out of every room. Relief washed over him when he found the second floor completely deserted.

Making his way to the back stairs, Braeden felt a rush of panic. The staircase was engulfed in flames. The fire greedily ate at everything in its path, the carpet on the stairway appearing to be a favorite meal. Realizing he couldn't use the stairs for his escape, Braeden hurried back down the long, carpeted eastern corridor. The fire seemed to have started on the west side, which would suffer the most damage. He could only pray that the east side would remain intact long enough for his escape. Running now to rid his lungs of the caustic fumes, Braeden nearly fell headlong into the figure of a woman. He took hold of her arms and started to comment on getting her to safety when the glow of the fire behind him made it easy to see her features.

“Ivy?” He pushed her toward the stairs, hoping to remove them both out of harm's way. “You need to get out of here. The whole place is about to go up.”

“Oh, Braeden, you mustn't be mad at me,” she said sweetly. She clung to his arm and didn't seem to notice that he had nearly lifted her off the stairs as he took them two at a time.

“I don't have time to worry about being mad at you,” he said, grimacing as they hit the ground floor. “Look, you go on outside, I need to search the place and make certain no one else is inside.” He pushed her toward the open front doors.

“No! You can't go back inside,” she protested. “My mother did that. My father too. You don't understand. I did what I had to do.”

Braeden shook his head and took the one remaining lamp on the front registry desk. “What are you talking about?”

“My parents died,” Ivy said in absolute anguish. “I didn't mean for them to die.” She wrapped her arms around Braeden's and pulled. “You believe me, don't you? Auntie didn't believe me, but it's true.” She pulled at his arm. “You have to come with me. You'll die if you don't.”

“People will die if they're still inside,” Braeden told her. “I'm going to make a quick check.”

“No one's in there. I saw them all leave. I only came back inside to find you. You are free now. Casa Grande won't keep us from marrying. There will be nothing here for you, and you can take me with you to Chicago.”

“You're insane, Ivy,” he said, trying to push her away. The lamp nearly fell from his hands as she fought him.

“I had to do it. I know it was wrong, but by destroying this place, you would have no other reason to stay.”

He stopped at this, and in spite of the building smoke and growing fire, Braeden simply stared at her for a moment. “You set this fire.” It was a statement more than a question, and when Ivy nodded, he felt the overwhelming urge to slap her. He didn't, however. “Get out of here, Ivy. I can't help you now.”

“I know about fires,” she said, refusing to drop her hold on his arm. “My parents died in a fire. They shouldn't have—I didn't mean for them to, but they went back inside. You have to come outside with me.” She actually managed to drag him a few steps toward the front door.

“Are you saying you set the fire that killed your parents?” he asked, almost horrified to know the answer. He coughed as his lungs fought to exhale the smoke. They couldn't remain in the resort for much longer.

She nodded, then threw him a pleading look. “Aunt Esmeralda didn't understand, but she's dead now. She can't hurt me. The secret is safe with us.”

Braeden's mind reeled from the information. Then a sickening thought came to his mind. Esmeralda had died from a fall down the stairs. He knew because he'd asked. The doctor had been uncertain if the old woman had suffered some sort of seizure prior to the fall but had promised to do a posthumous examination.

For a moment, the smoke seemed to lessen and Braeden actually thought perhaps the fire was playing itself out. But as the wind blew in from the open door, he realized the reason. Ivy pulled at his arm.

“We have to hurry, look behind you!”

Looking down the hall, Braeden saw the unmistakable glow of flames. Casa Grande would soon lay in ashes.

Realizing there was no more time to waste, he pushed Ivy toward the door, acting as if they were both going to exit the lobby. As soon as Ivy crossed the threshold, however, Braeden ripped away from her hold and marched back into the hotel, heading straight for the dining room. He'd just entered the silent room when Ivy caught up with him.

“No, Braeden!” she screamed, coming after him in a fierce lunge.

Unprepared for this, Braeden dropped the lamp, spilling the kerosene. Flames leapt across the wooden floor. With their exit to the lobby cut off, Braeden pulled Ivy into the dining room just as a woman's screams sounded.

“We'll have to go out the side exit,” he told Ivy. He would have just as soon left her to suffer on her own, but he couldn't do such an abominable thing with a clear conscience. God would deal with Ivy Brooks. It wasn't up to Braeden to mete out her punishment.

The scream came again, and this time Braeden was certain it came from the kitchen. Pushing Ivy forward, they entered the kitchen and nearly fell back from the heat of the fire. Apparently the flames had crossed over from the theatre and ignited the back of the kitchen—at least from what Braeden surmised.

“Help me!” a woman cried out.

Braeden made out the figure of Gwen Carson. She was stuck in a small alcove of the kitchen. Directly behind her and in front of her the flames engulfed the walls, counters, and everything else in its wake.

“Gwen, you'll have to jump through the fire.”

“I can't!” she screamed. “I can't. I fell, and I think my leg is broken.” Ivy stood mesmerized as Braeden pulled off his coat. “Get out of here, Ivy. I can't help you both at the same time.”

Still she refused to move, but Braeden was more concerned for Gwen. Pulling his coat over his head, Braeden made a mad run at the growing wall of flames. Ivy screamed from somewhere across the fiery wall, but he was unharmed as he came face-to-face with Gwen.

He assessed the situation quickly as a huge piece of the back wall gave way. Looking through the flames to where Ivy stood, Braeden was mortified to see that the fire had managed to surround her and cut off her escape. There wasn't much time left. They were all going to die if he didn't think of something fast.

The heat from the fire made his skin tingle and the air rapidly grew much too hot to breathe.
God help me
, he prayed, frantic to think of some way to help them survive the situation. Just then he remembered the storage room. There was a conveyance of rollers to slide goods into the room from the delivery platform window. That receiving window would be their means of escape!

“Ivy, you'll have to come this way. I'm going to get Gwen into the storage room. We can escape through the window.”