Luxury Model Wife (26 page)

“
Victoria
.”

Suddenly, she was a child again, transported to the inside of her closet.

Her father’s hand scrabbled around the narrow space and he called her name in an eerie singsong.

At first, he’d play and cajole to draw her out, as if she’d forgotten what he’d done to her the last time she’d trusted him.

When she wouldn’t answer, he’d roar, “VICTORIA, YOU LITTLE WHORE. I SAID COME OUT. NOW.”

His fist pummeled the door molding to splinters while he raged. “I’M GIVING YOU ONE LAST CHANCE TO COME OUT ON YOUR OWN.”

Victoria trembled beneath a pile of clothes on the floor, so scared that she wet her panties. The urine soaked through her underwear and puddled onto the floor beneath her slender legs.

But Victoria dared not move, dared not breathe. Maybe the monster would forget she was there and go away.

Victoria couldn’t move from the warehouse floor except to raise her head. She blinked to reorient herself. Her breathing continued to labor. Tremendous sounds of something crashing against the building filled the air, and water sprayed in huge arcs above her. Steam sizzled as the water descended. She coughed, and then became overwhelmed by wracking heaves.

“Get me out.” Slater’s grip nearly crushed her wrist bones.

Victoria couldn’t speak, so she rapped twice on his arm with her free hand in acknowledgement. She slid her arm beneath his armpit, brought herself to her knees, and hoisted him to sitting position. She pulled with all of her fading strength to take him to safety, but something held his legs fast.

She struggled and coughed again. Death hung over her like the sword of Damocles and would cut her down if she didn’t get out of this burning building
right now
.

“Victoria.” Steve’s voice was the most wonderful sound she’d ever heard.

She looked up, trying to see, but found only darkness. Flames and heat grew closer.

With supreme effort, she opened her mouth and emitted a scream. “Here.”

Pain clawed the inside of her throat and raked her lungs, but she ignored it and shouted again. “I’m here.”

She yanked Slater’s arm but he wouldn’t budge. Something had him pinned to the floor. “Let go…my wrist.” Her words were a rasp.

To her surprise, Slater obliged. Whether he had passed out, or not, she couldn’t be sure. She used her free hand to explore. Maybe she could still free him from the obstacle.

Victoria fought to dislodge his legs, but it was no use. Something heavy held him down. “Get…help,” she told him.

The stream of sunlight had faded to black and she could no longer see the exit. Panic threatened to overtake her, but she fought off tears of frustration.

“Fire department!” someone shouted close enough for her to hear. “Call out!”

She could almost make out two human shapes, and she forced another word from her ravaged throat. “Help.”

She bolstered herself on the floor.

One knee moved.

She dragged the other forward.

Suddenly, Slater grabbed her ankle. Victoria tried to break free, but the strength had drained from her body.

I’m like Strawberry Shortcake
.
A rag doll
.

Where were those lights coming from?

She remembered the police car lights shining outside her bedroom window the night her father was hauled away. Afterward, a kind voice had called to her through the closet door and the officer brought her to safety.

Though oblivion tried to claim her, Victoria fought to free herself from Slater’s death hold. Using her opposite foot, she brought her heel down on his grip with all the strength she could muster. He choked out muffled screams, but let her go.

She tried to explain that the firefighters were looking for them and would save them. All she could manage was, “Soon.”

Shouts penetrated the smoke and the noise. “Victoria. I’m here. Follow the sound of my voice.”

She murmured his name. “Steve.”

Victoria shimmied toward the sound of Steve calling and the whir of flashing red lights ahead.

Slater wheezed behind her, but she heard the word he said: “Slut.”

There was no time to react to the insult. Windows imploded and the deafening shriek of tumbling metal crashed.

Victoria lurched forward, the falling debris skimming her hip and back. Shrapnel shot into the air like confetti. The space around her seemed to disappear. What little air she had left to breathe was sucked from the room with a loud
swoosh.

Victoria tumbled to the ground, but strong hands gripped her shoulders and pulled her from the wreckage. A firefighter covered her face with an oxygen mask, allowing her to breathe.

Another picked her up and began to run with her cradled in his arms. Steve’s soothing voice beside her said, “We’re taking you to the hospital, sweetheart. You’re safe now.”

An explosion, louder than ten fireworks shows on the Fourth of July, sounded behind them. Victoria half opened her eyes and watched as the warehouse toppled and collapsed in a steaming black heap to the ground.

Chapter Seventeen

Steve Carlson opened his eyes. The morning sun shining through the slats in the vertical blinds forced him to squint.

He turned his head on the hospital pillow and spied the water pitcher on the bedside table. He unfastened his oxygen tubes and reached to pour himself a long, cool drink. As long as he lived, he’d never get enough water.

“Feeling better today?” a nurse asked, moving silently across the floor in soft-soled shoes. She readjusted the sheets on Steve’s bed and then went to the window to block out the sun. “How’s our patient this morning? Are you able to talk?”

Steve grunted. The inside of his throat felt like a driveway coated with hot pitch.

The doctors told him he’d breathed burning embers while crawling into the warehouse to find Victoria. His hair had been singed almost to the root in spots, and he’d lost his eyebrows. His burns were mostly second-degree, although some hurt worse than the devil and might leave scars on his arms and back.

Steve closed his eyes again, trying to breathe easy. He wondered about Victoria and Beverly. He hoped they were better off than he was.

“Water,” he croaked. Even with the I.V. tube in his arm, he still felt thirsty.

The nurse refilled his glass. Steve drank and then dropped his head back to the pillow.

He needed to see Victoria and make sure she was all right. His chest ached with loving thoughts of her and worries for her safety.

And Beverly. How could someone have hurt that sweet, harmless woman?

His blood pressure surged and his pulse raced. The heart monitor clipped to his finger sent blips to the screen with the uptake. He gripped his free hand into a fist. He wanted to beat the crap out of somebody.

The nurse checked his vitals on the monitor and took his temperature.

Why the hell was he lying here in a bed when Victoria needed him?

The light rapping against the doorjamb and the sound of footfalls across the room announced another arrival. Steve opened his eyes just as the nurse said, “Good morning, doctor.”

Jimmy Van Orr stood over Steve’s bed scanning his medical chart on a handheld computer screen. His expression remained impassive as he read the diagnosis aloud. “Smoke inhalation, second-degree burns, lacerations, abrasions, contusions, exhaustion.” Jimmy looked up and raised his brow. “How you feeling?”

Steve coughed. His throat ached. If he could kill Jimmy Van Orr right now, he would.

He crooked his finger to bring Jimmy closer. “Arrgh.”

Jimmy leaned over the bed. “What are you trying to say?”

Steve wrapped the fingers of his unimpeded hand inside the collar of Jimmy’s shirt and twisted. It took more effort to speak than he had energy, but he forced the words all the way from his diaphragm to his tongue while he held Jimmy in a chokehold. He hissed, “I know…you’re behind what happened.”

Jimmy wrenched himself free and took a step back. His face had gone paper white.

The nurse stopped bustling around the room and glanced uncertainly from one man to the other. “Should I call security, Dr. Van Orr?”

Jimmy shook his head without looking at her. “No, you go on, Iris. Thanks. We’re fine.”

The nurse shot an uneasy glance in Steve’s direction, but moved through the room and out the door.

Jimmy went on the offensive. “I don’t know what you’re talking about, Carlson, but you always did like to shoot your mouth off. If you’d been as good at making something of yourself as you were partying and womanizing, you’d be working here instead of waiting for the doctor you should have been.”

Steve’s adrenaline pumped enough energy into him to continue doing battle. “That’s what this is about?” His voice sounded like it came from the bottom of a gravel pit, but he took another sip of water and tried again. “You’re mad about…partnership?”

Jimmy’s expression turned hard. “You ruined our plans. I was counting on you. Did you really think I’d help you make money from my father’s estate and reward your stupidity?”

Steve furrowed his singed brows and blinked rapidly, trying to clear his head. “Those are irreplaceable antiques. You never did appreciate what you had, you son of a bitch.” He coughed and brought his hand to his mouth and grunted at the irony of their situation. “I thought you were still mad at me about Layla.”

Jimmy’s mouth had formed a hard line and his fingers tightened on the chart. “I hadn’t forgotten, but I’m over Layla. Sure, I was furious that she wanted you back. It stuck in my craw that she’d run off with you—a man washing out of medical school.”

Jimmy continued speaking through tight jaws. His temple pulsed. “She chose the second string. And you chose a second-rate life.” His glare became an accusation. “You gave up everything, including our friendship, in a single day.”

Steve lifted his head. “I’ve never been second string, you arrogant bastard.” He breathed in more oxygen. “Layla was just trying to get your attention. That’s hard to see when your head is up your ass. You don’t care about anyone but yourself.”

Jimmy’s eyes narrowed. “That’s not true.”

“Look at the way you treated Victoria.” Steve coughed and his throat surged with fresh pain. “She had the best of intentions. Because of you, it was all for nothing. Everything is gone.”

Steve gulped another dose of water and licked his cracked lips. Weariness washed over him. He’d almost run out of energy, but forced himself to finish what he’d started. “You did this to get back at us. Somehow, you’re involved. I know it.”

He stared Jimmy down one last time. “I’ll make sure you pay for what’s been lost.” Exhausted now, he collapsed against his pillow, but kept his eyes trained on his former friend.

Jimmy seemed to deflate before Steve’s eyes. He rubbed his forehead. The subtle admission was like a balm to Steve’s injuries. He’d make sure Jimmy got what was coming to him. In the meantime, he had more important things on his mind, like the women he cared about. “Is Victoria okay?”

Jimmy nodded. “Not as okay as you are, but she’ll make it.”

“I want to see her.”

“You will. Sleep. You’ll see her soon.”

“Beverly?”

“Concussion. Head injury. Someone beat her before the fire started.” Jimmy flinched and looked away.

After a few seconds, Jimmy continued. “She has smoke inhalation damage, like you. A few burns, deep abrasions, an assortment of minor injuries. She’ll be all right. She just needs rest and special care.”

Steve tried to crawl out of bed, but it might have been a climb up Mt. Everest for the effort it cost him. His breathing labored. “Must see them.”

“You’ll be discharged in a couple of days. You can visit then.”

Steve waved Jimmy away. “Get out.”

He closed his eyes and turned his face toward the window.

*****

Steve walked through the door of Beverly’s private room moments after his discharge. She pushed herself up to sitting position in bed and smiled a crooked grin. “Hey, boss. You just missed my hubby.”

Steve felt a lump form inside his raw, aching throat at the sight of his friend. One side of her face had turned rainbow colors from the pistol-whipping a nurse said she’d endured. Her right eye was swollen shut and a gash in her forehead had been stitched closed.

Steve felt his eyes fill with tears, but the heat damage to his own system held the moisture to a dignified level. His insides churned with rage and regret. “I’m so sorry, Bev.”

He leaned over her on the bed and brushed the bruised side of her cheek with the barest kiss. He took her hands in his, careful not to disturb her I.V. tube, and looked closely at her fingers. Thank God her hands hadn’t been damaged. He couldn’t think of a worse fate for an artist. Except blindness.

His heart pounded with fear as he scrutinized her face, but Beverly’s open eye looked fine. Gratitude washed over him until his knees gave way beneath his body. He fumbled for a chair. “I’ll get whoever did this to you, Beverly. I swear.”

Relief flooded him as he took his seat and confirmed in his mind that Beverly was innocent of any involvement in his business troubles. He
knew
she couldn’t have had anything to do with them.

“Your cop friend, Leighton, arrived last night to take a statement,” Beverly said. “He wasn’t allowed in at the time, but the nurse said he’d be back. He’ll want to talk with you, too. And Victoria, when she’s able.”

“They wouldn’t let me see her. The wait is killing me.” Steve ran a hand through his hair, forgetting the damaged, raw spots on his scalp, newly covered with salve. He sucked air through his teeth at the pain and dropped his hand to his lap.

“Lieutenant Leighton said your case is top priority,” Beverly added. “Lucky for me you have a ranking officer on your side.”

“
Our
side.” He patted the sheet covering her legs. “I hear Slater’s in the morgue downstairs. Is he the one who hurt you?”

Beverly nodded. “He went into a rage when he found me working inside the warehouse. I think I surprised him, and that man was obviously not the surprise party type. He hit me several times in the head. With a gun butt, I think.”