“Ian,” Rowe said, snapping Lucas from his worries. As he expected, Lucas’s expression closed up and the man straightened. He was a mountain again. A titan of old.
“Last saw him on the deck with Snow and Jude,” Lucas said. “I’ll clear that area, direct everyone to the exit.” He pointed to the brightly lit exit sign on the right near the back of the building. “You clear the bar area. There’s also a small storeroom behind the bar.”
With a nod, Rowe set off quickly. People were scattered about looking confused and afraid, but too few were actually moving toward the exits. Luckily all it took was him barking “Fire!” or “Exit now!” and they took off. He caught a brief glance of Jude, Rebecca, and Ian heading to the exit. Snow would be close by along with Lucas. At least they had three medical professionals on hand. Snow, as a doctor, always kept first aid gear in his car and Rowe was sure that Jude and Rebecca, as paramedics, would likely do the same.
Smoke burned his eyes and tickled the back of his throat. The air was growing thicker and hotter by the second, but he couldn’t leave yet. After checking the back room to see that it was empty, he ducked behind the bar, grabbed a white towel and ran it under cold water before pressing it to his face. An immediate feeling of relief washed across his cheeks and nose. But the towel wasn’t going to filter the smoke from the air for long. Only another minute or two—that was all he needed.
Crouching as low as he could, Rowe hurried back across the second floor to the stairs. A little, nagging voice was screaming that this was wrong. So very wrong. Rowe had worked in enough bars as a bouncer to recognize an accidental trash can fire or even a grease fire in the kitchen—and this was neither. He was also surprised that no one had bothered to pull the fire alarm and the sprinkler system hadn’t kicked in. Other than his footsteps on the stairs, the only sound was the random sharp snap and crackle of fire eating away at the building. As he reached the ground floor, the lights popped off, plunging the place into darkness.
Dropping to a knee, he blinked against a flood of tears. The smoke was burning his eyes, making it nearly impossible to see. The air became a little clearer as the smoke rushed up to the second floor, but the heat was baking him, drying the sweat on his skin as soon as it rose. He hesitated halfway between the exit and the back of the building. He wanted to see where the fire had started, get an idea of how it started, but he didn’t have a damn flashlight on him and it was too fucking hard to see. Getting lost in the dark of a burning building was a really bad fucking idea.
Rowe growled. He had no idea how long he had been in there, but his friends were probably losing their minds. There wasn’t anything he could do now. Turning for the main entrance, he stopped at what sounded like a cough. He froze. Was it the culprit? Coming out of hiding at the last second?
Backpedaling to the deeper shadows by the stairs, Rowe drew the gun he had nestled against his lower back and waited. He blinked rapidly, spilling tears from the corners of his sore eyes, trying to clear his vision. He couldn’t linger more than a few seconds.
A figure moved in the darkness, heading for the entrance. His large body was hunched low, but he stopped suddenly, dropping to his knees, coughing loudly. Rowe couldn’t see his face, but he recognized the tenor of his cough.
“Andrei!” Rowe called, holstering his gun.
“Rowe!” Andrei croaked back, his voice rough and fractured.
Rowe rushed over and pulled Andrei’s arm around his shoulders. Together, they hurried the last few feet to the entrance and clear air. Firm but gentle hands grabbed Rowe’s left arm, guiding him away from the building, but he kept Andrei close as they both gasped and coughed. The chilly night air bit at his face and crept through his damp shirt, but he welcomed the cold after the suffocating heat of the nightclub. The world was blurry, but he could make out flashing red lights drawing close and the shadowy figures of the crowd from inside the bar.
His skin pricked and every instinct demanded that he draw his gun. The fire could have been an accident, but his gut said there was an arsonist lurking in the crowd, watching them, possibly poised to use the chaos as cover to strike.
A new set of sirens rent the air, joining the fire trucks. Cop cars were bearing down on them and Rowe relaxed. Whether the threat was real or imagined, they were safe…for now.