From Winter's Ashes: Girl Next Door Crime Romance Series - Book Two Read Free

of the smoke, Joselyn pressed the sleep mask over her mouth and collapsed to the floor.
    Fiery blades licked at her flesh, each wicked lash leaving the bite of a burn. She pulled her knees in tighter, huddling in a tiny ring of fire, awaiting death. She tried to scream, but the air, charred and lifeless, evaporated before it hit her throat.
    Please . Take me now . She didn’t know who she was pleading to, but she closed her burning eyes and envisioned the words as a prayer. If anyone was listening.
    Inexplicably, sorrow and resignation gave way to a renewed determination. With strength she knew she didn’t have left, she managed to stand back up and encase herself in the comforter from head to toe. Struggling to hold onto consciousness, she ran blindly through the wall of fire toward the door until she smacked into something hard. Her legs gave out. Arms surrounded her. Weightlessness and relief invaded her body, drenching down to the bleakness in her soul. And without a final thought, poetic or otherwise, she surrendered to the end.
    Beep …
    The scream of squealing tires on slick pavement …
    Beep …
    Phantom drifts of burnt rubber and gasoline …
    Beep … Beep …
    “No.” She whimpered. The sharp, relentless pelt of hail … the cutting cold … the sting on her exposed skin …
    Beep … Beep … Beep …
    “Run, Joselyn. Do you understand me? Stop crying and run!” The voice a mere wisp of pale smoke in the darkness.
    Beep … Beep … Beep … Beep …
    “No!”
    “She’s tachycardic.”
    Is someone there?
    “Get me—”
    “Wait! It’s slowing down,” another voice interrupted. “It looks like she’s having a nightmare. Miss Whyte. Miss Whyte, wake up.”
    The voices jumbled. A cold touch. A quick flash of white in each eye. Her stomach crimped.
    “Joselyn, can you hear me?” The voice pleaded.
    “Please s-save h-her.” Joselyn’s breath caught on a hiccup. Stiff cotton brushed her cheeks, and antiseptic-scented air pooled in her nostrils. She blinked her eyes open, and the strange beeping noise slowed. “Wha—” She wheezed, the razor sharp air cutting off the word. “Where is … where am …?” Violent coughing shredded the rest.
    A blur of blue scrubs and bright lights came into focus before her brain could construct a full question. “Shh. Good morning, Joselyn.” The nurse soothed as if speaking to a traumatized child. “It’s all right. You’re in the hospital, you’re fine. There was a—”
    “A fire … I remember.” Splintered pieces of memory cut through her mind. The heat. The pain. The hopelessness. She squeezed her eyes tight—felt tears burn behind her eyelids as she relived the tortured moments before her death.
    Only … she wasn’t dead.
    She braved a glance down to inspect the damage. All she saw was a long white bandage on her right forearm. That can’t be right.
    The nurse touched her shoulder. “Joselyn, dear, you are a living, breathing miracle. When the firefighters got to your home it was engulfed in flames. The young man that found you said your clothes were nearly burned off and every square inch of your house was consumed. Somehow, by the grace of God, there’s not a burn to be found on ya. All you got is a bit of smoke inhalation and sixteen stitches in your arm. You’ll be right as rain in no time.”
    “What?” She croaked. Impossible . She’d felt the fire, remembered the wicked touch of the flames as she’d prepared to die.
    Kicking off the covers, she bent a leg and pulled her foot into her hand. Nothing but pale unbroken skin. As if all evidence of the fire had been washed away. Her vision blurred, her nose prickled like a pin cushion, and the haze of tears and disbelief made the room swim around her.
    A pager sounded, and one of the nurses excused herself.
    “You musta had some angels watching out for you, girlie. Well, that, plus that large hunk of hero who rode in like a white knight and rescued you.” The silver-haired nurse with