Falling Awake(54)
Author: Jayne Ann Krentz

“Someone did break into my locker.” She leaned down, seized the handle of the door and rolled it up. “If anything is missing, I swear, I will sue this company up one side and down the other.”

When she got the door to shoulder height she couldn’t stand the suspense any longer. She ducked underneath.

The large interior of the storage unit was drenched in shadows. But relief shot through her when she realized that she could make out the large shapes of the crates and cartons stacked inside.

She groped for the wall switch and flipped it.

The first thing she saw was a man’s bare leg sticking out from behind the crate that held the sofa.

“There’s someone in here,” she shouted. “I think he’s been injured.”

She dropped her purse on the floor and hurried toward the fallen man. He was naked except for a pair of boxer shorts, grimy tee shirt and socks. There was a dark pool of blood on the floor behind his head. He groaned when she crouched down and touched him.

“Call nine-one-one,” she shouted.

She was vaguely aware of Tom reaching into his duffel bag. But the object he removed was not a phone.

And quite suddenly she understood why the man on the floor was dressed in only his underwear. The thin man standing outside the locker was wearing his uniform.

She lurched back to her feet, horrified by the knowledge that she was trapped inside the locker. She was an easy target and there was nowhere to run. Belatedly, she scrambled behind the cover of the nearest crate but knew it would provide little in the way of protection from a bullet.

Before she had time to process the realization that she was going to die here with her precious furniture, she realized that the phony Tom was not pulling a trigger.

She could not see him now because of the crate but she heard the click of a lighter.

“Dear God,” she whispered.

In the next instant an object hurtled into the storage unit. It slammed against the wall just above the crates at the rear of the space.

There was a muffled thud. Glass shattered. The sound was followed by an ominous whoosh.

Flames splashed on top of the stacked crates. A Molotov cocktail, she thought.

The metal door rumbled. She realized that Tom was yanking it downward. He intended to seal her and the injured attendant inside.

Panic drove her out from behind the crate. She no longer cared if the man had a gun. Better to die by a bullet than by fire.

She lurched forward, keenly aware of the swiftly narrowing strip of daylight. Smoke was filling the space with frightening speed.

The smoke detector installed in the roof went off, adding an ear-piercing shriek to the chaos.

She dimly recalled that smoke was supposed to move upward. She went to her knees, crawling along the concrete. Her hand brushed against her purse. Instinctively she grabbed the strap.

The man outside had almost got the door closed. She flung herself headlong across the floor. There were only two or three inches of space between the bottom of the door and the concrete pad. Even if she managed to grasp the lower edge of the door before it hit the floor there was little likelihood she could force it up against the downward pressure that the creep outside was applying. He had gravity and raw male muscle on his side.

One inch of daylight left.

She was close enough to wedge her fingers into the space between door and pad now but if she did the descending door would crush her hand.

Unable to think of anything else, she shoved the doubled strap of her purse into the tiny space between the door and the pad. An instant later, most of the last of the daylight disappeared.

She heard the phony Tom fumbling with the padlock.

“Shit, shit, shit.”

He was panicking and she understood why. He could not get the padlock in place because as long as the strap of her purse held the door partially open there was no way the hasp could align with the metal eye on the frame. In the noise and confusion, he probably did not realize that the door had not closed properly.

The fire alarm continued to screech. The flames flared at the rear of the unit. The smoke got thicker. She tore off her Kyler blazer and held it in front of her face, breathing through the fabric.

“Shit.”

She heard the clang of metal on concrete and guessed that the man had given up and hurled the padlock aside in rage and frustration.

The next sounds she heard were running footsteps receding rapidly in the distance.

She could not afford to wait any longer. Struggling to her knees, she put both hands under the edge of the door frame and shoved upward with all her strength.

The door retracted quickly. Smoke billowed up and out. She saw no sign of the attacker. With luck he had not heard the soft rumble of the door above the squeal of the alarm.

She took a deep breath of relatively clean air and then ran back inside to where the unconscious man lay on the floor. She grabbed one wrist with both hands and tugged.

For a terrible second or two she was afraid she would not be able to drag him out of the unit. But the concrete provided a relatively slick surface. Once she got the man in motion, it was like hauling a heavy sled.

He mumbled and struggled, opening his eyes.

“Fire,” she shouted. She had him almost to the door. “Got to get out.”

He groaned and lurched to his knees. She got one of his arms over her shoulder and helped him stagger erect. She nearly crumpled under his weight but they made it to the safety of the graveled path. Nothing like adrenaline in a pinch, she thought. Another reason to be glad she had taken out that membership at the fitness club twelve months ago, she told herself. Her weight-training instructor would be proud.

Without warning Ellis appeared out of nowhere. “I’ve got him.” He took hold of the injured man. “I called the cops. They’re on the way.” Sirens finally sounded in the distance.

She sucked in fresh air. “I have never been so glad to see anyone in my life.”

“Looks like you had things under control.” He lowered the attendant to a sitting position. “Like I told Lawson. Nerves of steel.”

She started to ask him why he had said that to Lawson but broke off when she saw the limp form of the man who had tried to lock her and the attendant inside the burning unit.

“That’s him,” she said hoarsely. “The guy who tried to fry us. How did you know?”

“He was running out when I came running in. Didn’t think it looked good. I asked him about you. He didn’t even stop.” Ellis shrugged. “So I decked him. Figured I could always apologize later.”

“Don’t worry,” she said tightly. “You won’t have to do that.”