Becca said, her voice still strong, still clear and loud, “It ends here, Mikhail. Since I knew you’d try to escape back through that roof trapdoor, you had to know I wouldn’t let you get away. It ends here.”

“Yes,” he said. “It ends here. I killed the bastard who murdered my mother—your beloved father. I’ve done what I promised to do. And I took pleasure along the way, cleaning out the vermin that had invaded my life.”

He was standing very still, this handsome young man she’d spoken to in the gym in Riptide. He was slowly straightening now, standing tall.

“My father isn’t dead, Mikhail. He’ll survive. You failed.”

“The roof is going to collapse beneath us, Rebecca. It’s getting hotter. You’re barefoot. It’s got to be burning your feet now, isn’t it?”

Fire trucks pulled up to the curb, men jumping out, going into action. Becca heard a man yelling, “We’ve got a two-story residential fully involved structure fire! Jesus, what’s going on here?”

“Oh shit, there are people standing on the roof! That woman has a gun!”

“We can’t ladder the building, it’s too late. Get the life net!”

Becca heard them, felt her feet now, the heat burning them, wondered if the roof would collapse under her. “We’re going down, Mikhail,” she said. “Look, they’re bringing one of those safety nets. We’ll jump.”

“No,” he said. “No.” Then he pulled the lighter out of his jacket again and lit his sleeve. He rubbed it on his shirt, his pants, even while she watched, so horrified she froze. Then he smiled at her, nearly ablaze now, and ran at her, yelling, “Come away with your boyfriend. Come, let’s fly together, Rebecca!”

She pulled the trigger, once, and still he came, a ball of flame now, running toward her, nearly at her, his arms outstretched. She fired again, then again and again, fired until the Coonan was empty.

He fell forward, nearly into her, but she jerked away just in time and he rolled over and over, a flaming ball of fire, off the roof to the ground below.

She heard people yelling. A jet of flame caught the sleeve of her nightgown. She ran quickly to the side of the roof, stood there for just an instant, slapping down the flames on her arm even as the fire inched closer and closer, and at last the firemen had the safety net in place.

Adam yelled, “Jump, Becca!”

And she did, without hesitation, her nightgown billowing out around her, her long legs bare, the white sleeve of her nightgown smoking. She hit the white safety net, her nightgown tangling around her. It closed over her for just an instant, and then a fireman yelled, “We’ve got her. She’s okay!”

He watched her scramble out of the confines of the safety net, shake off the firemen. She ran toward him, and he saw the shock in her face, the blindness in her eyes, but he couldn’t think of anything to say to her. Then there was simply nothing. He collapsed where he stood. The last thing he heard before the blackness closed over him was the huge roar of the collapsing roof and Becca’s voice, saying his name over and over.

31

He was buried in pain, so deep he wondered if he’d ever climb out, but he knew he could deal with it, even appreciate it, because it meant he was still alive. Finally, after what seemed like beyond forever, he managed to gain a bit of control and forced his eyes to open. He looked up at Becca’s smiling face. Ah, but the worry in her eyes, her pallor, it scared him. Was he going to die after all? He felt her fingers lightly touch the line of his eyebrow, his cheek, his chin. Then she leaned down and kissed where her fingers had touched him. Her breath was sweet and warm. His own mouth felt like he’d dived mouth-first into a box of dried manure.

“Hello, Adam. You’ll be just fine. I’ll bet you’re really thirsty, the nurse said you would be. Here’s some water to drink. Take it slow, that’s it.”

He drank. It was the best water he’d ever tasted in his life. He managed to say, “Thomas?”

“He’ll live. He told me so himself when he came out of surgery. The doctors say it looks good. He’s in great shape, so that’s a big help.”

“Your arm?”

“My arm is okay. Just a bit of a burn, nothing serious. We all survived. Except for Mikhail Krimakov. He’s very dead. He’ll never terrorize anyone again or kill another person. I know you’re in bad pain, the bullet went through your back, broke a rib. The other bullet went right through your arm. You’ll be okay, thank God.”

He closed his eyes and said, “It nearly killed me watching you on the roof with him. The flames kept getting closer and closer, the wind whipping your nightgown around your legs, whipping the flames higher. I wanted to do something, but I just stood there yelling at you and I nearly lost what sanity I had left.”