We finally broke apart, our gazes still clinging together. My heart was beating fast. My body tingled, wanting more. It was crazy to feel something so strong for a guy I barely knew, but I couldn't deny the feelings running through me. I felt almost feeling dizzy with longing. I blinked a few times, my eyes watering.

  That wasn't from desire. That was from…

  "Gas," Ethan said suddenly. "It smells like gas."

  My throat was suddenly burning, and I coughed in response.

  Ethan jumped to his feet. "Something is on fire."

  "There's nothing on in here," I said, but as I stood up, I saw smoke seeping in through the edges of my door. "It must be coming from the hall or another unit. We should get out."

  As I started toward the door, Ethan grabbed my hand and yanked me back. "No. Let's go on the deck. We'll call the fire depart—"

  A horrendous blast of fire and heat cut off his words, as the door to my apartment flew open, throwing us into the air in an explosion of fire.

  Chapter Nineteen

  Pain shot through my body as I landed hard on the floor. I instinctively threw up my arms as a fiery rain of wood, plaster, and pieces of furniture fell around me. Something crashed down on my head, and I fought back a wave of pain and blackness. I couldn't pass out. I couldn't give in. I had to get away from the fire. But there was a thunderous, painful noise in my ears that made me wince.

  However, that pain reminded me I was alive, and I needed to stay that way. As I rolled over, knocking off pieces of plaster, I saw Ethan several feet away, and my heart stopped. He wasn't moving.

  "Ethan!" I shouted. Or maybe I whispered his name. I couldn't hear much over the noise in my head, the roar of the fire eating up my home. I crawled across the floor to him. There was blood on his face, and his eyes were closed. He was too still.

  Putting my hands on his face, I said his name again, anxiety ripping through me. He could not be dead. Not now. Not because of me. Not when we were just beginning to know each other.

  Tears streamed from my eyes, and I lowered my head to his, relieved to feel a whisper of breath against my cheek. I kissed his lips—a kiss of breath, of life, maybe the last kiss...

  But finally, thankfully, he stirred.

  I lifted my head as his eyes fluttered open, and he blinked a few times as a groan came through his parted lips.

  "You're alive," I said, so grateful to see his beautiful brown eyes again.

  "Emily," he said hoarsely, ending my name on a cough.

  "We have to get out of here," I said, as the smoke choked my voice. "Can you move?"

  "I think so."

  "I don't want you to injure yourself."

  "I'm okay," he said forcefully.

  Relief ran through me. "Good, because the fire is getting worse."

  I helped him up. Then we turned toward the doorway. The smoke was so thick I couldn't even see the hall. I also couldn't hear anything. Where were the sirens? Surely, someone had already called 911.

  "Why isn't anyone coming?" I asked.

  "They might not be able to get up the stairs."

  His answer terrified me. We were on the fourth floor, and the only fire escape was by the stairwell, at the other end of the hall.

  "Should we go out on the deck, wait for help?" I asked, but even as I said the words, I could see that the fire was already blocking that doorway. In fact, it was worse there than by the main door to the hall. "I have to call 911."

  I looked around for my bag and saw it had tumbled onto the floor by the dining room table. I raced toward it and took my phone out of the front pocket.

  "There's no time to wait for the fire department," Ethan said. He grabbed two dishtowels from the kitchen and soaked them in water. "Put this around your head."

  I wanted to tell him that there was no way a wet dish towel was going to get us through the doorway, but he was already wrapping it around my head.

  I stuffed my phone back into my bag and put it over my shoulder as Ethan covered his head with the second towel.

  "We're not going to make it," I said. "The fire is too intense."

  "We will make it," he said fiercely. "Trust me, Emily."

  There was no one else to trust, and I wanted to believe him, so I took his hand.

  "We have to commit," he said. "No stopping until we get to the stairs."

  "What about Monica? I saw her go out earlier, but I don't know if she came back. She could be trapped in her unit."

  "I'll get you out first. Then I'll go back for her."

  I didn't like that plan, but there was no time to argue. Ethan squeezed my fingers, gave me a determined look, and then we ran toward the door, through the leaping flames and the thick black smoke that made it almost impossible to see. Luckily, there wasn't anything to trip over. We just had to get to the end of the hallway, and I prayed the stairwell would be clear.

  The smoke clogged my throat, and the heat burned my face. I batted away sparks as we raced toward what would hopefully be an escape route. Finally, we made it. As we pushed through the door to the stairs, we found the area filled with smoke, but no fire yet.

  There were sparks clinging to Ethan's shirt, and he patted them out with his hand.

  I tried to help him, but he pushed my fingers away.

  "It's okay, I'm okay," he told me. "Go. I'll check on Monica."

  "You can't go back there," I said, grabbing his arm. "You can't, Ethan."

  "I have to try," he said, meeting my gaze. "I have to, Emily. I can't leave someone behind. Go downstairs. I'll meet you outside."

  And with that, he disappeared into the smoke and the fire. I couldn't believe he was gone, that he was risking his life to save a stranger. Monica might not even be home. She'd been on her way out when I'd seen her in the garage. This could all be for nothing.

  I knew I should go, but I couldn't move. I couldn't leave Ethan here alone. It didn't seem right.

  I heard a sudden clatter of footsteps coming up the stairs, and sirens growing louder. Help was coming—finally!

  As I turned toward the stairs, I saw Tyler, the manager, taking the steps two at a time, his face dripping with sweat, fear in his eyes. I'd never seen him look so serious or so determined.

  "Emily. Thank God you're alive. What the hell happened up here?" he asked.

  "I don't know. I smelled gas, and then there was an explosion in the hallway. My door blew into my unit. My friend went to check on Monica."

  "Come on. Let's get out of here."

  "I can't leave without my friend."

  "The fire is getting worse," Tyler said. "You could die here, Emily."

  "I'll be down as soon as Ethan comes back," I said stubbornly.

  Tyler shook his head. "Fuck it. I'm leaving. It's on you if you stay."

  I didn't bother to answer as he disappeared down the stairs. Instead, I peeked through the door. The smoke was getting thicker and more fear ran through me. If Ethan didn't make it back, it would be because of me. And because he had to be a damned hero. How had I ever doubted him? This guy was literally willing to risk his life to save someone. I had never met anyone like that before. Most of the men in my life had put themselves first. But not Ethan. Maybe it came from his military training. Or maybe it was just who he was, someone who couldn't stand by or run away when there was a life to save.

  My anxiety ramped up to a fever pitch, and when he finally reappeared, I couldn't even speak. I was overwhelmed with emotion. I threw my arms around his neck and hugged him tight. Then we kissed again, as if we both needed the reassurance that we were still breathing.

  "I'm okay," he said when we broke apart. "Monica wasn't in the unit. Let's get out of here."

  I was more than ready to leave, and we ran down the stairs together, meeting a crew of firefighters on their way up. One of them escorted us all the way down and out of the building while the others went up to fight the fire.

  When we got to the street, I could see a crowd of people had gathered. Many of them I recognized from the building, but there were plenty of other people drawn to the spectacle.

  Two EMTs took us over to a waiting ambulance, giving us oxygen and water, checking us for injuries or burns and cleaning up the cuts we'd gotten from flying debris. Thankfully, they were all superficial. It could have been so much worse.

  A uniformed female police officer came over to speak to us, and I spent the next ten minutes telling her what little I knew. As I was talking to her, Ethan moved away to speak to a man who also had a badge at his hip but was not in uniform. Maybe he was a detective.

  "Do you have somewhere to stay tonight?" the officer asked me.

  I turned my attention back to her. "Uh, I guess I'll find somewhere." I was still clinging to my purse so at least I had some money and my phone. I could find a hotel room. I was sure my unit had been completely destroyed.

  As the police officer moved away to speak to the detective, Ethan returned to me.

  "Who were you talking to?" I asked.

  "He said his name was Detective Caldwell. I told him that there was gasoline in the hallway, and there was probably an incendiary device that set off the explosion."

  I'd known that the explosion had not been accidental but hearing Ethan talk about an incendiary device brought the truth home. "Someone set off a bomb in front of my door," I said dully, hardly able to comprehend that thought.

  "Yes. And I wonder if it wasn't Jimmy."

  My eyes widened. "Jimmy?"

  "He was in your building before you got home. And he did not like the way our conversation was going when he left. He was angry that you'd told me anything about him. And he was worried about that interview."

  "Which I didn't give," I reminded him.

  "That might not matter. You or someone impersonating you could still be a problem for him. And I would be an additional complication."

  He made a strong point, but it just didn't feel like something he would do. "Jimmy doesn't blow things up. He talks people out of their life savings. He cons them."

  "Maybe he does more than that. He was at a party where a woman ended up dead, and someone is threatening to reveal who killed that woman. You do the math."

  "I know it adds up, Ethan. But it doesn't ring true."

  "All right."

  I could tell he wasn't thrilled by my defense. "I could be wrong."

  "Well, right or wrong, we should get out of here."

  "Can we just go?"

  "We've talked to the police. I don't see any reason to stay. Come on. My car is parked down the street."

  "Mine is in my garage. Do you think it will survive the fire?"

  "Hopefully they'll put the fire out before it takes out the other floors."

  "Or the building next door," I said, glancing toward the jewelry store. "You might be out of a job."

  "I'll worry about that tomorrow." He took my hand again, and we hurried through the crowd of onlookers to his vehicle. It was parked at the end of the block and away from the fire engines and police cars crowding the rest of the street.

  I got into the car with a breath of relief, feeling better as soon as Ethan started the car and pulled away from the scene.

  "Where are we going?" I asked a moment later. "Your house?"

  "Not yet. We'll stop at a hotel. The Beverly Hilton is a few blocks from here."

  "I don't need to stay at that nice of a hotel. A motel will do."

  "That's good. Because we're not staying there." He sent me a brief smile. "We're going to leave my car there, go inside, check in, and then leave through another door. We'll find a taxi from there."

  My brows drew together. "That's quite a detailed plan. Where do we go after we get the taxi?"

  "My house to start. I want to pick up a few things, and then we'll decide where we're going to stay."

  "Why wouldn't we just stay there?"

  "I've been seen with you. It might be too easy to find my home. That's why I want someone to think we're staying in a hotel."

  "You're going to a lot of trouble to hide where we are," I said.

  He flung me a quick look. "Yes. Because someone just tried to kill us."

  "They were aiming for me. I'm so sorry, Ethan. If something had happened to you, it would be on me."

  "I made a choice to be in your apartment tonight. Nothing is on you, Emily."

  "You're being way too nice. All you've done is try to help me, and you might have lost your life because of that generosity. You should start putting your life ahead of others, especially mine. In fact, you should drop me at the hotel and get as far away from me as you can."

  "That wouldn't matter. Like I said before, we're connected now. Whatever you know, they'll assume I know. For the time being, we're staying close."

  I couldn't say that I didn't like that idea, because being on my own sounded terrifying. "Okay," I said. Then I reached into my bag and pulled out my phone. "I'm going to call Monica. She gave me her number when she moved in, just in case we needed to grab each other's packages or something. I need to tell her what happened. The police might not know how to find her, since it's her grandmother's place."

  "Hang on," Ethan said.

  "Why?"

  "Someone could track your phone. Monica will get filled in by the police or the fire department when she gets back. I'm sure they'll be there all night. You need to turn off your phone."

  "Okay," I said, following his instruction. "What about yours?"

  He stopped at the next light and turned off his phone as well. And then we drove in silence to the Hilton. We chose to self-park and then walked into the hotel together. Ethan asked for a room and put down a credit card. I didn't like the idea of him putting out several hundred dollars for a room we weren't going to stay in.

  "Let me get this," I said. "This is my problem."

  "Don't worry about it."

  There was no point in arguing, so I let it go, but I would pay him back once we got through this situation. The clerk gave us a funny look, which made me realize our clothes were covered in smoke, and we had cuts on our arms and faces.

  "Fire," I said at her unspoken question. "At our home. That's why we need a place to stay."

  "I'm so sorry," the woman said. "That's terrible." She handed us our keycard and ran over some instructions that weren't going to matter. Then she handed us an emergency pack of personal hygiene items, which might come in handy.

  When we were done with the check-in, we headed toward the elevators, then backtracked through a crowd of tourists in the lobby and left through a side door. We walked two blocks and then hailed a cab. Ethan gave the driver his address, and we were on our way to our next stop—Culver City, which was a working-class town about five miles from the beach.

  He had the cab let us off a block away, and then we walked down the street to his building. Ethan seemed to think of everything. Maybe that was part of his military training, or perhaps he'd undergone more training when he'd become a security guard. I certainly never would have taken so many circuitous steps.

  His apartment was on the sixth floor, and it felt strange to be walking into another building, which was not really similar to mine, except that it was a multi-unit building, and I'd barely gotten out of the last one alive.

  When he let me into his home, I was immediately struck by how different it was from my ultra-modern, sparsely decorated unit. There was a mix of furniture in the living room that looked like it had been chosen for comfort, not style. The couches were big, with lots of pillows. The coffee table was piled high with books, which surprised me. Apparently, Ethan was a reader of fiction novels.

  There was a bike in one corner of the room, along with a golf bag and a loose basketball. There was a big fruit bowl on the kitchen counter that was overflowing with apples, oranges, and bananas. And I suddenly realized I was hungry.

  "Do you want something to eat?" Ethan asked, following my gaze.

  "Maybe I could grab a banana before we go."

  "We can do better than that. How about a frozen pizza?"

  "Do we have time? Shouldn't we leave right away?"

  He opened the freezer and pulled out a box. "We've got at least thirty minutes."

  "It seems risky. What if someone is headed here now? We might not make it out of another fire alive."

  "It will take them time to find us."

  As he turned on the oven and opened the box, I grabbed a banana and slid onto a stool at the counter to eat it. I felt almost immediately better once I had something in my stomach. And that feeling only increased when Ethan filled a glass with ice water and handed it to me.

  "Your throat must be as dry as mine," he said.

  "Still stinging from the smoke but it's nothing compared to what we might be feeling if we'd gotten burned."

  "I can't disagree." He drained one glass and then went back to refill it from a pitcher in his fridge. He returned with a bowl of sliced fruit and a cheese tray.

  "This looks good," I said in surprise.

  He shrugged. "I'm on the go a lot. I like to have stuff I can eat without having to cook."

  As I eyed the fruit, I said, "Just the cheese and crackers for me. It looks like there might be kiwi in there, and I'm allergic."

  "Nuts and kiwi, huh?"

  "And shrimp. I know, I'm high maintenance," I said dryly.

  "It's not your fault. How bad are the allergies?"

  "Some worse than others. I haven't had an attack in a while, but I carry an Epi-Pen just in case." I slid my bag off my shoulder and set it on the floor, putting some distance between the smoke-filled leather bag and myself.

  "I'm glad you brought your purse with you."

  "I wish I'd grabbed my computer, although you never told me if Sophia found anything on it."

  "She found the same spyware that was on your office computer."

  "Great." I shuddered to think of what I might have done in front of that camera. Although, I usually kept it on my dining room table and not in my bedroom.

  I took a couple of slices of cheese from the tray and popped them in my mouth. As I chewed, my mind went over the trauma we'd just been through. "I can't believe someone put a bomb outside my apartment. Wouldn't that take some planning? Everything seems like it's happening so fast. The video and the audio interview were only released today. How is someone reacting so quickly?"