He peered through the haze, feeling the heat grow about him, seeing red flickers from down the hallway at the back of the building. The fire was climbing through the air vents.

There was still no sign of Stef.

Sirens screamed up to the front doorway, and firefighters clad in flame-retardant gear rushed inside in a knot. Ross was down on one knee now, coughing violently, eyes burning with the smoke, head spinning. They reached out for him and pulled him to his feet. He was too weak to resist, barely able to keep hold of his staff.

Hoses were being dragged through the doorway, and he could hear the sound of glass being broken.

“Who else is in here?” he heard someone ask.

He shook his head. “More women and children … upstairs. Stef is up there … helping them.” He retched violently and doubled over. “A night manager … somewhere.”

They hauled him outside into the cool, rainy night, propped him against the side of an ambulance, and gave him oxygen. He gulped it down greedily, his eyes gradually beginning to clear, his sight to return. Knots of women and children huddled all around him, shivering in the cold night air.

His gaze settled on Fresh Start. Flames were climbing the exterior of the walls, shooting out of the second- and third-story windows.

Stef!

He lurched to his feet and tried to push his way back inside, but hands closed tightly on his arms and shoulders and pulled him back again. “You can’t do that, sir,” a voice informed him quickly. “Get back now, please.”

Windows exploded, showering the street with shards of glass. “But she’s still in there!” he gasped frantically, trying to make them understand, fighting to break free.

More women and children were being hustled out, escorted by firefighters. A hook and ladder truck had rolled into position, and the extension was being run up toward the roof. Police cars had arrived to protect the firefighters and control traffic, and there were flashing lights everywhere. At the fringe of the action, a crowd was gathering to watch from behind cordoned lines. The mix of rain and hydrant water had turned the streets to rivers.

Still struggling, Ross was moved back to the makeshift shelter, overpowered by the combined weight of his protectors. Fear and anger swept through him in a red haze, and he felt himself losing control.

Stef! He had to go back in for Stef!

And then she appeared, stumbling out the smoke-filled doorway of the shelter, a small child clutched in her arms. Firefighters clustered around her, taking charge of the child, moving both of them away from the blaze, the building behind them bright with flames.

Ross broke free of the restraining hands and went to her. She collapsed into his arms, and they sank to the rain-soaked pavement.

“Stef,” he murmured in relief, hugging her tightly.

“It’s all right, John,” she whispered, nodding into his shoulder, firefighters rushing past them in dark knots, hoses trailing after like snakes. “It’s all right.”