Читать книгу Firefighter's Doorstep Baby / The Soldier's Untamed Heart онлайн | страница 28

He gripped the sill and fought the remnants of the nightmare. It was hauntingly familiar. He’d had it often enough since that fateful day. Gradually the echoes of frantic screams faded. The horror receded. The soft normal sounds of night crept in.

Long moments later he turned to get dressed. There would be no more sleep tonight.

Once warmly clothed, he went to the motorcycle and climbed on board. A ride through the higher mountain roads would get him focused. He knew he was trying to outrun the demons. Nothing would ever erase that day from his mind. But he couldn’t stay inside a moment longer. The wind rushed through his hair; the sting of cold air on his cheeks proved he was alive. And the lack of smoke was life-affirming. It was pure nectar after the hell he’d lived through.

Driving on the curving roads required skill and concentration. One careless moment and he could go spinning over the side and fall a hundred feet. The hills were deserted. No homes were back here, no one to see him as he made the tight turns, forcing the motorcycle to greater speed. He still felt that flare of exhilaration of conquering the challenge, his skills coming into play. At least he had this.

It was close to dawn when Cristiano approached the village. He’d made a wide circle and was heading back to home. A hot cup of espresso sounded good right about now.

He settled in on the road that curved around the lake. Soon he’d turn for the short climb to the family cottage. Then he smelt it.

Smoke.

His gut clenched. For a moment he thought he imagined it. He drew in a deep breath—it was in the air. Where there was smoke, there was fire. He slowed down and peered around. No one would have a campfire going at this hour; it was getting close to dawn. There, stronger now. To the left, near the lake.

For a moment indecision gripped him. Each breath identified the smoke as it wafted on the morning air. Forest fire? Building fire? He stopped the motorcycle, holding it upright with one foot on the ground. Every muscle tightened. He couldn’t move. He felt paralyzed. Where were the village’s firefighters? Why wasn’t someone responding? Had the alarm even been sounded?