Rory (Hope City #7) - Maryann Jordan Page 0,86

and cooling works. The power systems are more than adequate for all the electricity needs of this building. Anything extra required is for suckers.”

Sandy heard the words the man was saying but struggled to make sense of them. Is he saying he didn’t follow all the necessary codes? Did the inspector sign off when the electricity was not up to code? She held her breath, not wanting to eavesdrop, but considering the men stood between her and the elevator and stairway doors, she had no choice but to remain where she was.

“You’d better be right,” Anthony said, his voice sounding less sure and more like a whine. “Yet the inspector called me wanting to know why Ms. Carmichael was calling his office wanting assurances that his inspection was complete.”

“Well, maybe Ms. Carmichael should keep her nose outta other people’s business.”

“What are you going to do? Wait, no! I don’t want to know!” Anthony cried.

“Christ, Anthony, this isn’t like my grandfather’s day. No one is going to get whacked. She just needs to be warned off, or hell, paid off like everyone else, including that Anderson guy you’ve got overseeing everything.”

She gasped at hearing Dave had been taking payoffs, but the sound was buried under a loud crackle followed by several sharp pops that rang out next to her. She whirled around to see a thin curl of smoke ease past the door of the fuse box that she had looked at earlier.

“What’s going on?” Anthony called out, rushing forward from the hall into the office, his wide-eyed gaze landing first on her before shooting over to the smoking wall.

“What the hell are you doing here?” the other man yelled at the same time, entering the office behind Anthony.

“This!” she shouted, pointing to the still-smoking fuse box. “This is what I was talking about! I don’t know what’s going on, but something’s wrong with it.”

Anthony stood with his eyes wide and his hands lifted in front of him as the other man stomped past her. He reached out and grabbed the lift handle on the fuse box. “Fuck!” He snapped his hand back and shook his fingers.

“That’s what I’ve been complaining about. It’s smoking!” she said, turning her accusing gaze toward Anthony.

The man grabbed the handle again and jerked it open quickly. Sparks shot out before the inside wires flamed. Before either man had a chance to react, the fire alarms began screeching throughout the building.

“Oh, my God! Get out!” Anthony screamed, his arms waving as he ran toward the elevator.

“It won’t work! The elevator shuts off when the fire alarms react!” the other man shouted.

She was right behind Anthony when the three of them reached the office doorway at the same time. Anthony rushed through, but her arm was grabbed by the other man as he jerked her backward to get to the door first. Losing her balance, her ankle twisted, and she fell to the side. Her head hit the corner of the elegant receptionist desk she had admired earlier. Pain shot through her head and neck just before the lights from the hallway lobby went black.

26

When the Fifty-two-C-one call came in, the paramedics jumped into their ambulances, waiting for the fire trucks and fire engines to pull out first. The call went out to multiple stations, and Rory followed the truck through the intersections as they made their way toward the harbor.

“First Battalion, Jonesville Station, Engine five, Truck three, Medic fourteen. Second Battalion, Barker Station, Engine thirteen, Truck seventeen, Medic four—”

“Residential or commercial?” Rory asked Shania, interrupting the continuous central radio station listings, surprised the call code didn’t delineate.

“Hang on.” Shania listened to a separate radio channel of information coming from dispatch. “It’s both commercial and residential. New, but unoccupied.”

“Thank God—”

“Shit! No, Rory… it’s the Partridge Tower.”

His heart jolted in his chest and he gasped, the air in the cab of the ambulance suddenly thick with fear. Even if he hadn’t just glanced at the intersection street sign, the brake lights on the fire trucks ahead signaled their arrival. “Move on up, move on!” he growled. “Where the hell do they want us?”

The gala had resulted in cars lining the street, making it difficult for the trucks to get through. Several of the fire engines honked their horns but the results were little movement and mostly more noise.

“Get behind truck fourteen,” Shania called out, her hand lifted, pointing out the front window.

Slamming on the brakes, he threw the ambulance into park. They were half a block away from