Free A Race to Splendor by Ciji Ware Page A

Francisco Call had been rhapsodic in its description of the club’s elegant gaming tables, expensive mahogany paneling, rich Persian carpets, and discreet nooks where all manner of business was transacted. What wasn’t reported was the inadequate foundations or the private rooms in the adjacent hotel reserved for romantic assignations—or so went the rumors.
    As of five fifteen that morning, the entire place looked as if a barrage of cannon fire ripped through all four walls and pummeled the occupants, including Thayer. Amelia found her gaze once more drifting toward the pale arm of a woman buried beneath a pile of plaster and bricks. She quickly looked away, remembering her own near brush with death.
    “Don’t risk coming down here,” Thayer called out, wincing at his effort to speak. “Just send help. The rest of the roof may cave in. I can barely breathe. I think I’ve broken my ribs. Ling Lee… has been crushed.”
    “Oh no ! That’s your… friend? I’m so terribly sorry.”
    Thayer, having spoken the woman’s name, closed his eyes and fell silent, as if incapable of saying more. He slipped to his knees once again, head bowed as Barbary pressed closer to him. The only other man Amelia had ever witnessed weep was her drunken father, begging to gain admittance at the door of the Hunter Family suite after a particularly extended binge of drinking when she was nine years old.
    Unlike Henry Bradshaw’s harsh sobs, Thayer made no sound now, but remained mute, shoulders heaving. His former air of confidence and command had vanished, and in its place was the raw vulnerability of a man who had faced forces he could not possibly control. Like she, he’d been laid waste by the earthquake’s stark, vicious impartiality and Amelia felt a sudden, irrational kinship with a fellow survivor.
    Despite Thayer’s warnings, she cautiously made her way deeper into the pit of rubble and knelt by his side, lightly placing a hand on his dust-covered shoulder, her fingertips leaving an impression where she touched his dark dinner jacket. Barbary gazed up at her, his terrier tail giving a few, desultory wags. The animal appeared to have transferred his allegiance to the hotel’s new owner, for he licked Thayer’s dust covered hand and then rested his furry head on his thigh.
    “Hello, Barbary,” she murmured, and then turned her attention to Thayer. “We must get you medical attention right away.”
    “You shouldn’t be down here,” he muttered. “It’s too dangerous.” He raised one arm across his chest and encased her hand that was resting on his shoulder with his own, a joining of two wounded souls. His palm felt cold and Amelia guessed that by now, he was probably suffering from shock.
    “You’re very kind,” he murmured, closing his eyes. “More than I deserve. I can hardly move and—”
    “Then you must rest here awhile and I’ll see if I can find someone to help. Things are rather desperate downtown,” she confessed reluctantly. She peered past a shattered wall in the direction of the street, wondering if any hotel guests were wandering about that could lend a hand. “The fires appear to be spreading downtown something fierce. Perhaps someone on Taylor Street could—”
    Thayer’s lids fluttered open and he stared at her. His brows suddenly knit together and then he murmured, “I’m sorry… I’m so sorry…”
    To Amelia, the man again seemed amazingly close to tears. Thayer’s chin sank to his chest and he shook his head in little motions of despair. “I think… he’s over there,” he said, barely above a whisper. “Near Ling Lee.”
    A stab of dread, sudden and real, clutched at her. “Who?”
    “Your father.”
    “ What? Where?” She scanned the wreckage in disbelief that anyone else could have survived the collapse of the building.
    Thayer nodded in the direction of a gaming table that was minus its legs.
    “The table and chandelier fell on him… right after he dove for cover.”
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