The Men On Fire: A Complete Romance Series (3-Book Box Set)

by Samantha Christy

  She studies me for a minute. “Are all firefighters like you?”

  I laugh. But on the inside, I’m disgusted with myself. “No firefighters are like me. I’m in a class all by myself. Believe me on that one.”

  “A bit cocky, are we?” she asks with a flirtatious smirk. Then she holds out her hand. “I’m Tiffany.”

  Seriously? This is the second time today I’ve been hit on by hospital staff while Sara lies dying in bed.

  “Hi, Tiffany. I’m Denver. And I’m really tired, so I’ll see you later.”

  I grab my phone and walk out of the room as her words trail behind me. “I hope so.”

  Chapter Four

  The wet heat from the hot shower feels good on my stiff shoulders. I realize now how tense I must have been yesterday when I was in the car with Sara.

  I didn’t get much sleep last night. Every time I closed my eyes, I relived those moments with her. Only this time, the car was toppling over the edge with me inside. When I wasn’t dreaming about Sara, all I could think about was my parents’ accident and seeing their dead bodies.

  They were vacationing in Colorado when it happened. Both Aspen and I flew up there after we got the phone call. They didn’t tell us our parents were dead, not until we got there. But I knew they were. We wouldn’t have been told to go to the police station instead of the hospital if they were alive. And even though they had their IDs with them at the time of the accident, we were still asked to go to the morgue to identify the bodies.

  Aspen couldn’t do it. I didn’t want to do it either, but there was no one else. And I’m the big brother. Well, by three minutes, anyway. It’s my job to protect her. But I never told my sister that those moments were the most horrifying of my life. To see our parents lying on a bed of cold, hard steel, just a sheet covering their alabaster bodies—it’s the memory that plagues my dreams.

  Suddenly, I have the need to make sure Sara isn’t lying in the morgue on a bed of cold, hard steel. I quickly dry off and call her cousin.

  “Joelle, it’s Denver Andrews. Have you heard anything about Sara?”

  “I talked to a nurse an hour ago. She said nothing has changed. Her ICP remains high, and she’s still under sedation. She spiked a high fever overnight, so the nurse told me to dress warmly because they have the temperature turned down in her room.”

  I’m not sure why I breathe a sigh of relief, because that really doesn’t sound like good news. But it’s better news than her being dead.

  “And Oliver? Have you found him yet?”

  “No. He must be worried sick by now. I know I’d be going crazy if John had gone missing and I couldn’t reach him.”

  “You don’t know where he lives or works?” I ask.

  “I really don’t know much about him. Sara met him at one of her showings, I think. He’s in the business, but I’m not sure if he’s an artist or if he works for a gallery or what.”

  “How long have they been together?”

  “More than a year, maybe? I’m not really sure. I’m sorry, I know I’m not much help.”

  “I have some contacts at NYPD. I could put in a call to see what they can do.”

  “I’d appreciate that,” she says.

  “What about social media?” I ask. “Maybe we should start there.”

  “Sara isn’t active except for the one app that deletes messages as soon as you send them.”

  “Snap Chat?” I ask.

  “Yes, that’s the one.”

  “No Facebook account? How about Twitter or Instagram?”

  “She’s not on Facebook. I don’t know about the others. I guess we could try, but in my experience, people don’t always use their real names, so I’m not sure it will be all that helpful in finding Oliver. But I suppose it’s worth a shot.”

  “What about Sara’s other friends? Do you think you could contact any of them to come sit with her?”

  She snorts into the phone. “Ha! Like any of them would bother. They’re way too into themselves. The circle Sara ran in, let’s just say those snooty artists aren’t exactly the caregiving type.”

  “So there’s nobody?”

  There’s a long silence and I can practically hear Joelle thinking.

  “Well, I could try Lydia. But, to be honest, I’m not sure she’d come either.”

  “Lydia?”

  “They were childhood best friends where Sara grew up in Stamford, Connecticut. When they graduated from high school, they both moved to the city and took waitressing jobs. But like I told you yesterday, when Sara lost her parents, she withdrew from everyone. And then when she started living the life of an artist, everything changed. I’m not even sure Sara and Lydia are in contact anymore.”

  “Still, it might be worth a try,” I tell her.

  “Okay,” she says. “I’ll reach out to her.”

  “Do you mind if I sit with Sara again today?”

  “You don’t have to do that, Denver. I know you must be very busy.”

  “I just got off a twenty-four-hour shift yesterday, so I have a few days off now.”

  “And you want to spend that time babysitting my cousin?”

  “She shouldn’t be alone, Joelle. Nobody should be under these circumstances.”

  She sighs into the phone. “I know. I’m sorry. I’m sure you think I’m a grade-A bitch. But Sara and I didn’t have the best relationship these past few years. I know I shouldn’t hold that against her when she needs someone the most, and I’m really trying not to, but I do have other obligations with my mom and the twins. And I don’t live in the city, so the commute alone is difficult. But I promise to try and get there when I can. Maybe I can stop by later this afternoon for a few hours.”

  “That would be nice,” I say. “I’ll let you know if the police find anything.”

  “Thank you, Denver.”

  “It’s all part of the job.”

  “I doubt that,” she says. “But thank you, anyway.”

  After we get off the phone, I send a text to a buddy of mine over at NYPD to see if he can get me Oliver’s contact info, and then I head out to the hospital.

  The subway is only four blocks from Aspen and Sawyer’s townhouse, which is good, because even though they do have a garage out back complete with a car they keep here that they said I’m free to use, I won’t use it.

  Sometimes I wonder how I ever did my job in Kansas City back when I was a cop. For a long time after my parents’ accident, the only time I drove a car was when it had KCPD on the side of it. It makes me wonder if I became a cop for the same reason I became a firefighter—to try to save people. But the thing is, I never did save anyone back then. In fact, all I did was get myself into a deep pile of shit. I was too trusting, and I paid the price. I promised myself I’d never let something like that happen to me again.

  But living in New York is different. Nobody here looks at me like I’m a criminal. They don’t whisper about me behind my back. They don’t put the CLOSED sign in their shop windows when they see me coming. They don’t laugh at me when I’m down on my luck.

  The past ten months of living here have been the best months I’ve had since high school. Since before my parents died. And even if I never get offered a permanent position at FDNY, it still beats the miserable existence I had back in Missouri.

  When I arrive at the hospital, I use the main doors, hoping to avoid Nurse Nora and her batting eyelashes down in the ER. It’s not that she isn’t hot—she is. And normally, I might have even asked for her number. But I didn’t. And I didn’t ask for Nurse Tiffany’s either, because there’s a girl lying in a hospital bed up on floor six who could be dying.

  I look at my surroundings as I head up to the ICU. There are lots of people in this hospital who could be dying. There are probably dead people right here in this building. Maybe even on this floor. My heart starts beating wildly thinking that Sara could be one of those people. My steps quicken as I make my way to her room. I nod at the nurse on my way by. She waves at me, rememb
ering me from yesterday. I don’t stop walking until I’m in Sara’s doorway and see her lying in bed with machines still by her side.

  She’s not dead.

  She’s not lying on a cold, hard steel table in the basement.

  But she is alone.

  Before I step across the threshold, I turn around and ask the nurse, “Has anyone else been here to see her?”

  She shakes her head sadly. Then she walks over to a cabinet and pulls out a blanket. She hands it to me. “You’ll need this. It’s cold in there.”

  “Thanks.”

  I tuck it under my arm and walk into Sara’s room. I’m immediately assaulted by a climate normally found in the Alaskan tundra. “Holy shit,” I say, wrapping the blanket around me as I make my way to the chair next to her bed.

  The nurse follows behind me, putting on a jacket of her own.

  I look over at her. “Can’t you just give her medicine to bring her temperature down?”

  “We are,” she says. “But it’s not that easy with head injuries. She’s got ice packs in her armpits and groin areas, and she’s under a cooling blanket.”

  I study Sara, and I could swear she’s shivering. “Look at her. She’s freezing.”

  “I know,” the nurse says. “But we have to keep her temperature down to prevent further brain damage. Don’t worry, the sedation keeps her from feeling the full effects of the cold.”

  I close my eyes, saddened by her words. “So she’s got brain damage?”

  “We can’t be sure yet. Not until the swelling goes down. But odds are there will be some deficiencies.”

  I look at Sara, thinking how young she is and how life isn’t fair. At least my parents were older. They had lived. And they had each other. And even though Sara has Oliver, at this moment—she has no one.

  “Do you know how old she is?” I ask.

  “Twenty-four.”

  “Shit.”

  She’s just a year younger than I am.

  “That works in her favor, you know,” the nurse says. “Younger brains heal more quickly than older ones.”

  “I guess that’s something.”

  “I’ll leave you to it,” she says. “Let me know if you need anything. My name’s Krista. If you forget, it’s written there on the whiteboard.”

  “Thanks, Krista. I might need to know where the coffee machine is,” I say, already feeling my lips turning blue.

  She laughs. “I’ll bring you a cup. How do you like it?”

  “Hot.”

  “You got it.”

  I take a seat next to Sara and watch her chest rise and fall with each pump of the ventilator. I wonder if she can feel the tube down her throat.

  I breathe out forcefully a few times to check if I can see my breath. It seriously feels that cold in here.

  “I can’t imagine how cold you must be with all the ice packs on you,” I say. “I’m freezing and I’m fully clothed with a blanket on.” I put my hand on her skin and it feels warm despite the frigid temperature in the room. “Can you hear me, Sara? Dr. Stone said you might be able to. I’m working on locating Oliver for you. And I know I’m no substitute, but I’m happy to stay with you until he arrives. Joelle was here last night. She might be able to come back today, but I guess you know how busy she must be with twin toddlers. I know how busy we kept my mom. It must be fun for you, having twins in the family. Then again, Joelle said you two aren’t close. I wonder if that means you aren’t close with her children.”

  Krista walks into the room with my coffee. “Thanks,” I say, looking slightly embarrassed about talking to a woman in a coma.

  “I talk to my patients all the time,” she admits, trying to ease my discomfort. “Every time I’m in the room, I tell them what I’m doing. Sometimes I just talk about the day I’ve had, or I talk about my kids and my husband.”

  “Do you think they can hear you?”

  She shrugs. “I really don’t know. If they do, most of them are too out of it when they wake up to remember anything. But if there’s a chance even one of them can hear me, I want to make sure they know someone’s there with them. So keep talking to her. And it’s important to let her know where she is and why she’s here. Maybe then she won’t be as scared when she finally wakes up.”

  “Do you think she’ll wake up?”

  “I hope so.” She puts her hand on my shoulder and then adjusts one of the ice packs under Sara’s left arm. “Enjoy your coffee.”

  I wait until she walks out of the room before talking to Sara again.

  “Okay, so you were in a car accident yesterday, Sara. And now you’re in the hospital. The doctor gave you medicine to help you sleep. You’re going to be okay.”

  My phone rings. It’s my buddy from NYPD.

  “Hi, Jake. Did you find his number?”

  “Not yet,” he says. “I checked the incident records and it doesn’t look like her phone was found at the scene. Since the front window was smashed, it very well could have been thrown out of the car and is now at the bottom of the East River.”

  “Damn. But then, how did you contact her cousin, Joelle?”

  “According to the police report, Sara had her ID in her back pocket. We contacted the manager of her apartment building and got Joelle’s name off her emergency contact list.”

  “She didn’t have a wallet or a purse with her? Anything with more information?”

  “No.”

  “And what about the driver? Can you tell me anything about her? I’m sitting in the hospital with Sara and I’d like to be able to give her information about her friend when she wakes up.” I get up and walk to the other side of the room in case Sara can hear me. “Maybe her belongings could help us find Oliver.”

  “The driver’s name was Anna Jorgensen. She wasn’t under the influence if that’s what you’re asking. Looks like a tire blowout. There’s nothing anyone could have done. Bad timing being on the bridge. We do have Anna’s phone even though it’s smashed up. I looked in her contacts and didn’t find any Oliver. I have a number for her next of kin who came in last night to make the ID. I can call that number and see if I get anywhere. And I’ll keep digging on my end, but officially, since the family has been contacted already, it’s not our job to find him, and anything I do to help you is off the books. But the guy’s sure to turn up sooner or later if he can’t find his girlfriend.”

  “Yeah, I guess so. Thanks, Jake.”

  “Anytime.”

  I walk back over and sit down, grabbing my coffee and holding it between both hands to keep me warm.

  I sip it slowly as I study Sara’s face. Then I remember something.

  “Joelle said you’re an artist,” I muse aloud. “And she said you sell your paintings.”

  I put down the coffee and pull out my phone to Google her. As I type her last name into the search engine, I think of my mom. I’m not sure I’ve typed or written the name Francis since the weeks after their death. I look back up at Sara. “This is going to be different,” I tell her. “This isn’t ending the way that did.”

  The first hit I get is a picture of a painting. I click on it and expand it to fill up the entire screen. I look at the woman lying lifeless on the bed. “Damn. You did this?”

  I wish I had a big computer screen so I could really check it out, but even on my small phone, I can tell she’s got amazing talent. The painting appears to be a father and daughter on a beach. They’re holding hands, looking out into the ocean. The backdrop has a Cape Cod feel to it. Sara’s attention to detail is amazing, right down to the names on the street sign, a dilapidated fence, and cattails swaying in the breeze. It’s almost as if this was painted from a picture. But I don’t know of any picture that has captured as much passion.

  I’m no art curator, but I’m damn impressed. I can’t wait to get home and search for more of her paintings on my laptop.

  I come across the name of an art gallery that did a showing of her paintings. I write down the address, thinking maybe I’ll drop in and s
ee what information I can get.

  I stay with Sara until my stomach complains about being empty.

  While grabbing a bite in the cafeteria, I check my email messages. There’s one from headquarters reassigning me from Engine 77, where I was to report for my next shift, to Engine 319. 319 is Bass’s company. I immediately dial his number.

  “What’s up, Denver?”

  “Is everything okay with you?”

  “Yeah, why?”

  “I just got an assignment to 319.”

  “Oh, sweet. I was hoping you would.”

  “So it’s your shift?”

  “It is. I asked J.D. to request you. Auggie sprained his shoulder on a run yesterday and will be on desk duty for about four weeks.”

  “Four weeks?”

  He laughs. “Think you can put up with me that long?”

  “Hell yes.”

  “Good. Then I’ll see you Thursday.”

  A bunch of pagers go off all at once behind me, and a table of young doctors get up and race out of the cafeteria.

  “What was that?” Bass asks.

  “I’m at the hospital with the girl from the accident.”

  “So you went? Is she okay?”

  “She’s still unconscious. And she’s got no one.” I throw away my trash and then pace around the side of the cafeteria. “I mean she’s got a cousin, but she can’t really be here. And she has a boyfriend, but he hasn’t shown up yet and nobody knows his full name.”

  “You haven’t been there since last night, have you?”

  “Of course not. I went home and got some sleep.”

  “Be careful, Denver.”

  “What’s that supposed to mean?” I ask.

  “Try not to get too caught up in things. She’s not your responsibility. You did your job. Now let the doctors do theirs.”

  “Did you not hear me say she has nobody?”

  “It’s still not your job.”

  I see a familiar face walking through the atrium. “I have to go, Bass. I’ll talk to you later.”

  I hang up before he can say another word. Then I catch up with Joelle before she gets on the elevator.