Code of Honor

by Kathryn Shay

  “Read some more.”

  She squinted at the pages. Found the night they’d given him the cat. “I wanted to be where that kitten was tonight, licking Jake’s neck. I was astounded at the force of my feelings for him. Oh, God, he’s my lieutenant.”

  Jake chuckled. “I tried like hell to get out of that kitchen so you wouldn’t know how you affected me.”

  Her mouth dropped. “Really? I didn’t see.”

  “I was in pain, lady.”

  After several more excerpts, each followed by increasingly hot kisses, she said, “Okay, last one.”

  “Make it good, babe.”

  “He’s asleep on my floor. I’m staring at him right now, telling myself to leave him alone when I really want to go over and jump his bones. He was as tender as a son with Mrs. Lowe, a savior with Timmy. He’s kind and strong, and…” She blinked hard. “I can’t finish.”

  “And what? Tell me.”

  Her eyes got so bleak it took his breath away. Finally she read “…and everything I’ve ever wanted in a man.” She closed the diary.

  He pulled her head down and kissed her passionately.

  After a moment she drew away from him and said gravely, “But I also wrote that I knew I couldn’t have you. It’s wrong, Jake.”

  He stared at her, then eased up to lean against the couch and draw her into his lap. “All right, let’s talk about it.”

  “It can’t work between us. You’re the officer on my group. It’s unethical for us to be together like this. Not to mention our previous fiascos around being too close to a colleague.”

  “I know,” he said. She cuddled into him. “Chels, I sent in my forms to take the captaincy exam.”

  “That’s great!” Real pleasure shone in her eyes.

  “Not for us.”

  “No, not for us.” Her pleasure vanished. “You’ll have to be unimpeachable now.” She glanced around the room.

  “So we’ll just have these few hours together.”

  Gently he pulled her to him. “I can’t let you go, sweetheart.”

  “We have no choice.”

  “Yes, we do.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “We’ll keep it a secret.”

  “Sneak around?”

  “No, we just won’t tell anybody. Not Delaney, Francey or Beth. Not Reed or Ben. And there won’t be a hint of our feelings at work.”

  She was silent.

  He held her tighter. “I can’t give you up. Let’s take it a day at a time.” When she started to protest, he said, “Honey, we both knew it shouldn’t happen between us in the first place, and it did. How do you think we’ll resist it now?”

  “I can’t go through what I did before, with Billy.”

  “I’ll never turn on you like that, no matter what happens. I promise.”

  She nodded, said nothing for a minute, then looked at him. “If we do this, I’ll do my part, too. I won’t give you any reason to doubt my ability, to find fault with my firefighting.”

  “Of course you won’t.”

  She pressed her fingers to his mouth. “Shh. Let me say it. If things do go wrong, I promise, I won’t blame you like Danny blamed you. I won’t turn on you, either.”

  His hand threaded her hair. “Then you’ll try it my way?”

  Chelsea braved a smile. “Yes, I’ll try.”

  He kissed her searingly, then gave her a boyish grin. “Good, because now that I’ve gotten a good look, I’d really miss those undies.”

  THE BIG ninety-year-old, three-story brick house in one of the city’s original neighborhoods had been built for a wealthy Rockford family but now was converted into apartments. A fire burned angrily inside, on the second floor where a flat roof addition jutted from the rest of the house. Already, Engine Four had laid hose to attack the fire, and Quint Six had followed with a second line to do search and rescue. Quint Eight had ventilated. On a second alarm, Jake’s station had been called in for more help.

  In the late-afternoon August heat Jake led his crew up the interior staircase to the seat of the fire. Clouds of gray smoke obscured everything; only the outline of the stairs was visible. The temperature jacked up big-time as he closed the distance to the fire; after just minutes inside, his body was covered with sweat and his clothes were sticking to him. He began to breathe faster and forced himself to be calm, to conserve air. He knew he was going to need it.

  “They’re worried about the ceilings,” he’d told his crew as they’d tightened their turnout gear. “They’re made of heavy-gauge metal and cement-based plaster. If they collapse, it’ll be an avalanche. Be careful.”

  With Chelsea behind him on the hose and Mick and Don behind her with another line, they reached the doorway where four firefighters were knocking down the main body of the fire.

  The smoke was lighter here, and it was easier to see but they received a blast of heat as they stepped inside. Halting, then squatting, Jake breathed deeply, gripped the hose and crawled to the other side of the room. Once there, he stood and, feeling Chelsea at his back, lifted the hose and pulled the lever.

  A hot, heavy weight slammed into him from above; he fell forward. He saw Chelsea go down next to him. He hit the floor face first, and his mouth gear dug into his skin. He tried to move, but something pinned him from the shoulders down.

  It took him a minute to figure out what had happened. The ceiling had fallen. There was no warning, no noise. It had dropped on them like a steel blanket, its weight pushing them to the floor.

  Twisting his head to the side, his heart leaped into his mouth when he saw Chelsea facedown, her head and upper torso sticking out of the mountain of plaster and Sheetrock. Stricken by the sight, he tried to move but couldn’t. Then she shifted, raised herself up on her arms, trying to free herself from the smothering wreckage. The relief he felt when he saw she’d survived the fall was intense. Had his men? He turned his head, checking for them. Through the smoke, he saw two firefighters who looked like Mick and Don crouched in the doorway to avoid the ceiling’s descent. Two others had missed being buried by squeezing into the space made by recessed windows. Another quick scan told Jake two firefighters were pinned, only the hand of one and the helmet of the other visible.

  Then he heard it. A beeping sound. Somebody’s SCBA alarm, indicating low oxygen on their breathing tank. It couldn’t be any of his group, because they’d only been in the building ten minutes.

  He yelled, “Somebody’s alarm—”

  Off to the side, glass shattered and firefighters crashed through the window. They carried pikes, axes, a sledgehammer, even a chain saw. As the fresh air fueled the flames, it got hotter.

  Then Mick and Don were over them. Mick grabbed a pike from one of the men and began to pick at the plaster trapping Chelsea. She was freed in minutes and given over to Don, who dragged her to the window and handed her out to a firefighter in the bucket at the end of the aerial ladder. Jake watched her rescue, then dropped his head to the floor with a prayer of thanks.

  He lay motionless. The weight of the plaster seemed to increase; brutal heat seeped into the back of his legs, so extreme it burned through his gear. He cringed with the pain. Steeled himself against it.

  Dimly he was aware of the commotion over him. The weight lightened. Another minute. More weight gone. Two minutes. Finally the weight was completely lifted. Freed, he struggled to get up, felt strong arms on either side of him as he realized he was unable to stand on his own. Don and Mick flanked him; they pulled him to his feet, hooked his arms over each of their shoulders, dragged him to the window. His stomach roiled with the motion. He was yanked into the bucket by the strong, capable hands of RFD personnel. Once there, he collapsed onto the floor.

  CHELSEA SANK onto one of the vinyl chairs of the Rockford Memorial Hospital’s Emergency waiting room and willed her hands to stop shaking. Jake was going to be all right. The paramedics and then the doctor had told her that. And she was safe. Despite the fact that she’d been buried under a mound of
hot plaster and her SCBA alarm went off, scaring her half to death, she’d survived without serious injury. The ambulance attendants had checked her out and found her with nothing more than a few first-degree burns; she’d refused any treatment.

  “Chelsea, oh, God.” Jessica Scarlatta stood like a fragile porcelain figurine in the doorway; then she bolted into the room. When Chelsea rose, Jess hurled herself into Chelsea’s arms. Hugging Jake’s child to her, Chelsea smoothed the girl’s long blond hair, saying, “Shh, honey, he’s all right.”

  Jess drew back, her face tearstained, her gray eyes stormy. “You wouldn’t lie—he’s really okay?”

  “I’d never lie to you. Now let’s sit and I’ll explain his condition.”

  Jess turned. “Come on, Barb. Derek.”

  Chelsea hadn’t noticed Barbara DeLuca behind Jess. Her face was furrowed with worry. Her son, Derek, a big, strapping boy with a man’s shoulders and a street kid’s eyes, held back. Keeping his fear for Jake at bay, Chelsea guessed. Afraid, like Jess, of losing a father.

  Barb smiled weakly at Chelsea, then grabbed Derek’s arm, and they all gathered at a small round table off to the side.

  Chelsea took Jessica’s hand in hers. “Your father has second-degree burns,” she said in her best EMT voice. That she was talking about Jake made her stomach churn, but she didn’t want to upset his daughter.

  “What does that mean?” Jess asked.

  “Burns are usually categorized by degrees. First is the least severe. Second-degree means the outer layer of the skin and the next layer are burned through, but there’s no damage to underlying tissue.”

  Jess’s eyes welled, and Chelsea watched Barbara slide a motherly arm around her. “Where’s he burned?” Jessica asked.

  “Only on the backs of his legs.” She squeezed Jess’s hand. “That’s very good, honey. Face, hands and the groin are much worse areas. The burns on the backs of his legs will heal, probably with just ointment.” She grinned to ease Jessica’s fears. “He’ll be a bear, though. There’ll be pain, swelling and blisters for forty-eight hours. He’ll be out of work a few days. But there won’t be any scarring.”

  Jess said, “I don’t care if he is a bear. I’ll take care of him. Just so he’s all right.” Jessica burst into sobs of relief. Barbara DeLuca took over as mother, putting her arm around the girl, making soothing sounds.

  Chelsea was startlingly jealous.

  “Chelsea?”

  Turning, Chelsea looked into the ashen face of her sister. “Delaney? Who called you?”

  Chelsea had telephoned Jess from the emergency department because she knew Jake had plans for dinner with his daughter. She’d called no one else yet, though the battalion chief had come to the hospital and talked to her. The rest of Jake’s crew would arrive momentarily.

  “I did.”

  Stunned, Chelsea looked at the boy who’d been stone-faced ever since he’d come in. Delaney put her hand on Derek’s shoulder. Her eyes were turbulent, but she was summoning up the therapist. “Are you all right?” she asked Chelsea.

  “I’m fine. A few minor burns.”

  “Jake?”

  “He’s okay, too. He’ll be laid up a couple of days, but he’s going to be fine.”

  Her sister’s shoulders lost their cardboard stiffness; she bent, hugged Chelsea, then turned her attention to the stoic young man. “Wanna go get a Coke with me, buddy?”

  Derek looked at her with an expression so nakedly needy it took Chelsea’s breath away. He didn’t speak, just nodded, rose and, towering over Delaney, walked down the corridor with her.

  “She’s working miracles with him,” Barbara said, staring after them. “When Jess called us, the first thing Derek did was phone your sister. He wouldn’t say a word to me, but I know he’s terrified of something happ—” She broke off, realizing what she was saying in front of Jess.

  A white-coated doctor approached the table. “Ms. Whitmore, is Lieutenant Scarlatta’s family here yet?”

  Barbara and Jessica stood. “We’re here,” they said in unison.

  Chelsea fought the surge of need to be included. She wasn’t Jake’s family, no matter how close they’d gotten. And all that mattered was that he was okay.

  “You can see him now.” The doctor frowned. “Has Ms. Whitmore explained the situation?”

  “About the burns.” Jess’s voice wobbled.

  “We’ve got that under control. We’re going to keep him overnight for observation. And he’ll be going to X ray for his back and chest.”

  “X ray?” Jess asked, her hands wrapping around her waist.

  “Yes, the plaster that fell on him was heavy. We want to rule out any internal damage.” When Jess’s eyes began to fill again, the doctor coughed. “There’s no evidence of that,” he told her. “It’s all precautionary.” Nodding to Barbara, he said, “Why don’t you take your daughter in to see for herself?”

  Chelsea swallowed her protest, and watched Jess and Barbara follow the doctor, feeling utterly bereft. Midway to the door, the doctor halted and turned. “Ms. Whitmore, you come, too. He’s, ah, been asking about you. It would be best if he could see for himself you’re all right.”

  Grateful, Chelsea rose; her legs were shaky, but she followed the group through the double doors and down a hallway. At the end of the corridor the doctor opened the door to a single room.

  Jake lay on his back, half propped up by the hospital bed. His face was streaked with dirt. The too-small, faded hospital gown stretched across his shoulders. A sheet draped his lap. His legs were angled up like he was in traction, lightly covered with another sheet. His bare feet stuck out. In his arm was an IV.

  “Daddy?” Jessica flew to the bed. She halted when she got there until he put out his arms, then she leaned over and hugged him, still sobbing.

  “Shh, sweetheart,” Jake murmured. “It’s okay, I’m fine.”

  “I was so scared for you.”

  “I’m fine,” he repeated.

  Over Jess’s back, his eyes locked with Chelsea’s for a brief, burning moment. He opened his mouth to speak when Barbara stepped into their line of vision. Jake said, “Barb?”

  “Hi, handsome.”

  Jess eased back, and as naturally as a wife to her husband, Barbara took Jess’s place. Chelsea shifted and pretended to study the signs on the wall. She stuck her hands in her grungy uniform pants and fisted them. She could hear Jake murmur coaxing words, chuckle at something Barb said. The intimacy of the trio, and the exclusion Chelsea felt, made her eyes fill. She needed to leave the cozy family scene before she revealed something no one could know.

  She reached for the door.

  Just as it opened from outside.

  Grim-faced, Mick, Joey, Peter and Don burst into the room. Though they’d hastily cleaned up and were in civilian clothes, they looked unkempt and thrown together. And worried.

  Mick grabbed Chelsea’s arms. “—Goddamn it, Whitmore, you sure you’re okay?”

  Blinking back the tears, she said, “I’m fine.”

  Peter came up behind Mick. “You should be admitted, Whitmore.”

  “No, I shouldn’t.” She straightened. “Don’t rag on me, guys. Go see how Jake’s doin’.”

  Immediately they turned to the bed, where Barb and Jess flanked Jake. Barb leaned into him; Jess held his hand. Jake said, “Jeez, don’t I get the sympathy?”

  The guys crowded around the bed, once more making Chelsea feel like odd man out. She reached for the door again.

  “Whitmore, get over here. I wanna see for myself you’re all right.” Jake’s voice was surprisingly strong.

  Sucking in a deep breath, she bit her lip and pivoted. She crossed to the bed, where Mick and Don parted to make room. “Yes, sir.”

  His look was a caress. He examined her face, which she realized must be streaked with dirt like his. He scanned her chest, taking in the wrinkled, torn RFD shirt. He clasped her hands in his. Turned them over. They were grimy, too. He squeezed them, and if he held
on a moment too long, no one seemed to notice. “You look like hell, but you aren’t hurt, are you?”

  She shook her head.

  “I can see burns on your neck, Whitmore.” This from Peter.

  “First degree. The paramedics took care of them.” She felt more in control after the connection with Jake. “I’m fine. It’s your lieutenant who needs the coddling.”

  Joey sank onto a chair at the end of the bed. Lines of fatigue marred his brow. “He’s just tryin’ to get Barb to cook all his meals for him.”

  “I’ll be glad to do that,” Barbara said seriously, her petite hand drifting to Jake’s shoulder. And staying there.

  Jake’s big hand came up and covered hers. “I won’t be that laid up.”

  Mick asked, “They give ya anything for the pain?”

  Briefly Jake glanced at Jess. “Yeah, a shot. I don’t feel much yet.”

  “Chelsea said you’ll be a bear for few days—with the swelling and blisters,” Jess said, steadier. “But you’ll be okay, Daddy.”

  Jake caught the youthful need to convince herself. He squeezed Jess’s arm. “Chelsea said that, huh?”

  “It’ll be like the time you broke your leg,” Mick teased.

  “Remember Nancy was chewin’ nails until you went back to work.”

  Jake laughed.

  All woman now, Jess said, “I’ll take care of you. Barb can help.”

  Chelsea stepped back and sidled behind the guys. She saw Peter watching her. She needed to be careful of her reactions, but this homey little drama with Barbara DeLuca as a main actor was getting to her.

  “Where ya’ goin’ Whitmore?” Jake asked.

  “Um, nowhere. I need to sit down for a minute.” She matched her actions to her words.

  Peter crossed to her and tipped her chin. “You sure you’re okay?”

  “Just exhausted.”

  Joey said, “Man, that plaster had to weigh a ton. I’m surprised Chelsea—”

  “Joe, let’s not hash this out now.” Jake’s gaze flicked to Jessica.

  “Oh, sure, time for a replay later.”

  Frowning, Jake said, “I just want to know whose SCBA alarm—”