“Ninety-seven hundred Wabash is on the east side of the docks, on Industrial Row. Nearest major cross street is Franklin. Looks like either a warehouse or a factory of some kind.”
Cole rolled through the map in his mind before matching it against the GPS screen embedded in the dash, using the methodical process to temper the fast-paced thump-thump of his heartbeat.
“Copy that,” he said, and Donovan echoed the words through the headset from his spot in the step. Between the amount of space and equipment dividing the front of the engine from the back and the wail of the sirens over their heads, hearing each other without assistance was more fantasy than reality, and seeing much of anything over the partition—especially when Cole was also responsible for maneuvering the engine through Fairview’s city streets—was even less likely. Although there were enough headsets in the step for each firefighter, usually only one person in the back wore them, communicating with the others as necessary, but as the operator, Cole always wore a set to be sure he’d hear Crews barking out orders and updates.
Case in point. “Listen up, ladies and gentlemen! Dispatch just confirmed two reports of smoke at the scene and it looks like we’re going to be first in, so it’s time to put your tray tables up and fasten your fucking seat belts. GPS has us seven minutes out. I want each of you ready to put your boots on the ground in five.”
This time, Donovan’s “copy that” was joined by Savannah’s through the headset, sending a hot pulse of energy through Cole’s blood. Of course she was ambitious enough to listen in for herself. Even if she’d lagged behind when the all-call had gone off, she’d made no bones about wanting to prove herself, often and well and immediately if not sooner.
Jesus, he was going to have his hands full in T-minus six minutes and counting.
Cole guided the engine over the narrow downtown side streets, the landscape changing block by block as they got closer to Industrial Row. The buildings grew shabbier and more dilapidated, some with bars on the windows, others with the openings boarded up completely. The clusters of businesses still up and running were of the questionable variety, with pawnshops and convenience stores and seedy-looking bars headlining the pack. Cole smelled the acrid punch of smoke about sixty seconds before he saw the fat gray puffs seething out from the second- and third-story windows of an older warehouse-style building. Damn, the place had to be upward of twenty thousand square feet, with more than half of it actively burning.
Time to make the doughnuts.
“Okay, people,” Crews hollered through the headset as he yanked his coat closed and grabbed his gloves. “Squad’s right in front of us, and Westin’s on the two-way, calling the ball. Let’s go.”
Cole jumped down from the engine, a blast of heat from the sunbaked street combining with the thick haze of smoke to rush upward and cram inside his lungs. To his left, Donovan’s boots hit the pavement, and the guy turned just briefly to place an affable slap over the top of Savannah’s helmet before hauling off to follow Crews and Jonesey.
But Savannah didn’t move. She stood glued to Wabash Avenue, eyes like dark copper dinner plates as she stared at the flames licking their way up the front of the building. As sleep-startled as she’d looked pulling herself into the step ten minutes ago, her current expression marked her as wide awake, although she didn’t seem any less stunned now that they were on scene.
Cole needed to snap her out of it. And fast.
“Nelson.” He stepped directly into her field of vision, fastening his gaze over hers as he edged close enough for the brims of their helmets to nearly touch. “You’re on my hip. Not ahead of me, not up my ass, not ten steps behind. On my hip. Got it?”
She blinked. Reset herself. And just like that, the glimmer was back in her eyes. “Copy that. On your hip,” she said with a hard nod.
He exhaled in relief. Turning toward the back of the engine, Cole covered the space in only a few strides, not stopping until he’d reached the spot on the street where Captain Westin stood issuing no-nonsense orders.
“Oz, you and Andersen get up on that roof for a vent,” he said, his keen eyes not wavering from the warehouse’s roofline. “I want to knock this fire down before it spreads any farther. Crews, you’re on the nozzle with Donovan. Jones, fall in to advance the line. According to dispatch, this warehouse is storage only, but keep your eyes open for entrapment just in case. Everett, take Nelson to tap a hydrant and stand by on engine. Get it done.”
“Okay,” Savannah said, recovering her voice as everyone broke into motion. “So once we get the line open, then what do you and I do?”
Cole inhaled, the scent of soot and smoke clogging his senses and making his eyes water. This warehouse was burning faster than dry kindling in a drought. “What we don’t do is get ahead of ourselves. Where’s the closest hydrant, candidate?”
“Uh.” She swung her gaze up and down Wabash Avenue in a panicked search, and hell, they didn’t have time for this.
“It’s half a block up on your nine.” He shouldered the hose from the back of the engine, his muscles going into a full-on burn that didn’t stop him from turning to his left and hauling ass over the crumbling sidewalk. Once Nelson got over her momentary stumbling block, she fell in behind him, right on his hip.
“Go ahead,” Cole said, jerking his head at the ancient, once-red fire hydrant he’d put eyes on about seven seconds after his boots had met the asphalt. Nelson dropped to the pavement and got to work tapping the hydrant, and miraculously, the freaking thing wasn’t stripped. Although her motions were far less smooth than Cole would’ve liked, Savannah managed to get the water line set without too much of a delay.
“Water’s a go,” Cole said into the radio on his shoulder, waiting for Captain Westin’s “copy that, water is a go” in response before starting back toward Engine Eight.
As soon as their boots stopped moving, Savannah lifted her hands in question. “Now what?”
“Now we stand by, just like Cap said.”
“But”—she broke off to aim a pointed look at the warehouse, which was still showing signs of active fire from both the second and third floors—“this fire is huge. Shouldn’t we all be inside?”
The adrenaline coursing through his system shot out a steady stream of yes yes yes, but still Cole shook his head. Focus. “The rest of the guys on squad are heading in while Oz and Andersen vent the roof, and Crews and Donovan and Jones will back them up. Two in, two out.”
A spark of hope crossed Nelson’s heat-flushed face. “So when two of them come out, we go in.”
“Negative,” he said, scanning the scene in another systematic sweep. “Your assignment is your assignment, and it doesn’t change. Two in, two out means that when two men—or in this case, more—go inside a building, two stay outside at the engine. No exceptions.”
“So we just have to sit here?”
Cole’s molars came together in a hard clack. “No. We have to stand by.”
The frustration on her face was as plain as the burning building in front of him, but beneath her creased brows and her pinched mouth, Cole could see the gears moving, processing. “In case something goes wrong and they need someone to go in for a rescue?”
Halle-freaking-llujah. “Now you’re catching on. So tell me. What do you see?”
“I see a gigantic fire, Everett,” she said, and so much for her frustration taking a hike. “What else is there?”
He bit the inside of his cheek until it stung, but damn it, she needed to look past the fire, and the only way she was going to learn how to properly assess a scene was if she was properly taught. “Standing by doesn’t mean just sitting on your ass waiting for something to happen, Nelson. Remember that swivel your head is supposed to be on? There’s plenty to see if you just look, and you never know if you’re going to need the intel. Now try again.”
Finally, she lifted her head, the black brim of her helmet shading her eyes as she shifted her gaze from left to right. “A four-story warehouse, detached stru
cture, second and third floors fully involved. Showing flames in six windows on the Alpha side. Three on floor two, three on floor three. Primary point of entry is the front door, which appears unimpeded.”
“Good.” Cole split his attention between the scene in front of him and the back-and-forth going on over the two-way at his shoulder, his brows lifting slightly in surprise as Nelson paused to mimic his actions. “What else?”
“No reported entrapment, and the police have the street blocked off, so no bystanders are in danger from the fire or falling debris.”
Savannah proceeded to run down the details of the scene, pausing along with him to listen to the radio byplay as the guys on engine and squad worked to contain the blaze. Although Cole itched to be in the thick of the fire just as fiercely as she did, she had to learn how to manage both a scene and her nerves from the outside in.
Otherwise the only thing they’d both be managing was a swift trip to the captain’s office.
“All right,” Westin finally called out over the radio as the last of the flames disappeared and the steady plumes of smoke began to subside. “Nice work, men. Oz, you and Andersen do one last walk-through. I’m none too interested in seeing this place flare up for another go-round. Crews, Donovan, Jones, fall out.”
Savannah turned toward him, lips parted. “So that’s it?”
“We have to load up all the equipment, and squad will come back at some point to do the official report. But yeah. The fire’s out, so that’s it.”
“But I didn’t even do anything,” she argued.
Cole’s gut twitched. He knew he should take a deep breath, grab his focus with both hands, and calmly remind her that she wasn’t even halfway through with her very first shift.
So it surprised the hell out of them both when instead, he scooped up the challenge in her words and threw down one of his own.
“Actually, you had the most important assignment of anyone. But until you figure out why that is, you aren’t going to get very far.”
* * *
By the time Savannah’s shift was finally done and she’d dragged herself back over the threshold of her brother’s apartment, she was fairly certain collapsing was a foregone conclusion. Whether the cause of her demise would be muscle failure or sheer exhaustion remained a bit of a coin flip, but between the incessant throbbing in her body and the punch-drunk weariness of her brain, there was one thing Savannah did know for sure.
Nothing she’d ever practiced at the academy had come within a country mile of the twenty-four hours she’d just spent at Station Eight. And she hadn’t even done anything other than cook, run an ungodly number of drills, watch every other person in the house fight the one honest-to-God fire they’d been called to, and get about three hours of broken sleep as they’d hauled out on false alarm after false alarm in the middle of the night.
“Hey! The prodigal daughter returns.” Brad looked up from the narrow stretch of countertop that doubled as the breakfast bar separating his kitchenette from the rest of the apartment’s teeny-tiny living space. “How was your first shift?”
“Unnnf,” Savannah managed, not even bothering to kick off her boots before trudging over to the couch and flopping facedown onto the cushions. Oh God, she must be hurting something awful, because not even hellfire and brimstone could drag her from this spot, and the couch was more uncomfortable than ever.
“That sounds about right.” Her brother nodded, his brown eyes crinkling just slightly at the edges as he folded up the newspaper he’d been reading in favor of giving her a closer look. “So seriously, are you going to make me drag the details out of you? Because I’d hate to put the screws to you when you’re so weak.”
Savannah rolled over, mustering just enough energy for her family-famous death glare. “Careful, brother of mine. This dog may be tired, but she’ll still bite.”
“Atta girl.” Brad took the three steps necessary to reach his refrigerator, then six more to deliver the water bottle he’d unearthed to her spot on the couch. “So come on. Before I go to work and leave you here in the castle all day, out with it. How’d it go over at Eight?”
Well, hell. She might as well fork over the details because she knew her brother way better than to think he’d been kidding about putting the screws to her.
“It was . . .” Physically challenging. Mentally draining. Frustrating as shit. “Interesting,” she finished, propping herself up on one elbow to crack open her bottle of water.
Brad raised a nearly black eyebrow in his trademark call of bullshit. “What are you, some sort of delicate flower all of a sudden? You just did your first tour as a firefighter, for Chrissake. A little truth, please.”
Busted. “Well, seeing as how I didn’t get to do anything other than housekeeping and drills, I’m not really sure I’m qualified to comment.”
But rather than getting huffy in her defense, her brother just nudged her feet over, parking himself at the end of the couch. “That sounds about right for a brand-new candidate. What drills?”
“Gear and equipment,” Savannah said, her shoulder muscles thudding at the reminder. When they’d gotten back from their lone fire call, Everett had run her all over the engine bay, finding and hauling and replacing various hoses and equipment from every last compartment of Engine Eight until she’d been ready to scream.
As if mocking her with that whole you-had-the-most-important-assignment thing hadn’t been aggravating enough. Okay, so she’d screwed up a tiny bit by actually falling asleep when Everett and Donovan had exiled her to the bunks, and yeah, she’d been disoriented enough to lag behind when the all-call had ripped her awake. But she’d recovered just fine—fine enough to gear up without any help, and fine enough to have been able to at least go into that warehouse and advance the line. Not that her prep had done her any good, since her only purpose on the call had been to stop, drop, and watch. How the hell could that possibly be the most important assignment in the house?
And more importantly, why couldn’t she forget the flash of pure intensity that had crossed Everett’s face as he’d said it?
“Gear and equipment, huh? No wonder you look like death on a dinner tray,” Brad said, his grin tugging her back to the reality of his fun-sized apartment.
“Aw, thanks, Bradley.” She slapped her armor over the sting building in her chest, splaying a hand over her heart in an exaggerated sweep. “You really know how to compliment a girl.”
“That is a compliment, SB. Death warmed up means those drills didn’t kill you outright like they would most people.”
At the mention of her childhood nickname, Savannah groaned. “Don’t call me that!”
“What? Savannah Banana?”
“I swear to God, I will find the energy to leave this couch,” she threatened, although the smile poking at the edges of her mouth had to be watering down her mean factor something awful.
Her brother held up both hands. “Ah, as much as I live and breathe to torture you, I know better than to kick someone when they’re down. Even someone as tough as you.”
Brad’s pause was just long enough to let her know that the next thing out of his mouth would be a notch up on the serious scale, and when he spoke again, he didn’t disappoint. “I’ve heard they’re a pretty tight group over there at Eight. Any issues with you being the new kid in the schoolyard?”
Savannah shifted on the couch cushions, the muscles in her upper body throbbing in protest of her shrug. “I’m their candidate, and the first woman they’ve ever had on engine. I’d be naïve to think they’d just welcome me into the fold.”
“Is that a yes?”
Leave it to her brother to get right to the nitty-gritty. For a second, she considered letting her frustrations fly over Lieutenant Osborne putting her on KP and the coffee-pouring stunt that had gone with it. But having a hissy fit about Oz wouldn’t change the guy’s sexist opinions, and anyway, he’d steered pretty clear of her for the rest of the shift. She was tough enough to handle it without whinin
g. “It’s nothing I can’t manage.”
Just like that, her brother’s smile was back. “I know. Speaking of which, I left the Icy Hot and a shitload of ibuprofen out for you in the bathroom. Oh, and there are two bags of peas in the freezer.”
Okay, so she knew she was brain-fried, but now Brad was just talking crazy. “And how exactly is eating two entire bags of peas going to make me feel better?”
“They’re not for your belly, smart mouth. They’re for your back. Don’t you remember Dad’s solution when Tyler accidentally popped you in the face during our touch football tourney that one Thanksgiving?”
As spent as she was, Savannah had to give in to the grin forming on her lips. “An ass-whupping?”
Lord, her daddy had been so mad at their brother for that errant elbow he’d thrown trying to get to Brad, who’d been playing QB at the time. The black eye she’d gotten really had been an accident, and she’d taken it like a champ, not even crying in front of the boys. But Tyler had been fourteen, so not only had he had five years on her, but he’d also outweighed her by nearly double at the time. The hit had hurt like hell.
“The cure for your shiner, not for Ty’s ass.” Brad laughed. “Dad put that bag of frozen succotash on your cheek and it worked like a charm on all that swelling. Sorry to say the grocery store was fresh out of succotash today, but the peas will do the same for your back. Trust me.”
Savannah’s heart twisted in her rib cage. The double whammy of the family memory and the fact that Brad was clearly looking out for her in his own older-brother way made her throat go tight, and she swallowed twice before saying, “Yeah. Thanks.”
“Sure.” Brad braced his forearms over the thighs of his uniform pants, turning so Savannah couldn’t escape his dark brown stare. “So are you going to call him?”
She swallowed again, third time being the charm and all. “Maybe at the end of the week, after I have a few shifts under my belt.”
Translation: after she got to do something other than wreck breakfast and work standby detail. No way could she call her battalion chief father with the scoop on her job until she had something of substance to say. Something that would make him proud.
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