The Firefighter’s Secret Baby

by Anna DeStefano

  Were they gone? Were they still in the building? God, what if they hadn’t made it out? What if they’d been caught up in some sort of attempt to get to Sam?

  “Luca!” Sam began to struggle against Randy. “He’s found me.”

  “Hold still.” Randy pulled her head back to his shoulder.

  He ran a soothing hand down her soggy hair. She was shivering. He grabbed the spread off one of the room’s double beds and dragged it around her to help shield her from the water. Then he tugged the IV stand closer and detached her bag of saline and whatever else they were giving her.

  “We have to get out of here!” she gasped.

  “We have to sit tight and wait. Let’s give the feds another minute, before—

  “What if there’s no one coming for us?”

  “We’re going to stay calm. Panic’s only going to make things worse.”

  Rule number one when running into a fire—see danger as a worthy adversary, not as sure and sudden death. Respect it. Outsmart it. But never give in to the fear of it.

  “We’re waiting here until—” he began to say.

  The door to the hallway burst open, ushering in a cloud of dark smoke. Randy could barely see through the scant light filtering through from the room’s shaded windows. He shoved Sam to the floor, preparing to throw himself over the bed at whomever might be approaching.

  “What’s happening?” Sam whispered.

  “Stay down.”

  Randy stared toward the door. Listened. There was nothing but the blare of the fire alarm. Then came a distant, angry growl Randy knew all too well.

  A growing fire.

  They were trapped. Running for safety might be exactly what whomever had caused the explosion wanted—assuming it had been set intentionally. But staying there waiting to be burned alive was a death sentence.

  Where were the damned marshals?

  “I’ll be right back.” He caressed Sam’s cheek in the darkness.

  “No!” She grabbed his arm. “Luca will kill you!”

  “I have to—”

  “Sam? Montgomery?” came a shout from the hallway.

  “Dean?” Randy half carried Sam as he helped her crawl through the thickening smoke toward the shadowy figure now kneeling in the doorway. “What the hell’s going on?”

  “They’ve blown the elevators,” Dean answered. “Fire’s already filling the floors below us, where the charges were detonated. My team’s isolated the intruders. This floor’s secure. But the stairwell’s our only exit. Are you certified with a handgun?”

  Randy couldn’t focus on a single word the other man had said. Because while Dean had been talking and the alarms had been blaring and the heat of the fire had been rolling closer, Sam’s marshal had pressed an automatic weapon into Randy’s hand. Randy’s fingers wrapped around the grip, his past creeping closer than it had since he’d been a child.

  “Montgomery!” Dean demanded when Randy didn’t respond.

  “I certified fifteen years ago.” Randy had made a point of it. As a teenager. Long before joining the fire department. He’d learned how to build, dismantle, arm, disarm, clean and store a variety of guns. All illegally. All before he’d graduated middle school. Then he’d made Emma promise never to keep a gun in their home.

  “You okay, Sam?” Dean asked.

  “Yes.” The answer was shaky, followed by a cough that ripped Randy securely back to the present.

  “Let’s get you out of here.” He checked the gun’s safety, then secured it at his back in the waistband of his jeans. “Stairs are to the left,” he said to Dean. “Four doors to the end of the hallway, on the right.” It was instinct, cataloging floor plan details wherever he went. “Stay below the smoke line, where the air is still breathable.”

  Sam’s marshal nodded and turned down the hall, hustling in a crouch.

  “We’ll be out of this before you know it,” Randy assured Sam. He was protecting her from this, even if she refused to trust him with anything else.

  She tried to crawl and cried in pain, her shoulder giving out. A shuddering cough consumed her. Suddenly he was the one who was close to losing it—because he couldn’t lose her. He lifted her slight frame against his body in a hold that resembled a football carry.

  “I can’t…” Her body drooped in his grasp. “I just ca—”

  “I’m going to slip you onto my back, baby.” Randy forced confidence into his voice. “It’s going to hurt your shoulder. I’m sorry. But it’ll get us down the hall and the stairs. All you have to do is trust me and relax. You can do that, right?”

  Not giving her time to think, Randy tucked her IV bag into his belt, slid her right arm around his back, angled his shoulder beneath her and lifted as he twisted, pulled and rose to his knees. Sam slid onto his back with a squeal of pain, then struggled when she almost slid off the other side.

  “Relax, baby.” Randy captured her with his right arm, plastering her to his back while he used his left hand to crawl after Dean. “I do this every day.”

  But never before with so precious a burden.

  “You okay?”

  He took her non-answer as a positive sign while he brushed against the outer wall of each room they passed, feeling for any heat transferring from a fire that might be building inside. He counted the doorways they had to pass until they reached the stairs, his internal map leading the way through the swelling darkness. Smoke was rising, swallowing everything.

  He squinted against the fire’s toxic vapors.

  “How’s the pain, baby? You still with me?”

  Another stream of coughing told him she was at least conscious. He didn’t let himself stop and check her condition. A second’s delay could mean the difference between them getting off the floor, or not.

  “Hang in there, sweetheart.”

  She couldn’t seem to catch her breath. Each painful cough was killing him as he reached the final doorway and turned toward where the stairwell should be. Her thin arm wrapped around his neck, squeezing trustingly.

  Adrenaline rushed through Randy. A new determination to get Sam out alive. He collided with a body he hadn’t seen kneeling in front of him.

  Max rose to his feet.

  “Ready?” the other man yelled over the blaring alarm.

  “Wait!” Randy stood, bringing Sam with him.

  He cringed, feeling her flinch in pain. But he felt the metal fire door, anyway. The metal was lukewarm to the touch.

  “Go!” he shouted to Dean. Then to Sam, he said, “Hang on to me, baby. Three flights down, and we’re out.”

  “Be ready.” Dean pushed through the door and led the way into the stairwell’s dimness. The marshal’s gun was up, aligned with a flashlight Randy could now see through the cleaner air around them. “We’ll stop three steps before each landing. Wait until I give the all clear. My people are securing the exit route, but we can’t be too careful. Follow my lead.”

  Randy followed, keeping Sam on his back. He stayed bent at an angle that would keep her balanced there, trying to cause her as little pain as possible. She silently endured, but the arm locked around his neck was ice cold. She needed to be lying down. Was her IV still inserted? What if there was someone waiting on the stairs to pick them off while they fled?

  He felt the imprint of the gun Dean had given him. He accepted the sudden conviction of knowing that he’d use it if he had to. Whoever this Luca was, he knew Sam was alive, partially because of Randy’s actions. And the goon was still gunning for her. Randy wasn’t letting him anywhere near Sam.

  They paused at the first landing. There was a marshal posted at that door. Dean and his man swept the next flight of stairs before continuing. The same pattern was repeated at the next door, their group growing with each flight.

  It was taking too damn long. Sam was shivering now. Finally, the reassuring clamor of sirens drew closer. Dean, Randy, Sam and the three other agents they’d collected burst outside, into an alley.

  A utility van was waiting,
doors open. Randy swung Sam into his arms. Her eyes were closed. She was out cold. They were hustled into the van. Bodies crowded in around them. The doors swung shut, and they were off.

  CHAPTER TEN

  CHARLIE WASN’T LIKING a word he was hearing of the clipped conversation going on between Glinda and whoever she had on the phone—one of the marshals who’d stayed behind with Randy and Sam at the hotel. What he liked less was that no one was communicating a thing to him and Emma.

  Glinda and the SUV’s driver had been all business. No explanation of their destination as they blew out of Atlanta midtown with unmarked sedans leading and following. No ETA for when they’d arrive wherever, or if Chris or Rick and Jessie would already be waiting there. Except something at the hotel had clearly gone wrong only minutes after they’d left.

  Glinda’s body was tense as she talked into the hands-free device wrapped around her ear. The driver listened on an identical device while Charlie held his sister’s hand, their arms lying across the top of their niece’s car seat. Emma alternated between staring out the window and staring at the baby. Her husband put his life on the line every day, the same as Charlie and Randy and Chris did. Emma dealt with worry as a way of life. But when Glinda once again said, “Understood,” into her hands-free, Emma clutched Charlie’s hand tighter.

  “What do you think’s happening back there?” She never cried, not in front of the brothers she’d raised from boys to hulking men. But moisture was pooling in her eyes now.

  “It’s going to be okay,” he assured her.

  Emma nodded and bent to gently kiss the baby who’d had another bottle and fallen into a post-snack stupor.

  “Randy’s a big boy,” Charlie insisted, hoping he’d done the right thing by suggesting this setup. “He’s in good hands.”

  “He’s in love.” Emma was back to staring out the window. “And he doesn’t know it yet. At least he’s nowhere ready to deal with it. He’s so focused and controlled, but I know him, Charlie. He doesn’t trust his feelings. He’ll be fighting the attachment, while he feels responsible for the woman, while someone’s trying to shut her up for good…Why won’t they tell us what’s going on!”

  The baby stiffened at Emma’s raised voice and gave an annoyed warble, threatening full-fledged wailing if they didn’t keep it down. Glinda shifted in her seat. She glanced into the backseat. Emma stared daggers at the other woman, daring her to not fill them in.

  “Our team intercepted a strike at the hotel,” the deputy finally explained. “It’s contained. Your brother’s safe.”

  “A strike?” Emma gasped.

  “A charge was planted in the elevator shaft. It activated, but—”

  “The hotel was bombed?” Charlie’s fingers clenched around his sister’s. “But everyone got out, right?”

  “There was a fire. Your brother piggybacked Sam down the stairs with our team covering. They’re en route to a secure location.”

  “But?” he asked.

  She hadn’t answered his question.

  Glinda turned back to the windshield. “But we lost two agents on the scene. They took out the guys booby-trapping the elevator, but they were caught in the blast.”

  Charlie sat back. Randy and Sam had been attacked only minutes after Charlie had walked away from his baby brother.

  It registered that Emma hadn’t said anything after Glinda’s revelation. Charlie inhaled, determined to reassure her, somehow. But when he looked at his sister, his stomach dropped.

  “What?”

  Emma let go of his hand and struggled to unbuckle the baby seat’s restraints. She snatched the little girl to her shoulder, patting her back.

  “What!” Charlie had never seen Emma this freaked.

  “I don’t think she’s breathing.” His sister switched the baby to her lap and rubbed her hand over the newborn’s tiny chest. “Her lips are turning blue. She’s not breathing!”

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  “I NEED TO TALK with Max.” Sam didn’t let herself look at Randy, even if she couldn’t let go of his hand.

  They’d almost died.

  The world had stopped spinning about half an hour ago. That made her a coward to still be lying on their new room’s bed, her eyes closed, clinging to Randy.

  “You need to rest,” Randy insisted. “The way the doctor told you to.”

  Randy had been quiet since they’d reached the SUV. He hadn’t demanded to know more about her life in New York. Not on the long ride to the new location, which turned out to be a lodge a hundred miles away and in the North Georgia mountains. Not while Sam had been checked out by the doctor who’d been waiting for them. Not even after Sam and Randy had been left to wash off the damp stench of smoke and fear that had followed them from the explosion.

  But he hadn’t let Sam out of his sight, either, except when she’d taken her turn in the shower. And she’d had the strong suspicion after catching the hooded determination in his eyes when she’d emerged and slid onto the bed, that he’d been contemplating following her into the bathroom if she hadn’t come out when she did.

  There was a lot behind that sharp gaze—the intensity of a man watching, waiting, looking for an excuse to pounce. He was angry again, and he should be. He was terrified for his family and their baby. So was she. Now, all she had to do was convince herself to let go.

  Nothing we can do now but wait, Randy said after she’d woken up in the SUV—the only other time he’d said anything at all. They’d just been told that his family and the baby were clear. They got everyone out alive. That’s what’s important.

  He’d sounded reassuring enough. Except then they’d heard that two of Max’s people had died protecting them. And no matter where they hid Sam next, the danger would keep coming. Luca would eventually find her.

  “Go get Max for me.” Sam tried to sit up, but dizziness sent her back to the mattress.

  Just a few more minutes.

  That’s all she needed.

  “He’s debriefing his team.” Randy’s fingers stayed wrapped around hers. “What’s the rush?”

  “Because I can’t take this anymore.” She really couldn’t. “We both know you’re going to go. Just have your say and get on with it!”

  He inhaled.

  Slowly.

  He didn’t budge an inch.

  Sam sat, somehow, and scooted to the other side of the bed—as far as her new IV would allow. Pillows bunched behind her, softening her body’s contact with the headboard.

  “Stop playing whatever game you’re playing—” her voice rose “—and just let me have it!”

  He blinked, his expression wary.

  “Why don’t you tell me what I’m supposed to be playing at,” he said.

  “Being a good guy, no matter how pissed you are. Being the guy that does the right thing, that fixes whatever needs to be fixed, no matter how much danger is involved. In case you hadn’t noticed, there’s a team of this country’s finest buzzing around me. I’m all full up with responsible, dependable heroes. You’re officially off the hook here, Lieutenant Montgomery.”

  His stare grew even more intense. “And if I’m not looking to be let off the hook?”

  “Someone just tried to blow you up. Now beat it. This has nothing to do with you.”

  It couldn’t.

  “But it has everything to do with you,” he reasoned, insufferably calm. “Which means it has everything to do with my child. Doesn’t that give me a right to care what happens to you?”

  “Our baby. Exactly!” A wave of need hit Sam. What wouldn’t she give to be holding her daughter again? To hear the peaceful, sleepy sounds she’d made. “You should be with her.”

  “Now we’re back to this being all about the baby.” Randy’s anger finally broke free. “Is that really the best you’ve got?”

  “What I’ve got is a dead fiancé and a car crash and buildings exploding and burning around me. Are you really that stupid?”

  “Is that what kissing me back at the hotel
felt like?” Randy pushed off the bed, but instead of heading for the door he bent and braced his hands on either side of Sam. “Stupid?”

  “That’s exactly what it was, you idiot.” The words sliced at Sam, while she watched them work their damage on Randy.

  Frustration clouded his features, then hurt. Then his expression cooled into the kind of cynical acceptance that shouldn’t be possible in a man who cared for things so deeply. He straightened and sank his hands into the back pockets of the jeans someone had found for him. He settled back on his heels, staring at the carpet.

  Sam suspected he was counting to ten.

  Okay, maybe twenty.

  “Maybe I am an idiot,” he finally said. “My whole life, I’ve avoided shit like this. Relationships aren’t for me. I’ve known it since I was a kid. Trusting isn’t my thing. It’s genetic, I suppose. So I stayed clear of women who wanted more than a nice ride or two, or a few fun weeks.”

  When Randy looked up, a part of him wasn’t there anymore. She could feel the shift as well as see it. Something had disappeared inward, traveling to the same damaged place she’d sensed when they’d grown quiet after making love. He’d stared into her eyes then, as if she was the first woman he’d let himself really see. The first heart he’d somehow known would understand what was beating inside him. That was the moment Sam had fallen in love with him.

  Now she was falling all over again.

  “So tell me why I can’t protect myself from you?” he asked. “Why I was careless and made a baby with you. Why did just talking with you while my crew cut you out of your car feel like coming home—even though my heart was breaking for what you were going through? Why did our daughter become the most important thing in my life, the moment I set eyes on her—no matter how hard it was for me to accept that I was a father? It’s not just responsibility or duty. I’m still here because I can’t be anywhere else, Sam. I’m not just some guy feeling responsible. And I’m not oblivious to the danger surrounding us. I’m angry and I’m confused and I’m worried about everyone I care about. But I’m still here. I can’t be anywhere else. Meanwhile you’re determined to get rid of me as fast as you can, and every tie to me—even your own daughter.”