Complete Series
By
Leslie Johnson
Copyright © 2015 Leslie Johnson
Published By: Atrevida Publishing
Table of Contents
Book Description
Book 1 — Chapter 1—Stephanie
Chapter 3—Ken
Chapter 4—Stephanie
Chapter 5—Ken
Chapter 6—Stephanie
Chapter 7—Ken
Chapter 8—Stephanie
Chapter 9—Ken
Chapter 10—Stephanie
Chapter 11—Ken
Chapter 12—Stephanie
Chapter 13—Stephanie
Chapter 14—Ken
Book 2 — Chapter 1 – Steph
Chapter 2 – Ken
Chapter 3 – Steph
Chapter 4 – Ken
Chapter 5 – Steph
Chapter 6 – Ken
Chapter 7 – Steph
Chapter 8 – Ken
Chapter 9 – Steph
Chapter 10 – Ken
Chapter 11 – Steph
Chapter 12 – Ken
Chapter 13 – Steph
Book 3 — Chapter 1 - Jerome
Chapter 2 - Ken
Chapter 3 - Stephanie
Chapter 4 - Jerome
Chapter 5 - Steph
Chapter 6 - Ken
Chapter 7 - Stephanie
Chapter 8 - Jerome
Chapter 9 - Ken
Chapter 10 - Steph
Chapter 11 - Ken
Chapter 12 - Steph
Chapter 13 - Ken
Chapter 14 - Jerome
Chapter 15 - Ken
Chapter 16 - Steph
Chapter 17 - Jerome
Chapter 18 - Ken
Chapter 19 - Steph
Chapter 20 - Ken
Chapter 21 – Stephanie
Chapter 22 – Ken
Epilogue – Stephanie
Acknowledgements
About the Author
Atrevida Publishing
Copyright
This book is a work of fiction. The names, characters, places and incidents are all made up in my mind. In other words, nothing is to be construed as real. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, actual events, locales or organizations is entirely coincidental.
© 2014 Leslie Johnson
Published by: Atrevida Publishing
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Book Description
Steamy and hot. Dark and disturbing.
She seeks security. He seeks freedom. They both think their lives are mapped out. Until an accident brings them together and their worlds collide, bringing passion they never expected.
But, in their shadow, evil exists. Subtle and soundless. Insidious and menacing. It won’t stop until it tears the lovers apart.
Welcome to the lives of Stephanie, a nursing student only months from receiving her degree, and Ken, a firefighter training to become a paramedic—two people dedicated to saving lives.
Will the embers of their budding relationship be smothered or stoked? Do they have the power to save themselves from the evil between them?
Book 1 — Chapter 1—Stephanie
Turning onto Sunset, my hands are like leaden weights on the steering wheel. I’m so tired; it’s bone deep. I could cry, knowing I still have hours of studying to complete before bed. I can’t continue this schedule much longer, something’s got to give. But I don’t know what that could be… job: gotta have it to eat; school: gotta have it for a better future; boyfriend: gotta have him for…
For what? I don’t know how to answer that question. Support? Love? Neither of those words feel right.
The sports car flying past me rocks me from my reverie. He’s so fast, my car shakes from the wind shear he leaves in his wake. Where did he come from? I check my mirror, looks like he’s the only one driving at breakneck speed.
I speed up too, wanting to be home and put this shitty day behind me. I have to focus on my studies, I have to do well on Donovan’s exam. Plus, I have to work tomorrow, the morning shift from six a.m. to noon.
Bath first. Study second. Dinner somewhere in between—probably ramen noodles, again.
Although my windows are up and the air conditioner is on full blast in relief of this hot Vegas day, I hear it. Metal on metal, the bams and pops of a wreck. Glass exploding, steel wrenching and then quiet.
I drive forward, trying to see the damage. Oh my god. One. No two. No three cars are involved.
Even though the radio is still playing, the stupid red sports car is unrecognizable. It now resembles a piece of the term paper I have so many times wadded in my hand. It’s under a white van—oh no, it’s a small church van—the kind that seats eight or sometimes twelve. There’s also a convertible involved. It’s lying on its side, girls hanging from their belts.
This is bad. This is very bad. I’ve got to do something to help.
Pulling as close as I dare, I look around and see two people talking on their phone. Good. They’re calling 911 I’m assuming. Now on to step two.
I grab the stethoscope I keep in my backpack for nursing clinicals and pop open the glove box and pull out the pathetically small first-aid kit I keep in the car. I jump out, running to the trunk and snatch two towels and a ‘just in case’ sweater I always keep in there. Looking back at the wreck, I know there’s nothing in my car that can treat the injuries I’m about to witness.
There is no time to think, I run to the wreckage. I smell smoke and gasoline… blood. I run toward it anyway. The sports car is first and so badly damaged I can’t see inside. The driver must be dead. This can’t be survivable. I run to the van that the car rammed into from behind.
It is a church bus, oh God, filled with elderly men and women who appear to have been going on a field trip. I pull at the door handle on the sliding side door, knowing it won’t open, but I try anyway. The impact has crumpled it and it’s stuck. I couldn’t have opened it if I had super strength. The passenger side door opens and I jump inside and check the driver. His face is bloody, but he appears relatively okay despite the dash crumpled back on his legs.
“Can you move? Can you get out?” I yell at him and he shakes his head.
“My leg’s stuck.” He pulls on his leg as if to prove his point and his face contorts with pain.
The sports car had hit the van in the back, pushing it into the convertible of girls coming through the intersection. Through the shattered front window, I see people trying to help the girls, who are bleeding but conscious, to get out. Good thing they were all buckled. If not they would have been laying on the street, most likely dead.
Focus.
“Help is coming,” I tell the driver and cross between the seats and to the front row of the van. There is a mixture of injuries, cries and moans. I ignore those who are conscious and aware and try to make my way to the back, where the scene becomes more and more ghastly with each hunched over step I take.
Two dead, a man and a woman in the backseat, holding hands. The woman had fallen over into his lap. Tears fill my eyes. I’m not ready for this. I’ve never seen death this fresh, this brutal.
The two people in the seat just before them are seriously hurt. Blood’s everywhere. I pull on gloves from the kit and do my best to access the injuries. I tear apart the towel, pressin
g the cloth to the most grievous of wounds.
My heart beats in my throat and the smoke makes my eyes tear, but I say as calmly as I am able, “Everyone who can, get out. Hurry.”
The smell of plastic burning is horrendous. I glance and see no one is moving. I see people milling around outside, unsure what to do. I scramble to the front of the van and yell, “Help me get the less injured out of here.”
Taking a deep breath of fresh air, I turn back into the gore and hurry past the hands that are reaching out to me, trying to make me stop to help their wounds. I say, “I’m sorry, let’s get you out of here”, but I don’t stop for them. I know time is running out for the man and woman I was previously trying to help.
Once again in the back, I cut the sleeve off the sweater I’d brought with me and use it as a tourniquet on the man’s heavily bleeding leg. I’m just a student. I’m not ready for this. Their lives couldn’t have been in less capable hands.
Focus.
I’m worried about the woman’s neck and yank off the scrub jacket I was wearing for clinicals. Folding it, I create a neck brace of sorts and use the tape in the kit to secure it around her neck.
Pulses. They both have pulses, but both are weak and thready. They need a hospital. Surgery. Oxygen. Oh God, we all need oxygen, the smoke in the van is getting worse. I yank off my t-shirt, leaving me in my tank top, and tie it around my face, a feeble barrier against the smoke.
Having done all I can do for these two, it’s time to save the others. Everyone will die if the van catches on fire, or worse, explodes. People are trying to help the frail passengers navigate between the front seats and out the passenger door. They’re going too slow, not one person has made it out. The passenger seat… is there a way to remove it?
I scramble forward, searching for a release that might possibly allow the seat to be removed. Mom’s van had them, all but the driver’s seat could be taken out. I see nothing.
“Can this seat be removed?” I yell at the driver, who is still trying to pull himself from under the dash.
“No,” he yells back, coughing from the smoke and I nearly collapse with disappointment. We’ll have to do this the hard way. Turning, I help the elderly lady next to me navigate the small opening and climb out of the van. Two pairs of hands lift her the rest of the way out and I turn to the man who’s next.
“Take her,” the elderly man yells at me, pointing to the lady sitting behind him. “Women and children first.” He gives me a snappy little salute and I almost smile for the first time.
“Yes, Sir.” Turning, I help the woman scoot through the opening between the seats and the crunched door. She’s so frail, I’m afraid of holding her too tightly. Slow. So slow. I scoop her up, my back screaming in protest, and duck-walk her to the front seat where the men pull her out.
There’s one other woman on board, besides the dead and dying in the back. I go to her and do the same, scooping her up and duck-walk to the front.
“Children next,” I yell, holding out my hand to the man. He laughs at me and shakes a finger, but he’s much more capable of getting out on his own. He’s out in only a few seconds.
Two more men are left, but the dark gray smoke is nearly overwhelming. Where is the ambulance? The fire department? I look at my watch, only seven minutes have passed since I first stepped into this van.
I hear them. The most beautiful sounds—sirens.
I grab the hand of the next man. It’s so frail, he’s having trouble standing, his knees not wanting to lift him. I pull, the strain screaming through my arms. He’s not a little man. There’s no way I can lift him or carry him. Should I leave him? Or, help the last man still conscious? He seems more mobile.
Oh someone help me; the choices I’m having to make seize through me. I’m not God. I can’t choose who lives and who dies.
I pull harder and the more mobile man helps. Finally, the heavy one is on his feet. I scramble onto a seat and out of their way and they lumber slowly… so very slowly… to freedom and fresh air.
Turning, I head back into the worst of the smoke, to where my patients need me. This does it… obstetrics it is… where life bursts into the world instead of slipping away. I see past my patients, to the ones still slumped together in the back. I wonder how long they’d been married and if it’s a blessing for them to have died so quickly together. How many children did they have? How many grandchildren? Did their family consider them a blessing, or had their presence became a burden?
Focus.
There is no help for them. The tears sliding down my face need to stop.
Thump. Looking up, I see firemen running to the scene, a fire hose pointing at the van, putting out the source of the smoke I’m experiencing.
“How many?”
I jump at the voice, turn toward the front and see a fireman climbing inside.
“The driver is stuck. Two back here barely alive. Two DOA. I can’t get them out.”
“Paramedics are here, we’re going to break the glass, get some O2 in here as soon as the fire’s out. We’re going to pop this door,” he motions to the sliding door to his left, “then cut the driver out.”
I nod, unsure what to do. The relief of having help, of having someone take the responsibility away is so great, I feel as if I will melt into a puddle the moment I try to stand.
“Are you a nurse?”
”Nursing student. Senior year. I didn’t know what else to do.”
A fist slams into the window next to us, causing me to jump again. “Clear,” another fireman yells and the one next to me pulls open a metal-colored blanket I hadn’t noticed he’d tossed in.
“You did an excellent job, but you need to get out of here.” He’s talking to me while covering the couple with the blanket. “You’ve been in the smoke too long, let one of the guys check you out.”
When I hesitate, he says, “No one could have done better.” His eyes, a most beautiful chocolate brown, hold a mixture of kindness and urgency. “Now go.”
Climbing across the seats for the last time, I hear glass crash and look back to see him knocking out the window beside him. Paramedics rush up, passing oxygen masks to him, which he quickly places on the man and woman’s faces.
Outside the van, in the burning heat of the day, a rumble of thunder penetrates the cacophony of noise. Turning, I see black clouds drawing closer and a streak of lightning pierce the sky.
A paramedic rushes to me, slinging a blanket around my already heated shoulders. I want to fling it off, but instead hold it closer, pulling it to me for needed security.
Like a scene in the movies, I watch the door being popped open and the front of the van cut off. The bench seats in the van are pulled out too, giving the paramedics room to work. I watch the driver being removed, his leg at a mercilessly awkward angle. And the couple… the sweet couple I’d taken care of… are finally lifted out, rushed to an ambulance and driven out of sight.
The rain begins to fall, fat drops beating onto me from the heavens, but I still can’t leave. It’s the fireman, the one with the kind chocolate eyes who pulls me from my trance. I’m watching the bodies of the dead couple being removed when he steps in front of me, blocking the view. I close my eyes when they finally extricate the man from the sports car. At least I think he was a man.
“You okay? Did the guys check you out?” I nod, but can’t speak. The fireman places a hand on my shoulder and gives me a squeeze.
“Can someone come get you? Give me a number and I’ll call.”
I shake my head and my mouth decides to work. “It’s okay. I have my car.” I nod toward my little Mazda, the driver door and trunk still open wide. The fireman stays at my side as I begin to walk towards it.
“You saved lives today,” he says. “You’ll make a wonderful nurse. The profession is lucky to have you.”
“Thank you,” I whisper, just as a torrent of water falls so hard the raindrops bounce knee high off the pavement. He helps me into my car, closes the door and slams dow
n my trunk.
Watching him run back to the wreckage, I take a few deep breaths to calm myself. I flip the policeman’s card, the one who had taken my witness statement, onto my dash.
I can’t believe all of this just happened. One moment I’m driving home, worried about passing a stupid exam. The next, I’m watching life fade away. It sure does put life in perspective.
With trembling fingers, I start my car and navigate my way around the metal carnage.
Chapter 3—Ken
“Station 15, house fire at 325 Big Pine Avenue. No reports of injuries”
Welcome to the Fourth of July weekend.
Really? Five minutes after we get on shift and there’s already a call. That’s what I get for expecting a slow morning. Normally, things don’t heat up until later in the day and then, non-stop, all night. We hadn’t even started our grocery list for our barbeque this afternoon.
The call is to a vacant house about a mile from the station. Las Vegas has plenty of vacant houses, but in this day and age the banks usually hire maintenance companies to check on them and keep vagrants out. Most of the fires were either kids vandalizing the place, or the owner trying to collect insurance and thinking they wouldn’t be caught. We should be back in an hour tops.
The brown smoke billows up into the sky, turbulent and thick, a stark contrast to the blue sky it floats into. At least the storm has passed, finishing up that wreck yesterday was hell in that monsoon. Three fatalities all because some asshole was probably Facebooking and showing off.
The garage is fully engulfed and the ultra-dense black smoke is a sure sign that something other than drywall is in this house. Neighbors were valiantly spraying water from hoses onto the flames before we arrived, but that little drizzle of water is no match for the fury of the spreading fire. It’s only a matter of time and their hoses would melt, dangling like long, impotent tails in their hands.
“Mask up. Need a sweep.” The captain wants someone inside to check room to room. I’m volunteered. Terrific. Pulling my breathing apparatus on, I make a quick dash inside. White smoke seeping through the cracks in the door leading from the kitchen to the garage means I have a little more time.
Stoking the Embers (New Adult Romantic Suspense): The Complete Series Page 1
