Second Alarm (Firehouse Fourteen Book 5)

by Lisa B. Kamps

  He could smell it before they turned onto the street: that particular odor of smoke, heavy and thick with wood and plastic and everything else imaginable. He turned, saw the crowd of onlookers standing near the curb, saw heavy black smoke coming from the third story of the large house.

  They moved in unison, no words needed as he and Mikey pulled the line and dragged it toward the house while Pete assessed the scene, talking into his radio.

  Dale charged the line, the hiss of water loud as Mikey and Adam secured their facemasks in place. Mikey grabbed the nozzle and hurried forward, Adam right behind her, humping hose as they advanced inside and up the stairs.

  Something was wrong. Something felt…off. It was too hot, too thick. They needed ventilation, fast. How soon before the truck company got here? Minutes, no longer than that.

  They reached the third floor, the heat intensifying as they moved forward. He could just make out the deep glow of red, like a monster’s eye staring out at them from a hood of black.

  “Hit it!” His voice was muffled by the facemask, the sound reminding him of something from a sci-fi movie. He could barely see Mikey, even though his face was damn near plastered against her ass. But he didn’t have to see to know she was shaking her head.

  “Not yet. Closer.”

  “Bullshit, Mikey. Hit it.”

  She muttered something he couldn’t make out, figured she was probably cussing him out. He heard the hiss of water, felt it rush to life through the hose line as she opened the nozzle.

  Heat, searing and painful, wrapped around them. Steam—but something else, too. Something…not right. Adam didn’t know if he heard it—or if he sensed it. Something, some faint warning or instinct or sense of foreboding. He didn’t know, just reacted at the same time Mikey did.

  Too late.

  A deafening roar, an explosion of red and orange, an inferno of heat. Adam reached for Mikey, wrapped his arms around her and pulled her close, tried to roll with her. Protecting her, trying to shelter her. Thinking of the life she carried inside her, thinking she’d probably cuss him out when they got back to the station.

  They were spinning. Flying. Falling.

  And then the world went black.

  Chapter Eighteen

  Pain. Searing, burning. His gut twisted with it, turning inside out. Adam sucked in a deep breath, felt pain explode in his chest, cried out against it.

  He struggled to sit up but he couldn’t move, his body was too heavy. Something was holding him down. So much fucking pain.

  He tried to force his eyes open, closed them against the bright lights flashing overhead. Heaven? No, no fucking way. Not with this much pain.

  Hell, then. No less than he deserved for his sins. No less than what his black soul called for.

  No. Not yet. He wasn’t ready. There was something he needed to do, something—

  He struggled against the pain, screaming as his insides twisted and tried to rebel. He reached out, his hands searching wildly, touching nothing as pain wracked his body. He wasn’t ready to die, not yet. Not when there was something he needed—

  “Adam, calm down. Stop struggling. You’re going to rip the fucking IV out of your arm or puncture a lung.”

  That voice. Deep, forceful, filled with authority. He knew that voice. From where? Who? Other noises filtered through. Loud, mechanical. More voices. Strange ones. Shouts. Words he couldn’t make out, didn’t understand.

  “Adam, listen to me. We’re moving you off the stretcher. This might hurt, buddy.”

  Hurt? No, nothing could hurt, not more than it already did.

  He was wrong.

  Every inch of his body screamed in pain. He could feel the sound, ripping from the pores of his skin, the noise surrounding him, harsh and raspy. He was floating, but only for seconds before his body crashed against…something.

  And then he was still. Unmoving. For the space of a blissful second, he felt nothing. And then his body screamed again, pain shooting through his chest and shoulder and back.

  He wanted it to stop. Needed it to stop. Fuck, what the hell was wrong with him? What the fuck had happened?

  He struggled, ignored the pain in his chest as he fought to get his eyes open. As he fought to breathe, fought against the drowning sensation.

  “Dammit, Price, knock it the fuck off.”

  That voice again. He knew it. But how?

  He finally peeled his eyes open, looked up into the blurry image of a face. Blinked, blinked again, trying to focus. Dark hair. Brown eyes. Stern jaw and mouth pressed into a tight line.

  A name floated through his mind, just out of reach. Adam clenched his jaw, struggled to grab the name from where it floated in front of him, hovering, teasing him.

  Dave.

  Yes, that was right. Dave. Dave Warren, their paramedic.

  More names flooded his brain, swirling around with dizzying speed. An image, dark, thick, red and black.

  Adam tried to swallow, tried to focus. He needed to focus dammit, needed to remember…there was something, just there, out of reach. Something important.

  “Hang on, Adam. They’re going to sedate you. You’ll be flying high in no time.”

  “No.” He shouted the word, only nobody heard him. His throat hurt, his mouth too dry and parched. He inhaled, felt stabbing pain shoot through him, ignored it. Struggled against that odd drowning sensation. “No.”

  And then he remembered. The heat. The fire. The explosion. The darkness. He tried to push up on his elbows, struggled against the hold on his arm as he shook his head.

  “No. Mikey. Where—”

  “She’s right behind us. She’s fine. Now stop fucking moving.”

  Relief swept through him, short-lived as another wave of pain crashed over him. His body stiffened, trying to fight against it, trying to distance himself from it. More voices, lower, softer. He didn’t understand the words, didn’t need to. He just needed the pain to stop, just for a minute. That’s all he needed.

  Just for a minute.

  “Hang in there, Adam. Just a few more minutes.”

  A few more minutes? For what? He didn’t know, didn’t care. He just needed the pain to stop.

  Needed something. No…someone.

  Needed…

  #

  Black. Cool, comforting.

  No, not black. It was fading, growing lighter. He didn’t want it to get lighter, knew that something was waiting for him, something he didn’t want to face. He struggled, tried to force his body back into the blackness.

  Too weak, he couldn’t fight it, didn’t have the strength. Could only watch as the black turned to gray, as the gray grew paler, lightening, growing.

  He sucked in a deep breath, groaned as red-hot pain seared his chest, tried to gulp in air, fought against the strange drowning sensation. Something closed over his arm, the touch cool, soothing. Comforting.

  “Beth?”

  A quiet laugh filled the silence surrounding him. Soft, tired. Strained. He knew that laugh, recognized it but couldn’t put a name to it, couldn’t put a face to it.

  “No, asshole. It’s Mikey.”

  Mikey. Images floated through his mind, scattered and disjointed. He watched, oddly detached, as they swirled around, finally falling into place like pieces of a giant puzzle.

  Sitting on a bench, talking.

  An alarm shattering the silence.

  The fire. That feeling that something wasn’t right. Heat, intense and searing. And then…

  Nothing.

  Adam struggled to open his eyes, fought against the heaviness of his lids until they finally listened. Dim light made him blink, blink again until the burning sensation faded away.

  He turned his head, his gaze focusing on the woman beside him. Long hair, mussed and shaggy. Dark green eyes, rimmed in red and framed with dark circles. Dirt smeared the pale face. No, not dirt. Soot. Black smears along her cheek and one side of her jaw, faded and spotty, like they hadn’t been completely washed away. A small bruise, blac
k and purple, covered the other side of her face.

  Adam closed his eyes, exhaled, winced as pain shot through his chest. “You look like shit.”

  Another laugh, just as soft as the first one. “I look like a beauty queen compared to you.”

  Adam grunted, peeled his eyes open again and turned his head. “What the fuck happened?”

  “What happened?” Mikey tried to smile, her lips quivering. She reached up with one shaking hand, ran it across both watery eyes. “You had to go and get all macho and be a fucking gentleman. That’s what happened.”

  Adam grunted again and turned away, tried to swallow against the thickness clogging his throat. “So you owe me.”

  “Yeah, guess I do.”

  “You okay?”

  “Yeah.” Her voice broke. She cleared her throat, her hand tightening ever so briefly on his arm. “For the most part.”

  “The baby—”

  “Is fine, too.”

  “Then what—”

  “Broken ankle. I was discharged yesterday.”

  “Yesterday?”

  “Yeah. You’ve been out of it.” She hesitated, finally removed her hand from his arm. Adam heard her move, heard the quick hiss that escaped her as she shifted. He peeled his eyes open again, turned his head to look at her.

  “What happened?”

  “You remember any of it?”

  Adam frowned, trying to put the last pieces of the puzzle together in his mind. No matter how hard he tried, they wouldn’t quite fit. “Some. Parts of it. Not everything.”

  “It flashed. The floor collapsed and we fell through. You, uh, you took the brunt of it.”

  “Feels like it.”

  She laughed again, the sound strained, fading away into the artificial silence of the room. Adam closed his eyes, exhaustion sweeping over him. The blackness was calling him again, beckoning him with its peaceful nothingness.

  Not yet. He needed to know, needed to ask…

  “How bad?”

  “What?”

  Adam swallowed, kept his eyes closed against whatever he might see on Mikey’s face. “Burnt. How bad?”

  He couldn’t feel anything, nothing more than the steady sharpness of pain in his chest and shoulder. That didn’t mean anything, though. And he had to know.

  Fear shot through him with Mikey’s silence. Sharp, bitter, eclipsing the pain he felt. Fuck. His biggest fear, staring him in the face. Maybe it was a blessing he couldn’t feel it, maybe he shouldn’t have asked. He swallowed again, tried to force a smile to his face. “That bad, huh?”

  “You’re not.”

  Adam pried open one eye and looked at her, certain he had heard wrong. “I’m not?”

  “No. Is that what you thought?”

  “Yeah. Felt like it. Earlier. My chest. My back. My shoulder. Everything. Burning.”

  “Well, you’re not. I mean, nothing more than a few blisters here and there.” Mikey’s hand wrapped around his, squeezing.

  “Then why the hell does my body hurt so much?”

  “You sure you want to know?”

  “Is it that bad?”

  “Depends on your point of view, I guess. Hope you were looking forward to an extended paid vacation.”

  “Just—” He took a quick breath, winced, released it. The blackness was calling him again, its pull not quite as strong. He still fought against it. Just a few more minutes, that’s all he needed. “Tell me.”

  Mikey was quiet for so long, he didn’t think she was going to answer. Her shoulders heaved with a deep breath, sagged when she blew it out. “You broke your collarbone. Two ribs on your left side. Punctured your lung.”

  “No wonder it hurts to breathe.”

  “Yeah. Ha ha. Real funny.” She wiped a hand across her eyes and offered him a smile that quickly died. “You, uh, you punctured the lung when they were bringing you in. Dave said—you, uh, you were fighting them. Asking about…about me.”

  He didn’t remember that. Or did he? Images flashed in the back of his mind, fuzzy. Fast. Maybe he remembered. He remembered Dave, yelling at him. Remembered searing pain. That awful sensation that he was drowning. And then…nothing.

  Did it matter that he couldn’t remember? He didn’t think so. Didn’t care enough to worry about it.

  Adam stared up at the ceiling, trying to pinpoint the different areas of pain. It didn’t work, not when his entire body from the waist up was throbbing with it, a dull ache that was growing sharper with each passing minute. “Anything else?”

  “Yeah. You’ve got one hell of a bruise on your back from landing on the bottle.”

  “Probably from you landing on top of me.”

  “Yeah. Probably.” Mikey’s voice cracked, the sound thick and strangled. Adam turned his head to the side, felt his gut twist when he saw the single tear trailing down Mikey’s cheek. He twisted his arm, hissed in pain, quickly changed position as his hand found hers and squeezed. “Fuck, Mikey. Don’t do that. I can’t handle that.”

  “Screw you. It’s hormones.” She wiped her hand across her eyes once more. Adam tightened his hold around her hand, tugged until she leaned forward. He gave her an awkward hug, tried to pat her on the back before she pulled away with a sniffle. “I’m fine.”

  “Good. Now get the hell out of here and let me sleep.”

  “Not yet. I’m staying until they kick me out. Don’t worry, it won’t be too long. I think you’re due for more painkillers soon.”

  “Good.”

  His eyes drifted closed, his mind searching for the darkness. It was farther away now, hovering just out of reach. Maybe, if he concentrated hard enough, if he willed it closer—

  “Oh. One more thing.” Mikey’s voice, steadier now, pulled him back just before he could reach it. He swallowed back a groan and looked at her.

  “What?”

  “You’re going to probably need a haircut.”

  “What?”

  Mikey shifted in the chair—a wheelchair, he finally noticed—and bit back a quick smile. Her gaze darted to his head then skipped away. “Yeah. You, uh, might have singed some of those surfer waves you were always flaunting.”

  Adam grunted, grimaced in pain, let out a quick breath. “It was time for a new cut anyway.”

  “Good. I happen to know someone who does just that.”

  “No. Don’t even go there, Mikey. Not happening.”

  “You were calling her name. You know that, right?”

  “No.”

  “Well, you were. She’d probably want to know.”

  “No.”

  “Why do you have to be so fucking bullheaded? You could have died. You know that, right? We both could have.”

  “We didn’t.”

  Mikey made a sound, a cross between a growl and a hiss. She leaned forward, opened her mouth to say something, snapped it shut again and blew out a heavy sigh. “You’re an ass.”

  “No shit.” He closed his eyes, willed the blackness to come back. He wanted to disappear, to be engulfed in the dark nothingness where he could just float. Where nothing else mattered.

  Only the darkness was gone, yanked away when Mikey squeezed his hand again. He muttered an oath and forced his eyes open. “You’re a pain in my fucking ass.”

  “Yeah. I know.” One corner of her mouth curled up, the half-smile strained, forced. “I like her, Adam. I think you do, too.”

  “No.”

  “Why?”

  “She deserves better than me, Mikey. We both know that.”

  The hand tightened around his, almost painful. “Bullshit. Why do you say shit like that?”

  “Nothing but the truth.” God, he didn’t want to talk about this now. He was tired, so fucking tired. His eyes drifted closed, waiting, praying for the darkness to come back.

  “You’re too hard on yourself.”

  “Let it go, Mikey. We both know the shit I’ve done. She deserves better.”

  “You don’t believe that. You can’t. I just want—”


  She was interrupted by a nurse walking in, an older woman with a stern face and a take-no-prisoners attitude resting on her slim shoulders. She looked at Mikey then moved closer to the bed, reaching for the IV line dangling from his arm, right above the grip Mikey had on his hand. Funny, he hadn’t noticed it before.

  “How’s the pain?”

  “It’s there.”

  The nurse’s mouth twitched in what might have been a smile. She pulled a needle out, uncapped it, plunged it into the IV line then patted his hand. “It won’t be in a little bit.”

  Adam nodded, let his eyes drift closed. Numbness spread over him, the grayness surrounding him growing darker, beckoning him, pulling him into its embrace. Soothing, comforting. The nothingness waited for him, calling him.

  He heard his name, soft and far away, nothing more than a faint echo. Something squeezed his hand as the disembodied voice floated around him, following him into the soothing darkness.

  You need her, Adam.

  Chapter Nineteen

  Adam’s hurt.

  Hospital.

  Accident at work.

  Not critical.

  Beth clenched the steering wheel, her grip so tight that her fingers started cramping. Her mouth opened, sucked in a huge gulping breath of air. She needed to calm down, to slow down. Getting into an accident because she was flying down the interstate wouldn’t help anything.

  She hadn’t been calm since she received the text messages early this afternoon. The only thing that had stopped her from frantically racing out the door of the salon was that last one, telling her he wasn’t critical.

  She had almost ignored the text messages at first, wondering if someone had the wrong number, if someone was texting her by mistake. She hadn’t seen Adam since their last night more than two weeks ago, when she’d said goodbye. She didn’t recognize the incoming number, only knew that it was a Maryland area code. Surely the texts weren’t for her; they must be meant for someone else.

  That didn’t stop the sharp pain of worry that ripped through her when she saw them. There had been nothing between them, nothing more than sex. Yet the idea of Adam being hurt, of that beautiful, vital body being injured, filled her with pain and fear and…