Slow Burn (Smoke Jumpers)

by Anne Marsh

  He lined up his beer and bowl of peanuts. What he should have done was grabbed a third beer. It wasn’t as if he’d be driving home tonight.

  It was like the Fourth of July out there, all lit up with the smell of smoke and shit going off. Sure, it was kind of strange to hang back, but he was done. So very, very done with trying to prove he fit in fine. He’d started this, and now someone else could finish it. That was a message right there.

  He swallowed beer and peanuts and watched.

  The doorknob was hot. Faye let go fast, thanking God for mandatory school fire education. If she opened that door, all the air on her side of it would feed the flames on the other side—and she’d be dead, dead, dead. After a really bad barbecue.

  God. That door was her out to the street and the parking lot. The fire alarms shrilling around her warned that getting out fast was still number one on her to-do list. Smoke was filling up the downstairs, and, now that she eyeballed the door more closely, smoke curled visibly through the hinges and edges. The cars were definitely not the only thing on fire.

  Mind racing, she tried to remember what Smokey the Bear had to say about fire safety. But Smokey was an outdoor bear working his thing in the forest. She was inside. This fire was trying to get to her. So she’d have to find another way out, on a different side of the building. She could do that, right?

  And help had to be on its way.

  Even now, she could hear the long, hard wail of a fire engine approaching fast. The dispatcher knew she was inside. He’d tell the guys riding the truck and . . . what? They’d come for her, maybe, but she needed out now. The smoke swirled and eddied around her ears, and she bent over, getting herself as low as she could without actually hitting the ground.

  There. The bay for the trucks. The large space was empty now except for the painting and building supplies, stacks of lumber and ten-gallon buckets of paint. Yeah. That was an arsenal of fuel, but there wasn’t much smoke there yet.

  So that was where she needed to be. Moving quickly, she punched the button to open the bay doors. The doors started rolling with a loud rattle and roar, and outside air swept in.

  That air was also full of smoke and trouble.

  She didn’t wait for the doors to go up all the way, simply ducked under and out as soon as she had enough clearance. The muscles in her legs burned as she straightened up with all the damned stuff she was carrying, but she couldn’t bring herself to abandon anything.

  The stink of burning rubber and plastic hit her first. A minivan had gone up completely in the minutes she’d spent getting out of the firehouse, and her Corvette was all dark smoke and sheets of orange, with more flames coming from the undercarriage. As those flames hit a sweet spot of combustion, the fire surged up until only the rear bumper was clear—and everything else was fire.

  And the fire wasn’t limited to the cars. The nearby foliage caught, flames shooting up the bushes. Those pretty flowers were the icing on some dry, dry branches, and the fire consumed it all like some kind of party snack.

  This was out of her league. This wasn’t something she could fix or stop.

  Right on cue, an engine roared, the long, slow wail of the siren warning Strong to stay alert as the big vehicle stopped somewhere between the firehouse and the bar, air brakes hissing. Firefighters bailed out. Nine-one-one had come through. Thank God.

  Not in time, though. Her car was way beyond rescuing. Men shouted, pulling hoses and working wrenches on the fire hydrant. And yet the seconds ticked by, all slo-mo, and still there was no water. Her car burned and burned, and all she could do was watch. The big fuck-you to her ex. The freedom of tearing up the highway, going just fast enough that she wasn’t completely safe. It was going up in smoke, and all she could do was watch.

  No. The Corvette was only a car, and the damage was done there. Dumping her load on the sidewalk, she manhandled the fire extinguisher and pulled the pin. Running to the edge of the parking lot, she squeezed the trigger and swept the flaming bushes, dumping a load of foam.

  The Corvette couldn’t be rescued, but Strong could be.

  Strong was a war zone. With fire hoses unfurled and water streaming, men hollered directions and Mimi worked a fire extinguisher while the long, deafening tones of the engine’s siren woke up any sleepers. Evan pulled the truck up just outside the burn zone.

  Before the truck stopped completely, Mack was out, booted feet tearing up the ground as he alternated between cursing a blue streak and bellowing Mimi’s name.

  “Mimi’s gonna be a dead woman if she doesn’t back off,” Rio muttered. He paused to grab gear from the back of the truck, and then he was hot on Mack’s ass.

  Evan didn’t care where they went. All he needed to know right now was where Faye was. The rest of Strong could burn to the ground as long as the little piece holding Faye came through intact. So, until he laid eyes on her, Rio and Mack and the rest of them were on their own.

  Spotting Faye turned out to not be much of an improvement, however. She’d evacced the firehouse—thank God—but she was too close to those damn car fires. A sheet of black smoke shot off what had been someone’s ride until maybe a half hour ago. Minivan. Honda. And the Corvette. Christ. Of course, that was her car on fire, and undoubtedly that was why she was heading right toward the flames. The fire extinguisher in her hands didn’t pack enough power for that kind of trouble, and ten seconds or so of foam was hardly worth the effort of yanking the pin. She’d be out of juice before she got started.

  Worse, the volunteer engine had already turned its hoses on the minivan. The stream hit the burning vehicle hard, water fighting the flames for possession. That wasn’t the problem. No, the problem was that Faye would soon be directly in line with those powerful hoses, and with all the smoke and flame, the men probably wouldn’t see her.

  Her name came out as a bellowed roar, his feet hitting the pavement hard. Christ, he wasn’t going to make it. The fire crew repositioned the hose, aiming for the Honda. Forty yards. Thirty. He pumped hard, eating up the ground. If Faye got hit with that stream, it was about the equivalent of getting hit by a freight train. Faye wouldn’t stand a chance.

  The Corvette was going up. Sharp, popping noises peppered the air as the frame slowly bent beneath the fire’s pressure. White-hot heat danced around the burning car, and the fumes were a thick, toxic wave.

  “Get back!” he roared, catching her arm and yanking her backward as he tore off his Nomex jacket.

  Her face, when she looked up at him, was a mask of anguish and indecision. “I have to do something.”

  Throwing the Nomex around her, he grabbed her upper arms and put her behind him. He wasn’t going all PC here. Not when her life was on the line. “Go. We’ve got to go.”

  A fresh column of black smoke billowed from the cars behind them. Fire had found something else to burn and was going to town. Burning embers and debris rained down around them, but the smoke was the real killer. He yanked the Nomex over her head and shoulders, scooped her up in his arms, and ran like hell. Embers struck his back and shoulders, but he was big and used to the sting of the burn, and he hadn’t been all that pretty to start with. All he had to do was get Faye where she could breathe and where the air was clean. His legs pumped, desperate to get her to safety. Twenty feet. Forty.

  But, Christ, it was too late. He looked over his shoulder to gauge his distance from the cars, and the sound caught up with his eyes. First the tires blew out in a mini-explosion, and then the fire finally found the gas tank. The back end of the Corvette went up and came back down, slamming burned-out rubber and rims against the asphalt. Wrapping himself around Faye, he dove forward, taking her to the ground beneath him. Cradling her. Covering her.

  She said something, but the fire’s noise ate up the words, and he simply pressed her Nomex-covered head deeper into his chest. What wasn’t exposed couldn’t burn, so his hand cupped her, keeping her down.

  “Man down!” he yelled, but he’d need more than luck to be heard over the fi
re and the jet-blast of the hoses. A thick, black wave of smoke hit, and he closed his mouth, choking on the fumes. Hold on, hold on. The blast would die back in a minute, and he’d have a window of opportunity to move.

  Faye felt small and fragile trapped beneath him. That he could still lose her ripped through him in an unwelcome wake-up call far more painful than the burning debris hitting him. Nothing mattered more than this woman. Nothing.

  He wasn’t losing her.

  Not as long as he could still fight for her.

  Evan had her tucked beneath him, shielding her with his body and his coat. The hot wind blew over and past them as the fire flared greedily and the remaining bushes on the side of the parking lot went up like birthday candles, flames sheeting straight up.

  “I’ve got you.” His rough voice rumbled close by, his arms crossed over her head. “No worries.”

  She opened her mouth, closed it. She’d worried about him. A second, smaller explosion drowned out his next words. Startled, she twisted in his arms, trying for a better view. He held her effortlessly in place.

  “We really, really need to go,” she bit out. The ground beneath her shook hard, water coming down over her head in a dense, wet sheet as the hoses unleashed a salvo at the flames.

  She felt rather than saw him shake his head. “Better to stay put, stay low. Give it thirty seconds, darlin’. The boys have the hoses up, and we don’t want to get in the way of that. You had a close call there.”

  “A hose?” He’d thought she’d been about to get hit by a stream of water? When she glanced past his shoulder, the water was definitely headed in their direction now. Spray hit her as the water smashed into the cars and bounced back.

  “They couldn’t see you.” His voice sounded anything but calm. “Goddamn it, Faye. You know what a hose like that can do to a body? Imagine someone driving a pickup truck right at you.” His voice rose. “You don’t run toward a fire. Not any fire.”

  “You do.”

  He cursed hard and low, his next words shocking her, as blunt as the man himself. “You scared me. I thought I was going to lose you, Faye. That hose came around, and you were in its line of fire, and I didn’t know if I could get there in time.”

  He’d worried for her. “I’m okay.” Freeing her hands from his Nomex, she slid them up his chest, finding the sides of his face and cupping them gently. “I’m okay.”

  “Yeah,” he said gruffly. “You are, darlin’.”

  He lowered his head and covered her mouth with his.

  His kiss was unexpected and exactly what she craved, as if he’d crawl right inside her and stay there if he could.

  He smelled like fire. The rough five o’clock shadow on his jaw chafed her fingertips. Nomex and smoke and man. Her very own, bona fide hero. She’d never been so glad to see anyone in her life. Time to choose, once and for all. She looked at that hard face, turned away from her now to watch the fire. Assessing. He was a firefighter to the core.

  When he scooped her up and carried her to the perimeter, she didn’t protest. She simply put her head on his shoulder and waited for what came next.

  “You got her? She okay?” Rio hollered, concern flashing on his face.

  Christ, he hoped so. “She’d better be.”

  He didn’t know who or what he was threatening, but those words were a promise he’d do anything to keep. He prayed some, too, as he got her behind the perimeter. Plenty of action remained out there in the parking lot, but that was none of his biz right now.

  Faye was.

  She moved in his arms. He put her down, and her hands shoved at the suffocating folds of his coat, pushing the heavy Nomex away. She sucked in fresh air, coughing.

  “I’m getting the EMTs over here,” he said grimly. He wasn’t taking chances. “Have them check you out, give you some oxygen.”

  “I’m fine.” Her fingers clutched the folds of his fire coat, pulling the heavy material around her shoulders like some kind of a blanket. She stared past him at the thick cloud of black smoke and the car burning down to its frame.

  “It’s all gone.”

  What did he say to that? That car was more than a car to Faye. He knew that. Whatever she’d been running from in L.A., that car had been her ticket out. So handing her platitudes about filing insurance claims and it-was-just-a-car wasn’t a good option.

  He cleared his throat. “That’s true, Faye.” He thought about her face when she was taking the Corvette down the highway to the hangar, the windows down and her foot on the gas pedal. She felt free when she was in that car. Kind of her version of going out in the jump plane and into the air. “We’ll make it okay, though, Faye. I promise you.”

  Her snort of laughter was unexpected. “Evan, you’d promise me we’d be okay if I’d lost both legs.”

  “True.” An answering smile tugged at his mouth. Yeah. He’d do that. What she didn’t get, though, was that then he’d make it okay. These weren’t empty words he was giving her. “But you work with me here on this. We’ll figure out your car, Faye.”

  “Sure.” She looked at him as if she was trying to read his face, and he wondered what she was looking for. In another minute, he’d give in to temptation and pull her into his arms. “It really is just a car, Evan. Even if it was a really, really expensive car.”

  “Faye—” He should hang back. He should give her space, not crowd her. But he wanted to touch her and hold her and whisper promises into her ear. She didn’t look as if she wanted to run back to L.A. right now, either, though. She was staring at him, all brown eyes and something else. Hope? Christ. He hoped so.

  He was still searching for words when a shout went up behind them, loud enough to be heard over the pounding of the water and the wailing of sirens. They both swung around.

  The guys were wrestling Hollis Anderson down to the ground. Mack and Rio belted out curses and angry words while they got busy with their fists. Hollis looked as if he wasn’t quite ready to throw in the towel, but he wasn’t fighting too hard, either. He knew he was busted.

  “They’ve got him.” Faye didn’t step away, but she hadn’t closed up that little distance between them, either. She simply stood there, waiting. Evan looked back at the fight. Not much of a fight, since it was two-on-one. Mack and Rio had Hollis good and pinned on the ground outside Mimi’s now. He should go over there, should make sure no one took a swing and that Hollis ended up secure in the back of a police cruiser, but his feet weren’t moving.

  Faye Duncan looked at him as if she needed him.

  “Good,” he rumbled. “That means our arsonist is done lighting up Strong.”

  “You think they can hold him without you?”

  Hollis Anderson was one man, and he was no superhero. And Evan knew exactly what Rio and Mack were capable of. They had this. Sure, he should be over there with them. But this woman standing here, watching him—his Faye—she needed something, too. And she came first. Something unlocked, clicking into place inside him. Faye came first.

  She always would.

  “They’re going to have to.” He threaded his fingers through her hair. She didn’t resist, just stood there and let him cup her head and hold her tight. “You come first, Faye. You do, darlin’.”

  Chapter Twenty-one

  Evan could have held Faye like that for a week, but there were words that needed saying. Words that counted to Faye. He should have brought flowers or made up a poem—which was a ludicrous thought—anything to dress up what he wanted to say here. Anything to make her understand she was his L.Z., his landing zone, the one woman he’d make for when everything else heated up around him and the whole world was on fire.

  Instead, he just said it. “I love you.”

  Her eyes got wide. The fire was still like the Fourth of July and Chinese New Year rolled into one around them, so, yeah, his timing was off.

  He should have waited. Picked a better time—

  She wrapped her arms around him, though, and that had to be a good sign. She was hanging on
to him, and he had her covered. Or, rather, he had her pinned in a bear hug in the middle of the street with what had to be half of Strong looking on. It didn’t matter. He was okay with that. He loved this woman. He loved Faye Duncan.

  He picked her up. It didn’t take much—a quick slide of his arms underneath her—and then he cradled her to his chest and breathed in for one long moment because she was safe and she was right there with him. And, yeah, because he wanted to kiss her so bad, it hurt.

  “You feeling the déjà vu here?” He’d carried her out of Ma’s like this, that first night. “You remember the night we met?”

  “Evan—” She inhaled, and he knew the argument was coming.

  “Hold that thought,” he said, “and let me get you out of here, okay?”

  She nodded, and he tucked her closer to his chest, shifting her so he could see her face clearly. The fire and smoke had done a number on her—plenty of black soot, and her skin was pink from the heat. He carried her to the fire truck because he didn’t know where else to take her. The firehouse was looking more than a little scorched, and her poor Corvette—well, he hoped like hell she had insurance on the thing, because there was nothing left. Only a burned-up frame.

  Dropping the tailgate, he sat her on the lip and put himself beside her. The engine had made a dent in the car fires, but it was still kind of like having a ringside seat at a fireworks display. Plenty of flames and smoke and popping noises every time something new went up.

  She looked up at him, and there was all that hope again in her eyes. He pulled her into his side, while his hands petted her hair, her back, her arms. Checking her out for injuries while his mind raced, trying to put together something romantic. Hell, even a sentence. All he came up with was more of the same-old, same-old.