by Jo Davis
“You all right?”
“I’ll live, Cap. Nothing a few stitches won’t fix.” A wan smile punctuated the claim.
“All right. Hang tight and we’ll get another unit to take you in. We’ve got to transport the woman first.”
“I’ll keep.”
“Good man.” Sean squeezed his shoulder and stood. Before he even thought about what he was doing, he sprinted to the quint, retrieved his own tank and SCBA. Yanked them on, fixed the mask over his face, started the air flowing.
Julian and Six-Pack came at a run, Jules stopping to see about Clay. Six-Pack, however, bore down on Sean, eyes wide. “What the hell are you doing?”
“We’ve still got a kid inside. You’re in charge,” he said, his tone making his orders clear. “Get on the radio and find out where that fourth fucking crew is and tell whoever isn’t asleep over there that we need them fucking now! Tell Julian to transport the woman with Eve, and then find one of the other teams to take care of Clay.”
“Wait a damned sec—”
“Just do it!”
He ran, and the wail of more sirens was a welcome sound. But the relief was temporary. They still had a kid inside and time had about run out, a fact that filled him with fear. He wasn’t going to lose this one. Jesus, let me be in time. Please. I can’t fail again.
Just as he reached the entrance to the restaurant, a shout from behind him made him turn. Eve was closing the distance fast, shrugging on her equipment once more. He paused, allowing her to catch up.
“What the fuck are you doing? You’re supposed to take care of the woman!”
“Saving your ass from getting written up,” she snapped back, fixing her mask. “Help is here, so Zack and Jules will transport her. Let’s go!”
They headed inside and were immediately plunged into a murky black soup. The missing boy’s only saving grace would be if he was lying on the floor where the smoke was thinner. Even so, the outcome wasn’t likely to be good.
They swept the dining area with their flashlights, attempting to stay close together. As they worked their way deeper into the restaurant, he studied the amount of damage caused by the blast. Tables and chairs were upended, food and other debris littering the floor. All appeared to have been blown toward the front of the place, indicating that the blast had come from the back. If there were no fatalities resulting from the various injuries, it would be a miracle.
Who could have done this? Why?
At that moment, a shrill tone emitted from his equipment and he paused, stunned to realize it was the alarm indicating low air in his tank. Fuck! All the tanks were supposed to be ready to go, and his team was meticulous about equipment maintenance. This call had clusterfuck written all over it from the second they’d arrived, and he wondered whether any call went according to the textbook and the drills. Hell, no. That would be too simple.
Eve grabbed his arm. “We’ve got to get you out of here!”
“I’m not leaving without that kid.”
“I’ll stay and keep looking—you send someone in to help me.”
“And risk you? Forget it.”
With that, he continued his search, aware of her anger despite their limited communication. He’d have a lot to answer for and smooth over, not only with Eve and the rest of the team, but with the battalion chief as well.
Right now, none of that mattered. All that did was the boy. Nothing else.
Mia’s sweet cherub face swam in his mind. Five minutes had been all that separated him and his baby girl for eternity. Five minutes made all the difference. The vast canyon that could never be spanned.
But he could make a difference to the boy. To the mother outside, going out of her mind.
He could not—would not—fail again.
As he peered around a fallen table, he drew in a breath . . . only to discover it wasn’t there. His lungs strained to take in the last drop of air, and then he had no choice but to rip off his mask, letting it dangle around his neck. Immediately the foul smoke filled his lungs, burning like acid. Trying to breathe a vat of tar might be similar, and about as successful.
Still, he pushed on, grateful that either Eve was too caught up in their search or visibility was too bad for her to notice his predicament.
He tossed aside chairs, trash. Poked into every corner. His breath grew short quickly, exerting himself as he was, and his vision began to grow hazy. Or was that the smoke? Defeat became a distinct possibility, yet he couldn’t bring himself to turn away. To write off an innocent life without knowing for sure whether the boy was alive. He didn’t have it in him to leave.
He stumbled over a board, lost his balance. Went down, hit the ground on his hands and knees. Was about to push up when he saw a shoe. An athletic shoe, inches from his face. Reaching out, he grabbed the shoe and found a foot. Then a leg.
“Got him!” he shouted, though it came out as a hoarse croak. “Eve!”
Carefully he crawled forward, pushed aside a chair and some plaster to find the boy curled in a fetal position, arms over his face. God, please let this kid be alive.
At his side, Sean nudged the boy’s shoulder, gently rolled him onto his back. Gut clenching in dread, he felt the slender, grimy neck for a pulse. Found nothing, and tried again.
“Oh, no. Come on, son. Please . . .”
A faint throb answered his plea, barely discernible. But present. The kid had a chance, and that was more than he had a minute earlier. Sean scooped the skinny body into his arms and stood, scanning for Eve and the entrance.
His partner was at his side in moments, guiding them toward light. Toward fresh air and life. She might’ve said something, but he wasn’t sure what; he knew only that she kept tugging him forward, urging him on, moving fast.
And then they were out, bursting into bright sunlight, so abruptly he was blinded. Through the fog in his brain he heard shouts. Blinking away grit, he saw Six-Pack and another firefighter rushing forward, one from another station. The firefighter took the boy and it was as if Sean’s body knew it was okay to let go. To simply fall like a puppet with cut strings, weightless. The pavement rushed up to meet him and the breath might’ve been knocked from him, had there been any left.
This prompted more shouts as hands relieved him of the SCBA and tank, rolled him onto his back. Six-Pack hovered over him, one big hand slapping his cheek, the other on his chest. His best friend’s expression was stricken as he spoke, some of what he said filtering to Sean’s consciousness like a bad radio signal, fading in and out.
“. . . on, buddy. Don’t . . . okay? Hang . . . help . . . Sean?”
His lips moved and he tried to answer, but no sound emerged. He blinked and Eve was there, too, tears running off her chin. He tried to lift his arm, wanted to wipe them away. But he couldn’t move.
“Breathe,” she whispered.
Sorry, baby.
A dark veil descended over his eyes and he began to drift. How ironic that finally, for the first time in two years, he didn’t want to leave this world behind and now he might not have a choice.
“Goddammit, I need help over here, right fucking now!”
Six-Pack. His steady friend who never drank and rarely cursed. That order had certainly been loud and clear. Sean might have smiled at the image of a bunch of firefighters leaping to do the big man’s bidding, but he couldn’t hang on.
Darkness sucked him under, and he knew nothing more.
8
1991
Sean recalled the note from Jesse, given to him earlier by one of the men in the group that was clustered outside in the darkness of the barracks. A missive stating simply that he was to be at the “meeting” taking place tonight, far enough from the sleeping quarters to not be overheard, no excuses. Like he knew what it was about. Hell, he just wanted to go to bed, but as he approached, their conversation filled him with dread.
“Twenty million, man. That’s the bottom line,” Jesse said coldly.
“Come on, Rose. That’s too much for our bu
yers and you know it. Their country is too poor to front the cash.”
Jesse waved him into the circle, gestured for him to have a seat. And like an idiot, he did, listening as they kept on without a bit of concern as to his presence.
“If they want the rifles, they’ll pay. If not, I’ll find another buyer. That’s the deal. And if he doesn’t take it, kill him. That’ll set an example for the future.”
“What?” Sean sputtered. “Kill who?” No one paid him any attention.
“Whatever you say, Rose.”
The men made noises of agreement and left, and Sean rounded on Jesse. “What the fuck was that? You’re dealing in stolen weapons?”
“No, we’re dealing. You and me.”
The blood drained from Sean’s face. “No. Leave me out of this, Jess. I’m not involved.”
Jesse grinned. “Sure you are. I sent you a note to attend our first meeting, and you came running. You’re in this same as me.”
“I didn’t know!” God, what a nightmare.
“But you do now. And you’re still sitting here, aren’t you?” his friend had the audacity to explain patiently, as though talking to a child. “Look, I know you’re not going to side against me. We’re like brothers and that means you’re with me all the way. You needed a little push is all, and I gave you one. Now get your shit together because we have business to handle. Got it?”
Without waiting for an answer, Jesse left him there, staring into space, his heart in tatters. His best friend was dealing in illegal arms, and now he was guilty by association if not in deed.
What the fuck was he going to do?
Sean didn’t sleep that night. Or the next.
Sean’s beautiful green eyes drifted closed, and Eve fisted his coat, shook him hard. “Sean? Sean! Oh, my God,” she said, voice cracking. “Howard, he’s not breathing!”
The lieutenant placed two fingers on his friend’s neck. Eve knew she’d never seen Six-Pack so scared. “He’s got a pulse. We’ve got to clear his lungs.”
Two of Captain Holliday’s team pushed into the circle, carrying their equipment and gently ordering Six-Pack and Eve aside. “Scoot back and let us help him, okay?”
Eve stood on rubbery legs, hand over her mouth, as the men began efforts to resuscitate her boss. Friend. Lover. She was hardly aware of a similar drama being played out over the boy Sean had rescued, possibly at the cost of his own life.
She’d known that he wanted to die. But that was before he’d gotten sober, started counseling. Was it all just a cover while he waited for the opportunity to check out?
No, she couldn’t believe that. No way was he faking his determination to turn himself around. But something told her that their superiors wouldn’t be as easy to convince.
If he survived.
“All right, let’s get him moving,” one of the firefighters barked, slipping an oxygen mask over Sean’s nose and mouth.
Eve nearly fell over in relief, but she knew better than to celebrate just yet. Victims succumbed to smoke inhalation all the time, even after they’d been revived. The results were always unpredictable; he could recover quickly after treatment and go home, or they could all be in for a long, agonizing wait.
The hardest thing she ever did was watch, helpless, as the other team lifted Sean onto the gurney and whisked him away to Sterling, Sugarland’s newest hospital, a few miles away. Not to know what was happening to him was torture, but it was a burden every single one of them shared, no matter which station they called home. A pall was cast over the group even as they doubled their efforts to get this bitch under control.
The boy was taken away as well, the mask strapped over his face and the men talking to him in soothing tones.
Six-Pack helped the other three captains coordinate the fire-control and rescue efforts. Eve was crouched over a woman, tending her superficial burns, when Zack and Julian returned with their ambulance. After making sure the lady didn’t want to be transported to Sterling, she walked over to meet the guys.
“How’s the woman from the restaurant?” she asked. She crossed her arms over her chest to ward off the growing chill that had little to do with the fall weather.
“Didn’t make it,” Julian said, shaking his head.
They shared a look. The ones they couldn’t save always hurt more than anyone could understand, except the victims’ families.
“Where is everyone?” Zack asked, frowning. His gaze surveyed the smoldering rubble of the mall, firefighters dousing it, poking, making certain the blaze was out.
She knew he meant Sean and Clay, and her stomach dropped. “Clay’s over there assisting Jones, since Blackwell had to be transported.” She hitched a thumb toward the shoe store. “Idiot refused to be taken in until everyone was out of danger. Had one of the other guys wrap his arm.”
Julian snorted. “Dipstick. Say, where’s Cap?”
“He’s . . .” Eve’s voice failed. Suddenly, a big hand landed on her shoulder and Six-Pack was at her side, lending his support. Not only to her, but to all of them.
“Sean’s been transported to Sterling. Smoke inhalation.”
The lieutenant’s quiet words, effective as much for what they didn’t say as for what they did, fell into the space between them like a boulder, with crushing weight.
“What the fuck?” Zack sputtered. “How? He’s not supposed to go inside!”
“We were seriously shorthanded at the time,” Six-Pack said grimly. “He ordered me to stay and he went inside with Eve.”
That was fudging. She and Howard both knew it. Sean was going in with or without her, but that would remain unspoken.
“But he should have sent you,” Julian countered. Suddenly, his confusion cleared. “Shit, it was the kid, wasn’t it? He went in after that kid. God, the brass is gonna roast him for this.”
“Shut up, asshole,” Zack growled. Rarely did he give his temper reign over his normally gentle personality. When he did, others listened. He addressed the lieutenant. “How is he?”
“Wasn’t breathing when he collapsed, but he was when they left with him. Soon as we get out of here, we’ll go straight to Sterling and find out something.”
“Madre de Dios.” Julian fished his gold cross from under his shirt, held it tight.
“The quicker we get this mess dealt with, the quicker we can go to him. Let’s move it.”
The lieutenant’s voice was tired, worried. Eve joined the others in poking through the shell of the stores, checking for hot spots to avoid a flare-up. Forcing her mind to the task wasn’t easy, but it had to be done. No way would any of them put another team at risk by not concentrating on their job.
Only when they were finished and Six-Pack got the go-ahead from Holliday to leave did she allow herself to think of Sean. Worry over how he was doing. They loaded their gear and dragged themselves into the vehicles, the lieutenant riding shotgun in Sean’s seat in the quint. He’d sat there many times over the weeks Sean was in rehab, but it had never hit her harder than now.
Julian drove the ambulance and made a protesting Clay ride in the back. Not liking his pallor, Eve rode in the back with him, taking his vitals and peeling up the bandage to examine the cut high on his arm. The wound was deep but only about four inches long and wasn’t in too bad a spot, considering. Still, it bled profusely and had to hurt like a bastard. His ankle was another matter. It appeared to be just a sprain, but would need to be X-rayed.
She cleaned the gash and left the rest to the doc in the ER. No one spoke for the remainder of the drive, especially to utter false reassurances about Sean. Seemed too much like inviting fate to step in and render a blow from which they’d never recover.
Tired, bedraggled, they shuffled into the ER, every one of their faces a mirror of trepidation. Eve turned to Zack. “Is Cori working tonight?” If so, Zack’s wife might be able to slip them some inside info if the doctor was still busy.
“No, she’s at home,” he said regretfully. “Maybe Shea is working?”
/> “Good thought. I’ll ask.”
She approached the nurses’ station and saw a woman she recognized. The charge nurse, a worn-down blonde named Dora. “Hello. We’re here—”
“About the captain. I know, hon,” she said in sympathy. “Dr. Brown and some others have him back there, treating him for smoke inhalation. I can’t tell you anything about his condition, but the doctor should be out before too long.”
“Thank you for telling us that much.” She peered past Dora’s shoulder. “Is Shea Ford working tonight?”
“No, she’s off. But she wouldn’t be able to say much, either, even if she was here.”
Not with me guarding the desk like it’s a matter of national security was what Dora meant. Damn. They had no option but to wait.
Clay was taken back to get patched and the rest of them settled into the unforgiving vinyl chairs, flipping through boring magazines that nobody actually read. Six-Pack kept his radio on low, but at least they didn’t get any more calls, being shorthanded. Unless absolutely necessary, dispatch wouldn’t send them out again until they left the hospital.
About thirty minutes later, Clay emerged, stitched and bandaged, with the okay to return to the job as long as he was careful. His ankle was merely sprained, and he wasn’t limping as much anymore.
More than two hours crept by before the doors swished open and an older doctor in scrubs approached, expression unreadable. They leaped to their feet as a unit, Eve’s heart pounding as he stopped in front of them.
“Captain Tanner is going to be fine.” He smiled, happy to be the bearer of good news.
“Thank God,” she breathed. The rest echoed her relief, slapping one another on the back and grinning broadly. When they’d quieted, the doctor continued.
“His lungs sustained no permanent damage and he’s breathing well enough now, but I’m keeping him overnight for observation. He gave us quite a scare at first, so I’d feel better not letting him go home just yet.”
“Sounds good, Doc,” Six-Pack said. “How soon can he come back to work?”
