Fearless

by Kimberly Kincaid

  She stalled by closing the front door behind her, flipping the dead bolt with a click. “It’s Saturday night. Shouldn’t you be out . . . doing something?”

  One dark brow arched. “Seems you’ve got that market cornered, sugar bee.”

  “Uh.” At this point, Savannah couldn’t deny that she’d been spending at least some of her downtime with a man—Brad would never buy whatever feeble excuse she could come up with on the fly, anyway. But no chance in hell was she copping to which man. She might be brash, but she wasn’t brainless. “Okay, yeah. Maybe. It’s just casual, though.”

  “And now I want to put Clorox to my ears and punch this guy in the face, so maybe let’s not on the details, huh?” Brad held up a hand for emphasis, and she resisted the urge to sag with relief. “But you’re clearly keeping company with someone. I wouldn’t be doing my brotherly duties if I didn’t give you a little hell and offer a blanket threat to kick the guy’s ass if he steps out of line.”

  A tiny smile wended its way over Savannah’s mouth, and she lowered her bag to the floor before joining her brother in the microscopic kitchen. “Don’t you think I’d kick the guy’s ass if he steps out of line?”

  “Fair enough,” Brad admitted after a minute. He leaned in to nudge her shoulder with his own, grabbing a pair of beers from the fridge and passing one over. “But grown or not, you’re still my baby sister. We stick together come hell or hurricanes. It’s the Nelson way.”

  Unease laddered down her spine despite the cool, smooth taste of the beer she’d cracked open. Yes, she’d agreed that she and Cole would talk to Captain Westin about Oz as soon as they could tomorrow, and yes, she’d trusted Cole when he’d said going up the chain of command in-house was the smartest move.

  Except.

  If the discrepancies in the reports weren’t enough, she and Cole were risking some serious censure, not to mention his promotion to squad. They’d lock-picked their way onto that second scene, for God’s sake. She had no doubt that both fires were arson and that Oz was at the very least guilty of covering them up, if not more. But she was starting to have doubts that she and Cole could prove it, especially to the captain who had been buddy-buddy with Oz for the past two decades.

  With so much on the line, Savannah had to be sure.

  “So I’ve been doing a lot of studying lately, trying to stay on top of things and learn as much as I can.” She tried on a semi-bored expression. Brad would never swallow her complete disinterest in anything related to work, but getting overly bright-eyed would definitely catch his notice, too. “You know, procedures and fire science. Stuff like that.”

  Brad laughed, leaning against the counter. “Welcome to my world. Anything I can help you with?”

  She forced herself not to tackle the question with too much enthusiasm, although good Lord, it took effort. “I don’t know. Maybe. I came across a bunch of case files used as examples in a textbook. Most of them were from electrical fires.”

  “Oooh. Those can get crispy,” her brother said, and even though she hated the deception, Savannah nodded.

  “Yeah, the pictures look it. I saw an AC window unit that damn near burned a crater in the floor of a warehouse.”

  Brad frowned. “From faulty electrical? I guess a fire pattern like that could happen if the circumstances were just right, but I’m not sure it’s very likely.”

  “You think?” She took a long sip of her beer, tasting nothing. Nerves of steel. “What else could’ve done it?”

  “Well, I know I’m not the most unbiased guy on the planet when it comes to this, but I’m thinking who rather than what. Someone with less-than-honorable intentions could rig an AC unit to blow in any one of a dozen ways.”

  Savannah’s heart thumped against her ribs. “Okay, but wouldn’t they have to be there to kick it off?” She’d been wracking her brain for days now, trying to figure out how Oz had managed to start both fires without actually being at the scene.

  “Not necessarily. I know explosions seem like they’d be complicated to rig, but all you really need is heat and pressure, both of which can be triggered either remotely or on a delay. Take your AC unit, for example. For someone who knows what they’re doing, removing the safety sensor and pinching off the cooling coil takes about five minutes. In an older unit, probably less.”

  Oh. God. She marshaled her voice to steadiness. “So there’s your heat and your pressure. But still.” She had to play devil’s advocate. She had to know every angle. “Would that really be enough to spark an explosion?”

  “Maybe not a huge one. But add a little creativity, and it sure would start one hell of a fire,” Brad said.

  “Creativity?” she asked, the tiny hairs on the back of her neck standing at complete attention.

  “The heat and pressure from the bad wiring would make an AC unit burn, no doubt. But let’s say someone were to add an accelerant like a flammable household cleaner to the condensation pan. Once the unit got hot enough, the thing would pump out fire instead of cold air, and then . . .” Brad put his beer on the counter at his hip, opening his fingers wide to mimic an explosion. “Your fire would go from bad to worse.”

  Savannah’s blood turned to ice water in her veins as her mind snagged on that weird stain she’d seen on the warehouse floor. Cole had dismissed it as something that had probably been in the storage unit when the place had caught fire.

  But what if it was the reason the warehouse had caught fire?

  “That sounds major,” she finally managed, but her brother just shrugged as if they were talking about the weather or what she’d had for dinner or anything else that didn’t have I work with an arsonist written all over it.

  “Like I said, it wouldn’t be huge, like a bomb blast. But arson usually isn’t. If an arsonist knows what he’s doing, the fires can usually be blamed on other causes. It’s why arson is so hard to prove.” Brad shrugged. “Anyway, I know all that sounds pretty far-fetched, especially when you compare it to something as run-of-the-mill as an electrical fire. Hope it makes sense.”

  “Actually, it does,” Savannah said.

  Frighteningly, it made all the sense in the world.

  * * *

  After six hours of twisting and turning on her brother’s couch, Savannah finally just threw in the towel and left the cushions in the past tense. A hot shower and a hotter cup of coffee got her body in gear, but her brain and her heart sat strangely unsatisfied.

  She wanted Cole. Not just in the “hot sex, right now” kind of way. But in the “steal his T-shirt, curl up in his arms, trust him to have her back” kind of way.

  Oh God. She really was in love with him.

  Savannah’s cell phone buzzed softly, signaling an incoming text, and her pulse jumped even faster as she slid the thing from the coffee table to her palm.

  Hey. You awake?

  Her smile was pure instinct. Yeah.

  You want to meet me at Scarlett’s for breakfast?

  Savannah eyed the clock on the microwave, the glowing numbers cutting through the shadows. A little early for breakfast, isn’t it? It was barely 0520. Most normal people still had a solid hour of REM sleep left in their cycle.

  You got me, Cole answered after a minute. I don’t really care about the food. I just want you.

  Savannah closed her eyes, not even trying to squash her idiot grin.

  Well. In that case, I guess I’ll see you in ten.

  She made it to Scarlett’s in eight minutes and change, but of course, Cole was already there. He stood out in front of the neat brick building, looking both unassuming and utterly gorgeous as he looped an arm around her waist and hauled her in for a kiss.

  “Mmm,” he murmured, running his teeth over her bottom lip before releasing her just far enough to deliver a devastating smile. “Morning.”

  Savannah lost the war with her blush. “Oh. You really did miss me,” she said, pulling back to swing a glance over the quiet, predawn hush of Church Street.

  “I did. And you don
’t have to worry.” His green-gold stare followed hers like a heat signature. “We’re blocks from the house, and anyway, I’m always the first person in at Eight. They’re all still snoring away at home.”

  “Ah.” She relaxed against his touch, breathing in the clean, woodsy scent of his skin. “Well in that case, c’mere.”

  A minute later, Savannah reluctantly let go of Cole to let him usher her inside the brightly lit diner. The restaurant was sparsely populated, and they took their usual booth by the window in the back, both ordering coffee and the breakfast special that was quickly becoming their norm. Being around Cole sent her nerves unwinding in her belly, and even when they briefly discussed waiting until after roll call to go see Westin, Savannah still didn’t clutch.

  This was going to work out. After what Brad had told her last night, they had more than enough for the FFD to open an investigation against Oz.

  And what’s more, Cole had her back.

  When their breakfasts had been reduced to crumbs and smudges on their mostly empty plates, Cole ran one hand over his stomach, brushing his opposite fingers over hers.

  “I guess we should head over to the house and start getting ready for roll call,” he said. “You can go first if you want. I’ll give you a ten-minute head start so it doesn’t look like we’re rolling up together.”

  Savannah nodded. Arriving together, especially early, might arouse suspicion, and the guys on B-shift were probably up and prepping for shift change. Still, despite the need for covert tactics, a smile tempted the corners of her mouth upward. “You go. I don’t want to be responsible for you breaking your first-one-in streak.”

  “Careful, sweetheart.” Cole slipped the check off the Formica, dishing up a mischievous smile before he unfolded himself out of their booth. “Or I’ll start thinking you like me.”

  Savannah spent the next ten minutes corralling the butterflies taking flight against her rib cage, then another five making her way to Station Eight. She headed into the engine bay, business as usual, and jawing with Donovan and Jonesey as she changed and got ready for the impending tour calmed the nervousness skating through her. All she and Cole had to do was get through shift change and roll call. Then they’d meet in front of Westin’s office and ask for a sit-down.

  Nothing to it. They had each other’s backs.

  “Hey, Tough Stuff,” Donovan said, tipping his permanently stubbled chin at the door connecting the locker room to Station Eight’s interior. “You’d better hustle it. Roll call’s in five.”

  She ran a hand over her uniform to make sure her FFD T-shirt was tucked neatly into her navy-blue uniform pants, unable to keep her sassy smile from popping out as she clanged her locker shut. “Please. Like anything has ever kept me from roll call before.”

  But before Donovan could work up a smartass response, the all-call echoed through the building.

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  “Listen up, you guys, because we’re looking at a fucking barn burner,” Crews barked into the headset, the tone of his voice sending Savannah’s already thudding pulse into the stratosphere. “Dispatch has got multiple nine-one-one calls for a nightclub over in Cambridge Park, and the last caller reported flames already showing. The building is older than the hills, so we’re gonna need to look sharp and act sharper. ETA in five.”

  “Copy that.” Savannah hooked her headset back to its perch in the step, already starting to sweat beneath the thick cover of her turnout gear.

  “Shit. I hate big calls at shift change,” Jonesey muttered from beside her, yanking his hood into place. It wasn’t like a firefighter to hate calls of any kind, really, and it damn sure wasn’t like Donovan to tack on such a serious nod in agreement.

  “We don’t even have solid shift assignments, so be ready for anything, you two.”

  Savannah nodded, double-checking her gear and her SCBA as she focused on her inhale-exhale. A ribbon of unease curled around her chest at the thought of the thwarted trip to Westin’s office, but there was nothing to be done for it now. Waiting for a few hours wouldn’t change anything.

  Nerves of steel, girl. Be tough.

  Her boots hit the cracked pavement about five nanoseconds after Donovan’s, the radio on her shoulder crackling as she cranked the volume for a good listen while she took in the scene.

  The two-story nightclub had seen better days. Its worn façade and narrow windows were both difficult to clearly make out from behind the billows of dark gray smoke pouring out of the building. A sign in front proclaiming THE VAULT proved to be an accurate moniker for the place as Savannah took in the steel security gate padlocked over the front door facing the street, and damn, there were flames showing in all four of the first-floor windows.

  Westin’s voice grabbed Savannah’s attention over the radio. “Engine, squad. We need to move fast. Oz, take the roof for a vent, and Crews, I want you and Jones on that nightmare of a front door. Everett, you and Nelson see if you can’t find a point of entry in the rear. All of you, go.”

  Savannah gripped her Halligan bar and fell into step next to Cole. “Think there’s an employee entrance back here?”

  “Per code, there’s got to be something other than the front door. Ah.” He jerked his helmet at the rickety, sun-faded sign reading FOR DELIVERIES, PLEASE USE REAR ENTRANCE. “Looks like today’s our lucky day.”

  The irony of Cole’s words hit her in full force as they rounded the Charlie side of the nightclub. Smoke churned from the building in soot-filled streams, with thick waves of heat following closely behind. The back door was the only point of entry Savannah could see, the windowless steel slab dead-bolted in two places, but thankfully, that wasn’t anything they couldn’t handle with a thirty-second breach. Provided they could get past the fire threatening to swallow the place whole from the inside out.

  “Everett to command, we have a secondary point of entry, first-floor door on the Charlie side. But we’re showing pretty heavy smoke back here, Cap,” Cole called into his radio. “We can get in, but I’d bet on the other side being pretty toasty.”

  Westin’s voice crackled over the two-way in reply. “Command to Everett, stand by. Crews, report on the Alpha side point of entry.”

  “Five minutes, command,” Crews clipped out. “Security door is set in goddamn cinder blocks. But we’re on it.”

  Savannah stepped back, scanning the area behind the nightclub. She spotted a single window on the far side of the building, so small and far from the rear door that it had been easy to miss at first glance. Just a narrow stretch of smoke-smudged glass about five feet off the ground, the window was one of those horizontal affairs that served purely aesthetic purposes rather than boasting any sort of functionality. The rear lot was blessedly empty of gawkers and passersby—smoke this bitter and burnt tended to serve as a pretty good deterrent, although you never did know. But then her eyes came to a halt on a silver Mercedes tucked into an out-of-the-way parking spot by the Dumpster, and her gut iced over as the implication clicked all the way into place.

  “Cole, look,” Savannah said, but her feet were already in motion. With a quick grab, she snatched up one of the flimsy plastic chairs from the makeshift smoke-break area beside the door, jamming her boots onto the seat to pull herself up to the window.

  Oh holy hell.

  “Nelson to command, we’ve got entrapment back here, Charlie side!” Savannah’s hand shook over her two-way from the bolt of sheer adrenaline coursing through her blood. “I’ve got eyes on an adult male in a back room.” She sucked in a breath that turned to sand in her lungs. “He appears unconscious. I can see him through a window, but it’s too small to breach.”

  “Damn it,” Westin swore. “Crews, report.”

  “Four minutes, command.”

  Westin made his swear a double. “Command to Everett. Are you and Nelson a go for that back door?”

  Cole looked up, meeting her eyes with a determined stare. “Affirmative, sir.”

  “You have ninety seconds for sear
ch and rescue. Do it.”

  Savannah jumped down from the chair, her brain moving at Mach 2 as they covered the ground back to the rear entrance. Cole crouched down over the threshold, angling his Halligan bar into place in the crease of the door.

  “You’re on my hip, Nelson, nice and easy. We’re going to get this guy and get the hell out of here. You copy?”

  She nodded, tugging her mask into place until it formed a snug seal around her face. “Copy,” she said, although she barely heard the word over the hiss of her regulator and the absolute slam of her heartbeat in her ears. Cole wasted no time breaching the door with a splintering crack.

  Despite the endorphin-laced fear threatening to take over every corner of her mind, Savannah didn’t hesitate to follow him into the burning nightclub.

  * * *

  While Cole had known this shift would probably start with a cluster fuck of epic proportions, he hadn’t realized said nightmare would actually be on fire.

  That it was easily the nastiest fire he’d seen in half a year, and he and Savannah were breaching the only viable point of entry to drag an unconscious man through a ruthless maze of flames and soot and smoke?

  Yeah, the two of them were going to earn every penny of this paycheck.

  He swung his gaze through the rear entryway to the building, taking in the fire-choked junction leading farther into the belly of the nightclub.

  “Looks like this hallway will get us to your guy,” Cole hollered through his mask, gesturing to his right. Even though the flames had rolled up the length of the corridor’s interior wall, the lack of daylight and the growing abundance of smoke tag-teamed in an effort to kill his vision, and halfway down the dark, dingy hallway, he gave up trying to see. Flattening his hands against the exterior wall, he crouched down low to feel his way farther into the furnace-like space. Come on, the door to the room where this guy was trapped had to be here somewhere. It had to be—