by Jo Davis
Joseph Hensley might be tired, his old body giving up the ghost, but it seemed he had one more battle to fight.
And win.
“Where’s Sean?” Tommy eyed the hungry group seated around the station’s kitchen table waiting for his version of breakfast. He just hoped it would be edible this morning.
“Running late,” Eve muttered, scowling into her coffee mug. “As usual.”
“Maybe we should chip in for a new alarm clock for his birthday.”
Nobody laughed at Julian’s lame joke. They all knew why the captain was late, and nothing but a stint in rehab was going to fix him. Which he’d stubbornly refused to do, insisting he could handle his problem with the bottle. Alone.
“It’s been a year and half since the accident,” Eve continued, as though Julian hadn’t spoken. “Something has to be done.”
Tommy flipped the pancakes and shook his head. “Like what? Can’t help a man who doesn’t want to be helped.”
“Maybe he can’t be helped.” This from Clay Montana, who normally worked as FAO on B-shift. He’d jumped at the chance to earn some OT this week while Zack was on his honeymoon.
The silence fell like a shroud. Wasn’t this everybody’s worst fear? That Sean wanted to sink and nothing would stop him? Honestly, if Tommy had learned that his entire family burned to death in a fiery car crash, that his baby girl died screaming for Daddy . . . Jesus, they’d have buried him long ago.
“Maybe if we staged another intervention—”
Julian cut off Eve’s suggestion. “No way. Are you forgetting what a disaster the first one turned out to be? He won’t listen.”
“He’s right,” Six-Pack said, face grim. “I put my ass on the line with that one, and it backfired.”
She slammed her fist on the table, startling the others with the temper normally reserved for her sparring matches with the captain. “Then what the hell are we supposed to do? Just let him drown?”
“Did I miss the memo inviting me to my own fucking performance review?”
Aw, hell. Everybody looked toward the doorway, where Sean stood, arms crossed over his chest, good and pissed. His eyes were bloodshot, making the green of his irises pop.
Tommy turned off the heat under the bacon and took a deep breath. “I brought it up, sir. I asked where you were and everybody’s worried about you. Can you blame us?” He met the captain’s glare without flinching.
Sean’s harsh features softened, but not much. “No, I can’t. But I’m here now, so anybody who’s got something to get off their chest can do it to my face. Well?”
Seconds ticked by from the kitchen wall clock, the only sound save for Tommy sliding the last of the pancakes onto a plate. Watching, waiting for the man to detonate.
Christ, are we having fun yet?
Eve stood slowly, face pinched with anger. Worry. “I’ve got plenty to say. In your office.”
“You’ll say it here. God knows you’ll all talk about it later anyway,” Sean said, giving a humorless laugh.
“Fine.” She rounded the table as the others stared, like witnesses to catastrophe. “You’re late for the third time in two weeks, a transgression you’d have called any of us on the carpet for by now.”
“Granted,” he agreed, mouth tight. “I apologize to all of you.”
But Eve wasn’t finished. “It wouldn’t be that big a deal if it were anyone else, but you? We all know you’re stumbling in here either half-drunk or hungover—”
“Just a goddamned minute,” he hissed, stepping into her space. His face was parchment white, red flags staining his cheeks. “You’re crossing the line, Marshall.”
“I’m thinking of this team, something you’re damned well not doing.” She closed the distance further, getting in his face. Not giving an inch.
“I have never come to work drunk,” he said hoarsely. “This team is all I have, and I’d never place any of you in jeopardy.”
“You wouldn’t mean to, but that’s how accidents happen, Sean.” Leaning in to him, she sniffed at his neck. “I can smell the whiskey oozing from your fucking pores. You might be sober at the moment, but you’re hungover. Tired. You’re going to make a mistake, and when you do, someone’s going to get hurt. When that happens, none of us will be able to save you from the city brass. Or yourself.”
Sean fell quiet and, for a long moment, gazed into Eve’s earnest face. No one breathed. Not even Howard had ever dared to lay it all on the line quite this way in front of the entire team, the failed intervention aside. Here, at work, it took on a whole new level of seriousness.
“Maybe I don’t—”
The high tone of the intercom stopped Sean from saying something he might not be able to take back, and deflated the almost painful tension in the room. The rest of the group around the table shoved back their chairs and rose, and everyone started for the bay as the computerized female voice related a call to a structure fire, close to downtown.
Tommy wiped his hands on a kitchen towel, pitched it onto the counter, and shot a last, forlorn glance at the abandoned breakfast.
For once, his meal had turned out perfect.
Clay pulled the quint into the empty parking lot near the building and whistled. “Mother Mary, look at that bastard burn! Three alarms, baby!” Baby came out bay-bay, Austin Powers style.
Despite the thick atmosphere in the cab, Tommy suppressed a snort of laughter. Their resident cowboy couldn’t be more different from Zack’s quiet authority. Montana was just a little bit crazy, a tad off. But in a likable way.
“Did you take your medication this morning, cowboy?” Eve asked with a grin as they all jumped out.
“Nah. I gotta work, and that shit aggravates my multiple personality disorder.” Heading around the side to yank out the preconnected hoses and work the valves, he gave her a wink. “Figured you guys would want to know for sure which one of me showed up today.”
Tommy did laugh then, along with Eve. The guy was a ball of white-hot energy, and funny as hell. He must run circles around B-shift and keep them in stitches to boot.
“Skyler, you and Marshall take the roof,” the captain called. Clearly, he wasn’t in the mood for Clay’s humor. “Six-Pack and Salvatore, take the hose around back.”
Eve hesitated, frowning at the squat, two-story building. “Sean—”
“Get moving, dammit.”
She turned away, muttering under her breath. “Prick.”
The four of them sprang into action, Tommy and Eve each grabbing an ax from the quint and hefting the ladder. The FAO from Station Two shut off the hose aimed at the roof, and a pair from their team and from Station Four entered the building in the front with more hoses.
Tommy and Eve jogged for the back of the building and placed the ladder against the back wall of the structure, giving it a shake to be sure it was secure.
“I don’t like this,” Eve said. “I’ve got a bad vibe.”
“We don’t have to go.”
“He’ll chew our asses.”
He didn’t have to ask who she meant. “But we’ll be safe. Why get killed over an old, empty building?”
She hesitated for a beat, then sighed. “Our guys are inside. If it’s unstable up top, we need to know.”
“All right, a quick check. If it sucks, we’re outta there. Ladies first.”
As she began to climb, Tommy squashed a twinge of trepidation. Better the roof than going inside the burning structure, though some of his friends would argue differently. He’d never told a soul how he hated the claustrophobic feeling he got from a dark, tight, unfamiliar space. Add smoke and fire, boiling heat, and the scene was something right out of Dante’s Inferno.
Most of the time, their jobs involved assisting the community in other ways—accident victims, medical emergencies, school fire prevention awareness. Helping people rocked.
This kind of stuff? Sucked hairy donkey balls.
Glancing up, he got an eyeful of Eve’s ass bouncing under the edge of her heavy
coat. Not bad, even in the less-than-flattering fire pants. The sight didn’t trip his trigger the way it used to, though. Before Shea.
Oh, no. Not going there.
He pushed her out of his head and focused instead on keeping his weight centered, slightly forward, balanced. The Air-Pak was like an anvil against his spine, trying to pitch his tall frame backward. Eve seemed to have no problem, shimmying upward like a spider monkey. As strong as Eve was, he admired how she handled every aspect of her job, given that every one of them outweighed her by a good fifty pounds of muscle.
In truth, for all their good-natured teasing, the woman intimidated him a little. If she got wind of that, she’d ride him into the ground. And not in a pleasurable way.
When Tommy reached the top and hoisted himself over the ledge, Eve was already busy circling the roof. Stepping carefully, she scoped the area, still damp from the attempt to cool off the surface.
At first glance, he could see the dousing hadn’t been enough. Little ripples, bubbles, were forming under their boots. A chill chased through his blood. “Eve, let’s go.” He keyed the mic hooked to his coat and began walking swiftly back to the ledge. “Cap, get everyone out. She’s not gonna hold.”
“Copy that.”
Relieved, Tommy let out a breath—
Just as an ominous rending noise tore through the air behind him, punctuated by a screech.
He spun, just in time to see one of Eve’s legs disappear through a gaping hole in the roof.
“Tommy!” Her lower half was swallowed, dangling over the inferno as she scrambled for purchase. Black smoke belched from the ragged hole. Arms straight out in front of her, ax in one fist, she clung, eyes wide with terror.
Tommy ran, slowing his steps as he eased toward her, gently prodding the surface with the head of his ax. One wrong move, one quirk of the bitch called fate, and they were both dead.
Sweat rolled down his temple, and not only from the heat boiling under his feet. Carefully, he stretched out on his stomach and crept toward her, much like a person would on a frozen lake trying to rescue a victim without sending them both through the ice.
“Oh, God,” she moaned. “Hurry!”
Incredibly, his mind locked down. Sharpened to the one task he must not fail—to save his partner. Laying the ax aside, he stretched toward her. “Let go of your ax, too, and give me your hands, sweetheart.”
She did, and they locked their grips around each other’s wrists.
“Don’t let go of me,” she whispered, mouth white despite her bronzed skin color.
“Not a chance, my friend. Look at my eyes. Focus on me.”
“Okay.”
A strange, eerie calm settled over him as he began to inch backward. Part of the roof crumbled under her stomach and they slipped, but other than a harsh gasp, she made no sound. Just continued to do as he’d asked, gazing at him with complete trust.
No more time. He had to get them off this death trap. Without letting go, he shifted, getting on his knees. He dug in, threw his weight backward, hauling for all he was worth. Eve slid out of the hole and onto the roof, and he pulled her backward several feet before helping her up.
“Can you walk?”
“I think so.” But she grimaced as she took a step. “Damn. Must’ve sprained—”
The building shook.
“Shit!”
Tommy lunged, grabbing her and tossing her over his shoulder in a fireman’s carry. If he’d ever moved faster, even when he’d dodged the biggest, baddest defensive linebacker on the field, he couldn’t recall when. Before his brain caught up with his actions, he was over the ledge, making his way down the ladder a hell of a fucking lot quicker and smoother than he’d gone up. Carrying an extra load, no less.
Who was squeaking in protest at the upside-down view, dangling like a sack of potatoes two stories off the ground.
“I’m gonna be sick,” she announced.
“Not on my coat, you don’t.”
He thought he heard a laugh, but it might’ve been a grunt. No way to be sure.
Before he knew it, they were down. He stepped off at the bottom and let Eve gently to the ground in front of him. In a flash, they were surrounded by the whole team, plus a few guys from the other stations, demanding to know what happened. Sean foremost among them, wearing an expression Tommy had never seen on his rugged mug before.
Naked fear.
“What the hell happened?” Sean rasped.
“Eve fell through the roof,” he said. And Christ, here came the shakes. Delayed, but bearing down hard.
With that announcement, Sean paled. He spun and stalked toward the ambulance with Six-Pack and Julian, where they sat her in the back, removing her boot to take a look at the injured ankle. Tommy trailed in his wake, trembling like a racehorse on crack.
Sweet Jesus, he’d almost lost a colleague. And a damned good friend.
One thing he knew for goddamned certain, and the truth didn’t go down easy. This wasn’t what he signed up for when he joined the fire department. Not by a long shot.
And he didn’t have a single clue what to do about it.
The lady firefighter had been injured.
Another innocent person hurt so he could live as normal a life as possible. Stay well for a few more years. Perhaps indefinitely.
Will’s stomach churned. He hated this. Hated lying to Grandpa, to his coworkers, his few friends. He loathed the position he’d put himself in on all fronts. Yes, he had done this. Had been reckless and ruined his own life, then ruined others’ in order to save his own hide.
It was like juggling axes and saws. Blindfolded.
What would Grandpa say if he knew the whole sordid truth? The stress and shock would probably kill the old man outright. Picturing his disappointment lanced Will’s chest, the pain almost physical.
Grandpa couldn’t find out. Ever.
Putting the old man out of his mind, or so he told himself, he reached into his jeans pocket, fishing for his cell phone—which he’d left at home. Again.
He couldn’t say he was real sorry about having to make his call later. Much later.
Will was just about to leave when one of the firefighters across the street glanced in his direction. The man, striding for the ambulance where the lady firefighter was being checked out, paused a beat. Stared at Will.
Right at him.
Will pulled his ball cap low over his eyes and walked off. Casual, man. Easy, like some bystander checking out the action. Moving on.
He was halfway down the street before he chanced a look over his shoulder and breathed a sigh of relief. The firefighter wasn’t paying attention to him anymore. No one was.
A few more jobs, then he was getting out. He’d have enough stockpiled to pay for his meds, and Grandpa’s, for good. No more struggle and worry.
That was what he told himself at night, when he couldn’t sleep.
When his demons promised to hold his reservation in hell.
6
Shea placed the dust rag and Pledge under the sink, then washed her hands, letting her mind wander to the day ahead. Tidying her small apartment hadn’t taken long, maybe an hour. Funny how she lived for her days off, yet when they arrived, she had no clue what to do with them once her chores were finished.
“I could try getting a life,” she told Miss Kitty, who wound around her ankles yowling for food. She gave the big gray Persian a rueful smile. “Or we could just be old ladies together—how’s that?”
Miss Kitty wasn’t impressed. Tail waving like a banner, she stalked over to her food dish, sniffed, and glared expectantly back at Shea.
“No, ma’am, it’s not time for dinner.”
Which was met with another pitiful howl. And as always, Shea was helpless to resist such a heartfelt plea. When and if she was ever lucky enough to have children, she’d probably spoil them rotten.
The old pang of loss made her ache briefly. Not as bad as it used to be, dulled by the passing of ten years. But a part
of her all the same, old scar tissue nobody else could see except Shane.
Fishing in the pantry, she got out the Tupperware container filled with dry cat food and poured some into Miss Kitty’s bowl. The howling ceased as the feline crouched and proceeded to crunch, apparently happy.
“If only everyone had it so easy, huh? Just holler for what you want and then sleep all day in the sun.”
And boy, she was talking to her cat. Or herself. Either way, she had to get out of here for a bit or go stir crazy.
In her bedroom, she dug out a pair of loose athletic shorts and a tank top, and changed out of her jeans and T-shirt. Tennis shoes completed the ensemble, and she was ready to go for a walk.
Not for the first time, she wished she had a dog to take along. They made good companions.
Or a man.
A gorgeous man with blond hair and blue eyes.
“Argh!” Striding from the room, she grabbed her keys off the kitchen counter and left, locking the door behind her.
Not being able to talk to Cori this week was frustrating. Happy as she was for her friend, she could use some advice. Female advice, preferably from someone who knew Tommy a little, which counted out Shane on both fronts. There were some things a woman didn’t want to get into with her brother, no matter how close their relationship. Besides, Shane didn’t need another reason to nose into her business more than he had lately.
Shea started down the sidewalk to the scenic path surrounding the property. She wasn’t much for jogging, but she did enjoy a brisk walk. It helped clear the mind. Usually.
Today her thoughts tumbled one after another, giving her no peace. Saturday’s wedding reception took center stage again, despite her repeated attempts to block it in the last few days. All she could see was Tommy’s hurt expression. Tommy, turning to leave her alone, staring after him, torn. The awful scene was on a loop, driving her insane.
When you figure out that stingy, pencil-pushin’ sack of shit can’t give you what you need? Call me.
Even if she did call, what would she say?