Blogger Bundle Volume I: Dear Author Selects Unusual Heroines

by Jo Leigh, Kathleen O'Reilly, Kay David

  “Help, help!” one of the victims screamed. Joey poked his head in the door.

  “Firefighter Santori will calm the victims and cover them with blankets.” Joey accepted the blankets from Mick.

  Jake continued, his voice level and grave. “What we’ll do now is remove the car from around the victims, instead of removing the victims from the car.”

  First Joey stuck a small ram inside the posts of the car and popped the door. He disappeared inside. Then Huff taped the front side window.

  “In order to get the window out we need to keep it from shattering all over your friends. Lifelong injuries to eyes and skin can occur in rescue work.” Again, a little heavy-handed, but Jake knew that some scare tactics were needed.

  Huff cut the window like it was cheesecake, then removed it. Chelsea vaulted to the hood of the car along with Huff. Jake had specifically asked Chelsea to do the heavy work, though she didn’t know why. Lifting the shears as easily as she did gym weights, she cut through the hood and worked the shears through the metal. The grating sound made his teeth hurt. “Now they’ll pull it back.” Huff joined Chelsea on top and curled the metal back. The entire car had been removed, like a cardboard box from around a new kitchen appliance.

  “Our job is done. The medical crew takes over now.”

  With that, the female ambulance attendant replaced Joey and they began to “package” their victims. The ambulance director narrated as Jake and his crew stood to the side.

  “First we’ll stabilize the spinal cord. Spinal cord injuries…”

  Jake nudged Chelsea. He whispered, “Chelsea, take off your helmet.”

  She cocked her head.

  “I want the kids to see you’re a woman.”

  Mick joked, “You’re a flamin’ women’s libber.”

  “She’s a good role model for high school students,” Jake explained.

  “Should I fluff out my hair, too, Lieutenant? And take off my coat?”

  When he saw she was smiling, he quipped, “No, we don’t want the boys to go into cardiac arrest.”

  Chelsea tried to stop the warm feeling spiraling inside her at his compliment. He was razzing her. But she appreciated the fact that he felt comfortable enough with her to tease. She looked around the school campus. This whole faked rescue was one of the most unusual things she’d ever done in conjunction with school safety. Mostly the fire department went into elementary schools to teach fire safety. As the ambulance attendant placed the patient on the backboard, Chelsea said, “This is great. It feels so real.”

  “Some of the teachers cry every year.” Mick proudly pointed to a group of faculty. Sure enough, Chelsea watched a few wipe their eyes.

  Purposefully the attendant wheeled the backboard in front of the group and secured the victim so that she looked like a moon walker. The other victim, on a stretcher, too, was wheeled in front of the seniors. The girl shouted to the driver, “I told you not to drink. You wouldn’t listen.”

  Jake touched Chelsea’s shoulder. “Look over here.” Chelsea turned to see the driver with the police. He was instructed to walk a line; he weaved off it four times. The officer produced handcuffs and manacled the kid’s hands behind his back. Pretending to sober up, the boy said, “I didn’t do nothin’.” He was prodded into a police car, which promptly left the bus loop.

  “I don’t like to think about the number of times I’ve had to go to homes and tell parents about a scene like this,” the police chief said into the mike. “It’s no easier to tell the drunk driver’s family than it is the victim’s. Everybody loses in an incident like this.” He paused.

  “Think about it tonight when you go to take that first drink. Do you really want to be one of these kids?”

  Chelsea checked her watch. “It only took forty minutes.”

  “One class period,” Jake told her. “These kinds of assemblies are given at all the high schools in the city by off-duty firefighters like us before the senior proms.”

  “You guys got this down pretty good.”

  He grinned at her. “You fit right in.”

  Surreptitiously, Chelsea scanned the group. In the past few weeks, she’d begun to feel like she really did fit in. It had happened slowly, and at times she still felt some discomfort, some lack of trust. But mostly she felt accepted. Even Joey’s blatant animosity had lessened. Her gaze fell on her lieutenant, who was joking with Huff. It was due, she knew, to his leadership. He’d coaxed all of them along, and she found herself appreciating him and liking him more each day.

  “Don’t you think, Whitmore?”

  “I—”

  A blur of pink sped past Chelsea as a tall bundle threw herself at Jake. “Oh, Daddy, you were wonderful!”

  Jake hugged his daughter. Chelsea was moved by the emotion on his face. He couldn’t help but be thinking about her in one of those cars.

  “Yeah, well, just remember this. If…What’s his name again? Your date?”

  “Eric.”

  “If Eric so much as looks at a beer, I’ll—”

  Jess placed a hand on his chest. “Dad, give me a break. I’m not dumb. Besides, we can’t go to Prime Time if we drink.”

  “Prime Time?” Chelsea asked.

  Jessica faced her. “Chelsea, hi. You were great. The guys couldn’t believe you were a girl the way you tore into that metal.”

  “Thanks. What’s Prime Time?”

  “An after-the-prom chemical-free activity held at the school. Teachers and students have been working all year on providing an all-night party. Food, games, sports, karaoke, you name it.”

  “But you have to stay chemical-free to get in.” Jake smoothed Jess’s hair. “It’s one of the best activities in the state for keeping kids clean.” He turned to Jessica. “Is Derek here?”

  “Nope. And he’s not going to the prom or Prime Time. Jeez, Dad, nobody misses them.”

  Jake scowled.

  “Oops, I gotta go.”

  Jake kissed her. “What time will you be at the house?” Thanks to Francey, Chelsea knew that Jessica lived with her mother, but spent a lot of time at Jake’s.

  “Four. See you then.” She glanced at Chelsea. “I’d like to have muscles like yours. Think I could come to your gym sometime?”

  “Sure.”

  “Okay. Bye.”

  Jake watched his daughter until she disappeared into the school. When he turned away, his face was rigid. “I wish I could wrap her up in a blanket and keep her safe like I used to when she was a baby.”

  Chelsea reached out and touched his arm. “You’ve done a great job with her. She’s got a good head on her shoulders. She’ll be fine.”

  “It’s not her I worry about. It’s all those testosterone-crazed boys in her class that keep me up at night.”

  “Delaney says parenting a teenager is the devil’s payback.” Chelsea smiled. “But she gives the devil a run for his money. She’s great with kids.”

  “Chelsea,” Jake said, his eyes like gray clouds, “the Derek I mentioned…”

  “Yeah.”

  “He’s the son of a friend of mine. He’s not doing well. I…” He hesitated.

  “Yes?”

  “Actually, your sister’s name was given to me as a possible therapist. I wondered if—”

  “Hey, Scarlatta, get the lead out.”

  Jake turned to see the guys had boarded the trucks and were waiting for them. “Damn. We’d better get back. We shouldn’t be talking about this now, anyway. I don’t want it public knowledge.” He looked at the school. “But I didn’t want to wait until our next shift.”

  Chelsea said, “Why don’t you call me tonight? I’ll be home about seven. We can talk then.”

  His smile chased the clouds out of his eyes. “All right, I’ll do that. Thanks.”

  JAKE PUNCHED OUT Chelsea’s number at seven-thirty. His stomach churned, and he couldn’t figure out why. This wasn’t a personal call. It was about Derek getting hooked up with Delaney.

  As the phone rang
on Chelsea’s end, Jake wasn’t sure what had made him inquire about Delaney Shaw as a possible therapist for Derek. Maybe it had something to do with Chelsea herself. Her competence, her good-heartedness, her—

  “H-hello.”

  Hmm. She sounded anything but competent now.

  “Chelsea, this is Jake.”

  She cleared her throat. “Jake?”

  He heard pounding in the background. “Chelsea, is this a bad time? You said to call at seven.”

  “Uh, bad time…No, it’s not—”

  “Hell…Let me in now!”

  “What was that?” Maybe the TV was on.

  “Uh, nothing.”

  “Goddamned bitch!”

  Jake realized that was no TV. Someone was there with her. Someone violent. “Chelsea, are you all right?”

  “N-no.”

  “Listen, hang up and call nine-one-one.”

  “I can’t call nine-one-one. It’s…Billy’s at the back window of the kitchen.”

  “Is it locked?”

  “No, I left the side windows open because it’s hot. He’s standing so I can’t close them. But they have screens.” Glass smashed in the background. “Oh, my God—”

  “Chelsea?” No answer. “Chelsea?”

  When he still got no answer, Jake hung up his cordless phone and punched out nine-one-one. He spoke into the receiver as he sought his shoes. “Somebody has just broken into the back of a house at eight hundred Lake Terrace.” Grabbing his keys from the desk, he bounded down the stairs. “I was talking to the homeowner. Send the police right away.”

  Jake was out the door before he disconnected the phone.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  FOR A MOMENT, Chelsea stood openmouthed staring at the hole in the kitchen’s plate-glass window. When she saw a booted foot kick in the remaining jagged glass, she dropped the phone and dashed for the front door. She could hear Billy swearing as he crawled through the window. She undid the chain, twisted the dead bolt and reached for the doorknob.

  He grabbed her from behind. His sinewy arms, which she’d seen carry a four-year-old boy out of a fire and cradle an old man who’d been badly hurt in a car accident, banded around her chest and cinched her rib cage. “Goin’ somewhere, babe?” Her heartbeat escalated, and a cold knot of fear pulsed in her stomach.

  Stay calm. “Let me go, Billy.”

  “No way. I already did that, and look where it got me.” His grip tightened, became viselike and painful.

  “All right, we’ll talk. Let’s go into the living room and discuss this rationally.”

  “Promise you won’t run.”

  “I promise.”

  When he let go of her, she darted away from him to the kitchen. But Billy was quicker than fire eating through walls. He caught up to her, yanked her around and slammed her against the wall. She yelped as her shoulder, which she’d wrenched earlier at the gym, hit the phone.

  “Lying bitch.” Without warning he raised his arm and backhanded her across the cheek. Pain jolted through her, vibrating to each nerve ending in her neck and skull. Her eyes watered. She shook her head to clear it and got her first good look at him.

  He was her height, so she stared into bloodshot eyes with dilated pupils. He smelled like booze. His mouth had frozen in a sneer. Just as he was about to deliver another blow, she dropped to the floor. His fist connected with the phone, and he howled like a bear caught in a trap. He turned as she crawled around him and stumbled to her feet. Viciously he grabbed the back of her sweatshirt and whirled her around. His face was a mask of rage.

  She brought up her knee and rammed it into his groin. When he doubled over, she twined her hands and hammered them on his neck. He slumped to the ground.

  Her entire body shuddered with feverlike chills as she stared down at him.

  Muffled shouting preceded the appearance of two uniformed policemen in the doorway to the kitchen. Another called from outside the broken kitchen window.

  “Are you all right, ma’am?”

  For a moment they wavered before her as if she was seeing them through heavy rainfall. She closed her eyes, swallowing the sob that rose in her throat. A young policeman reached for her arm to steady her. “Sit down.” He eased her into a chair. When Billy moaned and stirred, she trembled in panic.

  The older cop said, “We’ve got him.” He bent, dragged Billy to his feet and handcuffed him in seconds.

  Billy straightened, and his eyes found her unerringly. He assumed a petulant, little-boy expression. “Come on, honey, this was just a lovers’ spat. Tell ’em to let me go.”

  Chelsea hesitated. She thought of the scandal in the fire department. She thought of the ground she’d gained with her new group, which could be lost. Then the pain in her face registered and the black fright she’d felt when he hit her resurfaced. “Take him away,” she said.

  AS THE COPS were hauling a handcuffed Billy to the car, Jake tore into the driveway of Chelsea’s split-level house. He was out of the Bronco in a shot. As he reached the officers, his heart was hammering in his chest.

  The cops faced him. “You her husband?”

  “No.”

  Billy seemed to shake off his lethargy. “Jake, tell these clowns to let me go. I ain’t done nothin”’

  For a moment Jake remembered the code of brotherhood in the fire department. He remembered the isolation of having Danny’s buddies turn on him. But then he remembered Chelsea saying, No, not until he hit me, and her shaky voice on the phone only minutes ago; cold fury overcame his wavering.

  “Go to hell, Milligan.” His shoulders tight with tension, Jake headed for the front door. He found another cop in the living room off the foyer. The broad-shouldered man blocked his view of Chelsea.

  “I guess that’s all for now. You’ll need to come down to the station tomorrow morning to make a statement, but this is enough to hold him.” The officer hesitated. “You need anything?”

  “No.” Her voice was hoarse, but controlled. Too controlled.

  When the cop turned to leave, Jake got his first glimpse of her. Dressed in gray-and-pink sweats, she was curled up on a pristine white leather sofa, its huge pillows swallowing her like a giant cloud. On her lap was a gray-and-white cat. Her hand was buried in its thick coat; a second cat lay at her feet.

  “Chelsea?”

  Her head snapped up. She held an ice pack to her cheek.

  “You know this man, ma’am?” asked the officer.

  “Yes.”

  “I called nine-one-one.” Jake explained the phone call and subsequent events.

  When the officer was satisfied, he left, closing the door with a jarring thud. For a moment, the silence hung like heavy smoke in the room.

  Then Jake crossed to her. Slowly he reached over and lowered her hand. A purple bruise ran the length of her cheekbone, tapering off by her chin.

  “Goddamned son of a bitch,” Jake said.

  A weak grin claimed her lips. “My sentiments exactly.”

  He raised the hand holding the ice pack back to her face. “Keep this on it.”

  She winced when the cold compress connected with the bruise. Her eyes watered, and she sniffled. She averted her gaze.

  Jake sat next to her, close but not touching. He didn’t know what would spook her.

  “You know,” she said, “I’ve done everything I can to show him it’s over.” She trailed a shaking hand over the cat. “I’ve tried being nice, being mean, talking to him, ignoring him. Nothing’s worked.”

  “This will.”

  She gave him a quizzical look.

  “You can get a court order to keep him away from you. You’ve got grounds now.”

  Big brown eyes rounded with disbelief. “Oh, that’ll go over big with his buddies in the RFD.”

  “Chelsea, you don’t really have a choice. He beat you up.”

  Anger flared for a minute on her stark white face. “It’s easy for you to tell me what to do. You don’t know what it’s like to put up with shit from the
guys for hurting a brother.”

  He waited a beat, then said, “Yes, I do.”

  She stared at him. “What do you mean?”

  “I’ll tell you later.”

  She shook her head. “I’ve heard that before.”

  “No, this time, I promise I’ll tell you.”

  Need burned in her eyes—for comfort, for understanding, for affirmation that she wasn’t wrong. He could give her all three, and suddenly he wanted very badly to do that.

  First the physical. Rising, he dragged over a leather footstool and gently propped her feet on it. “Lean back.” She moaned. “Did he hit you somewhere else?”

  “No. But he threw me against the wall….” Her voice trailed off, but not before he caught a trace of remembered fear in it. She rubbed her shoulder and said, “I slammed into the phone. Even that wouldn’t be so bad, but I already wrenched my shoulder working out earlier.”

  Despite his abhorrence of violence against women, he smiled. “You’re pretty tough, you know that?”

  Gingerly she lay back and closed her eyes. Her face was ashen. “Of course I am.”

  He sat down on the couch and watched her. “Wanna talk?”

  She shook her head.

  “How about a good cry?”

  Visibly she choked back the emotion. “No.”

  “What can I do for you, Chelsea?”

  “Nothing.” He could see her struggle to stay calm. “Thanks for calling nine-one-one. You can leave now.”

  A little stung, he said, “I just got here.”

  She shrugged. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to be rude. I just don’t like to put anybody out.”

  “Hey, you’re saving me from panic on prom night.”

  She smiled weakly.

  “Talk to me about it.”

  A heavy sigh escaped her lips. She leaned against the cushions. “Did you see the movie Pretty Woman?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Remember that scene where Richard Gere’s lawyer hits Julia Roberts?”

  “Uh-huh.”

  “Billy hit me like that. Do guys learn how to do that in school?”