Engulfing Emma (The Men on Fire Series)

by Samantha Christy

  “He’s young,” I tell him. “I’m sure he would want you to try and save his leg.”

  He runs his hands through his hair. “His leg won’t mean much if he loses his life.”

  When the blood from the first bag is all gone, he hangs a second. “I have to get him out of here. Where’s the phone?”

  I point to a shirt on the floor. “It’s under there.”

  Before he moves toward it, I put my hand on his arm. “Please be careful.”

  He looks into my eyes. I don’t even know this guy. I’m not sure why I’m having this visceral reaction to him. Maybe because he reminds me of my dad.

  “I’m getting you out of here, Emma,” he says, touching my hand. “Nobody is dying today, I promise.”

  Chapter Seven

  Brett

  “Ready?” I ask Emma after I barricade her and Carter behind several overturned tables.

  “Yes. No.”

  “Keep your head down and stay behind the table no matter what. I don’t want you getting hurt.”

  “What about you?”

  “It’s my job,” I tell her.

  “Confronting gunmen is not your job, Brett. You’re not trained for this.”

  “Well, it’s my job today.”

  She nods, knowing I speak the truth. They’ve been locked in the school for hours, and as far as I can tell, no one has tried anything. I’m not even sure the gunman is trying to negotiate with the police. Whoever this Jeremy is, that Emma told me he mentioned, he obviously isn’t doing much to help his friend. I’m grateful, because I can only imagine what kind of ‘help’ another criminal would provide.

  “Brett,” she says, looking terrified.

  “I’ll be careful. Don’t forget to give them the signal over the phone when you hear me yelling.”

  “Got it.”

  “Get down now.”

  Her eyes lock with mine, and I hope I’m doing the right thing. I pray Leo will not have to grow up without a father. I pray Evelyn doesn’t have to be raised by her grandmother. I close my eyes and see my son laughing as I push him on the swing at the park.

  I breathe deeply and shake my head. Nobody will be lying on the floor in hysterics today. That’s not going to be how this goes down.

  I shove a heavy hole-punch in my back pocket. It’s not much, but if it came down to it, and I hit him in the side of the head just right, it might subdue him.

  I knock on the heavy door. I get no response.

  I make sure Emma is still behind the tables and knock again. “Come on!” I shout. “I know you can hear me. A man is dying in here.”

  The door is ripped open. “I told you not to fucking bother me.” Then he sees all the blood on my face and clothes.

  I did that for effect, hoping to keep his attention on me and not on the overturned tables at the back of the room. It seems to be working.

  “I don’t know what your agenda is,” I say angrily, “but this kid is dying, so quit being an asshole and let us out of here.”

  “Asshole? Did you just call me an asshole? Maybe you’re forgettin’ who’s got the fuckin’ piece, motherfucker.”

  We’re yelling at each other, and the hostages are screaming because they’re afraid. There’s even more noise than I anticipated. I hope Emma has given the police the signal.

  “Motherfucker? Oh, that’s original,” I say. “What a limited vocabulary you have.”

  “Stop it!” one of the hostages says. “You’re provoking him.”

  The others chime in, and there is so much chatter in the room, it’s turning into chaos.

  The gunman puts the gun to my temple. “Have you always been this much of a troublemaker, Ace? Now shut the fuck up so your homies will calm the fuck down.”

  The hostages are on edge, and now that I’ve riled up the gunman, they are crying and yelling. I’m yelling. The gunman is yelling. I hope this doesn’t have to go on too much longer, because he just might pull the trigger.

  There’s a loud noise behind the counter, and the police break through the office door. The gunman’s focus wavers, and I grab his arm and slam it against the wall. The gun falls to the floor. I push him down, grinding my knee into his back to keep him there.

  “It’s clear!” I yell.

  Twenty cops and S.W.A.T. team funnel through the door with their guns drawn. They’re not taking any chances that a second perp could be among the hostages. The gunman is hauled away, and each hostage is checked for weapons before being directed outside.

  “I need a gurney back here,” I tell them.

  I run to the overturned tables and move them out of the way. Emma stands quickly. “You did it,” she says, right before her body goes limp and she faints into my arms.

  “Make that two gurneys,” I say.

  Emma and Carter are wheeled out. Emma will be okay. The stress of the situation overwhelmed her, and as soon as her body felt it was safe to shut down, it did. I’ve seen that happen many times. I’m more worried about Carter.

  Paramedics Debbe and Ryan take Carter out first and then paramedics from another company wheel out Emma.

  When I emerge, my entire company stands at attention, clapping for me. I shake a bunch of hands and then I’m whisked away to give my statement, like every other hostage.

  Several hours later, when I’m done at the police station, I head back to the firehouse, wondering how Emma is. She hadn’t arrived to give her statement by the time I left. But I won’t check on her. I never do. I learned early on not to get caught up in the aftermath of our rescues. There are too many emotions. Too much drama. Besides, it’s better to think that everyone lives happily ever after.

  But that doesn’t keep me from thinking about her.

  J.D. sees me walking into the garage at the firehouse. “Go home, Cash. You’ve earned the rest of the shift off. I already called in someone to cover you.”

  “You know, for once I think I might take you up on that, Captain. I could really use a hug from my son.”

  The moment the words leave my mouth, I hear the pitter-patter of small feet. Then little arms wrap around my legs. Leo grabs onto me like he always does after a shift. I pick him up and hold him tightly.

  “Somebody told me you might need to see him,” Bonnie says.

  I smile my thanks. “Somebody was right.”

  I sit on the couch with Leo on my lap.

  “Truck,” he says, pointing into the garage. “Daddy truck.”

  I look at the rig. “Yes, that’s daddy’s truck.”

  “Your pop was a hero today,” Justin says, ruffling Leo’s hair.

  Leo looks at me with pride, almost like he understood what Justin said, even though I know he couldn’t have.

  Bonnie leans down behind me and wraps her arms around my neck. “Oh, my boy. Must you make everything so exciting? I damn near keeled over when your captain called and told me what had happened.”

  “I’m fine, Bonnie.”

  “You saved that boy,” she says.

  “Carter is going to make it,” Captain Dickerson says. “He’d be six feet under if you hadn’t been there.”

  “Emma’s the real hero,” I say quietly. If she hadn’t stood up for Carter, found the phone, and had the courage to call for help, he would have died.

  “What’s that?” J.D. asks.

  “Nothing,” I say, standing and hauling Leo onto my shoulders. “Come on, buddy. Let’s go home.”

  Chapter Eight

  Emma

  My blanket is ripped off me, subjecting my eyes to the bright light of midday.

  “Mo-om, stop it,” I say, pulling the covers back over my head.

  “Honey, it’s been three days. Don’t you think it’s time to get out of bed?”

  “I got out of bed yesterday.”

  “Only because I refused to bring you food anymore. Come on, you can’t just lie here.”

  I point to my laptop on the nightstand. “I’m not just lying here. I’ve started working on my online class.” />
  “You know what I mean. You have to get out of this funk.”

  I throw the covers off my face. “You stayed in bed for an entire month after Dad died.”

  She gives me a stern look, and I immediately feel guilty. “It’s not the same, and you know it. Nobody died three days ago, Emma. You should be celebrating the fact that you’re alive. Have you even talked to Evelyn?”

  I turn over and hug my pillow. “She doesn’t want to talk to her mom when she’s got better things to do at camp. I texted her goodnight, see?”

  I shove my new phone at her—the phone she went out and got me—so she can read the last few texts I sent Evelyn and the ones she sent back. They’re all the same.

  Me: Goodnight, baby. I love you and miss you.

  Evelyn: Night, Mom. Love you back.

  “You haven’t told her yet?” she asks.

  “Of course not. She would freak out. I will tell her, because I’m sure her friends at home will talk about it when she gets back. But I’m not saying anything when she’s a hundred miles away and I’m not there to show her I’m okay.”

  “But you’re not okay. You don’t give her enough credit. My granddaughter is stronger than you think. She’s just like her mother—which is why you need to set a good example and get out of bed.”

  “Set a good example for whom? She’s not here.”

  She turns her back on me and walks out. “I’m not bringing you anything today, honey. If you can’t get out of bed, maybe you should call a therapist.”

  “I’m not calling a therapist.”

  “Right,” she says from the top of the stairs. “Because clearly you’ve got this.”

  I hear her gather her things and walk out the front door.

  After a moment, I sit up and look at the window, the curtains barely shading the afternoon light. I stand and pad my way over, approaching slowly. Stepping to one side, I push the curtain back.

  “I can do this.”

  Taking a deep breath, I stand in front of the window, proving to myself that nothing bad will happen.

  I have ten days until Evelyn comes home. Mom’s right. She can’t see me like this—scared to go outside. Scared of the world.

  Everything turned out okay. Carter lived. Although despite Brett’s best attempts, I heard he ended up losing his leg. But he’s alive and he has his whole life ahead of him.

  Brett Cash.

  His name rolls around in my head.

  I’ll bet he’s not holed up in his room, hiding under his covers. He saved Carter. Heck, he may have saved all of us. He’s a hero. I should thank him. Maybe one day I will. I look out the window again, then shut the curtains and crawl back into bed.

  But not today.

  ~ ~ ~

  I stand at the front door, frozen. It’s just a door, I tell myself. I’ve gone through it a thousand times. But not once in the last four days.

  Just do it, Emma. Walk up to it. Open it. Walk through. Close it. Easy peasy.

  I wrap my fingers around the door handle.

  I let go and back up, falling into the chair in the foyer.

  Not today either.

  ~ ~ ~

  I sit on the bottom step in front of my house, where I’ve been holed up for six days, watching people stroll by. Wondering which of them could be potential threats. I can’t seem to go any farther. My goal is to make it to the school.

  School. It was my favorite place on earth. But I’m afraid I’ll never be able to go inside that building again. Maybe I could work at a different school. Would that help? No. I have to go back. I love it there. My students. My coworkers.

  As if Becca heard me thinking of her, my phone rings.

  “Hey,” I answer, in a more melancholy tone than I meant to.

  “Did you leave the house yet?”

  “Yes.”

  “That’s great, Emma. I’m so proud of you.”

  “I’m sitting on the front steps.”

  “Oh.” There is a long pause. “I guess that’s progress.”

  Becca seemed to be equally traumatized by the incident, yet she was not only able to leave her apartment the next day, she went back to school and picked up her things. She picked up mine, too, delivering them to me here. Like Mom and Lisa, she’s tried every day to get me to leave the house.

  “It’s not progress,” I say. “What the hell is wrong with me?”

  “Nothing is wrong with you. People deal with traumatic events differently, that’s all. I’m sure you’ll be back to your regular self in no time. I mean, what is Taco Tuesday without Emma Lockhart?”

  I laugh. “I could use a margarita.”

  “So why don’t you make it your goal to come to the next one? That gives you five days to work up the courage to get back on the subway. I’ll come by beforehand, and we’ll do it together.”

  “That sounds good, actually.”

  “It’s a date then. You know you can call me anytime. I’m here for you, Emma.”

  “I know. Thank you.”

  I end the call and walk back up the steps to my house.

  ~ ~ ~

  My heart pounds as I sit on the bench next to the park on the corner. I used to bring Evelyn here when she was little. What if the gunman had robbed the store next to the park and taken kids hostage? What if a young child had been shot? I go crazy, thinking of all the things that can go wrong. I feel myself panicking. Then I start to breathe and count like Brett taught me. I’ve had to do that more than a few times over the past eight days.

  I think of him and how calm he seemed in the face of danger. He confronted the maniac with the gun—a man who’d already shot one person. He did that to save Carter. How can someone like that face those kinds of odds and come out unscathed, and someone like me can’t even walk to the school four blocks away?

  I pick up the bag full of banana nut muffins I made for the guys at the firehouse. The station is only one block away—halfway to the school. But I know they won’t be getting the muffins today.

  I walk back to my house, feeling like a failure for the umpteenth time in the past week.

  Maybe tomorrow.

  Chapter Nine

  Brett

  This week at work hasn’t been nearly as exciting as last week. No hostage situations. Just run-of-the-mill traffic accidents, a few dumpster fires, and a woman threatening to jump off the bridge.

  We’re killing time doing inventory on the rigs this morning as we wait for the next shift to come in.

  “You ever hear from Amanda?” Bass asks.

  I shrug. “I have a closer relationship with her lawyer at this point.”

  He pats me on the back. “It’ll get easier.”

  “You have the wrong idea, brother. I’m over her. I think I’ve been over her for a long time. It’s Leo who’s getting the shaft. He’s basically growing up without a mother. Hell, sometimes I think he believes Bonnie is his mother. Although he recognizes her picture, Amanda is practically a stranger to him. He’s not comfortable around her. She hasn’t come to see him in months.”

  “Maybe it’s time to get back out there,” Denver says. “Sara has some friends I could introduce you to. Even some nice single moms from the playgroup she goes to with Joey.”

  Denver mentioning single moms has me thinking of Emma Lockhart. And not for the first time. I’ve thought about her often over the past week. She’s been through a lot—losing her dad, being dumped by her baby daddy, and then what happened last week. I’ve never wanted to reach out to someone I’ve helped as much as I have the last few days. But the truth is, she may not want to be reminded of that day.

  “Or, if you’re not ready for dating, but you’re ready for … you know”—Bass makes an obscene gesture with his hands—“I could always hook you up with Ivy’s sister.”

  Justin Neal pokes his head out of the rig. “Yeah-ah-ah,” he says with a smirk. “I can vouch for that one.”

  I laugh. “I don’t want your sloppy seconds, Neal.”

  “There’s
nothing sloppy about Holly Greene.”

  “Think I’ll pass. I’m good, guys.”

  I’ve been hit on by more than a few women in the past several months. Once word got out about my impending divorce, I became known as a catch. I don’t think it’s me, however. It’s Leo. He mesmerizes women everywhere. He never met a woman who isn’t crazy about him. Correction—he never met a woman besides his mother who isn’t crazy about him.

  Since when did being a single dad become so sexy? Changing diapers, wiping snot, digging in the dirt, running errands—what’s so great about all of that? A lot of guys I know lead much more interesting lives. The most exciting thing I do is get together with my friends and watch baseball.

  “Lieutenant, we have a visitor,” Cameron calls from the front of the garage.

  I circle the truck and see Emma Lockhart carrying a large basket. She holds it out to me. “I just wanted to say thank you for everything you did last week.” She looks around at the guys. “All of you.”

  They take a step back, none of them wanting praise.

  I try to take the basket from her, but I forget to put down the tool I’m holding first and almost drop it on her foot. Way to be awkward, Cash. “Uh, sorry.” I put down the halligan bar so I can take the basket.

  “That’s an interesting looking … hammer,” she says.

  “It’s a halligan bar.”

  “It looks dangerous. What’s it used for?”

  “It’s mostly used for quickly breeching locked doors.”

  I peek under the covering on the basket, and the smell of freshly baked blueberry muffins wafts out. “These smell great.” I motion to the guys. “Who wants one?”

  Justin comes over and takes the basket from me. “Thank you,” he tells Emma.

  She shrugs her bare, tanned shoulders. “It’s the least I can do after … well, you know.”

  I get the idea she doesn’t want to talk about what happened.