Burning Love (LOVE #2)

Chapter 1

MILES

“Hammond, do you copy?” The radio on my chest squawks. Smoke curls its way across the old linoleum flooring, past lockers and cork boards where signup sheets and school announcements are singed out of shape by the embers in the air.

I ignore the radio, making a beeline for the doors on the first floor of the two-story elementary school building. The old place was a code waiting to happen. But the city is more worried about budget cuts than the safety of our kids.

So I press on, visibility declining by the minute.

The rebreather mask occludes my peripheral vision. The gloves are bulky as I test every door handle down the wide corridor before opening it and scanning the rooms for kids, staff. Anyone too afraid to leave the confines of their classroom.

Leaving each door open as I go to emancipate the heat, sweat trickles down my back. I’m almost to the last door when a whimper breaks through the hum of the fire overhead. Who said open flame and eleven-year-olds was a safe bet?

Their little science experiment has escalated into a full-blown catastrophe, and the floor above will be a write-off.

Probably the entire building.

“Hammond, respond.”

I test the last door as I snatch the radio and snap back, “Give me five, Cap. Got something in the last classroom.”

“All staff and students have been accounted for. Out now, Hammond.”

A large patch of ceiling behind me gives way, crashing to the floor in a flurry of embers as flames lick down the opening, chasing the oxygen.

Dammit.

Handle warm, not hot. I brace before flinging the door open. Smoke shrouds the corner classroom in its grey blanket. I wait for it to settle as it sinks a little, rolling past me with the opening of the door.

The whimper turns to a cry.

It’s a dog.

What the hell is a dog doing in the middle of an elementary school?

With a glance at the ceiling, I round the room’s perimeter until I come to the teacher’s desk. Beside it sits a small dog crate.

Oh buddy, let’s get you out of here.

I wrap a hand around the top handle, but the carrier only lifts a small way before hitting the end of a chain.

“The hell?”

The carrier is chained to the two-hundred-pound desk. It’s when I bend down to peer inside, I find the padlock on the pup’s cage.

“Someone doesn’t want you going anywhere.”

Like hell I’m leaving him here.

I have the handle of my axe gripped tight a beat later, swinging the sharp edge into the arm of the lock. Three smashes, and the lock breaks in two. Sliding the axe back to its place, I kneel down, reaching out for the pup.

The poor thing is terrified, trembling so badly it’s almost curled into a ball.

Its long caramel fur is matted with something wet. Possibly urine.

My guess is his bladder let go after smelling the smoke.

“Come on, bud. We ain’t staying here.”

I grab him up and huddle him to my chest, tracking for the door.

“Hammond, come in!”

The dog almost flies out of my arms with the snap of the radio.

“Coming out, Cap. Plus one.”

When I reach the corridor, the fire has cut off the main exit.

I slip into one of the joined classrooms and detour around it.

Something overhead explodes, sending the ceiling crumbling down around us like rain.

“Shit, buddy. Time to leave.”

The dog tucks its head into the crook of my elbow, and I pick up the pace.

The glass double doors are wide open when I make the front. Cap glares at me, hands on his hips, his head shaking.

I peel the rebreather from my face, letting it sit on my chest.

As Cap spots the pup, he raises a brow, and a crooked smile pulls at his weathered face.

The engine has ladders out, two hoses aimed at the raging inferno on the second floor.

My crew goes about their tasks with the efficiency of a well-trained unit.

Reading the needs of each other before they need to be asked.

“Well, that’s something you don’t see every day, Hammond.”

“Was in the last classroom. Couldn’t leave him behind.”

Cap gives the pup a look over. “Her.”

“Hey?”

I rub a gloved hand over the pups head, and she stretches up timidly, licking my face.

“Your rescue here is a her. Well done, Lieutenant.”

So she is.

“Oh my goodness!” A voice shrieks, moving toward us.

I tug my helmet off with the mask and drop them to the ground.

The outside air is a cool wash against my sweaty, overheated skin.

A woman in a pencil skirt, cream blouse, and orange flats with tousled hair rushes toward us, gripping her handbag tight. Thick black-rimmed glasses sit on her face over pale blue eyes that dart around. “Petal! I leave you for ten minutes and the building burns down. That is not a good sign.”

The woman stares at the pup, ignoring everything else.

“Interesting setup you had her in.” I hold the pup out to the woman.

“I just ducked out in my prep time to run a few errands.” She moves to take the dog then steps back, her face twisting like she tasted something sour. “Oh . . . I didn’t want the kids touching her, too much paperwork if she bites someone, you know?” She lifts her gaze to meet mine.

“She was scared, guess her bladder got the better of her. Just needs a little clean up.”

“I-I was only fostering her. She’s my first, and I thought the kids would like her. I couldn’t leave her home all day by herself since she chews up everything I own. This really is not a good sign. She—”

“A bath and some downtime should help.”

The lady’s shaking her head.

She takes another step back, pushing the oversized glasses up her nose. “No. No, I’m sorry, I can’t do this . . .”

“You can’t do what?” I step forward, cuddling the soiled pup into my hold by my side. “She’s your responsibility.”

“Um, no. Actually, if you could take her back to the shelter at St. Peter’s on Fifth . . . I have to go.”

Her face tightens as her chin wobbles, and she stalks back to the crowd. The mutated whine of the school bells clambers out, its sound wobbled by the melted unit. It sounds more like a deranged clown laughing than the signal of the end of a productive school day.

Only in New York, folks.

Boots scuff my way, and I look up to see Owens heading over.

“Oh.” She holds her hands out for the pup. “Cap said you made an important rescue. Oh baby, you’re perfect. Look at you, sweet girl.”

“You want her, her current owner just became her previous owner,” I grunt out.

The pup wriggles in Owens’s hold, whining as she looks back at me with big brown eyes.

Ah, shit.

Owens takes one glance between the two of us and hands her back. “Looks like someone just became a father.” She winks, walking back to the crew. To spread the news, no doubt. I wish she wouldn’t. I’m not keeping the dog.

I live in a one-bedroom apartment.

No room.

No grass.

No pets allowed.

“Hammond, you’re on clean up.” Cap waves me over.

“Alright, Petal. Time to sit in the truck. Don’t eat anything you’re not supposed to.”

The dog shrinks at my tone.

Plucking up my gear, I cross the parking lot, stepping over the hoses. I open the back door, setting her in the footwell. “Stay.”

Surprisingly, she curls up on the floor, dropping her head to her paws. That felt way too easy . . .

I shut the door and return my helmet to my head. The mask I stow away with the other equipment in the side locker of the engine. Owens grins at me as I make my way over to the rest of the crew.

“What are you looking at?”

“Fatherhood suits you, Milo. Nice one.”

“Fuck off. Hand me the rake.”

The larger, heavier chunks of glass, I’ll clean up, leaving Owens with the industrial-sized broom.

She holds out the rake. “If it’s any consolation, the last time a girl looked at you like that, she was a psycho. Least this little lady has a pure heart.”

I roll my eyes and whack her with the handle of the rake. “Start raking, Heids, or you’re on wash-up duty for a month.”

My last relationship imploded much like the fires we attend. That’s what happens when you try to make something work that by all rights shouldn’t.

Her eyes narrow as horror etches over her face. “The betrayal.”

I chuckle, and she starts sweeping up the glass from the windows that blew out earlier. She grins up at me, and we make quick work of the parking lot while the police and Cap take statements and disperse the growing crowd.

A job I’m glad he’s doing today, but I have my hopes up for his position when he retires. Which will be any day now.

Maybe then I can get a bigger place, which would be much easier with a pay raise.

Just like a fire, the future is a moving target some days. Hard to pin down one day. Impossible to control the next.

“Station dog!” Sanderson is scaring the living daylights out of Petal, his oversized mitts squashing her jowls as her tail pulls between her legs. Even squatting down to meet her level—kind of—he’s intimidating as hell. But one hell of a firefighter.

His big brown eyes look up at me with so much hope, I almost cave.

Petal’s widened gaze is snagged on the hulking man currently pulling her into a . . . hug? A head lock?

I reach for her, and he hands her over, his hand messing up her caramel fur during transfer. I tamp back the need to roll my eyes. “Nope, going-back-to-the-shelter dog. Don’t get attached,” I grunt out. Am I the only one who sees Petal as a liability?

I mean, I’m not going to lie, she’s pretty cute. In that big eyes and waggy tail way. I have no idea what breed she would even be. My knowledge base on dogs is limited to feed and water them. And don’t leave them in a burning building.

Hell, the last thing we need around a station that’s falling around our ears is another mouth to feed. We barely have enough funding to keep our equipment in working condition and our crew fed.

We can’t afford another problem to fix.

Another thing that needs taking care of.

Even with only four staff members on A crew, instead of the max of five, we stretch the budget.

Petal licks my face, snuggling into my chest.

“Don’t go getting sweet, little miss. It’s straight back to the shel—”

“Hammond, my office. Now.”

Cap’s arms are folded. His frown burrows so low he looks like Bert or Ernie from Sesame Street.

“Owens, you’re up!” I nod to the needy pup in my arms, and she stops mid-equipment check and rushes to where I stand.

“Oh, sweet girl.” She hauls the pup from my arms. “Is this big scary man grunting at you?”

Sweeping her blonde hair from her face with her free hand, she sticks her tongue out at me before walking with Petal in her arms right back to her task at the engine. She sets her down, tying her leash to the chrome handle on the side of the truck.

I spin back and head for the captain’s office. Hopefully this is about moving up.

I earned every promotion I’ve ever been given, and this one should be no different. Closing the door behind myself, I present at the captain’s desk and clasp my hands behind my back.

“You wanted to see me, sir?”

“Sit down.”

I frown. His tone is too brief.

I sink into one of the ripped upholstered chairs, and he drops to his swiveling office chair, shoving piles of paper to the side.

That part of the job I’m not looking forward to.

“There’s been a change of plans,” Cap starts, steepling his hands on the desk. “Some restructuring went on over at 41. Warren is moving back over there. In fact, his transfer was a request months ago. And we are getting two new recruits and a transfer.”

“Oh?”

Warren is on Ladder 43, which shares our station. Those guys are knit tight, so . . .

“Which brings me to your promotion.”

His face only turns more serious, and I shift in the chair.

“I am still retiring, don’t worry about that,” he says with a strained chuckle.

“However, Schmidt from 41 is transferring in. And you two will job share for the next nine months, give or take depending on how it all goes, until the board makes a decision on who takes my place. Then you’ll have three months to settle in while I’m still unofficially kicking about until I’m off to sunsets and mocktails. ”

My face is slack.

I have no idea how to respond.

“Now I know what you’re thinking, Miles. This was supposed to be your job. I was more than happy to hand the position over to you, but the bureaucrats in head office want fresh blood in every station. So it means you have one more hurdle to smash out and, god willing, this place is yours to run.”

“But there’s no guarantee?”

“I’m sorry, son. I put up a fair fight for you, but they wouldn’t hear of it. Too close to the problem, they told me.”

“What are you talking about?”

Cap sighs. “They think our station has become complacent. The pencil pushers who analyze the callout data have seen a decline in response times, and there were a few complaints from the public that the station is . . .”

“Is what?”

“Disorganized . . . unprofessional. We’re a few more months of bad calls away from getting decommissioned with all the funding rerouted to EMS capable stations.”

“53 is none of those things, sir.”

“Ladder 43’s response times are counted in with yours. The shift is supposed to help the station overall.”

The hell?