Chapter 14
LONDON
“Hell’s got nothing on this clusterfuck,” Sandy curses.
The five-story apartment building that sticks out like a sore thumb in suburbia is engulfed in flames. The rusted external ladders hang at odd angles. People hanging out of windows, screaming for help. One woman is holding her baby out the window on the fifth floor.
Oh god.
Five levels. At least four apartments on each level . . .
Dozens of rescues.
Dozens of trapped souls.
Hammond is on the radio requesting back up. Hopefully they send more than 41 or 37. Hell needs more watering down than that.
“Davies, Tennison, hoses. Owens, water. Sandy, prep the ladder.”
Hammond has gone in full-on boss mode.
Schmiddy strolls—he literally strolls—to the bystanders on the sidewalk.
I rush the hose, screwing the metal cap over the outlet as Davey rolls it out.
Aim high, track the smoke patterns. I run for the end of the line, and when Davey taps my shoulder, I pull the lever back.
The hose inflates, jostling us to the side as water careens upward toward the building.
The third floor has the most smoke, the biggest blaze.
I send the water in that direction, through the blown-out windows.
The roar and hiss of the flames and water colliding is too much.
The hose sags minutes later, and Owens is running another hose to the fire hydrant two blocks away, coupling hoses together to make the distance.
“Shit, you got this?” Owens says, handing me the new hose. Davey taps my shoulder, and I step back, letting him take point. My arms ache as I stand behind him.
Hammond is scaling the ladder to the second floor as Sandy works the controls. Owens climbs up behind him, and moments later they disappear into the burning building.
My grip on Davey’s shoulder turns tight.
“I’m good,” he says, glancing over his shoulder. But his gaze tracks mine to the building.
Whatever is plastered all over my face has his brows drop.
I don’t even care at this point.
All I can think of is Owens and Hammond in that disaster. I know that’s selfish. I know it’s literally our job. But they . . .
I haul in a lungful of air, hoping it will stave off the panic that’s rising by the second.
Engines 41 and 37 fly down the street to our position. The relief that floods in is almost too much.
Two more ladders go up to the fourth and fifth floors. Two more hoses drench the flames as turnouts appear, carrying residents out of the building and down the ladders.
It’s slow.
The residents are not used to the height or the situation. Some cling to the rails, holding up the evacuation.
I can’t see Owens . . . or Hammond.
Miles.
A boom cracks through the street as the roof caves in.
“Holy shit,” I utter.
“Oh, fuck.” Davey adjusts his grip on the hose, sending it to the fifth floor where smoke now billows out.
Whatever the flame just found has sent chaos outward.
I search through the people on the ground. The residents and onlookers, the firefighters.
Schmiddy.
Sandy.
A few crewmembers from 41 and 37 I recognize.
No Owens.
No Hammond.
A lump rises, occluding my last breath as my grip on Davey’s shoulder releases. I’m moving for Sandy before I realize I’ve left my post.
“Sandy?” I call out.
He spins back, hand still on the controller of the ladder.
“Where are they?”
His dark eyes flick to the building. “They’ll be out soon.”
I know I’m not supposed to panic. I know I’m not supposed to leave my station. I know—
Shit.
I can’t breathe.
“Tennison, Hammond won’t leave her behind.”
He thinks I’m worried about Heidi. I mean, I am. But the emotion closing over my damn throat is not for her.
Not entirely.
“Tennison!” Davey’s calling me back.
Sandy nods to the hose behind me. “Go, they’ll be out soon. Promise.”
Without the ability to form a response, I jog back to the hose and take over. Davey’s hand lands on my shoulder, and I set them back. The wind shifts, setting the smoke pouring from the southern windows. I move the water across, to the closest point of access I can.
A man who looks like the building manager stands with Schmiddy, starting a headcount. When he confirms every resident is free of the building, I send my gaze back to the apartment block.
“Come on, please. Climb out a goddamn window already,” I mutter to nobody in particular.
The flames start to subside as the three hoses work the building over like we’re trying to sink the Titanic. As 41 retracts her ladder, the panic starts to rise again.
“Where the hell are they?” Davey curses.
God, glad it’s not just me.
One downside of a tight-knit crew is the fact we’re like family, more and more with each day that passes. Owens is like a big sister. Always wanted one of those.
Sandy, the grounded one.
Hammond . . . he—
Is striding out of the front door. No. It’s Owens. The only indication is the badge on her helmet.
She’s yelling something. Waving her hand at Schmiddy.
Who ignores her, turning back to chat up some woman who’s not particularly worried about the raging burning building apparently.
“You got this?” I ask Davey.
“Sure, but—”
I sprint for Owens. She holds a hand up.
Stop.
The universal signal.
“What happened?” I ask. “Where’s Hammond?”
“He took a hit.” Walking past me, she tugs her rebreather off. “Sandy, extraction. Fifth floor.”
“I’m coming with you.” I’m jogging to keep up with her.
Sandy sets the controls to idle and pulls on his mask, adjusting his helmet.
“Stay here. Two in, two out, remember.”
“What if—”
“Stand down, Tennison. That’s an order.”
I can only watch as Sandy and Owens reenter the smoldering building. The hoses are being rolled up, and I move to ours to help Davey. Uncoupling them, we let the water drain before rolling them up and storing them away.
By the time we have the three hoses tucked away, Owens and Sandy emerge from the building, Hammond strung up between them. He’s walking, but his steps are sluggish.
Concussion?
My hand moves to the radio on my jacket. “53 to base, we require an ambulance on site. Officer down.”
“Copy that, 53, ambulance on route.”
“Copy. Out.”
I don’t know if Schmiddy made the call. But I don’t even care. It’s done. Miles needs it.
Owens and Sandy set him down on the curb, and he tugs his rebreather off, then his helmet. His face is smudged with ash, his neck almost black with it. Blood has soaked the right arm of his turnout.
“Tennison,” Sandy calls out.
I jog over and he nods to Hammond. “Keep Cap company while we finish up with this scene.”
“Sure.”
I squat, looking Hammond over. His eyes are closed, his hand supporting his head, his palm pressed to his forehead.
His shoulders rise and fall rhythmically, and I scan his turnout for any further bleeding. Not finding any more injuries, I release a wobbly breath.
“I’ll live, Tennison.”
I stand and walk a little way away, hauling in a lungful that feels more like drowning than breathing. The ambulance rolls around the block and parks between the engines. I move back to Hammond and place my hand on his shoulder. I don’t know what else to do.
“Your ride’s here, Cap.”
“I said I’m fine.”
His voice is thready. He’s absolutely not fine.
Big, stupid, heroic idiot.
He needs to get checked over.
“You’re going home in the ambulance. No arguments, or I’m calling Owens back over.”
Now he drops his hand as his blue gaze swings up to me. “Who said she’s the one who can light a fire under my ass, London?”
London, not Tennison.
“Sandy, then?” I narrow my gaze. “You’re getting on the gurney, Miles.”
He huffs a laugh and shakes his head.
A groan slips as he sways on his seat.
Oh shit.
I drop to my knees, gripping his shoulders. “Don’t you dare faint, Cap.”
The medics roll in behind me. “This our patient?” one officer says.
I glance back. “He took a hit in the explosion just minutes ago.”
“Come on, big guy, on the gurney before you check out on us.” Another officer moves by Miles’s side. I stand and step out of their way, and they haul him to his feet and pivot him around as they lay him back on the gurney.
“See you at home, Cap.” Sandy claps his hand into Miles’s, and the medics roll him off and into the back of the ambulance.
Schmiddy sidles up by my side. “That puts me in charge, folks.”
Oh yay.
Lucky us.
Islide the spare key into Hammond’s door. I can hear the whining on the other side. Oh, poor Petal. She’s been here for hours with no relief since Hammond was kept overnight for observation at Lenox Hill.
The second I cross the threshold, she jumps up. I squat and she licks my face.
“Hey, girl. It’s good to see you, too,” I say with a chuckle. I rub her neck, cuddling her in my hold before standing and grabbing up her leash.
“Come on, sweet girl. Let’s hit the park, yeah?”
We’re across the street minutes later, and Petal squats her haunches the second her paws touch grass.
Poor baby, she must have been bursting.
My phone buzzes in my back pocket. I pluck it out.
Miles.
How’s my girl?
She’s good, we’re at the park.
The dots appear and disappear.
Wait, he meant Petal, right?
My heart rate picks up, slapping against my ribs like it has not a care in the world. Dammit, I thought we weren’t doing this, London.
I slide my phone back in my jeans pocket and pick up the pace. I should have worn activewear so I could run. Lord knows I need to blow off some steam.
Or something.
My back pocket buzzes again, and I slide it out.
Think you could keep her company a little while longer? She’s been by herself for almost three days now.
I guess I could. I don’t have any plans.
Sure, how are you feeling, Cap?
I make the point of putting the Cap in to remind myself, mostly, of our reality.
Geez. The next person who asks me that is getting their ass handed to them. I’m fine, London.
Something deep in my core unwinds a little more.
The screen lights up again.
I mean it, you’re a life saver, probie.
Huh. The mixed signals around here are rife.
But I get it.
I think.
We’re friends, we’re boss and probie. We’re . . . nothing more.
Deflating with the depressing thought, I turn Petal toward her home and cross the street.
Back upstairs, I unleash Petal and close the front door before checking her food and water. I pop the TV on for her and find a good movie channel as she curls up on the lounge. Smart girl.
Feeling a little worse for wear myself, I sit by Petal on the lounge and lay my arm over her back. The movie I put on rolls the credits before long and I stand and stretch.
Scratching sounds from the other side of the front door.
No . . . not scratching, a key in the lock.
I glance at the time.
16:45
Dammit, how long was I out for?
The door opens, and the guy I met the other day, the one with dark hair and deep blue eyes walks in, with Hammond close behind him.
“Hey London, how you doin’?” he says, a wide grin growing on his face.
“Oh hi, fine thanks. I was just about to head home.” I slide my hands into my back pockets, fingers sweeping over the warm hard surface of my phone.
I pluck it out.
Four missed calls.
Hammond.
Oh shit.
“Hey London,” he says as Lawson—I think that was his name—drops an overnight bag on the floor by the front door.
“Hey,” I utter, gaze stuck on his face that looks too pale. His messy hair. The bags under his eyes.
He looks terrible.
“Are you up for a sleepover?” Lawson asks.
I snap my gaze to him, my bottom lip sinking between my teeth.
“Our boy here can’t be left alone for the next seventy-two hours. And I really have to get home.”
“Oh, um . . . okay.”
We’re on four days off, so I guess I could, but—
“No, you go home. That’s where you were heading, right?” Miles says, walking to the kitchen, opening the refrigerator and grabbing out a bottle of water. Tipping his head back, he swallows down a few mouthfuls before he sways, hitting the kitchen counter with his side.
“Ah shit.”
“Sit down before you fall down, bud. Better still, back to bed.” Lawson nods to the door leading to the bedroom.
I can’t leave Miles alone if he’s like this. What if he gets worse and nobody’s here?
I flip my phone out and update Mum.
She sends back a wink emoji, and I leave her on read. Smart-ass.
“On second thought, I could use a lie down,” Miles says, placing the bottle on the counter.
“Good, you alright to stay?” Lawson looks to me.
“Yeah, sure.”
“Great, text me if you need anything. My number is on the big guy’s phone.”
He’s out the door before I can ask any more questions.
And for an awkward moment, Miles and I simply stand rooted to the floor, staring at each other.
“You want me to tuck you in, Cap?” I break the silence with what I hope he takes as humor.
The soft smile tugging over his lips sees one grow over my own.
“Nah, I’m okay. Thanks for hanging out with Petal. She loves your company.”
“Same.”
Our gazes stay hung up on each other’s, and for a beat I’m not sure if we’re still talking about the pup or something else.
Miles wanders to the bedroom.
“Make yourself at home, London. Night.”
“Night,” I whisper, wondering how I’m going to spend an entire night on the couch with a dog.
I absolutely didn’t think this through.