Chapter 3
Budget meetings were the type of hell reserved for lieutenants who'd pissed off somebody important in a past life.
I'd exited the chief's office with a tension headache building at the base of my skull and a stack of reports in my hand.
No, we couldn't replace our old ass equipment this quarter.
No, overtime hours couldn't be expanded despite being short-staffed, and no, station renovations would not be completed until the next fiscal year.
I pinched the bridge of my nose to ward off the building pressure.
At least I'd secured the approval for new turnout gear, which was a small victory.
She wore faded jeans that hugged curves my brain had no business noticing, and a simple blouse with the sleeves rolled up. Her natural curls were pulled back into a puff.
"Ms. Daniels."
She turned around, and our eyes locked, and for a second, I was in that burning room, seeing her for the first time.
Today, a pencil was tucked behind her ear, the yellow contrasting with the deep brown of her skin.
"Lieutenant Crawford. I was hoping to catch you."
I hated how my name in her mouth made my skin warm. She moved toward me with purpose, closing the distance between us.
Up close, her scent was delicious, reminding me of something citrusy or clean. "What brings you to 791?" I asked.
She smiled. "Gisselle, please. I think it's pretty obvious. I wanted to thank you for saving my life. Things were a bit chaotic at the scene."
I shifted my weight to widen my stance. "Just doing my job. Anyone on my crew would have done the same." I rubbed the back of my neck.
From the corner of my eye, Dane and Evan exchanged a look, making me want to assign them to bathroom duty for a month.
"Maybe, but it wasn't anyone else who carried me out of that burning house. It was you. So, thank you, Lieutenant Crawford. I'm alive because of you."
I cleared my throat, wishing she'd stop looking at me like that. Gisselle was a dangerous woman, and chasing a woman wasn't in my life's plan right now.
"Has your recovery been okay? Any lingering respiratory issues?"
"All clear. Though everything I own still stinks like a bonfire." She laughed.
"That will fade. Give it a few more washes."
Gisselle nodded, then gestured toward the bay doors. "I was in the neighborhood for work. I'm heading up a restoration project for the old Harlow Building on Main."
"The brick building with the weird gargoyles on the corners?" I asked, amused.
Her face lit up. "Yes, that's the one! It's a beautiful example of late 19th-century commercial architecture. The interior needs a complete overhaul, but we're preserving as many of the original elements as possible."
Her enthusiasm drew me in and made me want to keep the light in her eyes shining. Before I responded, Jaxon slid into the conversation.
"The Lieutenant here knows every building in town. Blaze knows the layout of every structure you might have to run into," he disclosed, clapping a hand on my shoulder.
I immediately shrugged it off.
Gisselle raised an eyebrow, amusement playing at the corners of her mouth.
"Blaze is my call sign from the academy," I explained.
"It suits you," she commented, and there was something in her tone that made me look directly at her again — no teasing or flirtation, just her straightforward assessment, which I noticed at the fire scene. It was as if she saw parts of me others missed.
My crew watched us like we were the most entertaining show they'd seen in months. Connor didn't try to hide his smirk. Evan was suddenly interested in inspecting a hose near us, and Dane waggled his eyebrows at me.
"I should get back to these reports. I'm glad you're recovering well, Ms. Dan… Gisselle," I corrected myself.
"Of course. I won't keep you from your work. It was nice meeting everyone. Thanks for the coffee and tour," she added, looking around at my crew.
"Anytime. Our doors are always open to the citizens of Goodwin Grove," Dane commented.
"Especially the pretty ones," Jaxon added.
I shot him a look that promised retribution during our next training session, then turned back to Gisselle. "Do you need someone to walk you out?" I asked.
"I think I can find my way," she replied with a smile.
I nodded stiffly, frustrated by my awkwardness. "Right. Well. Take care."
As she turned to leave, I caught myself watching the confident sway of her walk. She carried herself like a woman comfortable in her own skin. I picked up on it during the rescue — a core strength that didn't waver, even in crisis.
Dane slid up to me after Gisselle exited the door. "That's fire girl, huh?"
"Don't you all have equipment to check?" I shot back.
"Already done, Lieutenant. We were being hospitable to a member of our community," Evan stated.
"Very hospitable. Now, get back to work. All of you," I demanded.
As they dispersed, Connor looked at me. "What?"
"Nothing. Not a damn thing, Blaze." Connor smirked.
I stalked toward my office, irritated at my crew but mostly at myself for the way my heart beat faster than normal.
I entered my office and dropped the reports on my desk just as the alarm rang.
In the span of a heartbeat, my mind shifted from Gisselle to work.
The siren triggered a shift in my brain from man to firefighter.
My crew snapped into action, conversations forgotten, and expressions sobered as we moved toward our gear.
I pulled on my turnout pants over my uniform. Boots, pants, jacket, and helmet. The ritual was comforting and familiar.
"Routine drill at the Eastside warehouse. Engine 791 and Ladder 791 respond for a training exercise," the dispatcher's voice announced over the speaker.
The tension eased in my shoulders slightly. It wasn't a real call, but a drill. Still, my crew moved with the same urgency they would in an actual emergency. That was what made 791 the best damn company in the district. We trained as if it were real, every single time.
"Drill or not, I want full gear and standard protocol," I announced, swinging into the captain's seat of Engine 791.
"Yes, sir," the crew responded, taking their positions.
As we pulled out of the bay, I looked for Gisselle, hoping to catch a glimpse of her, knowing she'd been long gone. I forced my attention back to the task at hand. As we drove, the warehouse came into view. A brick structure had fallen from an industrial truck, blocking the main entrance.
"Alright, listen up. The scenario is a search-and-rescue operation with the primary entrance compromised.
Smoke conditions throughout. Dane, Connor, you're on primary search.
Evan and Jaxon secure a water supply and run a line to the east entrance.
I'll get a secondary line through the loading dock. "
We pulled up at the warehouse, and the team deployed, each man knowing his role without needing additional instruction. With critical eyes, I noted the smooth coordination and silent communication that came from hours of training together.
"Evan, grab the second line. We need to be ready to provide backup if the primary team encounters heavy fire," I ordered, pointing to the hose.
"Yes, sir!" Evan ran toward the engine with more energy than finesse, yanking the hose so hard it tangled around itself.
"Easy. It's not a race. Do it right," I cautioned.
Evan nodded, slowing down as he pulled the hose toward the hydrant. I followed as he attempted to connect the water source. His gloved hands fumbled with the connection, missing the threading.
"Come on, Rookie. You've done this a hundred times in training," I reminded him.
"Sorry, Lieutenant," he muttered, as the connection slipped again.
Something inside me snapped. The building frustration from the budget meeting, Gisselle's unexpected appearance, Jaxon's flirting, and my confusion about it targeted Evan's innocent mistake.
"Focus. That mistake costs lives! A victim is trapped in a burning building, and you're fumbling around like it's your first day on the job."
Evan froze, and his eagerness fell from my outburst.
"I-I'm sorry, Lieutenant," he stammered.
I was on the warpath, and I knew I'd gone too far. It wasn't about Evan at all. It was a storm brewing inside of me that I couldn't control.
"Continue the drill. Primary team proceed with the search. Evan, get the line and follow me to the position."
We continued the drill, but my team lacked its usual enthusiasm. The guilt sat heavily in my chest.
"Pack it up. Good work today. We'll debrief at the station," I ordered.
As the others loaded the equipment, I approached Evan, who was securing the hose in the compartment. He straightened when he saw me coming, his posture stiffened for another verbal assault.
"Got a minute?" I asked.
He nodded. "Yes, sir."
We moved to the side of the truck. I exhaled heavily, running a hand down my face. "I came down too hard. It wasn't your fault," I admitted.
Evan blinked, surprised by the admission. "It's okay, Lieutenant. I should've been more careful with the connection."
I shook my head. "No, I brought other shit to the table. It wasn't on you."
It wasn't much of an apology, but it was more than most of my crew had ever gotten from me. Evan relaxed a bit.
"I appreciate that, sir. I'll keep working on speed and technique."
I nodded. "Good. You're doing fine."
We joined the rest of the crew. I knew they were curious about our conversation, but I ignored it and climbed into the captain's seat.
"Back to the station," I ordered.
Later, the station settled into a quiet evening.
Half the crew was on meal prep duty in the kitchen, and the other half took advantage of the downtime to call home or catch a power nap.
I leaned back in my chair, rolling my shoulders to release tension, attempting to take up permanent residence in my mind.
Instead, the memory of Gisselle Daniels popped up, standing at my station, looking at me like I was someone worth thanking.
Through the closed door, I heard distant sounds of my crew. Usually, I found their camaraderie grating when I was trying to work. Tonight, it emphasized the hollow space around me, the deliberate distance I maintained between myself and them, between me and everyone.
I returned to filling out the report in front of me, which concerned a kitchen fire from last week. The radio on my desk crackled, startling me from my concentration.
"Dispatch to all Goodwin Grove units. Be advised, Fire Marshal Winters is requesting department assistance with a possible arson investigation.
247 Riverside Drive. Abandoned commercial property.
No active fire, scene secure. Winters is requesting a fire department representative to conduct a joint investigation tomorrow morning, 0800 hours. "
My hand stalled on the page, the word arson cutting through like a quiet knife. "Engine 791, acknowledging dispatch. I will coordinate with the Fire Marshal in the morning," I responded automatically, not sure why my voice betrayed me.
The radio went silent again, but the damage was done. My focus was shattered, replaced by the visceral memory of another arson case years ago, the warehouse fire that had taken Reggie from us.