Flash Freeze (Blaze and Badge #3)

Chapter 1

“OK, let’s run that drill again!” called Lieutenant Lisa “Flash” Cash, clapping her hands.

Her team hustled back to their starting positions while Snuffles—her beloved black-and-white Havanese and Firehouse Eight’s official mascot—watched from a safe distance.

It was a gorgeous February morning in Houston, sun bright, air cool, and Snuffles stretched out on the smooth concrete by the open bay doors, where she could take full advantage of both.

“You’re killin’ us, Cash,” moaned firefighter Shaquille Woods as he wiped beaded sweat from his umber brow with a hand towel.

“Your namesake would be ashamed to hear you bellyaching,” Flash retorted. “O’Neal would never complain about a drill.”

“Yeah, cuz he’s rich and famous.” Woods tossed the towel and took his place on the line.

“Oh, I think the power’s just gone to her head,” Waylon Adams said with a wink. “Promotions’ll do that, you know.” He wiggled blond brows over blue eyes, stopping beside Woods, and flexed his impressive biceps.

Flash smirked at her buddy. She’d only been running the squad for a week, having passed her lieutenant’s test and secured an assignment at the firehouse she called home.

So far, the hardest part of the job had been distancing herself from her friends.

Waylon wasn’t her buddy anymore—he was a firefighter under her command.

That didn’t mean they weren’t still friends or wouldn’t grab a drink after shift. But on the job, she was the boss now.

“Tell me about it!” Bobbie Flores chimed in.

It had been over six months since the pizza bomb had killed Billy Ray and cost Smokey an arm. The squad was solid again, and Flash’s nightmares had tapered off, rarely waking her in a panic anymore. Life marched on, and she was never one to wallow.

“Two down and backs, then to the table for glove and screws, and wrap it with blind knot ties and a race up the stairs. First one down the pole without screwing up wins. Go!” Flash clicked her stopwatch, and her firefighters sprinted past the parked engine, Flores in the lead.

Each excelled at something. Waylon was the muscle, Bobbie the speed, and Shaquille? Well, he could cook. Flash would rather rush into a burning building with them than anyone else.

“Looks like you’re off to a good start.”

Snuffles let out a “Woof!” and Flash jerked her head around at the unexpected female voice.

“Assistant Chief Velasquez,” Flash acknowledged, straightening her stance and facing her. “Welcome to Firehouse Eight. We’re just running some drills.”

“I can see.” The deeply tanned woman stood shorter than Flash, with four bugles on her uniform shoulders and her black hair pinned up.

Flash had met her before, and she had been on hand to congratulate her upon being awarded her lieutenant’s rank.

She had long admired Carmen Velasquez as a groundbreaking firefighter and department brass.

Flash swallowed the lump in her throat and pushed down her nerves. “What can I do for you today?”

“Nothing. I was just in the neighborhood and wanted to stop by to check on you, maybe offer some encouraging words. I hope you don’t mind, but it isn’t often I get to take a fellow woman officer under my wing.”

Her amiable expression relieved Flash’s tension. She glanced at her crew and called out, “Woods, I think you need new gloves. Get that washer on and hurry up with the nut.” Returning focus to Velasquez, she blushed. “Sorry about that.”

Velasquez lowered her gaze to Snuffles, who vigorously sniffed her shoes.

“That’s Snuffles,” Flash said. She bent down and scooped the little fuzzball into her arms. “Don’t sniff the assistant chief’s shoes.

” With an apologetic look, she added, “She likes to smell people’s shoes.

That way, she knows where they’ve been.”

“Reasonable.” Velasquez inclined her head. “They can gather so much information with their noses. But isn’t she a little small to be a fire dog?”

Snuffles wiggled and stretched, flicking her tongue toward the visitor.

Flash resettled her. It was evident the nearly grown pup wanted to greet the new friend with a thorough tongue bath, but Flash understood that not all people wanted to be licked, especially by a dog they didn’t know.

Athena sure hadn’t at first. Now she adored Snuffles as much as Flash did.

“Oh, she’s not a working fire dog. She just hangs around the firehouse for moral support.”

Waylon’s big boots hit the floor, drawing Flash’s attention. “I win!” he announced and moved before Bobbie landed on his shoulders.

“I don’t see how,” Flores retorted as he slid down the pole. Woods had made it to the top of the stairs and would be there in under ten seconds.

Flash clicked her stopwatch. “Not too shabby. Woods, why are you always last?”

He swooshed down the pole. “Maybe because I have the shortest legs.”

“Take a break,” Flash told her team. “It’s turning out to be a slow morning, and I have company.”

“We see,” said Bobbie Flores. His tan matched Velasquez’s. He smiled, nodded, and said, “Come on, guys. My turn to rule the remote.”

“You had it last time,” Woods argued, and the three left the bay to head inside.

“Would you like to come in?” Flash asked her guest. “Our coffee isn’t the greatest, but I can pour you a cup.”

“No, thank you,” she answered. “I can’t stay. I just wanted to check if you needed anything, make sure the men are treating you with respect. It seems you have everything handled here.”

“They’re a great crew,” she said. “Flores is sort of new. He transferred over a few months ago because …” She stopped, her heart seizing up at the reminder of what had happened. She even felt the rumble vibrate through her feet and legs, the boom resounding like a distant echo.

“Shared trauma can either break or bind a crew,” Velasquez said.

“I see it has bonded you. Chief Burks wasn’t sure what to do after the Lieutenant Edwards debacle, but then I saw your name on a list of candidates testing for a lieutenant spot.

I asked him to hold off on assigning someone else to see how you’d do.

After your excellent test score, strong interview, and his seeing you in action, he thanked me and gave you the slot. I believe you deserve it.”

“Thank you, Assistant Chief Velasquez,” Flash said, pride swirling in her chest. “I’ll try not to let you down.”

“Oh, forget about me,” she laughed with a wave. “Don’t let the people of Houston down, and I know you won’t. Now, if you need anything, just—”

The alarm bell blared. “Engine Eight, Engine One, Squad Eight, Ambulances Eight and 508, respond to a three-alarm fire at Gulf Allied Chemicals.”

Captain Jake O’Riley was first into the bay. His granite jaw belied the freckles covering his face as he pulled a hard hat over his rust-colored hair. “There’s already been one explosion,” he reported. “Hazmat is on the way. We need to get that fire contained ASAP.”

Flash nodded and rushed to the gear rack, her teammates joining her in an instant.

“I should come too,” declared Velasquez. “Someone will need to coordinate the various teams.”

Flash spared her a glance. Worry veiled the woman’s face, but something more like fear flashed in her dark eyes.

They should all be afraid of a chemical plant explosion.

If the wrong agents got into the air, there could be casualties for blocks around.

They had protective gear, masks, and oxygen tanks; the civilians didn’t.

“Let’s hit it!” she called to her engine crew. In boots and turnout coats, they mounted up, Waylon behind the wheel. Snuffles watched anxiously from her sentinel station by the door while Flash flicked on the lights and sirens, and they sped toward danger.

Lights whirred, and sirens screamed as Waylon whipped the big firetruck through the parking lot toward the section of the complex with jumping flames and billowing black smoke. Two police cars were on the scene, and four overwhelmed officers were struggling to maintain crowd control.

Flash pushed the call button on her radio.

“Dispatch. Eleven-nineteen, Engine Eight at Gulf Allied Chemicals.” Jackson reported for Squad and Trevino for Engine One.

She pulled on her helmet and vaulted from the passenger seat.

Thick smoke with a sharp chemical tang burned at the back of her throat as the fire roared from the building thirty yards from their truck.

“Flores, Woods, get the hoses ready. Waylon, hook us to a hydrant,” she ordered. The engine held water, but not enough for a blaze of this size.

She’d double-checked her tank that morning, ensuring it was ready for action. Throwing open a side compartment, Flash yanked out a Halligan.

“Thank God!” cried a forty-something-year-old man in a soot-smeared white shirt, his dirty-blond hair disheveled and singed. He had exited the nearest doorway, assisting a hunched woman in worker’s coveralls who was coughing and clinging to his waist.

Flash rushed forward. “Over here,” she directed. “Stay clear of the building.”

“I can’t,” he shouted, and coughed into his elbow. He practically flung the employee into Flash’s arms. She caught the woman and steadied her while narrowing her eyes on the man.

Before she could speak, he said, “I’m the plant manager.

There are still people inside. Some could be trapped or lost in the smoke.

It’s almost zero visibility. I’m responsible for them!

” With a pained expression, the tall, muscular man, who could have played college football, spun back toward the inferno.

Another boom sounded, followed by a fresh column of fire-infused smoke. Both ducked.

“No. They are my responsibility now, sir. Stand back!”

Instantly, paramedic Juanita Lopez was there, and Flash passed the smoke inhalation victim to her.

Lunging forward, she grabbed the manager by the arm.

He spared her a shocked look over his shoulder.

Maybe he was used to giving orders. Maybe he was surprised she was strong enough to stop him.

Either way, he froze, gaping at her before another cough bent him double.

“We’ve got two lines charged,” Waylon said as he trotted up to her.

“Hold it, Cash,” boomed Captain O’Riley. Assistant Chief Velasquez kept pace as they approached. “You’re a lieutenant now, and I’ll have no cowboy heroics out of you. You’ve got more than your own life on the line from now on. We need information before going in there.”

Two more employees stumbled out coughing, one with scorch marks on his uniform. EMT Alberto Luis Santos, Nita’s partner, met them with non-rebreather masks and O2. “We’re going to need more ambulances!”

“The plant manufactures industrial solvents and oxidizers,” the manager said.

“I don’t know what happened. The explosion came from the office area.

The holding tanks are over there.” He pointed to a wing on the other side of the flames from where they stood.

“I was conducting a meeting with the office staff, but there were other folks in the blast zone. There shouldn’t have been, but I’ve got to get my people out.

If you can contain that fire before it reaches the tanks, it’ll be all right. ”

He pulled. Flash held firm.

Jake scanned the building from the outside. “Mr.?”

“Booker. Justin Booker, plant manager,” he huffed in frustration. “We’re wasting time.”

“Well, we aren’t wasting lives,” the captain retorted. “Is there a closer approach to those holding drums?”

“From the south side of the building,” he said. “There’s a service drive the transport trucks use.”

Trevino and Wilson from Engine One trotted up, Halligans in hand. “Mr. Booker, go with Engine One and show them. Trevino, get water on those tanks and keep ’em cool. We’re not losing the neighborhood today.”

“Roger that,” Trevino clipped. “Sir, if you’ll come with us.”

“My people,” he protested.

Flash loosened her grip on his arm.

“Cash’s team will get them out. Now, please, Mr. Booker. If those chemicals go, none of us go home today.”

With a deep grimace and gnashed teeth, the manager complied.

“Take your hoses in, but be careful. And stay on the walkies.” Jake pinned Flash with a steely gaze that conveyed more than words. She nodded. “Squad, assist. Velasquez, can you get Eighteen evaluating ventilation options and Twenty attacking the flames from the outside? We need to act fast.”

Flash didn’t hear the rest. She was moving, her crew with her. Jackson and Arredondo from Squad pushed in front of her. “Don’t get lost in there,” she ordered and pulled down her mask. It fit snug. The sound of air pumping filled her ears.

“Fire Department, call out!” Jackson shouted. They’d only taken a few steps when a group of three employees hurried toward the light from outside.

“Is there anyone else that way?” Flash asked.

They shrugged, shook their heads, and coughed, their eyes red and watery.

A few more steps, and the crews were enveloped by a red haze, reducing visibility to near zero. The building groaned, the fire roared, and suddenly the radios were overloaded with chatter. “Short bursts,” Flash instructed. “We’re looking for victims to rescue first.”

Flash opened her valve, Waylon steadying the high-pressure hose behind her. She lay down spray on the nearest wall, then shut it off. “Fire department, call out!” She couldn’t see the squad team anymore. “Jackson? Arredondo? Smith and Ritter?” She called into her radio.

“We took a right,” Jackson returned. “It’s like tomato soup in here.”

“I’ve got one.” It was Arredondo. Flash recognized his accent.

She laid down another stream of water through a half-open doorway ahead. “Slow and steady, everyone,” she said. “No mistakes.”

She didn’t think about this being the first real test of her command, or that Assistant Chief Velasquez was watching, listening, evaluating her, until long after the operation. In the moment, her focus was true—save lives and put this fire out before it reached the chemical tanks.