The flimsy door was no match for Matt Clark's boot. He
kicked it in, ducking as the greedy fire sucked in fresh
air. Heat surged toward him as he pushed into the front
room, his partner, Lara Hughes, beside him. J.T. Keller and
Miguel Santos were at the door behind them.
The house
should be empty—on the foreclosure list according to
property records. No one was supposed to be living here, but
Matt had seen the overflowing trash cans baking in the hot
summer sun, and the sleeping bags and uncovered mattresses
on the floor of the living room added to the story. A story
currently giving him the willies.
He caught Lara's
eye. "I have a bad feeling about this."
"Tell me
about it." Lara made one more visual sweep of the room, her
voice tinny through the SCBA mask.
Smoke swirled in
the room, a living, breathing thing. Around the edges of the
swinging kitchen door, he could see a telltale orange glow
and pulled the hose with him deeper into the house. The
basics of firefighting. Put water on fire. "We're heading
into the kitchen."
Matt barely registered the
response over the heat that rushed them when he opened the
door. He hit his knees, and beside him he felt more than
heard Lara thump to hers. Obviously the center of the fire,
the room glowed, every surface flaming or charred. The
Sheetrock walls bubbled in some places and burned through in
so many others that it was impossible to tell where the burn
started.
The air too superheated for words, Matt
motioned to Lara to stay down. He turned the nozzle to fire
a stream through the nearest window, giving the hot gases a
place to escape.
As the smoke cleared, they climbed
to their feet. Matt took quick stock of the room. He laid
the spray of water directly over the kitchen table. A
conglomeration of objects remained, telling him that,
although the residents of this house had definitely been
cooking, they weren't using Grandma's cookbook.
They
were cooking meth.
He ducked down to look under the
table. And immediately knew that the heebie-jeebies he'd
been fighting all afternoon had been seriously
justified.
He started backing toward the door and
turned to Lara. "Get out of here. This place is gonna
blow."
She shook her head. "Another couple minutes
and we'll have it under control."
"Another couple of
minutes and we'll be dead. Get out of here.
Now."
She took off for the front door, the
smoke billowing and closing around her. Close on her heels,
he felt the intense heat bearing down on him. He could
almost hear the clock ticking in his head. As he broke
through the smoke, the force of the blast slammed into him—a
physical blow—catapulting him into the air. He flew, arms
and legs splayed all directions.
In that split second
his thoughts fragmented.
His family. His sweet
dark-haired mom. His county sheriff father. How he'd never
get to see his old man be proud that his son had joined the
Sea Breeze Police Department as their first-ever arson
investigator.
And Lara.
The last thought as
the ground raced toward him was a wisp of a prayer that his
beautiful, stubborn partner would be okay.
Lara
Hughes blinked her eyes against too-bright sunlight. The
sound of a PASS alarm found its way into her consciousness.
Hers or someone else's?
She tested her legs and arms.
All still attached. She tried to think back. She'd wanted to
stay and fight the fire, but Matt had told her to get
out.
Matt.
Struggling to a sitting
position, she winced as pain shot up her arm. Todd
Blankenship hoofed it across the lawn toward her, carrying a
kit from the bus. It hadn't been more than a few seconds,
then.
"I'm fine." She climbed to her feet, wavered,
blinked to clear her head. Debris still rained down from the
violent blast, soot and ash sifting to the ground. Todd
grabbed her arm. She shook it off and stepped back. "I'm
fine. Where's Matt?"
Blankenship gestured back at the
house. At the base of the steps, Matt lay sprawled,
paramedic Daniel Hudson at his side. She pulled out of
Todd's grip and ran toward Matt, stripping off her gear as
she went.
Behind them, Ladder 2 had arrived. The crew
was creating a spray over the top of the house—a place they
all now knew had been a meth lab—trying to keep the fumes of
ammonium hydroxide from spreading through the
neighborhood.
Matt's PASS alarm trilled again. He
still wasn't moving. He'd been so much closer to the blast
than she. If she'd left when he'd first asked her to, maybe
that would've given him the extra couple of seconds he
needed to get away.
"Backboard!" Daniel yelled at
whoever could hear him, and Todd came running with
it.
She pulled her gloves off and stuffed them under
her elbow, feeling under Matt's hood for his pulse. She,
like most of the firefighters on their crew, also had EMT
training. On their small crew everyone did double
duty.
Where was it?
She moved her fingers.
There. His pulse was there, strong and steady under her
fingers. Why didn't he wake up? "Come on, Matt, open your
eyes."
"Get him on the board." Daniel pulled Matt's
SCBA gear off and rolled him to his back on the board,
bracing his neck with a cervical collar. "Ready,
go."
Todd and Daniel lifted Matt on the backboard and
moved him about fifty feet away from the extreme heat and
toxic fumes of the still-burning house.
She dropped
to her knees at his side as Daniel checked Matt's breathing.
"Airway clear."
Lara smoothed dark black curls away
from Matt's face. He was much more than a partner. He was a
friend. "Come on, Matt."
Daniel shined a penlight on
Matt's pupils. "Pupils equal and reactive."
That was
something. Okay. Okay. He's breathing on his own. Pupils
aren't blown. She took a deep breath and leaned in
close to his ear. "Matthew Clark, stop being a baby and wake
up."
He didn't move. She sat back on her heels,
sweeping her damp sweaty bangs back from her forehead with a
thick Nomex sleeve. It stung. She looked down and blinked.
Her sleeve was smeared with blood.
Matt's eyes f
luttered. "Lara, sweetheart. Kiss me. It hurts."
He
opened his eyes, amusement winking in the dark brown of
bitter chocolate. She slapped him on the arm with her
gloves.
"Hey, what was that for? I nearly died. You
can at least let me have a nice dream." A grin pulled at his
lips, but underneath his tan, he was still pale, way more
pale than he should've been. Concern knotted in her
stomach.
She wouldn't let him see it, though. She
didn't want him to know how badly he'd scared her. "I'll
give you something to dream about, honey."
He laughed
and pushed up to rest on his elbow, pain creasing the laugh
lines at the edges of his eyes as he tested his range of
motion. "You love me, you know you do."
She levered
herself to her feet, used to the weight of the heavy suit.
"Yeah, you and that overinflated ego of yours,
too."
"She's gotcha there." Blankenship offered him a
hand. "You all in one piece?"
Matt gripped Todd's
hand and eased into a sitting position, gingerly moving his
arms and legs, rubbing his forehead with a hand adorned with
two pink Hello Kitty bandages. "Seem to be. Got one tangle
of a traffic jam going on in my head, though."
Daniel
activated an instant cold pack and handed it to Matt, then
popped another one for Lara before pulling bandages from the
kit. He quickly taped the cut on her head shut and placed
the ice bag on it before packing the emergency gear back
into the kit and taking the C-collar from Matt. "I suggest
you both take a trip to the E.R. As hardheaded as you two
are, a CT scan is still in order."
She held out a
hand to Matt and pulled him the rest of the way to his feet,
watching him closely as he swayed, his feet crunching in the
dry summer grass. "You okay?"
"Fine." He shot her the
grin that in the beginning had made her think he was a goofy
show-off. He hadn't done much to dispel that image, always
playing practical jokes in the firehouse. But it hadn't
taken her long as his partner to see beneath that to the guy
underneath who took his job very seriously.
Two
in, two out. She'd always been tenacious, but sometimes
it turned to a stubborn desire to be the best, to beat the
fire. Today that stubbornness had almost caused her to
forget that simple but most important rule of firefighting:
You go in with your partner. You come out with your
partner.
As the two medics walked away, she
touched Matt's arm. "I'm sorry."
Surprise tinged his
features. "We do what we do, Bump. It's no big."
At
the nickname, she smiled. He'd dubbed her with it the first
week she'd been in training because, unlike the men, she
tended to use her hip as an extra appendage. It came from
the days when her sister Emmy was an infant—she'd been a
nine-year-old with a baby always in her arms because her
mother wasn't around to take care of them. That hip came in
handy.
A siren wailed to a stop outside the perimeter
and a car door slammed.
He elbowed her. "Come on.
That headache of yours isn't going to get you out of mop-up
any more than mine is. And don't forget your gear. No going
into this place without SCBA."
A self-contained
breathing apparatus wasn't always necessary for overhaul,
but in this case the toxic fumes associated with cooking
meth made it dangerous to breathe without it. The nasty
concoction of chemicals could kill. Their quiet beach town
on the northwest Florida coast had seen its share of crime
lately, but a meth lab right smack in the middle of a
neighborhood… that was a new one, at least for
her.
She found her mask and tank along with her
helmet on the ground where she'd ditched
them.
"Captain called in something about a meth lab
fire?" Police lieutenant Chloe Rollins picked her way across
the grass in high heels, the flash of myriad emergency
lights flaring on her face.
Man-in-charge as the
senior officer on-site, Matt answered. "This place has
definitely been used as a lab. If you're going in, you need
gear."
"I've got it in the car." Chloe narrowed her
eyes. "Looks like a bomb went off."
Matt nodded then
grabbed his head. "That would be the propane tank, and the
cause of the headache currently threatening to split my head
in two. Gear up and I'll show you more inside, but we're
probably not going to find much left, at least not in the
kitchen."
The police lieutenant didn't move. Matt
started for the house then glanced back.
"What?"
Chloe grinned, her red hair gleaming in the
sun. "Hello Kitty?"
Matt studied the bandages on his
hand and shot her a cocky smile. "Dude, Hello Kitty rocks.
It could be worse. Last week my neighbor's girls were into
princesses. Sometimes she gets home after the bus drops the
girls off. So I meet them at the bus stop, let them have a
snack. They, uh, fix my boo-boos."
Guilt shot through
Lara, a quick pang to the chest. She'd been working with
Matt for two years and didn't know that about him. But she'd
been the one to draw that line. Draw the boundaries between
work life and home life. It wasn't that she didn't
care.
She did.
But she couldn't be open in
return and share the train wreck that was her life. She
didn't want the guys—any of them—to feel sorry for her.
"Sweet."
He made a face at her, then grinned at
Chloe. "They're no trouble. They get a big brother who's a
friend to their mom and I get somebody to water the plants
when I'm gone. And all the free Hello Kitty bandages I
want."
Chloe laughed.
"Yeah, go ahead and
giggle, Lieutenant Rollins. You and Pastor Jake'll probably
have triplets."
Chloe's face drained of color. Her
hand went to her stomach. "Bite your tongue."
Matt
pulled his mask over his face and hollered at J.T. and
Santos, who were hanging out by the rig. "Let's go, you
slackers." To the cop he said, "Get your gear on and we'll
meet you in the house."
Lara pulled her own mask into
place, the snug straps making her aching head throb even
worse. She followed Matt into the burned-out shell of a
house. What had once been a fairly nice home was a smoking
ruin. The mattresses and sleeping bags were melted into a
charred mess. The remnants of the walls and ceilings would
be coming down, too. Nothing could remain that might be
hiding a smoldering hot spot.
Water dripped from the
ceiling to form toxic puddles in the soggy
carpet.
"We'll take the kitchen." Matt's eyes met
Lara's. She nodded. She had to put their close call out of
her mind. Facing the fear was part of what they did every
single day. "Santos, you and J.T. start in the front room
and we'll all work our way back through the
bedrooms."
The detective in her white hazmat suit
followed them into the kitchen—or what was left standing in
the kitchen. The entire back wall had blown away, leaving
the back steps and very little else
recognizable.
"Whoa." The word was barely a breath as
Lara realized what would have happened to them if they'd
still been in the room when it blew.
"Yeah." Matt
looked around. "Well, I think we can safely say there's no
fuel left in here. Everything's already in the
backyard."
She turned away from the wreckage in the
kitchen, taking in a tight breath. "Let's hit the front
room, then. I'm ready to get out of here."
Chloe
stood in the doorway with her digital camera. "What a mess.
We're gonna need statements from you guys about what you
saw—before the blast."
In the front room, J.T. and
Santos tossed debris out the front door. It was a pile of
tattered sleeping bags, and what Lara had managed to push to
the back of her mind shoved back to the forefront again. Had
her sister lived in a place like this? Had Emmy been so
desperate for the drug that she'd been willing to poison
herself to get it?
"Hey, Lara. You okay?" Matt looked
into her face mask. "That bump on the head got you a little
loopy?"
As her partner and friend, he would support
her if he knew about her family, as would the other guys.
But they would never look at her the same way again. She'd
always be the daughter of a mother who showed up drunk for
her school play and the sister of a drug addict. She'd
always be the one who had to raise her sister and never just
a firefighter who did her job well.
She shoved the
pain away and picked up her shovel. "I'm fine."