ControlledBurn (8 page)

Chapter Nine

“Hey, man. Welcome to Firehouse 5,” Mitch greeted the guys
from Firehouse 17 as they filtered into the station. Skipping the banquet was
easy—he hated dressing up and putting on all the manners he’d prefer to dump
for his natural ways. But the thought of Pearce and Ellie there without him scorched.

The chief from Firehouse 17 slapped him on the shoulder.
“Good to see you, Morelli. You skipped the festivities?”

“Yeah, well…”

“Believe me, I understand. When we were slated to take over
here for the night, it didn’t hurt a single one of us, did it, boys?” He raised
his voice and there was a chorus of agreement.

Each year a few of the fire crews across town were made to
skip the banquet and be on call. Fires and accidents didn’t stop happening
because all the firemen wanted to have a night out, after all.

Mitch nodded at the white-haired chief. The man was in his
late fifties but still as fit as most men in their thirties. He wore his fire
chief hat pulled low over his bright-blue eyes.

A pang of regret filled Mitch that he hadn’t chosen to be
with Pearce tonight. Then again, he’d be kept at arm’s length—made to feel as
if the emotions he held for Pearce were unnatural.

He swallowed hard against the lump in his throat.

One guy called out, “Hey, Morelli, where are the drinks?”

Mitch joined the team of Firehouse 17, introducing himself
to those he didn’t know, rekindling friendships with those he did and showing
the men hospitality. Before long, they were kicked back in the rec room,
listening to the scanner, which was silent for once, and shooting the bull.

Chief Darren let Mitch know that they’d be down a man in the
near future, as one of their team was moving to Texas to be closer to his
wife’s family.

“We’d love to have you as one of ours, Morelli, if the need
ever takes you to make a move.”

Mitch stared at the big alarm bell hanging on the wall,
thinking of Pearce and Ellie and all they’d come to mean to him. “Yeah, that
need might be close, Chief.”

At that minute, the alarm pealed, drowning out Mitch’s
words.

* * * * *

“I can’t believe you let him stay away from this, Pearce. I
can’t believe you let him think you didn’t care if he came.” Ellie planted her
hands on her hips and gaped at her husband. How stupid could he be? Surely
Mitch was hurting. Pearce had all but shunned him.

Her husband jammed his fingers through his very short hair,
his eyes flat. “I didn’t make the choice. He made it.”

“But you’d had an argument minutes before about keeping your
distance in public. I’m sure he was hurting.”

Pearce said nothing. Ellie’s heart ached for Mitch. What was
he doing right now? He belonged here with them, at this banquet, being honored
along with the rest of his crew. Not shut off from them—shut off from Pearce
and her.

“You actually think any of the guys would catch on? Or if
they did, that they’d care?”

“Rules are rules, Ellie. I don’t make ’em. I just follow
’em.” He grabbed a warm plate off the stack and handed it to her. She took it,
knowing she’d fill her plate with no hope of actually ingesting anything—her
stomach was churning.

He slammed a pile of mashed potatoes on his plate and then
dumped a puddle of gravy on top, his actions quick and jerky. “I don’t like it
any better than you do. But let’s leave the conversation for home. I don’t need
to be told off in front of my guys.”

She blinked at him, stunned by his words. He’d rarely spoken
this way to her, and never in public. She leaned in and whispered into his ear,
“Like you don’t want Mitch to look your way in front of the guys?”

Pearce went still. Their stares met in a battle of wills.
Beneath the spark of his hazel eyes, she saw worry and remorse. But was that on
her account or Mitch’s?

She scooted around him in the buffet line and cut in with a
couple she knew, making small talk as if her stomach weren’t in knots and her
heart weeping.

Pearce had given his all in the bedroom and it was time for
him to step up and give Mitch the things he needed outside it. If that meant a
stolen moment now and then, what could it hurt? From what she understood, Mitch
wasn’t looking to make Pearce drop to his knees and suck him off in the middle
of the locker room. He had merely touched him in a friendly gesture, which set
Pearce off.

Partway through the meal, with her husband stiff at her
side, she started to question everything. She pushed her food around her plate
with her fork and wondered if she should have discouraged Pearce from following
his desires and bringing Mitch into their relationship. Because now she was in
deep.

Too deep not to have her guts ripped out if Mitch left her
life.

Pearce rested his hand on her thigh. She stiffened, prepared
to ask him to leave soon, when his cell buzzed.

He fished it from the pocket of his suit jacket. When he
looked at the screen, his eyes widened. “Fuck, there’s a fire.”

The fireman two seats down from Pearce swung his whole body
toward his chief. “Where?”

Pearce sputtered an address. “Firehouse 17 is on it, tearing
out of the station now, but… Damn, I don’t like it.” He snapped his phone shut
and stared directly into Ellie’s eyes. “Mitch.”

She grabbed his hand and they stood together, shoving their
chairs back with haste. Pearce dragged her at high speed toward the exit. Her
heels clacked with the frenzied pace. They burst out of the hall and into the
night. Her bare arms rippled with goose bumps at the chill kiss of air.

Pearce stopped dead and dragged a deep breath into his
lungs. “We’re not far away. Can you run in those shoes, Ellie?”

“For Mitch? I can run anywhere.”

Pearce folded his lips, emotion bottled behind that
façade—emotions she hoped he’d soon admit to. Then he clutched her fingers in
his and they took off at a sprint.

* * * * *

With every extension of his legs as he raced to the scene of
the fire, Pearce thrashed himself.
Ellie’s right. Mitch deserves better.
It’s time to own it. Bring us together.

At his side, Ellie ran, her chignon tumbling down and
hairpins scattering on the sidewalk. Pearce gripped her hand and took a corner,
towing her along.

He couldn’t let Mitch walk into a dangerous situation
without making amends. If something happened to his best friend—his lover—he’d
never forgive himself. In this business, anything could happen. Life was
precious and might be snuffed out so rapidly, it would leave one’s head
spinning.

In a short time, Mitch had come to mean a lot to Pearce and
Ellie. They might have begun as colleagues but their friendship had morphed to
a whole other level. It was obvious Mitch needed Pearce’s acceptance, and if
that meant leaving Firehouse 5, then he’d do it. Step down—take another
position.

His chest burned with emotion and fear and the air filled
with the scent of smoke. It was a small house fire but nothing was guaranteed
in this job. Mitch could go in there and find any type of hazard, just as he
had in the warehouse.

Ellie’s breath rasped.

“Two more blocks, darlin’.” He kept up the pace, knowing she
would rather risk the blisters from five-inch stilettos than slow.

“I’m scared.” Her voice came out as a harsh sob.

Pearce wrapped her fingers more securely in his and
squeezed. Ahead, a fire truck whooped. The clacking noise of a ladder being
extended assaulted him. He pushed on. Why was it taking so long to reach the
blaze?

From between buildings, he caught sight of flames. He took a
detour, pulling Ellie through a gap only slightly larger than his shoulders. He
kicked a garbage can out of the way and jumped over it. Ellie did the same and
he was thankful for her athletic prowess.

His cell buzzed in his pocket. He yanked it free and saw a
text from Mitch.
Going in, Chief.

“Fuck!”

Ellie’s voice rose with hysteria. “What is it?”

“He’s going in. We’ve missed him.”

Frantically he burst from between the buildings. The wall of
heat struck him full force. A two-story building was lit up from the bottom
step to the roof ridge. The ladder had been extended and Mitch was four rungs
up.

Pearce released Ellie and surged forward. He leapt at the
ladder, catching the hem of Mitch’s pants. Mitch tipped at the waist, peering
down through his mask to see who had stopped him.

“I’ve gotta go, Chief!” His voice was muffled.

“Not without hearing how damn sorry I am!”

Their gazes met. Beyond the protective mask, Mitch’s dark
eyes glittered. Pearce’s heart rocketed skyward as understanding flashed
between them.

Pearce squeezed his big calf muscle. “Go! Be safe!”

Mitch gave a hard nod and flew up the ladder as if he were a
tree monkey. When he reached a window, he used his axe to break through it.
Then he disappeared into the burning building.

Control your head.
Mitch’s order to himself did
little to calm his jangling nerves. Knowing Pearce was below as Mitch entered
the flaming structure should have given him a sense of peace. Instead, his
heart was racing as though it were a car on the track of the Indy 500.

He hit the floor of the room he’d just entered and twisted
right and left, searching for victims. The room was piled deep with boxes—a
storage room. Still, he had to check. Kids often hid during fires, and he
couldn’t take a chance that he’d pass over someone.

Suddenly, Pearce’s deep voice trickled through the earpiece
and melted his brain—and his heart.

“Keep a level head, Morelli.”

“You’re supposed to be at a banquet.”

“Yeah, well, something more important cropped up.”

Mitch edged through the room, searching for figures in the
small spaces between boxes, trunks and old Christmas decorations.

“Where’s your wife?” Mitch returned as he reached a door.
Feeling the slab, he detected no warmth. But he didn’t have a lot of time. He
had to get through it and check out the rest of the upper floor. Lucifer was on
the other side of the house, closer to the heart of the blaze. They’d each
scope out the upper level and meet in the center.

“She’s right here, which means you’d better do this job
right.”

Mitch found himself smiling as he plunged into the next
room, which was engulfed in flames. He used his extinguisher to douse the
flames momentarily, giving him enough time to spot an unconscious victim near
the opposite window.

His smile faltered. In two steps, he was with the young boy,
throwing him over his shoulder and making his way to the window. With one blow
from his axe, he shattered the glass. The ladder appeared and a fighter had his
arms out, ready to take the victim.

Mitch passed the child into his care and then whipped back
into the room. There were two beds, which meant two kids. His heart flipped
over.

Hopefully Lucifer had reached the rest of the family.
Sources said a family of four lived here but it was early in the evening. Not
all would be in their bedrooms.

A great crash sounded and shouts filtered into his ear, both
from Pearce and Chief Darren from Firehouse 17.

“Caving on the east end. Hurry your ass up, Morelli.”

“Lucifer, you hear me? Haul ass.”

All linked now, Mitch lost himself to the sound of the
flames and the voices of his team and the two chiefs. He went into autopilot,
following directions, letting his training and instincts take over.

“Got another kid,” Lucifer said. “Get him in window two.”

Mitch scoured another room, which happened to be the master
bedroom. “Upper floor clear. Moving down.”

“That stairway can’t be steady. Take it easy, Morelli.”
Pearce’s tone was tight.

“Meet ya at the bottom,” Lucifer said.

When Mitch set foot on the staircase, his heart gave a giant
heave. His stomach bottomed out. The floor fell out from under him and he
plummeted through the wall of flames. He crashed down in a heap of gear and
bruises. Sharp pain radiated through his forearm, which he’d put down to break
his fall.

Scrambling up to the roars echoing in his head, he fought to
regain his senses. Fuck, what had just happened? A sea of fire licked up the
walls and encircled him. The heat permeated his clothing and sweat broke out
all over him.

“Goddammit, Morelli! Talk to us!”

Pearce’s voice broke through to him. He focused on a door
leading from the room. A door untouched by fire.

“That’s where the parents are,” he said and took off into
the depth of the flames. Smoke hung heavily in the air.

“You okay, Morelli?” Chief Darren asked.

“Think my arm’s broke. I’ll live. Got a job to do.” He
coiled his muscles and sprang through the flames, past the charred remains of a
sofa and a coffee table. Sparks shot from a TV as he rushed past.

The door to the other room was scorching. In a series of
quick barks, he ordered the hoses to be trained on this section of the house.
He needed only a few seconds. But if those victims were indeed in the room,
they might be already lost. Those boys they’d rescued may be orphaned.

“I’m on the ladder down,” Lucifer said. “I’m coming in
through the bottom. I’ll meet you in the flames of hell, Morelli.”

He gave a snort. Pain creased his brow and he struggled to
make his arm work properly. His hand felt as though it were a balloon inside
his glove.

He opened the door in time to see part of the wall slide
away like lava, the striped wallpaper vanishing in a cloud of smoke.

“Hell’s the right description, all right.”

“I’m giving you two minutes and then I’m pulling you both
out. That’s a promise!” Pearce commanded.

Mitch’s stomach tingled with awareness even as his heart
thundered with the adrenaline pumping through his veins. A shower of water
sprayed the interior of the room and he took his chance.