It Had To Be You (7 page)

“
I’ve lost most of it, but here goes.
Y’all better watch yourself, or my daddy’s gonna be on you like
fleas on a dog.” She’d dragged out some of the vowels.

Everyone laughed.

Beck sipped his own drink—a tart
Manhattan—and watched the night unfold. It wasn’t long before Chief
Erikson arrived with a stunning dark-haired woman on his arm, who
everyone addressed as Parker. So this was the famous
journalist/blogger who’d sparred with the chief over
fire-department matters, then unexpectedly fell in love with him.
Beck hoped it worked out for them, but he didn’t believe much in
happily-ever-after. Again, his gaze strayed to Nurse Allen.

o0o

Lela took surreptitious glances at Beck—he’d
changed into jeans and a gauzy, white shirt—as they ate some of the
best pizza she’d ever had. Afterward, the group drifted out to the
main bar area to dance and socialize with some of the cops who’d
shown up. She’d thought about Beck over the two-and-a-half weeks
since they’d met. Now she had the absurd urge to ask him to dance,
but before she could follow it or quell it, Garth White dragged her
out to the floor. The jukebox played a slow song, and Garth was a
good dancer, so Lela enjoyed the twirl around the room. After they
finished, Felicia rose and drew Beck up by the arm. “Time to dance,
army boy.”

“
Uh, no, not me. I’m not the dancing
type.”

“
Tough. You gotta learn to have fun,
Beck.”

When she had him standing, Felicia turned as
her brother and Lela came off the floor. Garth said, “Hey, this is
a swing dance. I was gonna ask you to do it with me, sis.”

“
Good news for me.” Beck’s tone was
teasing.

“
No way!” Felicia looked at Lela, who
hadn’t sat yet, and put her hand in Beck’s. “You two
dance.”

The other couple left and Lela turned to
Beck. “You don’t have to do that. She pressed you into dancing with
me.”

“
Nah, I want to. Let’s see what we can
do together.”

First, he pulled her to him and held her
close. They kept time to the music and he smiled down at her. Then,
he twirled her out, and she came back easily. For such a big guy,
he was light on his feet, fluid in his own moves as he repeated the
steps and did variations on them. After the peppy song ended, a
slow one began, and he watched Lela for a moment, then drew her
into his arms.

“
That was fun,” he said as his cheek
nestled next to her hair. She was distracted by the scent of
him—woodsy with a hint of citrus. Acutely aware of his hand at her
back, his other clasping her fingers to his chest, she had to
resist the urge to lean into him and inhale the masculine scent.
Instead, she looked up at him. From this angle, his chin was so
chiseled she wondered why she’d never noticed it before.

“
Wasn’t it?” he asked.

“
Excuse me?”

“
The swing dance. Wasn’t it
fun?”

“
You know, it was. I’m surprised I
remembered how to do it. I rarely get out.”

“
Me, either, unless Linc and Sally drag
me somewhere.”

“
Your brother?”

“
Yep.”

“
You’re lucky you have a
sibling.”

He nodded to Sophia, who was on the floor
cuddling up to Tony like a teenager. “You and Tony’s wife seem
close.”

“
We are. She’s been a friend for a few
years, now.”

“
You said you had a night
off.”

“
Tommy’s staying with his grandparents
and his dad. Going home to an empty house didn’t appeal to
me.”

He tugged her a bit closer. “I feel that way
a lot.”

They talked a bit about where they each
lived, how they liked the town. Beck had grown up here but left
after high school for West Point. When they quieted, she gradually
nestled into his granite-hard chest, listened to the Righteous
Brothers and let herself enjoy the feel of him. The unfamiliar
sensation of being in a man’s arms, held with tenderness and…a hint
of desire.

When she realized what she was doing, she
sobered. Oh, God, she was snuggling up to a man with PTSD! How dumb
was that, especially since she’d learned about the effect the
malady can have on children? No, she told herself, this was not
going to happen.

As soon as the song ended, she drew away. “I,
um, Beck, I think we’d better…” But he wasn’t watching her.

Her words trailed off as she tracked his
distracted gaze. Over her shoulder, she saw Gabe Malvaso stride
toward them and the rest of his crew. “We gotta go, guys. There’s a
bad fire in a warehouse over on James Street. All available fire
personnel are called in.”

Lela wondered at the worry in his voice. The
way the others stiffened. To Beck, he said, “We’re gonna be on
edge, Beck. Thirteen years ago, my cousins were practically buried
in a warehouse fire when the ceiling fell. Nobody’s forgotten it.
So be on your toes.”

“
Yes, sir.” He stepped away from
Lela.

When both men started to walk away, Lela
reached out and grasped on to his arm. Her earlier misgivings were
muted by the danger he would soon be in. “Beck?”

“
Yeah?”

“
Be careful.”

He gave her a somber look. “I always am.”

She watched his retreating back with
confusion. Her heart was racing and her pulse thrummed. Damn, she
was worried about the guy.

o0o

Beck jumped out of the Rescue rig. Red-hot
flames licked the roof and shot out from the tall windows of the
warehouse; the air stunk like cow shit because of the angry, black
clouds billowing from the building. Beck waited at the rigs and
became aware of a conversation close by. Casey and Zach Malvaso
were off to the side of the Midi, arguing, while the officers were
determining their best use of firefighters called in.

“
It’s just like the last time.” Zach’s
voice was tense.

“
No, it’s not.” Casey sounded
exasperated.

“
Yeah, it is. I don’t want you going in
there.”

Silence. Then, “Honey, it’s my job and yours.
Comparing this call to the Sinco fire is counterproductive.”

Beck recalled Gabe’s explanation earlier; the
Malvasos had been buried by falling plaster and almost didn’t get
out, but they’d lost fellow firefighters.

“
No, it’s—”

“
All right, everybody. Listen
up.”

Beck glanced over to see Gabe, with Captain
Holmes of Quint and Midi, and Tony Ramirez lined up in front of the
Rescue Rig. All three crews gathered around them.

The officers snapped out orders.

“
Quint 7 is to slap water on the left
quadrant of the building.” This from Holmes.

Five people jumped on the Quint, and the
vehicle headed to the back of the warehouse.

“
Conklin and Thomas, you’re coming with
me.” Though he was a new lieutenant, Tony Ramirez sound confident
and in control. “We’re going to assist with the Hurst tools. Some
of the doors are jammed and there’s reports of people
inside.”

Gabe gave the last directive. “We’re on
search and rescue for victims. We have the rear right-side entrance
after Ramirez springs the door.”

Adrenaline shot through Beck. His heart beat
fast as they donned their SCBA, remounted the truck and circled
around the structure. After Tony sprang the door, they walked
inside, and thick, gray smoke closed around them.

“
Jesus, how we going to search for
anybody?” Felicia asked. “The smoke’s almost opaque in here and the
place is a cavern.”

“
With this.” Beck could just make out a
camera-like device, a thermal heat indicator, which Gabe held
up.

They didn’t always use thermal imaging,
because it was cumbersome and because each station didn’t have one,
but they needed help tonight. Beck had used similar devices in
Afghanistan for night missions because, if there wasn’t a moon, you
couldn’t see your hand in front of your face. A term he’d heard
ascribed to firefighting.

Gabe continued, “White, you hold this. I’ll
lead the way and you direct me.”

The smoke turned to black as they plodded
through the space—an indication that whatever was burning was
noxious. Could be asbestos in the ceiling. The building was old.
Beck kept his head up and his ears alert. They’d gone only ten
meters when they heard a loud crack, then an ominous rumbling
sound. Suddenly, he was engulfed by something hot and heavy. The
last thing he heard over the mic was, “Jesus, it
is
just
like before.”

o0o

Sophia had plunked down in a chair and wrung
her hands together. “Could you stay with me, Lee? Everybody else
will be here, but I’d feel better if you would.”

“
Of course.” She took a seat next to
Sophia. “Josh is with Len’s parents for the night.”

“
My kids are with Mama.” Sophia’s
beautiful face was pale and her eyes shadowed. “She took them to
visit her sister in Camden Cove so they probably won’t see this in
the news.”

All those left behind had returned to the
backroom, where a local channel on the big-screen TV blared the
coverage of the fire; Lela glanced around. Ryan O’Malley, who’d
been joking with Felicia earlier, stood somberly in the back,
leaning against the wall, his arms crossed over his chest. After
refusing to go home, Rachel Wellington sat in the same chair she’d
vacated earlier, staring at the screen, one hand on her belly. Lela
and Sophia were only a couple seats away from Rachel, and the
tension radiating from both women was palpable.

On TV, an anchor asked a grim-faced officer
who’d just come on screen, “Captain Carlyle, can you tell us the
status of the building?”

“
We don’t have any reports from inside
yet. All the teams received their assignments and are implementing
them.”

From the corner of her eye, Lela saw a
dark-haired, tall man stride into the room. O’Malley called out,
“Hey, Max.”

“
Rye.” He glanced at the screen as he
crossed to Ryan. “Thanks for calling me. Any news?”

“
They just went inside.” Though Ryan’s
lips were thinned and his voice gravelly, he added, “I called you
because I didn’t want to be the only guy crying here.”

Max clapped him on the back. “I hear ya,
buddy.” He shook his head as he watched the captain on TV tell the
public absolutely nothing. “Fuck, I hate that Sydney does this for
a living. Sometimes I have nightmares about 9/11.”

“
We all do.” This from
Rachel.

“
Whatdaya mean, Wellington? You put
yourself in harm’s way, too.”

“
So do you, O’Malley. Put your life on
the line. Doesn’t mean spouses have to like it.”

Quiet descended after a commercial break. The
formerly poised announcer seemed rattled as he stared down at a
paper and cleared his throat. “It appears the ceiling collapsed in
the right side of the warehouse. Fears are that a group of
firefighters conducting search and rescue are trapped.”

Everybody gasped.

“
What?” Lela asked.

Rachel got out, “Search and rescue is done by
the rescue squads.”

She thought of Beck, going into the fire,
filled with stoicism and determination. The notion struck her out
of nowhere: what would it be like to never see those beautiful
green eyes, hear that low baritone, experience that kind smile
again? She couldn’t understand the fear because she’d only known
him two-and-a-half weeks, but it was there, strong and potent.

The vigil they kept was excruciating. No
official word came from the department on who was trapped. “Would
they call, Sophia, if they could?” Lela finally asked.

“
Not necessarily. They might be fine
and just crawling through the smoke.”

“
Geez.” The rescue sounded horrible. It
had to stink to high heaven, though they wouldn’t choke on the
smoke because of their face masks. But Lela had read somewhere that
sometimes the masks were knocked off in a fire. How long could they
live in a smoke-filled room with the blaze sucking up all the
oxygen? As a nurse, she knew it wasn’t long and people succumbed to
smoke inhalation fast.

Another ten minutes passed, then the reporter
put his hand to his earpiece. “I have some news.” He’d gained his
composure back. “Five firefighters are trapped under ceiling
plaster in the right side of the building. I repeat, five
firefighters are trapped. Other crews have been sent in to assist
them.”

Lela was startled by a sharp noise. She
turned to see Ryan O’Malley had punched his fist into the wall. She
didn’t blame him. His wife and the squad who’d gathered here
tonight, eating, drinking, dancing might never get out of that
building. Lela found it hard to swallow. Oh, dear God!

o0o

When he came to, Beck thought an IED had gone
off in the school they’d been sent to protect in Kandahar, then he
realized he was in a warehouse full of smoke. And he was covered
with a chalky substance that tasted like plaster. Tasted? Jesus,
he’d lost his helmet and face mask. A ragged bout of coughing
ensued. And a stink as bad as the open sewage in Afghanistan filled
his head. He moved his legs and pain shot through his body. Hell,
was he hurt? If so, he wouldn’t get out of here. Gingerly, he sat
up. He was covered with layers of plaster and sheetrock; he tore at
the pieces and shook some of it off. He still couldn’t see and his
eyes stung like hell. The relentless hacking continued. Fuck!

Feel your way when you can’t see,
his
instructors had told him. Scrambling to his knees, he blindly
brushed his thick-gloved hand side to side in front of him as he
inched forward. Only a few meters away, he felt a pile. But how did
he know if a person was buried under there?