The Billionaire's Secret Kink Box Set: Knox: Secret Alpha Billionaire Romance Bundle (Rosesson Brothers Book 1) (43 page)

She didn't know what happened to the druggie they went there to help, but her guess was he had to wait for a second ambulance.

What a trip to think that she had been carried on a board in full c-spine. She had probably used the board and collar a thousand times in her eight years on the job - no probably more like three thousand times. Fell off your toilet? On the board. Hit in the head with a baseball? On the board. Car accident at nine miles an hour - not even enough to trigger your airbags? You too - on the board. That way you can't sue us every time you get a twinge in your neck and think you are on your way to being paralyzed.

She could see it in her mind's eye: first a hard cervical collar would have been put around her neck, then three or four of them would have knelt on one side of her and grabbed her clothes and body. 1, 2, 3 - and they all would have turned her as a unit. No doubt Jerry had been at her head, not trusting that job to any cop or engine crew. Someone else would have slid the board underneath her and then they would have rolled her back. The orange foam head blocks would have been velcroed down on the board to keep her head still, and all the straps would have been fastened. Then they would have picked her up and carried her out to the ambulance.

Her, Emma Hill, former Army Medic, Westwood Harbor's E.M.S. Employee of the month seventeen times, never taken a sick day, never been hurt on the job, never even been poked with an accidental needle, recipient of the 2009 National E.M.S. Award of Excellence where she got to shake President Obama's hand, had been knocked off a roof and almost killed in the line of duty, all because she hadn't brought up a long spine board to a call when she should have.

Half her mind was ashamed, and the other half kept clamoring about something important. She closed her eyes and laid her head back so Jerry wouldn't talk for a couple of seconds and give her time to think.

What was important about this?

The VISION!

If I had not almost died, I would not have had my vision. This IS important. I can't let my shame cloud this. I was meant to fall off that roof. I was meant to see those things. I know what it means. It means ...

But here, her mind betrayed her and turned inward on itself so she heard no more of that thought.

Jerry must have thought she was asleep, because she felt him slowly pull his hand from hers and heard him try to tiptoe away from the bed. She let him go. She wanted to catch the rest of that thought. She wanted to replay the vision in her mind again. She wanted to dream about what it meant and how her life would be different (so much better) when she met that man.

Again, her mind started tugging at her. She felt sluggish, like her brain was filled with sand, and she supposed that was an after-effect of falling four stories and landing on your head. Her brain wouldn't stop, though. Something danced just out of her reach. The harder she tried the less of it she could grasp.

Damn it!

She slammed her fist into her thigh. Wait, her hand was still exactly where Jerry had left it. She had told it to slam into her thigh. She slowly curled her fingers into a fist. There, see, she could move; she just had to move slowly and deliberately. But she would heal, she knew she would. Hopefully quickly. She wasn't going to meet the man from her vision in this hospital.

Wait, what if he is in this hospital? What if he's one of my doctors or nurses and I haven't even noticed him? What if I'm so busy dreaming about the vision I fail to live it?

On some level, Emma knew this was silly. The future was the future, and if her vision foretold the future, which she was sure it did, then she was on her way to the future right now, and everything she was doing was right and taking her to that future.

But on another level - the level in which Emma usually operated - she was certain that she was already on the wrong path. She should be up and rehabilitating, or examining everyone who came into the room, or writing down every detail of the man in the vision so she would know him when she saw him. Something!

Emma felt herself slipping into sleep. Her fool body was betraying her again! There was work to be done, but she was going to sleep. Her brows knit together. Her lips clamped down on each other. She willed herself to stay awake, but she was exhausted. Her mind slipped into a troubled sleep where her dream-self chastised her over and over again for her weaknesses.

Craig Masterson watched Firehouse 18 from the small coffee shop across the street. If he were sitting at one of the tables on the sidewalk he would be able to hear the tones that signified that particular firehouse was receiving a call, but he didn't want to be seen by anyone in the firehouse.

Luckily, no one in this coffee shop knew him, so he just read his newspaper in a flimsy chair by the window. His disguise was light - just a baseball cap, sunglasses, and a fake mustache. His clothes were dark and loose. There was no hiding his large frame and larger muscles, but he did his best.

A family; Dad, Mom, and baby in stroller walked by the window. The baby smiled at him.

His eyes tracked the family until they were out of sight. His brain tried to take him on a short guilt trip but he didn't go. He
knew
he'd quit this dirty business in a second if he ever got a second chance at that kind of happiness, so he didn't need to go there right now.

He forced his eyes back to the firehouse. If that engine didn't get a call soon he would have to abandon this coffee shop and wait somewhere else. He'd already been here for two hours.

As if he conjured a call with his mind, the large, white, bay, door finally started rolling up. He held his breath, hoping the captain didn't just order the engine to be washed or something.

Nope, behind the big truck he saw half the crew scrambling into their gear, but the driver was already in his seat and had the engine on with the lights flashing.

Good. Finally.

The engine pulled out onto the street and turned right, lights flashing and siren wailing. Craig waited until he could no longer hear the siren. He left his newspaper on the table and walked outside. He walked around the block before crossing the street towards the firehouse.

The doors were locked and the big door closed, but he had the passwords for the small door that let into the bay and the door to the kitchen. As far as he could tell, they did not monitor when this door was accessed, and there was no video monitoring anywhere on the premises. Of course not. Who would break into a firehouse?

Who, besides him? As soon as he was in he headed straight up to the Chief's office. The Chief should have his offices downtown, but he had a soft spot for this firehouse. It was his old stomping grounds; where he worked his way up (
extorted his way up was probably more like it
) from firefighter to Captain before being promoted to Assistant Chief and then Chief. That worked out well for Craig. He would have had a much harder time breaking into the office if it were downtown.

The Chief was currently on vacation. His office was empty and probably locked. But Craig had a key. He had stolen it from the Chief himself the day before he went on vacation, pick pocketing the entire key ring right off his belt, and then throwing the keys he didn't need down a sewer grate.

The locksmith was scheduled to come tomorrow to change the locks, so this had to be done today.

Craig unlocked the door and eased his way into the room. He padded to the computer and sat down, checking his view of the street out the window. Good, he had a perfect view down the street in both directions.
Please let the call be a long one
, he internally chanted.

Craig turned on the computer. Of course a password was needed. He pulled a password-cracking CD out of his jacket pocket and inserted it in the drive, rebooting the computer. As it started back up, his fingers worked the magic his boss (and his oldest friend) had taught him last night. Voila! He was in within 30 seconds.

I owe Hawk a beer.

Now to access the network. He had several firefighter's usernames and passwords and his instructions were to just pick one. But he wouldn't. What if his intrusion was discovered somehow and that man or woman was fired? He could not stand to be responsible for someone losing their job who didn't deserve it. So he set himself to the much harder task of accessing the network with the Chief's own username and password. This could take a while. A drop of sweat trickled down the middle of his spine, chilling him. If Hawk found out he was doing this the hard way he would get an ass-chewing.

Hoping to avoid an ass-chewing, or worse, mission-failure, he checked his watch. Eighteen minutes since the engine had gone out. He got up and turned on the radio so he would hear if they gave an all-clear, returning-to-station signal.

Back in the chair, he tested the network. Was there a lock-down on the number of password attempts he could make before the Chief's account would be locked? There didn't seem to be. Out came the second CD in his pocket. The screen filled with numbers and letters. Every possible password lined the square.

His software was good, the best his employer could buy, and within six minutes he had the password. Still no word from Engine 18. Perfect.

Craig poked around in the files. He did not know everything he was looking for, and he didn't know what kind of cloaking techniques the Chief might use. He found a few files he wanted and transferred them right away to his zip drive. They would take four minutes to transfer. A folder marked
Business
caught his attention.
He double-clicked the folder, his eyes rapidly scanning the contents. Craig pumped his fist in the air and yelled "Jackpot!" He quickly copied the entire folder to his flash drive. six more minutes. Craig's feet drummed the rug. He badly wanted to get up and do a little victory dance, but he needed to check the rest of the files before Engine 18 headed back.

For the second time that day his thoughts seemed to summon reality. The radio crackled. "Engine 18, 10-98."

"Damn! Damn damn damn damn
damn
!" Craig swore a blue streak and frantically scanned the rest of the files and folders. Nothing else jumped out at him so he closed everything but what was being copied. His eyes watched the folders drifting across the screen. 4 minutes, 54 seconds.
Hurry!
He could only pray the Engine was farther than five minutes away. If he got caught up here he would never get another chance and the entire mission would be jeopardized. Not just his part in it, but all of it. That could not happen. This was too important.

Craig jumped up and paced the rug. His nervous energy ate holes in his normally calm exterior. He triangled from the rug to the window to the computer again and again.

54 seconds. Thank you God.

The rumble of a diesel engine crept through the window pane. Damn! Craig ran to the window and peeked out. Engine 18 was pulling past to reverse in.

Back to the computer, he put one hand on the mouse and one hand on the flash drive. 9 seconds, 8 seconds ... Craig willed himself to take a deep breath. 1 second. The little hourglass just spun for what seemed like an eternity... then done! Two mouse clicks and a swift yank later Craig was sprinting to the hall. He locked the door from the inside and closed it. As quietly as possible he strode purposely down the hall and the steps, trying to decide if he should go out the kitchen door or pretend like he came by on his day off to get something.

I guess it depends on if anyone catches me or not.

He could hear the backup warning beeps in the engine bay. No one should be out of the vehicle yet. If he could just make it to the kitchen before anyone got off the truck he would be golden.

As he entered the kitchen door, the backup warning sound cut off. Sit down and act like he was supposed to be here or hoof it out the door? He decided to take his chances and run like a scared dog.

Out the door he went, softly pulling it shut behind him, then turning right and paralleling the building away from the bay. At the end of the building he stayed straight through the grass and to the sidewalk. He shoved his hands in his pockets and strolled away from the firehouse, feeling light.

A breeze picked up and something tickled his nose. His hand raised up to brush it away.

His fake mustache!

Craig raised his face to the sky and laughed, letting loose some nervous energy. An angel was looking out for him, keeping him on the move and not in the firehouse kitchen, trying to explain away a fake mustache that he forgot he had on.

At exactly 4:45 a.m., Emma walked into the ambulance bay for the first time since her accident, smelling gasoline and Lysol, and grinning from ear to ear, a piece of watermelon gum tucked inside her cheek. She loved her job, her co-workers, and her crazy city. She loved the druggies and the jumpers and even the
gomers
that should be calling a cab, not an ambulance. Emma didn't like the slang
gomer
very much, but even she had to admit sometimes the loose acronym for
get out of my emergency room
fit.

She had missed her job fiercely every second of her three-week rehabilitation. The last week had been the worst. She felt well enough to get back to work, but no one would let her. She didn't have a thing to do and frequently found herself wandering around the city on foot, looking for accidents or ill homeless people - anything! All of her friends had been working 12 or 24 hour shifts plus overtime, as usual, or sleeping off the effects of a crazy, coffee-fueled shift, so none of them had any time to do anything with her. Not even Jerry. She felt partly guilty that her absence created some of the need for so much overtime and partly pissed that her friends had been so busy without her.