The Fireman Who Loved Me (14 page)

Tricky editing hid the fact that Ella wasn’t actually on the aerial. Only one shot of the side of Melissa’s face gave it away, but it was so quick no one would notice it. The piece turned out well, in Melissa’s opinion. Until she caught a glimpse of Brody scowling at her from across the room.

She braced herself.

When they reached the end of the first segment, Brody instantly appeared at Melissa’s side. “What the hell were you thinking?”

“You said no Ella in the aerial. I followed your orders. She never went up. Sorry”—she brushed past him—“I have to get ready for the cooking segment.” She hurried toward the kitchen, where the intern was setting pans on the stove and Ella peered at the glass front of the oven to fix her hair. Brody stalked after her.

“Do you have any idea how dangerous that was?”

“Nothing happened, did it?” She fussed with the pans. There wasn’t really anything for her to do—things were on autopilot at this point—but Brody didn’t have to know that. “Besides, how’d you know it was me?”

“You were right there on the tape.”

Why did he have to be so freakishly observant?

“You were goddamn lucky.” He turned her by the shoulders to face him.

“No, I’m goddamn smart,” she shot back. “I’ve done much scarier things than that. But I don’t take stupid risks.”

“Two minutes,” yelled the stage manager.

“Do you mind?” Melissa glared at Brody, who still had her by the shoulders.

“We’re not through with this.”

Melissa shook him off and took her place by the monitor again. Her shoulder still tingled from where he’d touched her. Why did he always have to be so absolutely sure he was right? Okay, in this case, maybe he was. She shouldn’t have fudged it like that. But still, did he have to be so . . . fierce about it?

An odd smell brought her back to the present. They’d reached the middle of the deep-fried turkey segment, and something didn’t look right. Or smell right.

Smoke poured out of the rented deep fryer that sat on the stove. “Oh shit,” muttered Melissa. She’d known that deep fryer would be trouble. That’s why she’d made Ella practice the technique.

Ella blinked smoke out of her eyes and smiled brightly, gamely trying to act as though nothing were wrong. “In this case, we seem to be getting a smoked deep-fried turkey. Smoked turkey sandwiches are one of my favorite lunches . . . oh crap!”

A flame leaped into the air.

“Cut!” yelled the stage manager. Ten firefighters jumped to Ella’s side, milling around her in a clamor of voices. Melissa, hypnotized, watched the flame leap higher. What if the kitchen caught fire? What if they burned down the fire station?

A stream of liquid from a handheld fire extinguisher shot through the crowd and smothered the deep fryer in white foam. At the same moment, Ella, turning to run, stepped into the path of the chemical blast. The nasty white stuff drenched her chest. She let out a shriek. “Are you crazy?”

Captain Brody, holding the spent fire extinguisher, glowered at Ella and his crew. In a room filled with firefighters, only one had the presence of mind to grab a simple fire extinguisher.

Ella danced around, shaking white foam off her body. “What is this nasty shit? This is disgusting! Get it off me!
Melissa?
”

Melissa pushed her way through the crowd to reach her bedraggled anchorwoman. “Thank God you’re okay, Ella! You could have been burned . . . maybe even disfigured!” Ella gasped—Melissa had evoked her worst nightmare. Melissa gestured to the intern. “Take Ella to the bathroom. It’s time for an outfit change anyway. This dress wasn’t working with the apron.”

As the intern helped Ella out of the room, Melissa raised her voice over the din. “Let’s have a big hand for Ella Joy, everyone, what a trouper! We’ll take a break until further notice. But don’t go far. The show will go on.”

Melissa made her way toward Brody, who loomed over his crew while they cleaned up the mess. His grim expression made her wince. So far she’d disobeyed his orders and set his kitchen on fire. How much trouble was she in? “Thanks for saving the day. I’m really sorry. I don’t know how it happened. The deep fryer worked fine in rehearsal yesterday.”

“Goddamn TV news,” he growled in response. “I knew this was going to be trouble.”

“It was an accident.”

“I can’t risk any more accidents.” He spread his hand across her back and marched her into his office. “Melissa, I have to pull the plug on this thing.”

“
What?
You can’t do that. We’ve sold the commercials already.”

“The commercials aren’t my problem. My problem is how to keep this firehouse in one piece.”

“But . . .” She swallowed. Loudon would be furious if the special didn’t get shot. He might fire her. Her entire career would disappear in a puff of smoke from a deep fryer.

“Brody, I don’t blame you for being upset. We’ve made a mess of your station. But you’re overreacting. One little grease fire is no reason to cancel the whole special.”

“My guys were so bedazzled no one remembered to grab a fire extinguisher. I can’t have them incapacitated.” He headed toward his desk. “I’m going to call the PIO and explain.”

“It was a freak accident. They were caught off guard.”

“Firefighters aren’t supposed to get caught off guard by a fire.”

Melissa ran to block his path to his desk. “Brody, please. It wasn’t that bad. I mean, it was bad, but not bad enough to cancel the whole thing.”

“Maybe not, but what’s going to happen next? A freak blow dryer explosion?”

“That’s not fair. Nothing’s going to happen next.”

“You can’t guarantee that.”

“Nobody can! Isn’t that what fighting fires is all about?”

“Come again?” He planted his fists on his hips. At least he wasn’t making the phone call yet, the one that would end her career.

Melissa scrambled for words that would make sense to this scowling man. “Fires happen. That’s what you guys are for. What would life be like if fires never broke out?”

A hint of something, possibly confusion, crossed his face. “Go on.”

“You can’t play it safe your whole life. Isn’t it better to take chances and deal with the mess afterward?”

Gray-black eyes drilled into hers. Something leaped between them. “Take chances . . . Just what kind of chances are you talking about?”

“I . . . um . . .” All her words deserted her. The breath left her body. She felt behind her for the edge of the desk, just in case she collapsed under the intensity of his gaze.

“Chances like climbing a hundred feet up in the air?”

He let his arms drop and, his eyes never leaving hers, took a deliberate step in her direction. “Do you have any idea how dangerous that aerial is? Do you know how it felt when I saw you up there?”

Spellbound, she shook her head.

“It took ten years off my life. No training. No gear. Never, never do that to me again.” The heat in his gaze made her faint.

“I thought . . . you were mad because I went against your orders.”

“I am. But mostly the thought of you falling from that—” He broke off. “I can’t think about it.”

“I’m sorry, Brody,” she whispered. “I thought you were just being a jerk when you said no.”

“You think I’m just an ass, don’t you? What did you say before? Typical male arrogance.”

“No, I don’t. I mean, I used to, but I swear, Brody, I don’t think that anymore.” Suddenly all she wanted was to throw herself into his arms. He’d actually been worried about her. Her heart expanded like a happy balloon.

The sound of a blaring alarm punctured the moment.

Melissa snapped out of her Brody-induced trance. “The turkey’s on fire again? I thought they put it out—”

Brody held up a hand to silence her.

A clear female voice spoke over the intercom.

“Reported structure fire for Task Force 1, Task Force 2, Engine 5, Engine 7, and Battalion 1. Respond to the reported structure fire at 100 Jacinto Avenue. Incident number 502, Time of alarm 19:05. We’re receiving multiple calls and reports of possible victims trapped inside.”

“100 Jacinto. That’s City Hall,” said Melissa, but Brody was already on the run.

“We’re not done with this,” he snapped, then joined the other firemen racing for their gear.

Chapter Fourteen

A
ll of a sudden, no one cared about the cameras, the lights, or the TV special. Every man and woman in a uniform ran toward the apparatus bay, with Captain Brody leading the way. Melissa heard no yelling, no panic, just an intense surge of activity. Even Stan the dog knew to get out of the way.

“Let’s go!” Melissa yelled to Greg, who immediately dragged his camera off the tripod and shouldered it. To the intern, she said, “Go get Ella. As soon as she’s ready, bring her to City Hall. We’ll take the production truck, tell her to come in her car. We’ll go live as soon as we can.” She and Greg ran for the truck. Normally the cameraman drove, but she wanted him to shoot the entire event, so she took the wheel while he aimed his camera out the window. As she drove, she called into the station to explain the situation.

“We’re on it. Call when you’re on the scene,” said Blaine, the assistant news director. She knew what would happen back in the newsroom. The assignment editors would scramble to gather details on the fire. The chopper pilot would be paged. The studio crew would run to their posts. A backup anchor would throw on some powder. Ella would be the field reporter, and someone else, probably Jeff Jensen, would broadcast from the studio. Every nerve in Melissa’s body thrummed with adrenaline. She loved investigations, but breaking news stories were always such a rush—as long as no one was hurt.

As they drew closer to City Hall, she saw a glowing light on the horizon. My God, the fire must be huge.

“Jesus,” Greg muttered. When they rounded the last corner of Jacinto Avenue, they finally saw the full extent of the disaster. The graceful old mission-style building that had been San Gabriel’s City Hall for the last hundred years was engulfed in voracious, leaping flames. She heard their roar and felt their hot wind on her face. The smell of smoke made her throat prickle.

They pulled up a short distance from the fire engines and Greg immediately raised the mast on the production truck. Good thing there were no line-of-sight issues from City Hall. In the meantime, Melissa dashed out of the truck. The firefighters blasted heavy streams of water at the flames, and she saw the aerial ladder being moved into position. She headed for some bewildered bystanders—they looked like office workers—who stood transfixed by the incredible blaze.

“Hi, I’m Melissa McGuire from Channel Six. Were any of you inside City Hall when the fire started?” It turned out they all were. They’d been working late on a new budget plan when one of them smelled smoke.

“We think it was from a toaster oven. It has this old extension cord . . .”

“We were just making tuna melts. How could tuna melts do this?”

“A spark is a spark, moron. I told you not to mess with that thing.”

“Was anyone else in the building?” intervened Melissa, furiously taking notes.

“We don’t know. We called 911 and got the hell out.”

“So someone else might be inside?”

“Like we told that captain, maybe the cleaning crew. They come at night. I don’t remember seeing them though.”

“I saw them. No, maybe that was yesterday. Holy shit, look at that!”

They all turned. A giant fountain of sparks shot up into the night air. It looked like an exploding volcano, or a geyser of liquid sun. It lit up the entire area, including a man on top of the roof with a fire axe.

Somehow she knew instantly the man was Brody. With an air of complete mastery, calm and steady, he faced the fire. He seemed to be communicating with it, willing it toward its inevitable submission. He hacked at the roof, releasing a billow of smoke into the night air.

Enraptured, Melissa watched him until she remembered she had a job to do. She ran back to the truck. The mast was up, and Greg had shouldered his camera.

“We have to go live, now!” shouted Melissa. Blinking smoke from his teary eyes, he nodded. He gestured for her to stand in front of the flames, and tossed her a mic.

“Studio crew isn’t ready yet. Jeff Jensen went jogging.”

“Where’s Ella?”

Greg shrugged, and focused the camera on her. “It’s gotta be you. Let’s go.”

Melissa stood rooted to the ground. Ella would kill her if she went on the air first. But what choice did she have?

“I’ll do a quick intro, then go right to the flames. Show as little of me as possible.” Melissa switched on the mic. Greg nodded, and after listening to the studio countdown through his earpiece, gave her the we’re-live gesture.

“We’re here outside San Gabriel City Hall, where nearly twenty fire companies are battling a huge, fast-burning fire that has so far destroyed nearly half the building. Firefighters got the call at approximately seven o’clock tonight, when the fire was already well involved. I spoke to several City Hall employees who were inside when they first smelled smoke. So far no definitive cause of the fire has been determined . . .”

Melissa trailed off as shouts rose from the side entrance of City Hall. “We’re going to show you the scene here for a moment, as firefighters struggle to get a handle on this devastating blaze.” She motioned for Greg to keep shooting the fire, while she ran to the side entrance.

A woman covered with soot was crawling out the door on her hands and knees. Part of her blouse had been burned off. Two firefighters ran to help her, but she shook them off. She pointed back into the building. “
Mi hermano! Está adentro!
Inside. My brother. Please, please!” The firefighters looked at each other. Even though she couldn’t see who they were, Melissa could imagine what they were thinking. No one in their right mind would go inside that building at this point.

“
Por favor! Por favor!
” screamed the woman in a shaky, smoke-roughened voice.

An ominous crash made them all jump.

“Emergency Traffic! Emergency Traffic! We have a partial collapse on the Bravo side of the building.”

Melissa heard the urgent call on someone’s radio.

“Everyone out, now.” That must be the battalion chief.

“We’re pulling out, but we’ve got a man still inside, Firefighter Blake. Think he spotted someone.”

“Damn it!”

“I’ll go after him.” Melissa recognized Brody’s voice. She looked up at the roof in time to see Brody disappear inside the burning building.

“Stop him!” she screamed as the firefighters around her scattered. No one paid attention.

“No,” she shouted. “No!” She could barely hear her own voice over the roar of the fire and the blast of the water from the hoses. She looked around frantically. The battle against the flames went on as though nothing out of the ordinary had happened. Shouldn’t someone do something? Get Brody and Ryan out?

She saw Fred dash toward an ambulance and she ran to intercept him. Surely Fred would explain things to her. But he brushed her off as if she were a pesky mosquito.

“Fire department coming through! Get back! Out of the way!” He ran past her with a pile of blankets, a large first aid kit, and an oxygen tank. He stationed himself as close to the entrance as he could get and peered into the leaping flames. Melissa wrung her hands together. Fred was a trained paramedic as well as a firefighter. He would know what to do.

An ominous rumbling caught her ear.

“Melissa!” Greg called. She ran back toward the truck. He gestured at the east wing of the building, which seemed to be slowly warping from the white heat of the fire. No, not warping, she realized, as her brain caught up with her eyes. It was collapsing in on itself. The rumble grew louder, and she clapped her hands over her ears. A huge crash sent clouds of hot dust billowing toward them. Greg staggered, but kept the camera rolling. Melissa covered her head and squeezed her eyes shut until the assault of dust and debris had faded.

When she opened her eyes Greg tossed the mic to her, with the order to go live again. In the next moment she faced the camera again, giving the viewers a brief, poignant summary of what had just happened. She knew the east wing well; it was where San Gabriel’s wedding licenses were issued, where Ask the Mayor sessions were held. A part of San Gabriel’s history had collapsed. She recounted the details in a calm, informational tone, in a voice raw from smoke.

She said nothing about the other drama taking place. A reckless firefighter was trying to rescue a trapped man, and his obstinate captain had gone inside the building to pull him out. She’d seen it with her own eyes. She could report it right now, leaving out their names until loved ones could be notified. But at the back of her mind, she could still hear Brody’s words on that first date.
You stick microphones in people’s faces at their worst moments . . . you get that camera nice and close so you can catch every moment.
So she said nothing.

As soon as she’d finished her report and Greg gave her the off-the-air signal, she dropped the mic. “Where the hell is Ella?”

“I don’t know, but you’re doing great.”

“She’d better get here quick. I’m not going on again.”

“You might have to. Jeff’s still getting dressed.” But they were spared an argument by the screeching arrival of a BMW. Ella burst out and ran to meet them. She had changed into another outfit for the Thanksgiving special, a form-fitting burgundy velvet catsuit, completely inappropriate for the current situation. Melissa grabbed a Channel Six jacket from the truck and threw it to Ella while she relayed everything she knew about the fire.

She left out the fact that Ryan and Brody were inside that fiery deathtrap.

Greg handed Melissa a cell phone, and she had a quick conversation with Blaine. He wanted to go live again right away.

“All set?” Melissa asked Ella. The anchor nodded. She looked like a deer caught in the headlights, but Melissa knew she’d be fine. Despite her silliness, Ella was quick on her feet in a live situation.

As soon as Ella was ready to go live, Melissa ran to the side door. She found Fred there, hopping from foot to foot.

“You haven’t seen them?” He shook his head, too worried to remember that she shouldn’t be there. “We have to do something!”

“They’ll be okay,” he answered, as if trying to convince himself. His eyes, straining for any sign of movement, didn’t shift from the doorway. Beyond it, an incandescent inferno raged, an orgy of orange and red. An occasional rat-a-tat of sparks burst out at them like fireworks gone astray. Melissa had never been this close to a working fire before, and its sheer primal energy overwhelmed her. If only she could forget that Brody, Ryan, and a stranger were inside, she might simply stand in awe at its magnificent, mindless fury. But she couldn’t forget, and she stared at the doorway as if by willpower alone she could make them appear. From Fred’s tense posture beside her, she knew he felt the same. She felt a sudden deep kinship with him.

A sudden burst of flames made them both jump back. What looked like a ball of fire blew open the door. And then—there was no door. She squinted through the almost unbearable light at the empty space filled with flame and splintered wood.
No more door.
How could they get out? How would they know where to go? Despair sickened her. She bent toward the ground, thinking she was about to vomit. But instead, she forced herself to stand up again. They still had a chance. They had to. Black smoke poured out of the gaping hole where the door had been, and she had to squint to make anything out.
Please, please, please
, she found herself chanting.
Please, please
.

A dark shape finally stumbled out of the thick fiery cloud. At first she thought she’d imagined it. But she couldn’t have conjured up this strange shape, almost like a deformed monster. As it limped closer, the shape dissolved into identifiable forms. One man carried another over his shoulder, helped by a third man. They weren’t walking so much as falling, one step at a time, hoping their feet would hold them just a few more yards.

As they reached the edge of the building, they stopped. Fred yelled at them to keep coming. Melissa opened her mouth too, but she never knew if anything came out. All she heard was the rush of the hot wind and the roaring, mocking flames. Maybe the firemen heard, because their next step was stronger, and the next. Then they reached their limit. Lurching forward, they fell to the ground in a heap. Fred ran forward, with Melissa following. Fred reached first for the man on top of the heap. It must be the janitor, unconscious. Melissa could see patches of horribly charred flesh through his tattered work clothes.

Together, they lifted him and carried him to the edge of the grass where Fred had laid down some blankets. He yelled into his helmet mic, “Two firemen and one civilian injured, need an RA!” Melissa heard sirens getting closer, and then a rescue ambulance slammed to a stop next to them and paramedics poured out. She and Fred dashed back to the fallen firemen. Both were coughing as they struggled to get on their feet. Fred went to Ryan to help him up, and Melissa ran to Brody. He didn’t seem to be aware of who she was as he clutched at her. It took all her strength not to collapse under his weight, which seemed twice as heavy with the tank on his back. But she dug in her heels, and after a few moments he stood upright next to her. He tore off his helmet and face piece, hacking and gagging. She put her arms around his chest and made him lean his weight on her. When he resisted, she yelled at him.

“Lean on me! Damn it, Brody!” He stiffened—maybe he had just then realized who she was—but then relaxed against her. In this way, half stumbling, half lurching, they made their way to the treatment area that the paramedics had managed to set up in an astonishingly short time. Paramedics buzzed around Ryan, taking his blood pressure and administering an oxygen mask. Several more paramedics ran toward Brody and whisked him away from her. Melissa looked around for the unconscious janitor, but couldn’t find him. Maybe he’d already been taken to the hospital; she hoped so. She shivered at the memory of that charred flesh.

The next long period passed in a blur. At some point she spotted Ella interviewing a paramedic, and it occurred to her that she’d just participated in a major news story. Not reported—participated. But it didn’t feel like a news story to her. It felt personal, and she didn’t want it on the
Eleven O’Clock News
. What she wanted was to stay with Brody, to hover over him, hear his voice, look into his eyes, and know he was okay. But Greg needed her, Loudon kept calling, and the thousand demands of a breaking news emergency took over.