Trial by Fire (2 page)

Howard shook his head and opened his mouth to reply, but three loud, high tones sounded over the updated intercom system, interrupting whatever he was about to say.

The captain had began sprinting for the bay and Howard had pulled his discarded T-shirt over his head by the time a pleasant, computerized female voice announced a house fire in one of Sugarland’s older, more exclusive subdivisions. A jolt of adrenaline recharged the exhaustion he’d worked so hard to achieve. When was the last call to a residence fire they’d received in Station Five’s sector? Months, at least.

He jogged from the weight room, hitting the door to the bay on Tanner’s heels. As always, he glanced at the statement embossed on the square glass window of the door in bold, black-and-white lettering: EVERYBODY GOES HOME. And, as always, the familiar chill zinged down his spine.

A potentially dangerous call—the ever-present ticking bomb. Sixteen years in the Sugarland Fire Department, in this building, and he’d never asked whether the words on the window affected the rest of the team the same way. He didn’t have to.

The other members of A-shift spilled into the bay behind him, silent and alert, well used to being jerked from a dead sleep. With quick movements, they bunked out in their gear, slipping the heavy, flame-resistant pants and coats on over jeans and warm-ups, stepping into boots. Last, they slapped on hard fire hats and climbed onto the vehicles.

As the fire apparatus operator, Zack’s job was to drive the quint, the city’s largest and best-equipped engine. This was a privilege afforded his rank, second only to a captain and lieutenant. He hauled himself into his seat, hitting the opener to raise the huge door of the bay. Tanner climbed into the front passenger’s seat, the place of the commanding officer, next to Knight. Tommy Skyler, the team’s youngest member, and Eve Marshall, Station Five’s only female firefighter, took places in the backseat.

Howard slid into the driver’s seat of the ambulance, Julian jumping in the front beside him. Zack pulled the quint out of the bay onto the deserted, moonlit street, activating the lights and siren. Eerie, the wail and the crimson light, pulsing in the darkness like a heartbeat. Howard suppressed a shiver and eased the ambulance out, following Zack.

Done. The whole team on the road in seconds, without one word. Fast and efficient, like a well-oiled machine. Nothing like those stupid television shows where everybody’s running around shouting and beating their breasts. Nope, when it’s showtime, dramatics have no place in the real world. Not in a firefighter’s world, anyway. It’s all about working together. Giving aid to those in need and keeping the team safe.

Everybody goes home.

As he followed the quint into the upscale neighborhood, saw the orange glow dancing in the night sky like an angry dragon, something occurred to him. His brows drew together in a troubled frown. He’d asked Sean for a promise.

A promise his old friend, a man at the end of his rope, had never made.

“Please hurry!”

Kat McKenna ended the call to 911, shoved the tiny flip cell phone into her back jeans pocket, and clapped a hand over her mouth in disbelief.
Jeez. Oh, jeez.

The Hargraves’ house on fire! While vacationing on a cruise with her own parents, no less. Oh, God, how in the hell had this
happened?
She’d checked both homes, brought in the mail and newspapers, and watered the plants for the past three days.

Her heart jackhammered against her ribs. Was this her fault? Had she left any appliances on? Bulbs burning? No, she was positive everything had been fine. Until now. And how long would it take the firemen to get here?

Too damned long. Through the large arched windows, she saw the flames already spreading through the living room and the upper floor, as well.
Both levels at the same time? How was that possible?
Bouncing from one foot to the other, she stood in the middle of the street, debating what to do.

Until she heard the scream. Distant, fading into the cool breeze.

She gasped, staring at the house. Strained to hear it again. The faint wail of sirens reached her ears, giving her goose bumps. Maybe that was the sound she’d heard. Probably.

Still, she ran. Across the street, up the long brick pavestone drive. Plunging into the artfully sculpted hedges near the front door, she found the water spigot, hose still attached from spraying the hanging baskets yesterday.
Joan’s petunias will be fried.
She shook her head. How frigging stupid to think of flowers.

Even more stupid to fight a fire with an effing garden hose, Katherine Frances.
But, dammit, the stubborn, take-charge side of her personality demanded she
do
something! Unfortunately, listening to the evil twin usually landed her ass in hot water.

She cranked the faucet to full blast and wrestled the hose out of the bushes, onto the porch. Momentary panic seized her. The house key? Her fingers dug into her front pocket, searching. There!

Tucking the hose under one arm, she flipped through the ring to the key the Hargraves had given her, plunged it into the lock with shaking hands, and turned. Testing the knob with her fingertips, she winced. Damn. Using the edge of her shirt, she grabbed and turned the knob, then threw the door wide. A rush of heat and smoke seared her face in greeting, stinging her eyes.

Blinking, she stepped into the wide marble foyer and took in the scene at a glance. She’d never seen a house fire up close and personal, didn’t know the first thing about the technicalities, but it seemed a fire shouldn’t start in the middle of the room. On the furniture.
What, like the sofa just spontaneously combusted?

Strange, but there wasn’t time to stand around analyzing the situation. Flames were crawling across the carpet from the center of the room outward, chewing a path of destruction. The sofas, draperies, and staircase were fully engulfed, fire licking toward the ceiling.

Kat squeezed the spray nozzle, pointing the stream at the carpet first, sweeping back and forth in hopes of saturating the material enough to stop the spread of flames along the floor. Not good enough. Thick smoke billowed around her, the fire consuming lamps, framed photos. Frantic, she turned the water toward the drapes. More smoke, and the inferno leapt, hissing and sizzling like a furious beast. Mocking her puny efforts.

“Shit!”

From outside, the shrill scream grew louder. Thank God! The heat was unbearable. Stifling. She coughed, glancing around to the open door, now hardly visible through the smoke. Flashing red lights approached, cutting into the murky pea soup. She could’ve wept with relief. Admitting defeat, she dropped the hose and stumbled outside onto the porch.

Precious air hit her scorched face, but when she tried to suck in a deep breath, a cruel, unseen fist twisted her lungs. She coughed again, clutching her chest. Her head spun. So did the big truck and ambulance pulling up the drive.

Men spilled from the vehicles like ants, a couple scurrying to grab and unroll a hose. Their images blurred through the tears welling in her eyes as she sputtered. Bodies ran toward the house. She wiped her face, took a step forward. Blackness threatened, curling the edges of her vision.

Two firefighters, maneuvering the large hose, rushed past and into the burning house. A hand grabbed her upper arm.

“Ma’am? Are you all right?”

The deep baritone voice sent a thrill to every nerve ending. A smooth shot of Jack Daniel’s after a long dry spell, warming her fingers and toes. Other places, too.
Good God, Katherine Frances, get real.
Raising her head, she found herself gazing at the broadest chest she’d ever seen, even allowing for the bulk of his coat.

“Ma’am?” He pressed close, worry evident in his tone.

Kat tilted her chin up.
Way
up. A giant of a man roughly the size of an aircraft carrier towered over her, saying something else. Shadowed under the wide brim of his hat, she noted the line of his strong, square jaw. Full, sensual lips. Dark eyes.

“I’m . . . fine,” she croaked. And promptly ruined the assertion by hacking up a lung. The black edges spiraled inward, dizziness winning out, the mountainous man disappearing.
Oh, no!

In spite of her best efforts, Kat did something she’d never done in her twenty-nine years.

She collapsed into a total stranger’s arms.

“Whoa!”

Howard lunged, catching the woman as her knees buckled. He scooped her up with little effort, cradling her soft body against his chest. Fear spiked, along with irritation. Jesus, when would people learn to leave the dangerous stuff to the professionals?

Her cheek lay against his coat as he carried her quickly to the back of the ambulance, her hair tickling his nose and chin. She wore the silky blond mass on top of her head in some little scrunchie doodad, the hair a fountain sprouting every which way, slapping his face with every step, making him want to sneeze. And nuzzle it, too.

He
loved
blond hair. And lush, curvy bodies like hers. No bony, starving skeletons allowed. A big guy like him required a woman you could get a firm grip on. A
real
woman. Plenty of cushion for the—

You’re such a pathetic loser, Six-Pack. Focus.

Very carefully, he lowered her to the ground on her back. Taking her wrist between his thumb and forefingers, he forced himself to concentrate on her pulse. Not on the hourglass flare of her hips in skintight low-rise jeans.

Shazaaam!

Or the killer breasts proudly swelling against the ribbed tank top.

Ka-pow!

Or the teensy little diamond belly button stud peeking from under the edge of her hitched-up shirt. He groaned low in his throat, his starved libido sending fervent signals of appreciation to his groin.

Kill me now.

God, this had been a long frigging shift. They hadn’t even exchanged a hello and he was already thinking with his sex-starved anatomy. The lady had been injured, for cryin’ out loud. His job was to provide aid, not ogle the poor girl while she died of smoke inhalation.

He retrieved an oxygen mask and stethoscope from the ambulance, knelt at her side again, and listened to her lungs. Not totally clear, but not bad.

Concluding that her vitals were much steadier than his own, he pressed the mask over her mouth and nose, anxiety forming a cold, hard knot in his gut. Why, he didn’t understand. As a trained paramedic, he’d done this hundreds of times and knew when a victim was in danger of going south. This one wasn’t.

But he watched her intently, studying for signs of revival. Long, tawny lashes rested against cheeks like porcelain, smudged with black here and there. Delicate matching eyebrows arched over her lids, accenting a high, smooth forehead. Guessing, he placed her age as several years younger than his own. Fresh and lovely even with a bit of soot on her face, but no kid by any stretch.

Tanner, who’d been scouting the perimeter of the house, keeping track of everyone’s position and the progress on subduing the blaze, jogged over.

“How is she?” the captain asked, pushing back his hat.

“She’ll be okay. Ought to come around any second.” He hoped. His jaw clenched.

“Any idea who she is?”

“Not a clue. Neighbor, Good Samaritan?” Bet your bippy he’d find out, though.

“Probably belongs to that car parked in the driveway across the street. Driver’s door is standing open,” Tanner observed.

Howard tore his gaze away from his blond goddess long enough to cast a sideways look at the little red Beamer. He’d never fit into that sardine can in a million years. Shaking off the weird thought, he looked up at Tanner.

“How’s things going inside the house?”

“Eve and Tommy are working up to the second floor. Downstairs fire is out, but the damage is heavy. The battalion chief and the engine companies from Stations Three and Four are on the way. We’re going to have to call in the arson division on this one, my friend.” Sean’s expression was grim.

The girl stirred, and he frowned, trying to divide his attention between her and Tanner. “Yeah? What’s up?”

“Nobody’s home, but the point of origin appears to be the center of the living room. The blaze trails up the stairs, nice and neat. We’ve got a fuckin’ torch job.”

“Aw, man. That sucks. Why—”

Whatever he’d been about to say was lost as one of the team staggered out the front door and down the front steps, ripping at the black face mask of his SCBA—self-contained breathing apparatus.
Tommy.
He didn’t have to see Skyler’s last name emblazoned on the back of his coat in reflective lettering to know. Tommy was tall, broad shouldered; Eve was shorter and thinner.

Sean spun around. “Skyler! What the hell?”

Tommy freed the mask, shrugged off his Air-Pak, tossed both aside, and sank to his knees in the grass. Doubling over, he began to retch.

Sean took off. Abandoning his position at the corner of the house, Julian did the same.

An ominous chill curled through Howard. Skyler, literally on the ground? Nothing got that kid down. Ever. Torn, Howard glanced at the woman to find her blinking up at him. Relief blossomed, coupled with a new urgency.

“Ma’am, are you all right?”

She hesitated. Nodded.

He flashed a big smile, giving her his best reassuring bedside manner. “Excellent! This is oxygen, and it’s gonna make you feel better real fast. Can you hold the mask for a minute, just like this?” He took one of her hands and guided it to her face. She nodded again, holding the mask in place. “Good girl. Don’t move, okay? I’ll be right back.”