Total pages in book: 46
Estimated words: 44188 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 221(@200wpm)___ 177(@250wpm)___ 147(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 44188 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 221(@200wpm)___ 177(@250wpm)___ 147(@300wpm)
I hang up and walk swiftly toward a brighter street, where I catch a cab. On the way, I call Blaze. I don’t know why—I just feel like he should know.
“Hey, Sparks,” he answers. He sounds tired.
“Hey. I just saw the arsonist in action and I called the cops. I’m totally safe—in a cab on the way home.”
Blaze is silent for a beat. I hope it’s not his temper winding up.
“Jesus, Sparks,” he finally exclaims. “Were you out looking for him?”
“Maybe.”
He growls, but all he says is, “Can’t get the cop out of you, can we?”
I might be imagining it, but I swear he sounds almost proud. It does something wild and fluttery to my pulse.
“Thanks for letting me know. And I’m glad you’re safe. Something tells me you took a few risks, though, am I right?”
“Nothing I’ll ‘fess up to,” I say with a note of finality to my voice. I may like his punishments over some things, but I don’t want him to ruin this moment. I did something I feel good about. Maybe saved a building, but more importantly, I hope I helped that kid.
He seems to understand. “Well, good work, Sparks. You’re something else, you know that?”
Again, the fluttery warmth spins around my chest. “So are you, Captain.” I don’t want to ask about the birthday party or his daughter, so I simply say, “Good night.”
“Night, baby.” His deep voice is warm and it sends ripples of warmth through my body as I end the call.
Blaze. He’s an addiction. The man I can’t get enough of.
But I have to be careful—there’s way too much I don’t know about him. Too much he’s not sharing.
I need to guard my heart if I don’t want to feel the same crushing disappointment I felt this morning every time he runs off to be a hero to someone else.
Chapter 12
Blaze
We’re the third company to arrive at an eight-alarm fire in Manhattan—some ritzy high-rise apartment with flames coming out the windows at the very top.
Lia parks Big Red at base behind the other two fire trucks and our crew pours out, each member doing his—and her—job.
The officer in command of the first crew briefs me. “Join staging on the eighteenth floor. The fire is on the top three floors and spreading. Ladder 54 is securing elevators and HVAC.”
I bark orders for my crew to enter the building with their self contained breathing apparatus and start running in the hoses with nozzles and adaptors up the stairs. The pathway to the stairwell has already been marked in yellow fire tape and my crew takes the eighteen flights of stairs like champs. Once we reach staging, we’re briefed on the situation. The fire has reached the twentieth floor and not all apartments have been checked for occupants.
Our company continues up the stairs to help get the fire under control, bringing our tools for forcible entry to get in the apartments. Black smoke thickens the hallway, heat seeping through our turnouts. Sprinklers are on, but they don’t seem to have enough pressure. Hopefully one of the companies on the ground is working that problem out. We work our way through the apartments, breaking in and checking for occupants.
A dog’s frantic bark pulls Lia toward the next apartment. She points toward it and I nod, helping her get the door open. The fire has consumed half the place, making it difficult to see. The dog runs toward us, but then stops, barking.
Lia squats down and pats her leg to call the dog, but it continues to bark, then run in a circle and bark again. Normally a dog would run out as fast at it can. Animals aren’t stupid. If the dog won’t leave, that means it’s staying for something. Or someone.
I head toward it and it runs toward the fire.
Shit. Who’s back there?
I push forward, Lia right behind me. The rest of our company follows in with the hose. I check under the bed—a common place for children to hide when there’s a fire. Nothing.
That’s when we see him. A kid no more than ten years old is slumped in a closet, his exit blocked by a caved in ceiling.
I start trying to haul the debris away to get to him, but Lia gets right down on the floor and army crawls underneath it, getting to the unconscious boy. She hooks an arm around his chest and drags him back the way she got in.
There’s no way I could’ve fit through that gap—no way any of the other company members could have.
In this moment, I’m damn proud of Lia. Of my crew for having a woman on the team who can do things the rest of us can’t.
My impulse is to help her up—to take the boy from her because I’m stronger, but I resist. Lia’s working hard to prove herself, and I’d be the biggest ass if I took this moment from her.