"Of all the reckless, unprofessional things you've done, this takes the cake." Ben paced his office, his voice growing louder with each word, his face redder. He was like an erupting volcano. Dylan had never seen him explode before. "Not only did you endanger your safety, but you set an unforgivably bad example for the recruits." Ben fumed silently for a moment, then threw a book on his desk and kicked the wastebasket.
Sitting on a chair, Dylan stared at the floor and didn't answer. He tried to ignore the pounding in his head and the throb in his shoulder—along with the ache in his heart.
Which made him glance at the clock.
"Am I keeping you from something?" Ben asked tightly. "A hot date who'll coddle you and tell you what a hero you are?"
Dylan shook his head. He was worried about Beth, who, he'd been told by Jake, had left the accident scene, and the academy, as soon as she learned he was all right. Dylan couldn't begin to fathom the terror she must have felt those few minutes he was trapped in the vehicle.
I lost people I loved…Yes, Tim died…I love you, Dylan, more than I thought I could love anyone again…
Ben rounded on Dylan. "I asked you a question, Lieutenant O'Roarke."
Woozy, Dylan leaned back in the chair and tried to stem the wave of dizziness. "No, I don't have a date. I'm just worried.”
A knock on the door interrupted him.
"Come in!" Ben barked.
Reed Macauley entered the battalion chief’s office, looking somber and intent. He reminded Dylan of a doctor with bad news. "You need to lower your voice, Ben. I could hear you down the hall."
"Good. I want everybody in the place to know he's getting his ass kicked."
Reed scowled and leaned back on his heels.
"And don't you dare take his side."
Raising an eyebrow, Reed said quietly, "I wasn't about to. I'm as angry at him as you are."
Ben faced Dylan again. "Beth Winters was right about you."
Bull's-eye. She was right. He was wrong. He knew it now. If he could only get to her to tell her. "Yes, she was."
Cordaro's brow furrowed, and he gave Dylan a sideways glance. "You won't get off that easily. I'll have your card for this."
"Rightfully so."
"May I make a suggestion?" Reed's voice was calm.
Ben took a deep breath, stuck his hands in his pockets and nodded.
"Report his breach of protocol to the brass. But before you do something irrevocable, require O'Roarke to meet with me for an undetermined duration to work on the problem he has with his hero complex."
"They won't go for that this time."
"Cite his honors. The chief isn't going to take drastic action against the lieutenant after all that publicity in New York a couple of months ago. Unless you force the issue."
Ben shook his head. "I don't know."
"At least wait for a report from me before you make any decisions."
Ben raked a hand through his hair. "I don't know, Reed," he said again.
Quietly, Reed crossed to Ben. "Maybe you're too involved to be objective. My guess is you're reacting out of the fear you felt for his safety. You obviously care about him like a son, Ben."
Exasperated, Ben let out a heavy breath. "You're probably right. Much to my dismay." He scowled at Dylan. "God help the woman who loves him."
Well, that did it. Drove the stake all the way into Dylan's heart. She had been right. He was a powder keg, emotionally unstable, a jerk, a real asshole.
"Dylan, come on. You're about to keel over."
He looked up. Reed stood by the chair, staring down at him. Apparently he'd closed his eyes. "Come on?"
"I'm driving you home."
"But I have to—"
"Damn it, O'Roarke, do as you're told and shut up!" Reed never lost his temper with anybody, as far as Dylan knew. Man, he was really in deep shit.
They left Ben without another word, retrieved Reed's leather coat and headed for the parking lot. The temperature had dropped considerably, and Dylan shivered despite his heavy jacket. Feeling the way he had when the ChemLabs explosion knocked him across the yard last summer, he swayed on his feet as Reed unlocked the Bronco's doors.
"You okay?" Reed asked.
"What do you think?"
Once inside, he lay back against the seat and closed his eyes again. All he could see was the fleeting glance he'd gotten of Beth's face when the firefighters around him had briefly parted. God, what had he done?
"I need directions to your house." Reed started the car.
"I want to go to Beth's."
Shifting sideways in the front seat, Reed shook his head. "Dylan, you can't do this to her repeatedly. You know how she feels about loss."
"I know. I've got to tell her, though, make her understand what I've finally learned."
For a long moment Reed studied him. Then, obviously convinced, he put the car in gear and drove to Beth's. They didn't talk. Dylan's bruised and battered body needed to garner its strength. He guessed he was in for a real battle.
"We're here."
Dylan must have dozed off. He opened his eyes to see they'd arrived at Beth's condo. Dark outside now, but he nonetheless could see her car was parked in its space. He glanced at the house. A light shone from the front bedroom window.
"She's probably looking at her fish."
"Her fish?"
"She has two big aquariums. She watches them when she's upset. I think they calm her. Make her feel secure."
"It's going to take more than fish to soothe her tonight.”
Dylan faced Reed. "I know. I'll do whatever I have to now."
"You love her, don't you?"
"Yes."
Reed surveyed the house. "Want me to come in? It might be rough."
"No. I need to be alone with her."
Reed reached into his pocket, ferreted out his wallet and extracted a card. He wrote on the back. "That's my business card, but I added my home phone number. I'm heading there now. Call me if you need me. I'll be in all night.”
Dylan nodded and reached for the door handle.
"Good luck."
"Thanks.” Again the bracing air smacked him in the face, making his head thrum. He felt shaky and nauseated, as if he'd swallowed smoke, but he wasn't sure his condition was the result of his injuries.
Approaching the door, he hesitated. Instead of ringing the bell—he was afraid she'd ignore it—he decided to use the key she'd given him. Just before he stepped inside, he turned to see Reed wave from the car and pull away.
The condo was eerily silent. The last few times he'd been here, they'd played oldies CDs and he'd even gotten her to dance with him. She'd come so far, and he'd ruined their progress. He clenched his fist, then winced at the pain. God, what was wrong with him?
In the hallway he removed his wet boots, then noticed the mud on his uniform and the torn sleeve of his jacket. He discarded the latter, wishing he'd cleaned up before coming over. Jake had patched his cuts and checked him out, but Dylan knew he must look like hell.
Slowly he ascended the stairs. His heart hammered in his chest. For the first time in his life, Dylan feared he wouldn't be able to get what he wanted. What he needed to live the rest of his life.
He could practically see Grandma Katie in front of him, her hair pulled into a bun. She was sixty-five and it was completely white then. He'd wanted to go to college, be the first O'Roarke to do so, but he'd doubted his chances of success. Wrapped in a gray sweater she'd knitted herself, sitting amidst her books, she'd said, If you think you can, you can. If you think you can't, you're right. That had been the week before she died, and he'd never seen her alive again.
He raised his eyes heavenward. If you're there, Grandma Katie, please say a prayer I can do this.
Dylan trudged up the stairs. Finally he reached the top, and then the bedroom doorway.
His throat closed up when he saw her. She sat unmoving on the floor in front of her open cedar chest, her beige coat lying crumpled on the rug beside her. He had to step around her boots, which had muddied the carpet. Her purse spilled out next to them. Even her uniform was wrinkled.
She didn't look at him until he knelt. He cupped her cheek with his palm. She closed her eyes and leaned into his hand. He glanced down. "These are your dolls."
She nodded.
"Show me."
Again she nodded.
He sank onto the carpet without taking his eyes off her. Her skin was chalky, and he could see the blue veins at her temples and under her eyes. Her mouth looked swollen, and he guessed she'd bitten her lips as she watched him at the accident.
When she reached down, he really looked at the dolls for the first time. About a dozen were set out in a half circle. She picked up one. It was a bride doll, similar to one of Mrs. Santori's. "Tim gave me this on our wedding day. It looks just like I did."
Dylan fingered the long auburn hair. "Yours used to be long?"
Once again she nodded.
Putting the precious object down, she pointed to several dolls positioned together. "He gave me a doll on every holiday." She peered at Dylan, her smile painful to see. "He loved holidays. Just like you do. He made such a fuss."
The lump in Dylan's throat grew.
She picked up another doll. He took it still watching her face. Then his eyes shifted down.
For a moment he didn't understand.
He held a baby doll. With deep brown eyes and a shock of brown hair. A baby doll. A baby…
Oh, no, please, God, don't let this be what I think it is. Please, please, please.
"Her name was Janey. I got pregnant before Tim and I were married. I had her just before my eighteenth birthday."
Dylan's fingers clenched on the doll.
"Tim was ecstatic to have two girls in his life. And I wanted a family, since I'd never grown up with one. We were really happy about her, despite the circumstances."
Dylan swallowed hard, blinked several times. He knew what was coming.
She picked up another doll. It was a tiny ice skater, with a festive Christmas scarf looped around its neck. She handed that one to him. "Read the note."
He took the skater in his other hand. The letters blurred, but he managed to read the bold scribble. The skates are for you, kiddo. The doll's for Mommy.
"Tell me," he uttered hoarsely.
Her face was a mask of agony. "Tim and I had skated on the lake for years. He bought Janey skates for Christmas when she was two and a half. But the weather had been warm that winter, and I was worried about the ice." She stared over his shoulder, as if reliving the incident. "He said I was being silly. We all bundled up Christmas morning. Tim brought his and Janey's skates down to the dock."
"Not yours?"
She shook her head. "I'd slipped the night before trying to replace a light on the Christmas tree, and my ankle was swollen." She stared at him. "Strong ankles are important in ice skating, you know."
"I know, honey."
"So I sat on the dock and watched them." Beth bit her lip.
"Tell me. All of it."
"She did pretty good. Tim held her hands, and I remember how her little knees wobbled. Her giggles rang out over the lake. No one else was out Christmas morning. It was a perfect setting."
That turned obscene. Dylan was numb.
"Then…then…I heard this huge crack. The sound was so loud, I wasn't sure what it was." She looked at Dylan with wide, tormented eyes. "All of a sudden they were in the water. They fell so fast, in seconds."
He set down the dolls and reached out to her grasp her hands. They were arctic cold.
"Tim surfaced, holding on to Janey. He said, he said…"
"What did he say, sweetheart?"
"I started out onto the ice, and he screamed at me to get back. To go get help."
"That was the right thing to do."
She shook her head. "I ran to a neighbor who called nine-one-one."
"What happened?"
"By the time I got back to the dock, they were gone."
Dylan's eyes filled. "Oh, sweetheart."
She lifted her chin. Her eyes were bleak but dry. "I jumped in after them."
"Oh, no, Beth, you didn't.” Her face was obscured by the moisture in his eyes.
"It didn't matter. I didn't want to live without them, anyway. So it didn't matter."
Dylan couldn't speak. Even at Grandma Katie's funeral, he hadn't felt this deep, wrenching sense of loss. Beth freed one hand from his and reached out to wipe a tear from his face. He just looked at her.
How had she ever survived?
Finally he asked, "What happened? Who saved you?"
Shrugging, she looked at the ceiling. "The Lakeville Fire Department arrived in minutes. Four guys. I knew a couple of them. They had a rope—one guy risked his life by easing out flat on the ice to pull me in." She smiled weakly. "He was just like you, heedless of his own safety."
"Beth, I—"
Abruptly she stopped his words with her fingertips. After a moment she continued talking. "They got me out. I was in intensive care for days. I didn't want to live." Her voice cracked. But still, no tears. Dylan imagined she'd cried them out over the past twenty years. "They wouldn't let me go—the firemen. They came every day to see me. Sent their wives, their friends, their ministers. They all pulled me back from death."
"That's why you work at the academy training firefighters, isn't it?"
"Yes. I love the fire department."
He smiled sadly. "So you left Lakeville?"
"I couldn't bear the reminders. The firefighter who rescued me—Johnny Waletsky—got me an ambulance position in Rockford. I wanted to help people, like the rescue workers helped me. I had lots of money to live—" again her voice cracked "—because I sold all that lake property I'd inherited from the Winters and Macks. I couldn't be near the lake anymore." She looked at him again. "I still have a lot of money, Dylan," she said irrelevantly.
He moved closer, and she let him tug her onto his lap. He nestled her face into his neck, and his other arm encircled her. "I'm so, so sorry."
She nodded, snuggling into him.
"I can understand why you don't want any more children. And why you hate Christmas."
"It's why I've kept my distance from everybody. But Connie, she's the same age as Janey would have been."
Mention of the recruit brought back the events of the afternoon. "Beth, about today."
Her body went totally limp, as if the weight of his foolishness was too much to handle.
"You've been right all along. I'm careless with my safety." His grip on her tightened, and he cringed as the significance of his outlook registered. Damn, he'd been so cavalier. So unknowing.
"You were right," he repeated. "I didn't recognize the preciousness of life."
She still said nothing.
"I'll change. It all fell into place this afternoon, anyway. But now, hearing this, I promise I'll be different.”
After a moment she drew back and faced him.
His hand went to her hair. Feeling his eyes fill again, he whispered, "Please, give me another chance. I'll be meeting with Reed. I'll work all this out. I won't take any more chances." He glanced over at the dolls. "Especially after knowing this."
Her eyes were deep green and mysterious.
"Please, Beth, I'll stay safe, just for you."
* * *
She studied Dylan as she brushed the hair from his forehead. A huge angry welt scored his left temple. Several scrapes marred that classic jaw. Exhaustion made half-moon smudges under his eyes. His uniform was torn and dirty.
It was too late, she thought with a touch of panic. Today, when she watched him climb into that station wagon, she realized it was too late. She’d experienced the loss of Tim and Janey all over again. But she'd known, as the vehicle teetered, that if Dylan survived, she wouldn't be able to leave him. Her heart had signed on for life, even though her mind hadn't caught up yet.
She loved Dylan O'Roarke as much as she'd loved Tim Winters.
He gazed at her with agonized blue eyes.
She cleared her throat "Yes."
His jaw dropped. "Yes? After what I did?"
"Yes."
Closing his eyes, he crushed her to him. "Oh, honey, I promise—"
She shook her head. "I know. You already said. Don't talk anymore. Please."
That didn't mean they wouldn't have this out she thought as she crawled off his lap, stood and took his hand. He'd change his ways. Older, wiser now than she was with Tim, she'd insist on it. But with everybody's help—hers, Reed's, the fire department's—Dylan would become less reckless, more careful.
He rose—wobbly—to his feet. Though the catharsis of telling him about Tim and Janey made her weak, she drew him to the bed, made him sit and slowly undressed him. She kissed each bruise on his chest, arms and legs. When he was naked, she shed her clothes, then pulled down the covers, pressed him into the mattress and settled in front of him, spoon fashion. He was exhausted from his physical ordeal, and she was drained from her emotional confession. She nestled against him and said only, "I love you, Dylan. Sleep."
"I love you, too, Lizzie." They were the last words she heard before she drifted off.
Hours later she awakened aroused. She thought she'd been dreaming, that he'd been touching and kissing her only in her unconscious, but it had been real. As soon as she opened her eyes, he mounted her and thrust inside her. "Lizzie, Lizzie."
She didn't speak, just allowed the sensations to overcome her.
After a shattering climax together, he let his full weight sink into her and said again, "I love you."
* * *
The next morning, the academy instructors gathered for a staff meeting after roll call while the recruits were taken on routine inspections by station house personnel. Ben wanted to wind up the last few weeks of the class and be sure that all the pieces were in place. Graduation was three weeks away.
From a PowerPoint presentation, he outlined what was left of their training. "Evolutions will begin the last week."
At the end of training, recruits went through evolutions—several days and nights of training where they simulated the actual firehouse routine at the academy.
"First we'll conduct a day of EMS calls, car fires and actual fires in the training building. Then we'll run them at night. Line firefighters will be here to help out, but it'll mean extra hours for us all. The recruits will be gone soon, and you can all have comp time then." When everyone agreed, Ben turned to Beth. "When are the state practicals?"
Dylan stole a glance at her. She was staring down at her clipboard and didn't look up.
"Beth?"
Reaching over, Dylan squeezed her arm. "Hey, Winters, you with us?"
Startled, she glanced at him, then surveyed the room. She blushed to see her colleagues staring at her. "Sorry. Did you want to know something, Ben?"
"When are the state practicals?"
She consulted her notes. Dylan noticed her hands trembled. "Next week. Thursday."
"We gonna have a one hundred percent passing rate?" Chuck Lorenzo, the captain in charge of training, asked.
Her smile was weak. "I hope so."
Dylan frowned. She'd had a rough few days, and the strain was showing in her concentration. Though they'd made breathless love last night, this morning she seemed subdued. She told him she was worried about his future in the RFD.
"The social activities?" Ben asked Lorenzo.
"The recruits have the after-graduation party in place. And of course, there's karaoke Friday night.”
Ben groaned. "I'm not singing."
"Well, I hope some instructors participate," Lorenzo said.
"Dylan," Ben asked, "how about the Christmas activities?"
"I called a meeting today to discuss recruit participation. With luck they'll be probies by the time the Immaculate Conception party takes place. I'm going to suggest they go ring the Salvation Army bells next week with us, and I put us in for a stint at the VOA."
He could feel Beth's eyes on him.
"The Volunteers of America? What have you gotten us into this time, O'Roarke?" Eric Scanlon asked good-naturedly. Dylan wondered if the captain would be this congenial when he found out about him and Beth.
"I've signed us up for a Christmas food and toy distribution downtown. Churches, places of business, all kinds of organizations send ten to fifteen volunteers to give out baskets to the needy."
"Sounds like it'll instill a real sense of community in the recruits," Ben commented. "All right, I guess that wraps things up. Let's hang on a few more weeks and then we can take a breather. You've all done a great job, and I'd like to see it end without any further escapades." He pinned Dylan with a glare.
Dylan cringed.
Beth frowned.
As the group filed out, Dylan waited for Beth to rise, but she remained seated. When everyone else was gone, she said, "I'd like to talk to you Ben, if you have time."
"I thought you might." He cocked his head at Dylan. "You want O'Roarke to stay?"
Beth nodded. Ben crossed the room and closed the door, then seated himself behind his desk. He glanced from Dylan to Beth as if expecting animosity to flare between them. "Go ahead."
"What are you going to do about yesterday?" Her voice was soft and neutral.
"I haven't decided yet. You'll want me to pull his card."
Beth shook her head. "On the contrary. O'Roarke's the best paramedic in the department. I'd hate to see his career go up in flames because of a mistake in judgment."
Ben knocked the side of his head with the heel of his hand. "I must have heard you wrong."
She gave another weak smile, then rose and moved behind Dylan's chair. He held his breath as she placed her hand on his shoulder. Never in his life had he felt more supported. He reached up and laid a hand over hers, touching her openly for the first time at the academy.
"I was wrong about Dylan," Beth continued. "Not you. Your instincts and Reed's were on target.”
The battalion chief stared at her hand on Dylan's shoulder. "I'm confused."
"I'm retracting my objections to his influence on the recruits. What's more, I'm asking you to consider implementing Reed's suggestions and to give him another chance."
"Why?"
Dylan kept his mouth shut. The ball was in her court He was dying to see how she'd play it.
"He's learned a lesson about the importance of safety." She raised her chin. "We've been a good influence on each other. I think he sees why he does this kind of thing and that he needs help in figuring out how to control his behavior. I believe with all my heart he's going to change."
"Well, that's a testimonial I can't ignore." Ben's eyes narrowed on their hands. "Anything else I should know about?"
Beth swallowed hard. "Yes. Dylan and I…" She squeezed his shoulder. "I'm in love with him."
The battalion chief’s eyebrows arched in shock. "You two? I can't believe it.”
They both nodded.
Ben watched them for long moments. "I see. And does this change in Dylan's attitude have anything to do with your feelings for him?"
"Absolutely."
"Fine. I'll consider your recommendation. Though I have to say that you're obviously no longer objective about this."
"No," she said sweetly. "But I'm right."
Dylan stood and drew her to his side. After a moment Ben rose, too. "Don't you have anything to say for yourself, O'Roarke?"
"Nah. She said it all." He grinned cockily, then grabbed Beth by the hand and walked out of the office.
* * *
Standing in the doorway of the classroom, Beth took in a deep breath. She'd made one big revelation today, and now she was about to make another. The thought of O'Roarke's stunned expression in the battalion chief’s office made her smile and gave her the courage to go into the room where the recruits were signing up for the Christmas activities. Unobserved, she watched the show.
O'Roarke lounged on the front desk, casual as always. She winced at the sight of the bruise on his temple, but the rest of him looked remarkably better today. His uniform shirt pulled tightly across his chest, and a rebellious lock of hair fell over his forehead.
"So, here's a schedule for our end-of-year activities," he told them. "First we'll be ringing the Salvation Army bells the week before Christmas—you have a choice for which date to participate there. The Volunteers of America food and toy distribution is the Saturday before graduation. I know it's a busy time of year—you have families. You can bring them along, if you want. But doing both these activities together is important."
"Kind of a bonding thing," Tully commented. He was feeling pretty cocky, now that he'd passed everything but practicals and evolutions. He was going to make a good firefighter.
"Right."
"Bonding's happening Friday night at our karaoke party, too," Sandy Frank said. "Don't forget that, Lieutenant O'Roarke."
Dylan's blue eyes flamed with the challenge. "I tell you what, Frank. You get everybody here to commit to the VOA, and I'll sing at karaoke."
"Can't it be the other way around?" Austyn Myers joked. "We've heard you sing, Lieutenant.”
Sandy picked up the gauntlet. "No, he has to perform if we get everybody to do the other stuff."
"Even Ms. Winters," Cleary said. She, too, had gotten spunky once she'd reached her peak fitness level. "She has to ring the bells and go to the VOA, too."
Wanikya spoke. "Hey, I'll even sing if Ms. Winters agrees to the Christmas stuff."
Good time to make her presence known, Beth thought, and strode down the aisle. Heads turned towards her, and the room fell silent. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Cleary wink at Frank. Hmm.
When she reached the front, she gave Dylan her sternest look. The mischief in his eyes made the corners of her mouth turn up. She scanned the room, saw the poster sign-up tacked on the wall, took the marker out of Dylan's hand and crossed the room. With thespian flourish, she signed up for the VOA and the bells. Since she'd planned to do this, anyway, she might as well get her money's worth.
Turning to the class, she said, "Polish those vocal cords, Wanikya," and headed toward the door.
A burst of laughter followed her out of the room. Just as she crossed the threshold, she heard Dylan say, "Well, now that's out of the way, I'd like to discuss something serious with you. Let's talk turkey about how recklessly you all saw me act yesterday. And why I was wrong."
At the exit Beth stopped. Oh, God, she thought this might just work.
* * *
"Are you ready for night evolutions?" Chuck Lorenzo asked Ace Durwin, who stood rigidly at attention.
"Yes, sir."
"Which truck position are you on?"
"I'm the officer, sir."
"Good." Lorenzo leaned closer. "At least you can keep the others from panicking." He turned to the rest of the recruits. "All right, ladies and gentlemen, this is your last drill. But if I see anyone treating it like practice only, you're out on your ass—even if there is only one week left." His eyes scanned the arena. "This is a firehouse. You are on the night shift. Your individual radios are the public address system. You will train, you will cook dinner, you will watch TV and relax. When a call comes in for your group, you will go. With a mouth full of spaghetti, if you're taking a leak—you will go. Got it?"
"Yes, sir," the recruits said in unison.
"Good luck." Lorenzo saluted them.
Swiftly the recruits disbanded. They removed their ties and hats and headed to their equipment. They checked that their gear was in working order, as a new shift at the firehouse would do. When they finished with the rigs, the alarm sounded.
Ace had fought fires as a volunteer, but still, the adrenaline pumped through his veins like water pulsing through a hose.
"Car fire at 1190 Scottsdale Road. Engine Four, go in service."
Ace Durwin was on Four.
He dragged his stuff from his locker, jumped into his bunker pants and boots, hauled on his turnout coat, grabbed his helmet and jumped on the rig.
Directed to take the truck on a few turns around the parking lot to simulate the approximate length of a run—the accident was in the back parking lot—Brady Abbott drove fast and in two minutes they were at the scene.
Eric Scanlon and Herb Hanley observed. Both were tough, but fair. They stood back as the recruits dismounted. Sandy Frank made the hydrant and got the water going, but fumbled with it. Austyn Myers donned his air mask and dragged the hose off the bed, with Abbott behind him. "Come on guys, faster. The car's burning," Durwin shouted as he put his headgear in place.
It always amazed Durwin how fast fire succumbed to its natural enemy, water. The engine blaze was out in minutes. Abbott continued to drench the vehicle.
Good, good, Durwin thought. We'll get points for that. Even though we were slow with the water and hose.
After the fire was extinguished Scanlon, pretending to be a police officer on the scene, questioned Abbott and Myers as they dumped the last of the water on the Red Devil.
Durwin lifted his air mask. One down. He hoped the other evolutions went as well.
* * *
"Traffic accident at 1190 Scottsdale Road. Ladder Six go in service."
Connie Cleary bounded out of the kitchen, where she'd been setting the table. She flew to the lockers with her three housemates and donned her gear in record time. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Battalion Chief Cordaro with a stopwatch, and said a silent thank-you to Ms. Winters for helping her get in shape. They were in the rig, circling the parking lot and at the scene—which was the front area of the academy—in minutes.
The truck skidded to a halt. Harriet the dummy, lay half under Ms. Winters' car. The instructor took the role of the driver of the other vehicle. Cleary approached her.
"I don't know how it happened," Ms. Winters began, throwing up her hands. "He's hurt. I think he's hurt. Help him."
"Please step back, ma'am," Cleary said. "We need the space."
John Wanikya pulled the Basic Life Support bag from the compartment where it was housed, while Hoyt Barnette and Trevor Tully got the stretcher and set up the oxygen. Wanikya knelt in front of the patient. He began the assessment calmly, though Cleary had come to realize he wasn't the iron man everyone had thought.
"He's hurt," Ms. Winters repeated, crossing to the victim and getting in the way. Barnette intercepted her and dragged her aside.
Wanikya looked up. "We need the oxygen now, Tully."
The perfectly set-up mask was handed off, and Tully popped the tank.
O'Roarke came up to Cleary. "Are you the driver of the fire truck, ma'am?"
Surprised, she turned. "Um, yeah."
"That's my car there, behind it. I need to get out. I have a very important meeting. Could you move the truck?"
Cleary hesitated, then saw Battalion Chief A. J. Rooney snickering. At that moment she remembered him warning the recruits, in one of their frequent informal sessions, about the incredible gall of lay people at accident scenes. Her eyes narrowed on O'Roarke. "In your dreams, pal," she said under her breath.
"Excuse me?"
"I mean, no, sir. This is an accident and you're interfering. Please vacate the area." She stared over O'Roarke's shoulder. "The police are arriving now, so I suggest you cooperate."
O'Roarke's eyes twinkled. Good girl.
She turned to see Wanikya stabilize the victim’s head and neck, then Barnette and Tully strapped her in. Equipment was being cleaned up. She glanced at her watch. Only ten minutes had passed. It felt like ten hours.
* * *
In the academy kitchen, preparing the night meal as they would do at a firehouse, Trevor Tully noticed right away that Lieutenant O'Roarke and Firefighter Templeton, one of the line smoke eaters sent to help with evolutions, were missing. Knowing that meant they were out starting a fire that the recruits would have to put out, he sighed resignedly as the kitchen crew announced to the rest of the group that chow was on. Even before the radio blared, he knew he wasn't going to get the hot meal they'd spent hours preparing. The instructors had intentionally staged a call when they were about to sit down to supper. Oh, well, a dinner time run was bound to happen at the firehouse. Might as well get used to it in training.
"Three-story blaze on Scottsdale Road. Engine Four, groups one and two, and Ladder Six, groups one and two, go into service."
"This is it, people," Battalion Chief Cordaro said. "Your big chance."
Trevor's heart raced. Though they'd been to area smokehouses and fought smaller blazes, a night fire in the tower was the culmination of their training. Performance on these evolutions was crucial. Thrilled to be on the tip of the hose, he donned his gear, raced to the truck and inhaled the cold night air.
"Ready for this, Tully?" Wanikya shouted as they roared to the scene.
Unable to resist, Trevor reached up and blasted the siren, then the loud horn. "Yeah, I am."
* * *
As they reached the fire ground and Hoyt Barnette took in the scene from his rig, his mouth went dry. Generators illuminated Battalion Chief Cordaro, who directed Incident Command. Winters and Lorenzo were with him, bathed in the flashing lights of the trucks. So O'Roarke, Rooney, Scanlon and Giancarlo, who would have started the fires, were inside.
Barnette knew he was about to go into a burning building. He'd done it on day maneuvers at the Hamilton smokehouse where they routinely trained, but this felt different. O'Roarke and the others would be watching him in particular because of his failure in earlier drills. And because he sensed they knew he was afraid. Please, God, let me do this right, or I'll never be a firefighter.
Would that be so bad? the little voice inside him asked for the hundredth time.
Quelling his doubt, he donned his Nomex hood, secured the face mask in place, put on his helmet and started his air flow. Tully squeezed his arm as they entered the pitch blackness together. No thermal cameras would be used for this. They humped the hose up the steps to the top floor.
There it was, the seat of the fire. Barnette began to sweat, and his vision was blurred. His arms felt too weak to hold the charged line.
Tully turned when he dropped it, but Barnette didn't stick around long enough to see the condemnation in his eyes.
* * *
Because he'd ventilated by opening a window, as Tully doused the seat of the fire, Dylan witnessed Barnette leaving his partner.
"Shit!" He handed the clipboard he held to Scanlon, raced toward the stairs and flew to the ground level, where Giancarlo sought a place to start another fire.
"Where'd he go?" O'Roarke asked.
"Who?"
"Barnette. He choked and came down."
"Never made it. I been here the whole time."
Dylan felt a stab of anxiety. He must have gotten disoriented and gone to the second floor. "I'm going up."
He turned and ran smack into Tully.
Tully said, "I'm going with you."
Dylan nodded. They were halfway there when smoke billowed above them. He realized that Rooney was starting another fire in a second-floor bathroom. Barnette was wandering around up there. Tully's air pack beeped. Low oxygen. If Tully's was low, so was Barnette's. The recruits were almost out of air. "Go back," he said to Tully, as his face mask vibrated, then beeped, too.
Tully shook his head. "I gotta help."
Dylan knew the feeling.
A brother was in trouble. The firefighters had low air. Six months ago Dylan would have raced headlong to the second floor, heedless of his safety. But the boy before him would remember that recklessness the rest of his life. And perhaps risk his safety because of it. Then Dylan saw Beth's face, as she told him about her husband and child. He had made a promise. Tim Winters's death, and his baby daughter's, would not go unheeded.
Praying Barnette would be all right, Dylan said simply, "We're going for new bottles."
He took Tully's arm, turned and nudged the kid down the steps. To safety, which was, he'd learned, very important.
When they got to the bottom of the stairs, Giancarlo was just dragging a dazed Barnette out the front door. Thank God.