Creee…ak. Scratch. Scratch. Scratch.
SLAM!
Silvia’s eyes popped open.
Her left hand quickly found the cold metal grip of her .38. Always in the exact spot. Always positioned the same way. She’d practiced grabbing it and dry shooting hundreds of times.
Smack. Smack. Smack.
She flicked her gaze to the three corners of the room in her line of sight, all dimly lit. She couldn’t sleep in complete darkness anymore. She had to be able to make out her surroundings the moment she opened her eyes.
In the dark, shadows turned into monsters. A shirt drying on a hanger looked like a man hovering over her, ready to thrust the final jab, the strike that would finally end her life.
Dark silhouettes brought back visions of real monsters, so she’d rather be able to see everything around her.
Smack. Smack. Smack.
She focused on the bedroom door, always opened just a crack, enough that she would hear an approach. A door stop wedged beneath the bottom of the frame allowed just enough resistance to give her a couple seconds that could save her life. She wouldn’t be taken by surprise next time; she’d have a chance to react.
A long breathy SIGH snaked through the two-inch gap. A loud THUD followed the exhale, moving the door open a foot.
Silvia waited. She knew the familiar sounds. Knew what was coming next.
More creaking, this time beside her, as a buck-forty of solid muscle tromped across the cheap particle board subflooring of the single-wide trailer.
A cold nose touched her exposed neck. Hot breaths raced over her cheeks. His halitosis made her gag.
“Eww…” Silvia whined. “Harvey, you need to start brushing your teeth.”
She rolled over, pushing his heavy head away as much as possible, given his size. The large rottweiler wiggled backward, his hind end smacking the wall and bed in a perfect rhythm that shook the paper-thin walls.
“This isn’t your house anymore, remember?”
Woof!
“I know. I know. You don’t understand new home ownership—well, rental.” She’d been renting the trailer for two years, though, so it looked like she was his new owner. She reached for the cotton robe she’d tossed over the alarm clock’s bright red numbers.
Woof!
“Hold your horses, buddy! I’m getting up. Gimme a second, though. Some of us work for a living, you know.”
Woof! He offered a little hop as she stood, his front legs coming off the floor, but he didn’t jump on her. She’d had to correct that behavior since he weighed more than she did.
She’d debated whether to block the manhole-size doggie door. But it was deep beneath the trailer, accessible only through a small break in the underpinning at the rear of the house, which was surrounded by shrubs and trees.
Only she, Harvey, and his dead owner knew it was there. No one else in the community had taken the dog in after his owner passed. So, fur coat or not, she couldn’t very well allow him to sleep outside in the Alaska winter.
Silvia headed toward the kitchen, Harvey on her heels. As she scooped out Harvey’s breakfast, she focused on the framed magnetic picture of her mother and sister that she’d placed on the fridge. She rarely cried anymore, though. The pain would subside eventually. At least she hoped it would. After all, it’d been eight years since she’d seen them.
“My name is Silvia Markow,” she droned. “Birth date, August 28. I am twenty-six years old.” She recited the social security number she’d had to memorize, the new driver’s license number. City and state of birth.
Harvey dropped a mouthful of kibble on the yellowed linoleum floor, then chomped on individual bites, staring up at her as she recited the essential information.
She inhaled through her nose for a count of four, held her breath for seven counts, then slowly exhaled through her mouth with a whooshing sound. “I am safe. My mother is safe. My sister is safe.”
Crumbs of dog chow fell from Harvey’s thick jowls.
She stared down at him and smiled. “And I have a ginormous adopted baby who won’t let anything happen to me.”
Apparently satisfied she wasn’t giving him a command, Harvey smacked his lips and returned to the dish for more.
Silvia made her way back to the bedroom, grabbed a pair of joggers and a sweatshirt down from the shelf she’d installed over the small closet space. Next, she selected a sports bra from the cheap plastic drawers she’d bought at Walmart, then donned thick socks and tennies.
As thankful as she was for the rottweiler, she never would have officially adopted a dog. Her work schedule of being gone for twenty-four hours or more wasn’t conducive to taking care of someone other than herself. But technically, she hadn’t adopted Harvey; he’d adopted her. He’d come with the single-wide. And he seemed okay with the arrangement.
Unlike her hometown, where mobile homes sat on small concrete slabs adjacent one another, the mobile home she’d rented here sat on a dead-end street with other manufactured homes. Each one even had a small wooded lot. Her landlord—the daughter of Harvey’s past owner—lived in a double-wide next door. Technically, widowed Mindy Smith was Harvey’s new keeper, but evidently, the rottweiler hadn’t gotten that message.
Dressed, Silvia started music on her iPhone—she never used earbuds. She needed to hear what was going on around her at all times. She started warming up inside the handkerchief-sized living room, which held nothing but a small loveseat and a folding tray that doubled as an end table and place to eat. Even if she did have extra money to buy furniture—she didn’t—she needed enough room to exercise. It might be summer in Alaska, but it was still freaking freezing outside for this girl, who’d been born and raised in the Valley of the Sun.
The firehouse where she worked had a gym, but she liked—needed—to run. At five-three and a hundred-twenty-nine pounds soaking wet, her best chance of surviving any future attacks would be her ability to run like the wind.
Not that she couldn’t pump iron with the best of them. So that she hadn’t been laughed out of the firefighter academy, she’d trained hard. When she first moved to Alaska, she barely weighed a hundred and ten pounds, but she’d put on close to twenty pounds—all muscle—by eating and working out like a beast. Now, instead of her once-skinny frame, she had a CrossFit body. But she was also a realist. She could drag a firehose up a ladder and heave a two-hundred-fifty-pound male from a fiery blaze with her rescue straps. But she would never be able to fend off an adult male who wanted to hurt her. So she had to be fast on her feet.
A weapon on her side didn’t hurt either. After she finished warming up, she hooked a canister of bear spray to the waistband of her sweatpants and opened the front door. She wasn’t worried about bears or cougars—even though that was always a concern in Alaska—she carried the spray to ward off two-legged monsters.
Harvey followed her out the door and down the corrugated-steel steps, which she was sure had been solid black once upon a time. In this time, they were a mishmash of chipped black, rusty reddish-brown, and battleship gray. She jogged across the lawn and down the pebbled drive, reaching the narrow road. Five a.m. would be civil twilight in her hometown, but in Wasilla, the sun had been shining for at least an hour.
At the road, she hooked left, and Harvey darted past her. As she increased her pace, her breaths came out in oval-shaped crystalized puffs against the cool air.
“Morning, Mrs. Smith!” Silvia jogged backward while waving at her landlord, who was shooing off Harvey—their morning routine.
The seventy-something woman, dressed in a long thick robe and dingy fisherman boots, held her coffee cup up and away from her body, trying not to spill a drop. Her other hand clutched a thin newspaper, which worked about as well as a flyswatter on Harvey’s thick hide. Silvia was certain that the pup assumed this was a game the old woman liked to play.
“Morning, Silvia! Shoo! Shoo, you beast.” Misty continued backing away from Harvey while he pretended to bite the rolled-up newspaper. “I don’t know how you can run in the cold, young lady.” The woman’s words faded as Silvia moved swiftly along the side of the road.
Silvia would be concerned about a leash law if Harvey actually belonged to her. But other than a few shoos and down boys, none of her neighbors complained. They were probably just happy that she fed him, which cost a small fortune. Also, he functioned as security for the neighborhood.
In her previous life, Silvia hadn’t been friendly to anyone—let alone her neighbors. In fact, she hadn’t known one of her mother’s neighbors by name.
If she had, maybe someone would have heard her screams.
Since she’d moved to Alaska, she’d made it her mission to know everyone who lived near her. Oddly enough, she liked most of her neighbors, too. She even liked being sociable. Of course, she never got overly friendly. She moved quickly, running for exercise or to her next job, so that there was never time for in-depth conversations or probing questions. Her neighbors knew she was a firefighter, lived alone, and that she stayed busy twenty-four-seven. That was all anyone needed to know about her.
The next property she passed belonged to Mr. Jones, a retired mechanic who now fixed vehicles on his property. Already, he was half-buried beneath an open hood. He bobbed his shaved dark head from underneath the rust bucket and waved.
“Nice day for a run, Silvia!” He smacked his round stomach. “Run a few miles for me, will ya?”
She inhaled deeply and smiled, jogging in place for a couple seconds. “It is! And will do! Although, I’m not sure how my running will help you.”
He laughed and reached for a plastic canister he kept in his toolbox. Harvey darted to Mr. Jones for his morning pat and treat, then caught up with her before she reached Mrs. Miller’s place.
Mrs. Miller—a half-Native American, half-Russian woman with a shock of long white hair that she kept in a long braid—apparently thought it was a sin to throw anything away. Her yard was cluttered with lawn furniture and appliances that looked like they were in use, even though they’d probably been decommissioned long before Silvia’s mother had been born.
Silvia always took advantage of a concrete bench the woman had set out front. She bounded over it, pretending she was evading a predator. Harvey followed.
At the end of the dead-end road, Silvia stopped and stared out at the 23,000 square miles of pure wilderness that made up the Mat-Su Valley and the acres upon acres upon acres of newly sprouted green leaves that surrounded the city. In the last month, all the snow had melted in Wasilla. But the Talkeetna Mountains and the Alaska Range were still a flawless angelic white.
She breathed in the cool mountain air and smiled. She still missed the scorching sun and the sky that always looked as if it went on forever in the city of her birth, but the Land of the Midnight Sun had a different kind of beauty. The bright blue sky touching the white-capped range had such a contrast that it almost looked fake.
It wasn’t fake, though. The fact that she now lived in Alaska made her remember how tragically real her life was.
She inhaled and exhaled several times. “My name is Silvia Markow. I am safe. My mother is safe. My sister is safe.”
She turned, heading back to her tiny trailer. It was time to get ready for work.
Silvia locked her keys and purse inside her locker, forced the handle and latch to line up, which was a task in itself, then reattached the lock, spinning the knob. Although the firehouse was all-new construction with state-of-the-art technology, the city had recycled the furniture and accessories. Even the lockers looked as if they’d salvaged them from a high school that dated back to the nineteen-sixties.
The previous shift gathered up their personal effects and headed out after their twenty-four-hour tour, so she checked the pantry and fridge since it was her night to cook.
Silvia spied dishes in the sink as Malaspina ducked out of the kitchen. She turned and smacked him on the back of the head. “Hey, Spina! Those your dishes—again?”
John Malaspina, an Italian-looking guy who had about twenty years on her, looked over her head. “Sorry, Sil. I gotta get to an appointment! Can you help a brother out?”
“Brother, humph! Lately, I’m feeling more like a den mother.” She rolled her eyes but then shrugged. “Still doing the real estate bit, huh?”
“You know it! And I gotta big fish on the line.” His square jaw spread into a broad smile, making his brown eyes practically disappear under a heavy brow.
“When do you sleep?” Firefighters often worked side jobs, but John had been shirking some of his firehouse duties, and she’d been covering him. She was okay with that. Her primary concern was that he didn’t return to duty exhausted.
“I’ll sleep tonight. Do ya mind?”
“Go ahead, but clean up after yourself before shift ends next time. It’s my day to cook, so I’ll clean while prepping.”
“Thanks, Sil!” He headed off again, pulling on his sunglasses, even though he was still inside the building, then stopped and turned. “You speak with LT yet?”
Her brow furrowed. “Just got here. Why? What’s up?”
John’s cheeks lifted again. “Nothin’.”
“Wait. What happened?”
“Gotta go, Sil. Thanks for helping a brother out!”
Silvia watched John scurry down the hall, along with the rest of the shift, then made her way back into the kitchen to check on supplies. She hated cooking, but everyone had to take a turn.
A ruckus in the garage caught her attention. The sounds of hand smacks and hey yas commenced. John didn’t have the loudest voice in the station, but the person he said hello to did.
Only one man garnered that kind of attention. Damn probie acted as if he were governor of the house. Just because his family had been around since the buying of Alaska from Russia, it seemed. Most probies barely got the time of day, let alone a high-five from a veteran firefighter.
Silvia heard footsteps as the object of her disdain moved closer, so she ducked into the pantry. She wasn’t ready for another conversation with Daire. She’d never met anyone who talked as much as he did. If he weren’t telling some tale, he was complaining.
And smiling.
Even when he was complaining, he somehow had a smile on his face, which showed off his bright white teeth behind a suntanned face. Most Alaskans didn’t look as if they’d just left the beach, but Daire always did. He looked more like a California surfer than an Alaska firefighter. And she wasn’t interested in either type.
In the past seven years, she’d been asked out plenty. But she didn’t date firefighters or first responders—of any kind. But because her orbit included nothing but first responders, it meant she didn’t date—anyone.
The footsteps passed, so Silvia finished her inventorying of her team’s pantry shelves and moved to one of the four commercial-sized fridges lining the sidewall of the enormous kitchen. Her shift’s fridge was marked with a large A.
Satisfied that she had enough ingredients, she nudged the door closed and headed to the garage to check her rig.
Dressed in bunker pants and a white tank top, the loops of his suspenders dangling to his knees, shift officer Ivan the Terrible stood over a new volunteer recruit. “Dig deep, rookie! That chrome needs to shine when we wheel past the ladies!”
Ivan’s last name was too long to pronounce or remember, so everyone just called him Big Ivan—to his face. Because he was tall, not because he was overweight by any means. Behind his back, most of the team referred to him lovingly as Ivan the Terrible because he had a domineering presence and scared the hell out of new recruits.
Ivan winked because of his comment to his rookie, then jutted his head toward the hall of offices belonging to the brass. “LT’s looking for you, Sil.”
She lifted her chin in acknowledgment and headed to find the lieutenant.
Daire ran up beside her, causing her to jump. “Hey, Sil. Did you hear my news?”
Her lungs deflated. Two of her brothers had said that the lieutenant had news, and now Daire was asking if she’d heard his news.
This couldn’t be good.
Not that she cared about Daire’s news, but she looked up. At six-two, he was almost a head taller than she was. Then again, just about every adult was taller than her petite frame. “Nope. Just got here. What’s up?”
“Markow!” Lieutenant Jack Schilling’s voice preceded him from his office. He stepped through the doorway, looked at her, then Daire. “Oh, good. You already know. Lucky me.” He turned to go back into his office.
“Already know, sir?”
LT waved a hand at Daire. “Belgarde finished his EMT hours, so now he’s with you. You two will be on Ambulance One until further notice. Teach him everything you know, Sil.”
She stared up, and Daire was smiling again. “Howdy, partner.”
She resisted sighing. She could barely take Daire when he wasn’t riding in her rig shotgun, and now he’d be with her for twenty-four hours straight…until further notice? Great.
But all she responded with was “Yes, sir!” then turned and headed back to the garage.
Daire’s long legs made short work of catching up with her. “What do you want me to do first?”
She reached their assigned ambulance, pulled a clipboard off the wall, and shoved it into his hands. “Check your rig, of course. Make sure the LSV is fully stocked.”
Fellow paramedic Therese Allard “Frenchie” wagged her eyebrows and made kissy faces at Silvia from behind Daire. Although Therese was from Tampa Bay, she had a French heritage. And according to gossip that ranged from Anchorage to Falcon Run, Therese was rather fond of French kissing—male or female. Looked like Therese was also manning their other life-saving vehicle, Ambulance Two, today. Silvia ignored the bronze-haired woman and watched as Daire stepped toward their rig.
“A list,” Daire said, his dark brows lifting. “Of course, there always has to be a list, right? My brother Sam loves lists, too. We have a list for everything we do—” He stopped jabbering as she stared at him, arms crossed. “What? What did I say?”
Silvia gestured to the LSV, indicating that he should get started. “I don’t care what your brother does. I don’t care what you’ve done. Just listen and learn, probie.” She moved to the side compartments.
“I’ve been here a year,” Daire grumbled under his breath but then cocked his head and nodded. “That makes two of us; I don’t care what Sam does either.”
Silvia ignored the muttering and jab at his brother and waved to the ambulance again. “Check your fire gear first. Ensure that everything is charged up and ready to go and that the gauges match. Don’t forget to check your breathing apparatus and bi-pass valves.”
Daire moved to the correct compartment. “Of course. Because we’re still firefighters, right?”
Silvia watched his large hands make quick work of the gear, swiftly checking then stowing everything back in its spot. She observed him as he tested the thermal imaging monitor next.
He picked up the clipboard, marked his progress, then headed to the back of the truck, stepping inside. He examined the med bag, jotting down what medications and first aid needed restocking. It was the longest she’d ever seen him go without speaking. She couldn’t help but notice how good his face looked when he wasn’t frowning about something his big brother Sam had done to upset him.
After he finished, she led him to the EMT cabinet and unlocked it, filling the medical case with the replacements.
Daire fished into his pocket, pulled out his phone, then stared down and frowned.
“Hey!” Silvia waved a hand between his face and the phone. “Eyes on your work, probie.”
“Sorry. Sam’s been calling and texting me nonstop. The man drives me crazy.”
And there it was. She’d gotten so tired of his bitching about Sam that she tried to never be near Daire. Something that wasn’t possible anymore. Until further notice, anyway.
She clenched her jaw, then loosened it. They had work to do, and it wasn’t her business why he didn’t get along with his eldest brother. “Do you need to answer the call? Maybe it’s an emergency.”
“Nah. Sam’s last message just said he wants to talk. Normally, he just wants to know what I’m doing…if I’m working. If it were an emergency, he’d tell me, believe me.”
“So why didn’t you answer him earlier—on your off time?”
“’Cause he drives me crazy.”
She sighed without commenting. If Daire only knew how lucky he was. Once upon a time, her older sister had gotten on her nerves, too. She would do anything if she could take back all the mean things she’d said when she was too young to know better.
“Sorry.” He pocketed the phone. “What’s next?”
The alert system sounded. Blue lights, then red lights, strobed on the ceiling and walls, indicating a medical emergency and a need for the engine. A digital board scrolled the alert, notating an auto accident and address, followed by an audible: “Medic. Engine. Specialty Apparatus.” The station came alive. Firefighters, upstairs and outside, poured into the garage or down the pole, heading to their respective stations.
“That’s us!” Silvia waved to Daire to get going.
In front of her turn-out station, Silvia kicked off her shoes while pulling the balaclava over her head. She stepped into her bunker pants, then pulled the suspenders over her shoulders. As she tugged on her jacket, she fished her gloves out of the pockets. Lastly, she grabbed her helmet and headed back to the LSV.
Silvia hopped into the passenger seat, pulled on her headset, and logged into the tablet. She started to call for Daire, but he was already crawling into the driver’s seat.
She read out the address, then the call data. “Accident. Two vehicles. One car on its side. Three persons. Two adults. One child.”
Daire followed the engine out of the bay to the accident.
Only minutes away, local police were already on scene, redirecting traffic.
Silvia took a deep breath as she viewed the incident, praying that the child had been secured in a car seat. Seven years as a firefighter paramedic, she still couldn’t get used to seeing hurt children, especially when a parent was too lazy to use a car seat.
A low hum, almost a buzzing, droned in her head as she and Daire gathered equipment. She heard nothing audible as she watched Big Ivan work alongside his rookie—she couldn’t remember the kid’s name. Several of her partners stabilized the vehicle, then Big Ivan manned the Jaws of Life to start removing the top half of the vehicle. It was difficult to tell what type of vehicle it had been. A van or crossover, she suspected. Thankfully, even though the vehicle had been T-boned so hard that it flipped onto its side, the rear and passenger area looked intact.
Silvia spotted what had to be the other vehicle involved in the accident. A heavy-duty pickup truck. The large chrome bumper barely looked as if it had a scratch. The driver stood next to the vehicle, running his hands through his hair. No civilians stood near him, just an officer asking questions.
That meant the other two adults and child were inside the flipped vehicle that Big Ivan’s team was working on.
Silvia waited as two firefighters pulled out the front passenger first, then returned for the child. She exhaled softly when she saw no visible blood and that the child seemed alert.
One of the six firefighters helped the woman onto the first stretcher, then returned for the child.
Silvia turned to Daire as she wheeled the first stretcher to the back of the ambulance. “Daire, you tend to the child while I check out the female passenger.”
“Gotcha!”
Therese assisted Silvia with the first stretcher. The auburn-haired woman grinned as she pushed the woman into the rig. “Daire’s your new probie, huh? Bet that news made your day.”
Therese’s partner, Jim Johnson, took over the woman’s care.
Silvia resisted rolling her eyes. “If I didn’t know any better, I’d think you put LT up to this?”
“Moi?” Therese feigned innocence. “Why would I suggest that LT put Daire anywhere near you? Wouldn’t want to put your I-don’t-date-first-responders spiel to the test by teaming you up with the hottest first responder in Alaska. Well, I’ve heard he’s the hottest. He’s not my type, obviously.” As she’d done earlier, Therese wiggled her eyebrows up and down. “But he’s your type, right? If you’d come down off your high horse.”
Sylvia never could get used to firefighters jabbering while on a call. Still, she answered anyway, “I’m not on a high horse, Frenchie. I just think it’s a bad idea to eat where you—”
“Mommy!”
Silvia turned back to see the child loose and running toward the wreckage.
Daire took off, catching the boy a mere second before the toddler reached the upturned vehicle. “I gotcha, big boy! The nice firefighters are gonna help your mommy now, okay?”
The driver must be the mother. At least she was buckled in. But seeing your mother jacked in the air sideways had to be scaring her son.
Daire walked back with the boy in his arms. “Here. Let’s get you checked out, okay?”
Silvia glared at Daire.
What? he mouthed.
The boy sniffed, then screamed, “Mommy!” so Silvia held back the words she wanted to shout at Daire.
“Mommy’s okay.” Daire cooed. “My friends are helping her.”
The woman in the ambulance moved to get up, so Silvia hopped up and placed slight pressure on her arm. “Hang on. Don’t move. You might have internal injuries.”
“My nephew. My sister,” the woman cried. “Are they okay?”
“My team is seeing to them. You’re my responsibility, okay? Jim, help Frenchie with the driver, please.”
Jim Johnson hopped down, and Silvia checked the woman over. It didn’t look like she had anything other than bruising. With the magnitude of the accident, though, she’d feel better if the woman was seen for internal injuries. “Daire, secure the boy while I help them with the driver.”
They were still cutting off the roof of what Silvia could now tell was an old Caravan, so she walked with her med bag to the truck's driver.
“The woman ran the light,” the man told the officer. “There was nothing I could do.” When he saw Silvia approach, he turned to her. “I’m okay! Please. Just take care of the women and kid.”
“You sure?”
“Not a scratch on me. Is the kid okay?”
“Just shook up. I’d really like to—”
He waved her off. “I’m fine!”
Silvia looked at the officer, who shrugged. “He does seem fine.”
She quickly ran back to the Dodge Caravan. Six of her teammates gently pulled the woman onto a board while Therese wheeled another stretcher to the scene. “We got this one, Silvia. You and Daire take care of the woman and child. I’ll see you back at the house.”
Silvia nodded and returned to her rig, and looked inside. “You got things under control?” she demanded.
Daire tossed her a confused look but nodded.
Silvia picked up the radio. “Ambulance One to Mat-Su Regional for patient report.”
“Go ahead, Ambulance One,” responded a tired male voice.
“Ambulance One is currently en route with non-emergent patients involved in an auto accident. First patient is a twenty-something woman. Second patient is a toddler. No visible external wounds. Current vitals are as follows.”
Daire called out, “Heart rate 130. Blood pressure 129 over eighty. Patient denies any difficulty of breathing or chance of pregnancy.”
“ETA six minutes,” Silvia finished.
“We’ll see you in six, Ambulance One. Mat-Su Regional, clear.”
“Ambulance One, clear.”
As Silvia pulled away from the ER, Daire moved from the back of the rig to the passenger seat.
She stared at him.
Daire flashed his pearly whites as if he were proud of his actions. “Pretty good with kids, huh? I got a lot of older brothers, as you know, so now I have a lot of nephews running around.”
She sighed. “You had one job, probie, and you screwed up.”
His eyebrows slanted downward, causing his eyes to nearly disappear. “What are you talking about? I didn’t screw up.”
“I told you to make sure the kid was secure, and yet, somehow, he practically crawled back into the overturned vehicle.”
“No, he didn’t.”
She clenched the steering wheel, noticing her knuckles were several shades lighter than the surrounding skin color. Why was it that everything Daire did made her so angry? “You caught him not a second away.”
Daire blew out a breath. “Blame that on Brooks, not me. He set the boy down.”
She pointed a finger. “When I give you a task, I expect you to follow it. Not pass blame.”
Silvia raised a hand when he started to respond, then drove back to the house in silence.
Until further notice was going to be too long for her.