Total pages in book: 79
Estimated words: 75656 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 378(@200wpm)___ 303(@250wpm)___ 252(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 75656 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 378(@200wpm)___ 303(@250wpm)___ 252(@300wpm)
“I know,” I cut in gently. “This isn’t about having to. I promise you that.”
Her breath catches in her throat, and my fingers itch to reach for her, but I don’t. I don’t touch her.
“You don’t need to handle this alone.”
She looks like she’s about to argue, or maybe insist that she’s fine. Instead, she reaches out and brushes her fingers lightly against my forearm, right above the wrist.
It’s nothing. A thank you without words.
My body reacts like it’s everything.
She pulls back quickly, making me wonder if she feels the electricity, too. “Thank you,” she says tightly.
“Anytime. Especially when tater tots are on the menu.”
She smiles, and her eyes hold mine for a beat too long.
I take a step back before I do something stupid. “I’m going to head out.”
She nods, and I dip my head to say goodbye before I head back to the lunchroom.
T.J.’s class has left, but I stay until all the students are done, and then I help put up the tables. I line them carefully along the wall, focusing on the patterns of the woodgrain laminate, as if it’s going to tell me how to navigate things with Elena.
I came here to watch the exits, but my focus has turned toward watching her.
CHAPTER 11
CALDER
The station is so quiet I can hear the ice machine in the back hall make a noise that sounds like a cough. I’m checking supplies on Engine 2 when dispatch breaks the peace.
“Moon Ridge Fire, respond to a reported structure fire, possible entrapment, 214 County Road 9. Caller reports visible flames from the rear of residence. Possible victims inside.”
Every muscle in my body locks. Possible victims inside.
Instead of picturing the scene, something else breaks loose. A vehicle door hanging open in the darkness. Orange light moving fast across metal. Someone shouting for a man who doesn’t answer.
The smell comes next. Fuel, heat, rubber, scorched wiring. Something worse underneath it all. Not real, but close enough to make my body believe it is.
Weston’s moving. Buck comes out of the office, his paperwork abandoned. With the chief off duty and the station captain out, he’s in charge.
I know what comes next. Turnout gear. Engine response. Coordinates. Confirmation. I know the sequence as well as I know my own name. But my hands aren’t moving.
The bay seems to narrow, and the overhead lights have flattened into white bars. The engine’s red paint catches the lights and throws back reflections that look too much like flames.
“Cal.” It’s Weston, somewhere close. Not loud or alarmed.
I reach for my coat and miss the sleeve opening when I try to put it on. Possible victims inside.
The radio squawks again. “Additional caller advises fire has extended. One person may have attempted entry. Law enforcement en route.”
Attempted entry.
Another barrage of images: dark road. Headlights. A truck, one of theirs, the door open. Somebody going back. Gunfire sparking off metal.
Then the blast. Then flame.
“Calder.” It’s Buck this time.
I blink, and the bay comes back into focus. Weston’s in front of me, suspenders up, jacket half on. Buck’s a few feet away with his radio in hand.
Neither of them looks surprised, and that makes it worse.
As soon as I get one arm in the coat, my lungs forget how to work for one long, useless second.
Buck comes closer. “Look at me.” His voice is flat and unhurried. “Engine’s ours,” he says. “You’re not on nozzle. You ride in and run medical unless I tell you otherwise.”
“I’ve got attack,” Weston calls out as he moves past us.
Buck clips the radio to his coat. “I’ve got command till the next unit gets here.”
There’s no discussion, not even a questioning glance between them, as they make adjustments that would be invisible to anyone else.
I swallow once. “I’m fine.”
“Good,” Buck says. “Let’s move.”
I get the rest of my gear in place and climb into the engine. Weston drives, Buck takes the officer seat, and I sit behind them with the med bag between my boots.
The siren engages, and my molars lock together so hard my jaw starts to ache. I keep one hand wrapped around the grab bar as snowbanks, fence posts, and bare trees blur at the edges of my vision. The route should ground me, but instead I see sparks lifting in black air.
A bump in the road feels like rough terrain on another continent, another night, in another vehicle.
There’s a body on the ground that I don’t let myself look at for long, not even in memory.
I squeeze my eyes shut, but it’s still there.
I haven’t thought about that night for months. That’s the lie I tell myself, even though I think about it every day. I usually keep those pieces where they belong, but Tyler’s widow is here now, and her son looked at me with Tyler’s eyes.
Then someone started a fire in her house while she was asleep.