America's Bravest (36 page)

“What I told you that day. Worry.” She smiled
to distract him. “Look, let’s talk about something else. This topic
depresses me. Am I going to get to see the new baby and the other
girls tonight?”

“Yes, the nanny’s bringing them down. Let me
say, if you ever need a shoulder to cry on, Sophia”—here he touched
her arm—“know I’m available.”

Uh-oh,
she thought.
Is he
hitting on me?

oOo

Tony stood at the end of the patio watching
the guest of honor hitting on his wife. It stunned him so much, he
simply stood there as the guy kissed her cheek, leaned into her
personal space, touch her several times.

Dios mio
, he thought. Was something
going on here he didn’t know about? Was Sophia using his job as an
excuse for that? Hell, could his wife be cheating on him?

Dressed in civilian clothes of jeans and a
light red sweater, Rachel Wellington Malvaso stopped into Firehouse
7 on the way back from an appointment. Tony caught sight of her as
Gabe started to read a joke from the Joke Jar. They read the stupid
things routinely to brighten up the days.

“‘The captain went to see his priest.’ Jeez,
why are there so many captain jokes these days?”

“Come on, read man.” This from Brody.

Gabe read on. “The priest asked, ‘What’s
wrong?’

“The captain said, ‘My wife’s poisoning
me.’

“Shocked, the priest shook his head. ‘How can
that be?’

“The man then pleads, ‘I’m telling you, I’m
positive she’s poisoning me! What should I do?’

“‘Let me talk to her,’ the priest offers.
‘I’ll see what I can find out.’

“A week later, the priest calls the man and
says, ‘I spoke to your wife for three hours on the phone. You want
my advice?’

“‘Yeah, sure.’

“The priest replied, ‘Take the poison.’”

From behind and unnoticed, Rachel said, “As a
newly married woman, I have to say I resent that joke. Who’s is it?
O’Malley’s, I’ll bet.”

“Nope,” Brody said, “I think Gabe put it in
there himself.”

“That’ll be the day.” Gabe went to Rachel and
slid his arm around her. The look that passed between them was hot.
Tony turned away from the sight, feeling the familiar pit in his
stomach that his marriage was crumbling.

“How was your dental appointment?” Gabe
asked.

“Good. No problems. With that anyway.”

Felicia looked up from where she was
preparing lunch at the huge gas stove. “Something else wrong?”

“It’s Parker Allen again, I’m sorry to say.
Have you seen today’s post in the
Herald?”

“No, we’ve had calls all morning.” Felicia
rolled her eyes at Gabe. “Besides we’re not supposed to be doing
personal stuff on the computer, thanks to her.”

Rachael’s soft features sharpened. “This
is
business.”

Producing her computer from its case under
the table, Felicia clicked some keys and scanned the screen, her
face reddening as her gaze scrolled the page. “Son of a bitch!”

“What is it?” Gabe asked.

“She has the training materials from three
days ago. How the fuck is she getting so close to us?”

Gabe’s scowl was fierce. “Read what the blog
says.”

Felicia cleared her throat. “The heading is
Heroes or Hiders?
‘
On September 24 about fifty area
firefighters attended training at the Anderson County Fire Academy.
They were instructed by Battalion Chief Ian Woodward, who suffered
the loss of his legs in 9/11. The thrust of the content begs the
question, Why would he put out material like this?’”

“What the hell is she talking about?” Sydney
asked, her own face flushed.

“Listen. ‘
The topic was first responders’
reaction to calls involving bombs. Good material was given about
evacuation of civilians, differentiating bomb types, etc. but then
this little treasure was in there.
’ Oh, shit.”

“Felicia!”
This from Gabe again.

“It’s the list the captain gave us for
protecting ourselves. Going to a safe spot and waiting for
instructions. Using shields, special protective gear, minimizing
time in contamination danger areas. That must be what she meant by
hiding.”

Chief Erikson burst into the kitchen, his
face red, his shoulders tense. He noted the computer in front of
Felicia. “I assume that’s Allen’s blog. Goddamn it, somebody gave
her the material from our training.”

Tony was steamed, too. “Why did she skew it
that way?”

“She’s after blood and I’m sick of it. White,
get your guy on the phone. See if you two can meet with Noah and
Will and me after work to discuss what you found out about her. We
may have to use it after all.”

“Yes, sir.”

Erikson stalked off.

Gabe whistled softly. “I don’t think I’ve
ever seen him this mad.”

“Is this about Allen’s background?” Tony
asked. He’d been in agreement to keep the stuff with her father and
fiancé out of their public feud.

“I guess. I’m gonna go call Ryan.”

Brody shouted after her, “No phone sex.”

“Bite me,” Felicia retorted.

“I gotta get some air.” Tony stood and walked
out of the kitchen into the firehouse yard. Sitting on the bench
near the blacktop that held the basketball hoop, he sighed. He
hadn’t told Sophia about the training content. Contrary to Ian’s
suggestion that they show the list to their families, he feared it
would only give her more ammunition to use against him.

God, when had he started looking at her like
the enemy?

oOo

Sophia walked around Brody O’Malley’s half of
a house, noting the comfortable leather furniture, the plush rugs
over hardwood floors and the unusual sunken conversation pit he’d
put in. She was glad Tony had someplace nice to live. She wanted
the best for him, and of course, pleasant surroundings assuaged her
guilt. Making her way through the porch he shared with Ryan, she
went out into the backyard and took a seat on the patio. The wind
was swirling at five o’clock, and clouds were superimposed over the
formerly sunny day. The atmosphere matched her mood.

She shivered, thinking of Parker Allen’s blog
today. And Tony hadn’t told her any of it—about the training, that
the fire department got those kind of calls, that they were in even
more danger than she’d realized.
Jesús!
How was any woman
expected to withstand this?

You used to be able to take it.

She used to be young and foolish, too.
Besides, 9/11 hadn’t happened then. Or Sinco. Or Teddy Thompson’s
death.

She heard from the porch, “Sophia, there you
are. Come on inside, it’s going to storm.”

Once on the porch, she noted he was still
dressed in his uniform. Lines of fatigue etched his face and he
seemed sad.

Of course he’s sad. You kicked him out,
and despite how nice this place is, it’s hard for him to be
separated from the family that means everything to him.

He asked, “Did something happen?”

From her purse, she fished out a copy of the
blog. She noticed her hands were shaking and she tried to still
them. “Why didn’t you tell me what the training last week was
about?”

“Take a wild guess.” His words were sharp,
disgusted almost. “I need a beer. Want one?”

“Yeah.”

When he returned and gave her the drink, he
took a chair opposite where she sat on the rattan couch, not next
to her. They always used to sit as close as possible when in a room
together.

What did you expect? He’s going to get
tired of this.

Suddenly, the thought of what he might do
while they were separated turned her stomach. Everybody always said
he was the most gorgeous man they ever met. Women flirted with him
even when Sophia was with him. Did he consider himself free
now?

“I was afraid to tell you, of course.”

“I guessed.” She glanced down at the nasty
words. “Have you ever been called to a suspected terrorist
attack?”

“Not the dirty bomb kind. Usually, Hazmat
gets right on that.”

“Usually. Okay, what about the rest? Have you
been in buildings during search and rescue when there was
danger?”

“There’s always danger on a fire call,
Sophia.”

“Don’t hedge. Damn it, Tony.” She held up the
paper. “This is even more reason to get a safe position in the
department.”

He ran his hand through his hair, and his
eyes glistened with frustration. “I don’t know what to say to you.
You knew when you married me that I had a dangerous job.”

“I thought I could handle it.”

“You
did
handle it.”

At his vehement, angry tone, she gave an
impulsive little gasp.

He stood, then, and came to sit next to her.
Sliding his arm around her, he drew her close.

Nosing into him, she grasped his shirt. They
must have had a fire today, because his clothes smelled of smoke.
“I can’t fathom a life without you.”

He kissed her head. “You don’t have to.
Nothing’s going to happen to me.”

“I wish you wouldn’t mouth those platitudes.
They’re insulting.”

She felt him stiffen, swear under his breath.
“I’m sure you could find somebody else, Sophia. You’re a beautiful
woman.”

Abhorred by his comment, she yanked herself
away and glared at him. “What a horrible thing to say.”

“Not after watching Brock Carrington drool
all over you last weekend.”

Because she knew she was being unfair to him
with her demands, she attacked. “He was not. There is nothing
personal between us.”

“Yet.”

“You’re picking a fight because you’re wrong
about this whole thing.”

“Fuck it, Soph, there’s no right or wrong
here. It’s simply a shitty situation.”

“I don’t want to be a widow!”

“How about a divorcée, then? Because that’s
the kind of wedge you’re driving between us.”

“Oh, is someone waiting in the wings for
you?”

His face totally blanked. “Of course
not.”

“Give me a break, Tony. Women have been
falling at your feet since you were fourteen.”

Now his whole body coiled with anger. “And
what did I ever, once, do about that?”

She deflated. He was right, of course. Tears
welled in her eyes and she moved away so he wouldn’t see them. With
her husband, crying wasn’t fighting fair.

He knew, anyway. Reaching over, he
encompassed her from behind. She leaned back against him, feeling
the play of his muscles against her body and wondering again what
she would do without this man in her life.

She forgot all those thoughts, though, when
he stood, scooped her into a carry and brought her upstairs, where
they made breathless love.

For a while, it was enough.

oOo

Tony woke from a sound sleep when the PA
system blared into the bunk room. “Fire at Green Ridge Lodge.
Quint, Midi 7, Rescue 7, go into service.”

Eleven firefighters bounded out of bed,
donned uniform trousers over boxers and T-shirts and rushed out to
the rig. As they jumped into boots and turnout pants, grabbed their
coats and hustled to the rig, Brody swore. “Emma loves that
place.”

“Green Ridge Lodge?” Sydney asked. She didn’t
get out much.

“Un-huh. That historic building right on the
outskirts of town. It was built in 1856. Emma likes old. We had
dinner there not too long ago.”

Luckily, when they arrived—first in—the
building was not fully involved. Erikson set up Incident Command
and summoned the blueprints. The guys on the Quint laid hose to
mount an exterior attack, and as soon as they got the stream going,
Gabe gave the order for his crew to head inside. The structure was
a restaurant so it should be empty at this hour of the morning, but
they had to search the inside, top to bottom. Brody used the rabbit
tool to pop the locked front door, and the alarm went off. Hell of
a thing. Amidst some godawful blaring, they entered the foyer.

“A lot of smoke, Cap,” Tony commented into
his mic.

“I know. Too much.” With an arsonist on the
loose, every detail had to be noticed. “Stay alert.”

Because of the intense heat, they dropped to
their knees and crawled to the center of the room. “Ramirez and
Sands, go to the attic. The three of us will cover the first
floor.” He ordered two guys from Quint 7 to take the second floor
and two more to the basement.

They fanned out. Tony led the way for his
assignment. As he and Syd crept up the stairway, Tony’s spine
pricked. Something wasn’t right. He could feel it when he opened
the heavy door to the attic.

There was another short flight of steps; he
and Syd mounted them and shined their lights on the interior. The
heat was suffocating up here, though there was no smoke yet. The
attic space had one window, but it was black. Going over to inspect
it, he saw the glass was boarded up from the outside. That was odd.
Too odd.

“Syd, turn around and go back down the
steps.” Into his radio he said, “Gabe, something’s not right in the
attic. We’re coming back.”

No response. Quickly, he followed Sydney’s
path down the stairs. At the bottom of them, she stood wide-eyed.
“It’s locked.”

“What?”

“The door to the attic’s locked. I tried to
jimmy it.”

“Let me take a shot.” He wriggled the
doorknob, pushed, then he slammed his body against the heavy wood.
Nothing. Hell. He thought about Sydney being squeamish since she
was trapped in the well six months ago. “Don’t panic.”

“I’m not.” But her voice was shaky.

Into his radio again, he said, “Mayday,
Mayday, Firefighters Sands and Ramirez are trapped in the attic.
The door’s stuck. Window’s boarded up from the outside. We need
help.”

Still, there was no answer.

He and Sydney stared at each other and he saw
a flicker of fear in her eyes. He wondered if his revealed the same
emotion.