Ashes - Book 2 (New Adult Romantic Suspense) (6 page)

So far, so good.

We’ve been lucky to have a quiet Sunday morning. Seems the Saturday night drinkers are sleeping it off or still drinking. We’ve done rig checks and re-stocked supplies. Cleaned toilets. Anything to pass the time.

I remember how stunned I was when I first started training to be a firefighter to learn that between calls, the firemen didn’t just sit around waiting for the next alarm like they did on TV.

Someone once said that a fireman had to have knowledge of something like twenty-five different skills to make it in this line of work — kind of jacks of all trades. We have to know about plumbing, maintenance, landscaping, painting, but also things like psychology and public education, not to mention the hours we put in on training and even physical fitness.

And damn, that’s true. If something breaks, we fix it. If someone’s down, we help them. We teach. We treat. We protect. We do what needs doing.

So now, I’m sitting down to do some pre-fire planning on a new casino opening in a few weeks. It’s important that we familiarize ourselves with as many buildings as possible so we know where the hell to go in case there is an emergency.

I’m examining the building evacuation procedures when Captain Frank sticks his head in the conference room door.

“Gage, come to my office for a second.”

I’m surprised he’s here. I didn’t see him on the roster for today. I grab a bottle of water and follow him to his office. I have a feeling I know exactly what this is about.

He motions me to close the door and take a seat. “Coffee?” he asks, but I hold up my water. I’ve had enough caffeine already.

The Cap pours a cup and sits behind his desk while I force my right leg to stop bouncing up and down. The Cap is strict as hell, but also fair. We’re lucky to have him.

“Got a call this morning that our station might have some visitors today—“

“Sorry about that, Cap—“

“Don’t sorry me, son. Shit happens and it looks like you were the lucky one to get to step in it this time.”

I laugh … a little. Yep. It was some shit alright. I give him the short version of the hike, saving the kid and finding the bodies, most of which he already knows. News spreads fast in the city of sin, it seems.

“Turns out your name was leaked to the press, Gage. Your girlfriend too.”

I ignore the ‘girlfriend’ part and say, “Yeah, I kind of figured that by the welcome wagon set up outside. I’m avoiding them until I know what my official statement will be.”

“Good thinking. We’ll work on that. In the meantime, if you get trapped by a camera, say something along the lines of how sad you are for the loved ones and you hope they find the person that did it. Don’t give the number of bodies found. We’re not sure how the feds are going to play it.”

“Feds?”

“Yes. The victims were found in a national park, so yes, it falls under federal jurisdiction.”

I knew that. I’ve got to clear my head. I’m still not thinking right.

“That’s one of the reasons I came in today. Wanted to check on you and see where your head’s at.”

Damn. Can he see right through me? “I’m good.” He stares at me. “Really. Not great, but not horrible either. I’m glad to be here working.”

He nods. “If anything changes, let me know. Sometimes there’s some post-traumatic stress to these types of things. Nightmares. Guilt. Blame. Stuff like that.”

I swallow and he stares at me harder.

“The federal agents are going to want to talk to you today or tomorrow at the latest,” he continues. “Also, I got a call from Captain Vander. You know him?”

I flip through my mental rolodex. “I’ve heard of him, of course, but the only guys I talked to was a SAR named Brent and a detective…” I fish the card out of my wallet. “Mike Hardiman and then a coroner. Murphy, I think his name is.”

Captain Frank takes another sip of his coffee and leans back in his chair. His lips lift up a little at each corner — his version of a smile. “Well, Vander wants me to thank you. He said you did a great job up there. Not only in protecting the crime scene, but in getting that kid secured for transport before the shit hit the fan. He just wanted you to know that he and his men appreciated it.”

That felt good.

“Just glad I was there to help. Miracle I had climbing gear with me.”

“You did a fine job, son. In fact, I got another phone call. This one from the family of that boy, Daniel. They said they wanted to personally thank you for what you did, but they’re traveling back to their hometown near…” Frank looks down at a piece of paper “… Salt Lake City for his surgeries. He’s getting some pins in his ankle, but they say he’ll be okay after a while. They wanted to send you a thank you something or other so I gave them the station’s address.”

I smile and, damn it, feel a little frog creeping up my throat. “I’m glad he’s going to be okay. That ankle looked nasty.”

“Gage. You did good. All the way around good.”

The damn frog was getting bigger and I tried to cough it up so I could speak. But the bell starts clanging and I jump up. What a cliché — saved by the bell.

Chapter 8 — Beth

Splash!

A wave of water cascades over me, waking me up from a mid-morning nap. I didn’t mean to fall asleep in the pool, but I couldn’t seem to keep my eyes open. Onyx, of course, is my alarm clock once again.

“You mangy mutt,” I chide her gently as she swims around my raft and tries to climb on. “No!” Too late, I hear the air begin to hiss from the plastic and seconds later I’m lower in the water. This is the fifth … no, sixth time I’ve had to patch my float. I really need to find a dog-proof raft.

I roll into the water, sinking to the bottom, watching Onyx’s black body swim above me. She tries to dive to me and gets about a foot underwater before floating back up. Silly pup. One day I’ll get her to the bottom.

She begins to bark; the sound is soft as it vibrates through the water and down to me. Where she was swimming in circles above, she’s now heading toward the side of the pool. I follow her direction and see the shadow of a shape on the edge.

Not Stephanie. A man?

I push up from the bottom, gasping for breath as my head pops above the surface. I quickly wipe the water from my eyes and look around.

Nothing.

No one is there.

Just Onyx, still barking, now out of the pool and running, full force toward the — oh please no — open gate in the fence.

I call her name, but she ignores me. I call her again, but she’s out of the fence before I can pull myself from the pool.

“Onyx!” I’m screaming at her now and running as fast as my blistered, bare feet will carry me. I can no longer see our precious dog. I can’t even hear her anymore. I’m not sure which way to search.

Stephanie bursts through the front door as I reach the front of the house. “There!” she yells, pointing across the street. I see the dog, just a flash of black before she’s bounding around a neighboring house.

“Shit!”

I’m running, dripping water, my bikini top threatening to pop above my boobs. I don’t care, I’d streak naked after that dog. I love her. She’s my buddy. My alarm clock.

A horn sounds.

Brakes scream.

A yip from Onyx fills the air.

Please no. Please no. Please no.

We race around the house and to the next street over. No! Onyx is lying in the road. The driver of a car is out and hovering over her. He looks up, his eyes huge and sees us running in his direction.

“I’m so sorry. He came out of nowhere.”

Then we’re there and Stephanie is on her knees, kneeling behind the hurt dog.

I’m sobbing, praying, bargaining with the universe to please let the sweetest soul on this planet be okay.

She’s whining. Oh thank God … her eyes are open. She looks terrified and in pain, but hopefully not mortally so. There’s no blood and she’s trying to get onto her feet. She falls back down, whimpering pitifully.

“I’ll get my car,” I tell Stephanie and start running back to our house.

“Get my purse and phone,” she yells behind me and I scream an okay, then I dash across the street, my heart hammering in my chest and my feet on fire.

Bursting into the house, I pull a sun dress over my suit and snatch up purses, phones, keys and a few towels I’d been too lazy to fold. I find a pair of flip flops and thrust them on my feet. I remember to lock the front door and then set the alarm before slamming out of the back. I’m in my Jeep and roaring up our driveway in less than three minutes flat.

Poor Onyx. Poor baby dog. Please please please be okay.

I round the corner of the street she’s on and am thrilled to see the man is still there. He can maybe help us lift her into the seat.

Screeching to a halt, I’m out of the Jeep, towels in hand. “Is she okay?”

Stephanie’s crying, but she’s otherwise calm and in control. “Broken leg for sure. No signs of internal bleeding. Her head seems to be okay.”

“I’m so sorry,” the man is saying again. “I swerved to miss the man, and then felt a thud. I didn’t even see the dog.”

Startled, I look up at him. “A man?” I’m folding a towel to stabilize Onyx’s leg and try to focus while a dozen thoughts race through my mind.

There
was
someone by the pool.

That someone had left the fence open.

A man.

But why was he there?

What did he want?

I shiver as a thousand reasons come to mind.

“Could you describe him if you needed to?” I ask him, as together, the three of us lift Onyx and lay her on a towel.

“The clothes, maybe. I didn’t see a face.”

I try to pay attention to Stephanie’s instructions as she takes control and organizes us getting Onyx loaded.

“Can I get your phone number?” I ask him as Stephanie jumps in the back with the dog. “In case we have questions about the man?”

He pulls out a business card and says, “Yes, of course. Anything I can do to help.”

I take the card and thank him for being so kind. Then I rush to the driver’s seat and break every speed limit getting Onyx to the emergency vet.

Chapter 9 — Gage

This is bad. No, this is really bad. The first thing I notice is a shock absorber and wheel a hundred yards from the overturned … Nissan? Ford? I can’t even tell, it’s crushed and twisted so badly. The car looks like it’s been through a scrap yard, looking like a rectangular pancake. The debris field is a good twenty yards long and covers all three lanes on Eastern.

“No kids, please,” I say under my breath. I can’t handle losing a kid today. Adults are bad enough. Kids take a piece of your soul with them.

I quickly take in the rest of the scene. A Mercedes is at an angle, but appears relatively intact. Road is wet. Gasoline — terrific. Smoke — of course. Plus, a crowd is already gathering — people seem to be hypnotized and drawn to tragic events.

“Fuck. This is not good,” Ken says grimly as we skid to a stop and he gets ready to hop out of the cabin. “I give it two percent survival rate.”

I don’t say it, but I think he’s being generous. Now, the horrible question. How many died today?

I jump from the truck, rush to the back and start pulling out the hose to dampen the source of that smoke. Truck two is dumping solidifiers onto the gasoline to help neutralize that danger. Police are here, pushing back the crowd and giving us room to work. Sarah, another police officer, is spray painting the road, quickly marking the position of the car for later forensics. Everyone here has a job to do and a reason for doing it.

Hose under my arm and Ken at my back, we haul ass toward the car. I’m still searching for the source of the smoke when I see it … a hand sticking out of a window. No. A hand and a foot.

Holy shit. The hand is moving.

“Life,” I yell and paramedics dive into the scene. We’ve got to get them out. Give them a chance. If they can survive the impact, we’ve got to give them the opportunity to live.

“Gage!” Captain Frank yells over the noise. “Get the jacks and cribbing material. We need to stabilize the car.”

Handing the hose off to Jeff, I rush back to grab the hydraulic jacks, motioning for Sawyer to come over. “Grab some cribbing and follow me.” Sawyer just transferred from California, so he needs a little guidance, but grabs the straps from the pile of wood as soon as I point him to the correct compartment.

Back at the car, I see that Engine 3 has arrived. I hear Captain Frank order wire cutters and the Jaws of Life — both spreaders and cutters. I agree with him. We’ll definitely need both.

“Gage, jack up the front a bit.”

I’m already on it, getting the jack under what used to be the hood and wheel well and start to slowly lift. Sawyer is nearby, adding the cribbing to stop the car from spinning or sliding away.

Octavio and Ed, two of the best paramedics I know, are on their knees, reaching through holes or any space they can to help the victims or at least give a little bit of comfort.

“How many?” I yell.

Octavio doesn’t even look up, just holds up two fingers. Thank God. Only two people.

Ken’s taken charge of the jaws while I’m still monitoring stabilization. Octavio and Ed’s arms are inside this damn car. We’ve got to protect them too.

The sound of steel being cut is a beautiful thing, knowing we’re closer to rescuing the victims. The bite of the cutter is only slightly louder than the compressor pumping the hydraulic fluid. Every second counts, and this part, the waiting, always seems to take an eternity. I can only imagine that for the victims it must be pure panic.

“I’m losing him!” Ed yells. He’s on the driver’s side, frantically trying to get a line in the guy’s arm.

Ken tries to cut the window pillar by the hood first, but the roof is so flattened there isn’t really anywhere to cut.

I lift the front a little more and Sawyer stuffs more cribbing when the car starts to creak. To my astonishment, I notice a tow truck slowly maneuvering through the debris. What the hell is he doing here so early? This is still a medical sector.

Ken gets another few inches of space and quickly finishes the front pillars before heading to the back. The device pops and cracks as it tears through the metal, allowing us to lift it off and out of the way.