Colton had taken the lead, but he could barely see a foot in front of him. The smoke was so hot he expected it to combust at any moment. He could feel the edges of his mask melting against his face. But he pushed on, Adam right behind him.
They were halfway down the hall when they heard a man's muffled cry. Colton tried the door but it was locked. He backed up and kicked it in. He could see flames coming from a collapsed ceiling. It looked like the office furniture from the floor above had come crashing down. A man was on the ground, a huge desk crushing his abdomen, a deep gash on his forehead.
Colton ran to him, dropping down to his knees beside the victim.
"Help me," the man gasped.
He was in his early sixties, Colton thought. There was a pool of blood under his head with more blood dripping down his face, and he was having trouble breathing from the weight on his chest.
"I'm going to get you out of here," Colton said.
"Don’t leave me."
"I'm not going anywhere without you." He stood up, grabbing the edge of the desk while Adam went to the other side. They lifted it off of the man and were about one second from setting it safely down when an explosion rocked the building.
Colton felt like a rag doll as he was launched into the air and thrown across the room. Stunned, it took him a second to regroup. He looked through the smoky room to see Adam struggling to his feet in the hallway. Then he looked back toward the man they'd been trying to help and saw he'd been buried by falling debris.
He jumped up and ran across the room. His headset crackled with the voice of Captain Warren: "Abandon the building."
He heard the order but he couldn't follow it—not yet. He turned his head to Adam. "Get out of here."
"We go together," Adam said tersely. "And we're taking him with us."
As usual, he and Adam were on the same page.
They raced back to the victim, digging feverishly through the rubble. Finally, Colton got his hands under the man's shoulders and pulled him free.
The man was no longer conscious, and there was a new stream of blood from another large gash on his head.
Colton pulled off his glove to check for a pulse. There wasn't one. He started to give CPR but the man wasn't responding.
"Callaway, stop," Adam said. "We've got to get him out of here."
Adam pulled the man into a sitting position and then Colton lifted him up and over his shoulder. He moved quickly down the hall. When he got to the stairwell, he realized that the fire was ten times worse than when he'd entered the building. Colton wasn't sure they could still get out. There was fire everywhere, but he couldn't let fear steal his focus. This was what he was trained to do and right now he had one goal—to get the victim out of the building.
As he ran down the stairs in Adam's wake, flames licked the railing, teasing him with the breath of an angry monster, but he made it to the front door. He could see daylight, clean air. He was so close...
One step out of the door and then another explosion ripped through the building, tossing him and the man he was carrying into the air. The victim flew out of his grasp, and Colton landed hard on the pavement about six feet away. A sharp pain ran through his hand and his head, but he pushed the pain away, needing to get up, to find the man he was trying to save.
He stumbled to his feet and staggered forward.
A heavy hand came down on his shoulder. He swung around, looking into Captain Warren's eyes. "Callaway, stop."
He looked toward the victim, thankful to see he was being attended to by paramedics, but he'd promised the man he wouldn't leave him alone. "I have to get to him. I told him I would stay with him."
"He's gone." The captain grabbed his arm, his gaze boring into his with the horrible truth.
Colton breathed in and out, still finding it difficult to accept the man's death. A few seconds might have made the difference between life and death. If he'd moved quicker, maybe he could have saved him.
"You need to go to the hospital, Callaway."
"I'm fine. I just want to get back to work."
"You're not fine. Look at your hand."
He stared down at his left hand in bemusement. His glove was off and his two middle fingers looked crooked and swollen. How the hell had that happened?
Captain Warren motioned for an EMT to come over. "Get him to the E.R."
"Come with me," Robin Kendall said.
"I don't need to go to the hospital," he argued as Captain Warren stepped away.
"You got an order. So did I," she said forcefully. "And I'm not going to talk back to the boss on his first day, so let's go, Colton."
He wasn't going to win this battle, so he followed her over to the ambulance. The man he'd tried so hard to save was being lifted into the back, a sheet now covering his face.
"You can ride up front with me," Robin said, giving him a compassionate smile.
"No. I told him I wouldn't leave him. I'll ride in the back."
"You did everything you could, Callaway."
He wanted to believe she was right, but he couldn't help thinking that if he'd done everything he could, the man would still be alive.
Chapter Two
Three hours later with his two fractured fingers taped together and the added diagnosis of a mild concussion, Colton was released from the hospital.
He would have flirted with the pretty brunette nurse who brought him his discharge papers, but his hand and his head hurt like hell, and he was pissed off at the fact that he'd gotten injured at all. He had a feeling his new captain would just use his injury as a strike against him. The doctor had already told him he wouldn't be able to go back to full duty for at least a week.
His mood only got worse when the nurse forced him into a wheelchair. She wheeled him into the waiting room like a damned invalid. When he got there, he saw half of his family taking up just about every chair. Burke must have told them he'd been injured.
His oldest brother was leaning against the wall, still dressed in his uniform, his face sweaty and dirty from the fire. Standing next to Burke was Aiden, his second oldest brother and a former smoke jumper. Aiden had had far worse injuries than this, so it was difficult to believe he'd come rushing across town. Someone must have made his injuries seem worse than they were.
He saw his parents sitting in chairs against the far wall. Maybe it was his dad who had sounded the family alarm. As Deputy Chief of Operations for the San Francisco Fire Department, Jack Callaway would have been immediately informed of his trip to the hospital.
His gaze moved down the row of seats.
Or maybe it was his sister Emma who'd called the troops together. She worked as a fire investigator, and judging by her navy blue slacks and white button-down shirt, she was also on duty, which meant she'd probably already seen the initial reports on the fire.
And then there was Shayla, who was now walking towards him. She wore a white coat over a floral dress and had a stethoscope around her neck. He hadn't seen her in the E.R. when he arrived, but he knew she was currently on that rotation as she finished off her final year of residency.
"Did you have to call everyone, Shayla?"
She gave him a smile. "I didn't call anyone. I think I was the last to know you were here. I was taking a toy soldier out of a kid's throat when you were brought in. How are you feeling?"
"Like I got blown out of a building."
She frowned. "Don't joke about it. You could have been hurt a lot worse."
"But I wasn't." He paused as his sister Nicole rushed into the waiting room, two little boys hanging on to each hand.
"Colton." She let out a sigh of relief as she saw him. "Are you okay? I got here as soon as I could. But it was early release day at school, and I had to stop there first to pick up the boys."
"I'm fine. You really didn't need to rush over here."
"What did you do to your hand?" Seven-year-old Kyle asked curiously, his eyes immediately settling on Colton's wrapped fingers.
"I broke a couple of fingers."
"Does it hurt?"
"A little."
"Can you still throw a baseball?" Kyle asked.
"Probably not today."
"That's enough questions, Kyle," Nicole said, giving him an apologetic smile. "I'm glad you're all right. Mom didn't have any details when she called."
"So you're the one who got everyone down here," he said to his mother.
Lynda Callaway gave him an unrepentant smile. "What was I to do when your father calls and tells me you're on your way to the hospital? You know I don't like to get those calls, Colton."
She had to be used to them by now with most of his siblings performing jobs with a high level of inherent danger, but he hated that he'd been the one to put the worry in her eyes. He also hated the fact that he was annoyed with his family for rushing to the hospital when he was damned lucky to have so many people who cared about him. "Sorry, Mom."
"The doctor said you have a concussion," his father put in, giving him a sharp, searching look.
"Mild. I was hit harder playing football."
"You'll come home with us tonight," Lynda said decisively. "I want to keep an eye on you."
"I don't need a babysitter."
"You shouldn't be alone," Shayla said, backing up his mom's idea. "It's always a good idea to have someone around the first night after a head injury."
"I just bumped my head."
"I wouldn't argue," Aiden advised with an empathetic grin. "You're only going to lose, Colton."
"Why aren't you at work?"
"I'm on lunch," Aiden replied. "But I am going to take off now. Rest up, little brother."
"I will. But don't worry. I'm fine." Colton got to his feet, refusing to admit the action made him feel a little dizzy. However, the spark in Shayla's eyes told him he might be fooling everyone else, but he wasn't fooling her—or his mother.
Lynda immediately put a hand on his arm to steady him and said, "Get the car, Jack." As his father left to go to the parking lot, she added, "You don't have to act tough with us, Colton. We're your family. Sit down."
Since he thought sitting down would be less embarrassing than falling down, he did as she suggested.
"I'm going to call Drew and Sean and let them know you're all right," Lynda said.
"And I'm going to get back to work," Shayla put in. "Call me if you need anything."
"Thanks."
As his mom and Shayla moved away, Burke and Emma came over to him.
"You did a nice job today, Colton," Burke said.
His jaw tightened at the hollow words. He met his brother's gaze. "It wasn't a good job. The victim died."
Burke's blue eyes darkened with shadows. "Sometimes that happens. You did what you could. Don't beat yourself up."
"I wish people would stop telling me that," he muttered.
"Yeah, sorry," Burke said, an empathetic gleam in his eyes. "Those words never made me feel better; I don't know why I said them." He paused. "I need to get back to the station. I'm glad you're all right."
"Before you go, what can you tell me about Mitchell Warren?" Colton asked. "He started as my new captain this morning, and he apparently hates the Callaways."
"He hates us?" Emma interrupted. "Why?"
"That's what I'm trying to find out. Captain Warren pulled me aside the second he came into the firehouse to let me know I was not going to get special treatment because of my name or who I was related to."
"Warren," Emma murmured thoughtfully. "Didn't he used to work with you, Burke?"
"We worked together for a couple of months many years ago," Burke said, his voice terse, his words clipped.
"So is his attitude stemming from something that happened between the two of you?" Colton asked.
"Not on the job," Burke replied cryptically.
"What does that mean?"
"It means nothing. Don't let him get to you, Colton. Just do your job."
"I always do my job, but I would like to know what I'm dealing with when it comes to my new boss."
"He's a decent enough firefighter. He knows what he's doing," Burke said. "That's all I can tell you."
Colton frowned, thinking his brother could tell him a hell of a lot more—if he wanted to. But Burke apparently didn't want to. In fact, he was halfway to the door before Colton could even consider asking another question. He turned to Emma. "Is it just me or was Burke acting shady?"
"Acting shady," Emma replied, a thoughtful gleam in her eyes. "I wonder what's between him and your boss."
"Me, too. Burke rarely has problems with anyone. Most people admire the hell out of him," he said. "His reputation as a straight shooter is well-noted in the department."
"Yeah, he has always been a leader among men," Emma said, a dry note in her voice.
He gave her a questioning look, curious about her tone.
"What?" she challenged. "Do you really think you're the only one in the family who has to live up to Burke's reputation in the fire department—or Dad's, or Grandpa's? Because I was a firefighter before you, and I didn't just get shit because I was a Callaway but also because I was a woman."
"I've never gotten shit because of my last name before."
"Then you've been lucky," she retorted.
"I guess my luck ran out."
"If Burke won't tell you what's between them, maybe your captain will. But I'd put all that aside for now and take it easy. I hope you'll feel well enough by Sunday to come to Grandma's birthday party at the Sunset Senior Center. Grandpa wants everyone to be there."
"I hope Grandma remembers it is her birthday."
"So do I. The new medication she's on seems to be helping, but there are still bad days. I just want her to stay with us as long as she can."
He wanted the same thing, but his grandmother had Alzheimer's, and the long-term prognosis was not good. Hopefully, she'd beat the odds. She was a stubborn Callaway after all, and Callaways did not go down without a fight.
"Mom said there's a writer coming to Grandma's party," Emma continued. "She wants to write a book about Grandma and some of the other ladies at the center."