Stoking the Embers (New Adult Romantic Suspense): The Complete Series (2 page)

I scramble forward, searching for a release that might possibly allow the seat to be removed. Mom’s van had them, all but the driver’s seat could be taken out. I see nothing.

“Can this seat be removed?” I yell at the driver, who is still trying to pull himself from under the dash.

“No,” he yells back, coughing from the smoke and I nearly collapse with disappointment. We’ll have to do this the hard way. Turning, I help the elderly lady next to me navigate the small opening and climb out of the van. Two pairs of hands lift her the rest of the way out and I turn to the man who’s next.

“Take her,” the elderly man yells at me, pointing to the lady sitting behind him. “Women and children first.” He gives me a snappy little salute and I almost smile for the first time.

“Yes, Sir.” Turning, I help the woman scoot through the opening between the seats and the crunched door. She’s so frail, I’m afraid of holding her too tightly. Slow. So slow. I scoop her up, my back screaming in protest, and duck-walk her to the front seat where the men pull her out.

There’s one other woman on board, besides the dead and dying in the back. I go to her and do the same, scooping her up and duck-walk to the front.

“Children next,” I yell, holding out my hand to the man. He laughs at me and shakes a finger, but he’s much more capable of getting out on his own. He’s out in only a few seconds.

Two more men are left, but the dark gray smoke is nearly overwhelming. Where is the ambulance? The fire department? I look at my watch, only seven minutes have passed since I first stepped into this van.

I hear them. The most beautiful sounds—sirens.

I grab the hand of the next man. It’s so frail, he’s having trouble standing, his knees not wanting to lift him. I pull, the strain screaming through my arms. He’s not a little man. There’s no way I can lift him or carry him. Should I leave him? Or, help the last man still conscious? He seems more mobile.

Oh someone help me; the choices I’m having to make seize through me. I’m not God. I can’t choose who lives and who dies.

I pull harder and the more mobile man helps. Finally, the heavy one is on his feet. I scramble onto a seat and out of their way and they lumber slowly… so very slowly… to freedom and fresh air.

Turning, I head back into the worst of the smoke, to where my patients need me. This does it… obstetrics it is… where life bursts into the world instead of slipping away. I see past my patients, to the ones still slumped together in the back. I wonder how long they’d been married and if it’s a blessing for them to have died so quickly together. How many children did they have? How many grandchildren? Did their family consider them a blessing, or had their presence became a burden?

Focus.

There is no help for them. The tears sliding down my face need to stop.

Thump. Looking up, I see firemen running to the scene, a fire hose pointing at the van, putting out the source of the smoke I’m experiencing.

“How many?”

I jump at the voice, turn toward the front and see a fireman climbing inside.

“The driver is stuck. Two back here barely alive. Two DOA. I can’t get them out.”

“Paramedics are here, we’re going to break the glass, get some O2 in here as soon as the fire’s out. We’re going to pop this door,” he motions to the sliding door to his left, “then cut the driver out.”

I nod, unsure what to do. The relief of having help, of having someone take the responsibility away is so great, I feel as if I will melt into a puddle the moment I try to stand.

“Are you a nurse?”

”Nursing student. Senior year. I didn’t know what else to do.”

A fist slams into the window next to us, causing me to jump again. “Clear,” another fireman yells and the one next to me pulls open a metal-colored blanket I hadn’t noticed he’d tossed in.

“You did an excellent job, but you need to get out of here.” He’s talking to me while covering the couple with the blanket. “You’ve been in the smoke too long, let one of the guys check you out.”

When I hesitate, he says, “No one could have done better.” His eyes, a most beautiful chocolate brown, hold a mixture of kindness and urgency. “Now go.”

Climbing across the seats for the last time, I hear glass crash and look back to see him knocking out the window beside him. Paramedics rush up, passing oxygen masks to him, which he quickly places on the man and woman’s faces.

Outside the van, in the burning heat of the day, a rumble of thunder penetrates the cacophony of noise. Turning, I see black clouds drawing closer and a streak of lightning pierce the sky.

A paramedic rushes to me, slinging a blanket around my already heated shoulders. I want to fling it off, but instead hold it closer, pulling it to me for needed security.

Like a scene in the movies, I watch the door being popped open and the front of the van cut off. The bench seats in the van are pulled out too, giving the paramedics room to work. I watch the driver being removed, his leg at a mercilessly awkward angle. And the couple… the sweet couple I’d taken care of… are finally lifted out, rushed to an ambulance and driven out of sight.

The rain begins to fall, fat drops beating onto me from the heavens, but I still can’t leave. It’s the fireman, the one with the kind chocolate eyes who pulls me from my trance. I’m watching the bodies of the dead couple being removed when he steps in front of me, blocking the view. I close my eyes when they finally extricate the man from the sports car. At least I think he was a man.

“You okay? Did the guys check you out?” I nod, but can’t speak. The fireman places a hand on my shoulder and gives me a squeeze.

“Can someone come get you? Give me a number and I’ll call.”

I shake my head and my mouth decides to work. “It’s okay. I have my car.” I nod toward my little Mazda, the driver door and trunk still open wide. The fireman stays at my side as I begin to walk towards it.

“You saved lives today,” he says. “You’ll make a wonderful nurse. The profession is lucky to have you.”

“Thank you,” I whisper, just as a torrent of water falls so hard the raindrops bounce knee high off the pavement. He helps me into my car, closes the door and slams down my trunk.

Watching him run back to the wreckage, I take a few deep breaths to calm myself. I flip the policeman’s card, the one who had taken my witness statement, onto my dash.

I can’t believe all of this just happened. One moment I’m driving home, worried about passing a stupid exam. The next, I’m watching life fade away. It sure does put life in perspective.

With trembling fingers, I start my car and navigate my way around the metal carnage.

Chapter 3—Ken

“Station 15, house fire at 325 Big Pine Avenue. No reports of injuries”

Welcome to the Fourth of July weekend.

Really? Five minutes after we get on shift and there’s already a call. That’s what I get for expecting a slow morning. Normally, things don’t heat up until later in the day and then, non-stop, all night. We hadn’t even started our grocery list for our barbeque this afternoon.

The call is to a vacant house about a mile from the station. Las Vegas has plenty of vacant houses, but in this day and age the banks usually hire maintenance companies to check on them and keep vagrants out. Most of the fires were either kids vandalizing the place, or the owner trying to collect insurance and thinking they wouldn’t be caught. We should be back in an hour tops.

The brown smoke billows up into the sky, turbulent and thick, a stark contrast to the blue sky it floats into. At least the storm has passed, finishing up that wreck yesterday was hell in that monsoon. Three fatalities all because some asshole was probably Facebooking and showing off.

The garage is fully engulfed and the ultra-dense black smoke is a sure sign that something other than drywall is in this house. Neighbors were valiantly spraying water from hoses onto the flames before we arrived, but that little drizzle of water is no match for the fury of the spreading fire. It’s only a matter of time and their hoses would melt, dangling like long, impotent tails in their hands.

“Mask up. Need a sweep.” The captain wants someone inside to check room to room. I’m volunteered. Terrific. Pulling my breathing apparatus on, I make a quick dash inside. White smoke seeping through the cracks in the door leading from the kitchen to the garage means I have a little more time.

No one’s inside, thank God, but I do find the reason for the fire. Not one room in the house, except the kitchen, has any furniture. The jury-rigged electrical cables on the floor surely go to the breaker box on the outside wall of the garage. The almost full, five-gallon OrganiGrow fertilizer bottles indicates they either didn’t get everything out, or were about to start again.

Time to tell the Captain as well as the arson squad and police detective who are probably on their way. Lucky me... I get to fill out the paperwork… the long ass, unnecessary, lawsuit preventing piles of paperwork.

After a quick shower, I put on a clean uniform and throw the dirty one in the communal laundry. It’s great not to be a rookie anymore, no longer responsible for the crap job of cleaning.

We still need to get our groceries at SaveAll down the street. Not that I mind, as long as I don’t have to cook. Besides, there are plenty of very cute girls there. The guys at the station call it Hooter’s Grocery. I do sometimes wonder if the manager only hires hot girls to conquer the market on male shoppers.

It was only Jeff, the rookie, and me who went in this time. The rest of the crew wait in the truck in case we get a call, and it always seems to happen when we are shopping for food. Jeff watches all the cooking shows and fancies himself a chef. He usually volunteers to cook, I guess we’re the perfect guinea pigs for him. He claims his girlfriend won’t let him cook at home, but his food is pretty good most of the time. A little oddball sometimes—I still fuck with him about the crepes. But it’s much better than before he came to the station, that’s for sure.

On the menu tonight, bourbon marinated baby backs and those big bulb Mexican onions that are finally showing up at the non-Hispanic markets. If it wasn’t the Fourth of July, and most likely busy as hell, we would probably put on a big pot of black beans to cook all day, but today it’ll be beans from a can. I don’t mind them really, but some of the guys bitch about them. They’ll have to get over it. This is a fire hall, no one orders from a menu.

Grabbing two carts, we fill them with milk, cereal, cheese and other stuff on our list. When it’s time to check out, there is only one cashier and only two people in front of us. Gotta love the self-check for keeping the lines short.

“Holy fuck. No way.” I whisper to Jeff, motioning with my head. “Isn’t that the girl from the accident yesterday?”

I knew I’d seen her before, but couldn’t place her at the time. Too much going on, plus seeing her out of context didn’t snap the puzzle pieces in place until just this minute. I noticed her before, of course. Always admired that sexy ass when she bent over to pull things from the bottom of a buggy. But I’d never really paid close attention to her, there were always girls who go uniform crazy to distract me. Why fight for the aloof, when I get my choice of the girls who go out of their way for my attention?

There she goes, mmm, bending over again. I can almost see her tied to my bed, on her stomach, me kissing my way down her back.

I nudge Jeff in the ribs with my elbow and he pretends not to notice.

She cries out in pain as she stands and breaks me from the nice little fantasy in my head. Her face grimaces in pain as she presses a hand into the back I was imagining kissing. She’s hurt. Probably from strong-arming those church folks from the van. She was brave as hell to do what she did. It’s funny, I always thought she was timid. Maybe I should ask her if she wants some private lessons on patient extrication.

I watch her as she plasters a smile back on her face and continues to ring up the customer in front of me. Each time she takes a step, she winces just a little. As I get closer, I see the bruises on her arms. If she’s feeling it today, she’s
really
going to suffer tomorrow. Then, day three post injury is always the worst.

Jeff goes outside to take a call from his overprotective girlfriend just as it’s my turn at the register. She turns to me with a polite smile and then recognition hits, I see the moment it happens, the smile goes from polite to happy.

“Oh my goodness,” she begins, and grins bigger. “From yesterday. Wow. I can’t believe I’m bumping into you. Crazy universe, isn’t it?”

“Yeah, crazy.” Damn, she’s acting like she’s never seen me before yesterday, even though I’m in the store at least once a week. Ego shot number one for the day. “How’re you doing after all the excitement yesterday? Couldn’t help but notice you’re limping a little. Get hurt?”

She shakes her head. “Not hurt, just sore and beat up a little. I had no idea I’d ripped my fingernails half off or was banging into so many things.” She raises a hand to show me her beat up hands.

“Adrenaline will do that. Best pain killer in the world.”

She laughs, continuing to scan my items. “Yeah, until it wears off.”