Up in Flames [The Heroes of Silver Springs 10] (Siren Publishing Everlasting Classic) (29 page)

“Engine 1, Ladder 12, Rescue 4, Hazmat 2, we have a report of a structure fire at 945 Calhoun Street. At least one victim is believed to be inside. Time out 0532.”

Max’s blood turned to ice in his veins as he double-timed it through the firehouse to the hazmat truck in the bay. “Cap,” he radioed Dean Wolcott as he hopped behind the wheel of the hazmat truck and fired up the engine. The firefighters of Engine 1, Ladder 12, and Rescue 4 were already pulling out of the station with the captain taking the lead in the incident command SUV. “Calhoun Street is nothing but businesses. Got any clue what type is at 945?”

“No,” Wolcott responded immediately. “You thinking it’s our guy?”

“If it’s a daycare, it’s definitely our
girl
.” But, geezus, it couldn’t be, could it? It hadn’t been more than twenty-four hours since the Flame Jumper torched the physical therapist’s office, and, this time, there was a victim believed to be trapped inside.

Max floored the gas pedal, praying this latest fire wasn’t the work of the Flame Jumper even as a weight settled in his gut telling him that his prayers would go unanswered.

* * * *

Even the best work of art required a revision now and then. The Flame Jumper watched from her hidden spot across the street from the Little Tikes Daycare, excitement surging through her system as the flames shot higher and higher. She’d had to make one of those revisions this morning. She’d cased the daycare for weeks, just as she’d done the other locations she’d deemed worthy recipients of her craft. She’d paid closest attention to when the first employee arrived in the morning, what time they left the place at night, and had even visited under the guise of being new in town with a young daughter whom she was considering placing in Little Tikes’s care while she worked. She’d had it all planned so carefully, just as she’d done with the others, and that black bitch had actually thought she’d get in the Flame Jumper’s way.

I showed you, though, didn’t I, bitch?

The woman, the Flame Jumper hadn’t bothered to remember her name, had been so nice. She’d opened the door to the daycare and invited the Flame Jumper inside, saying she remembered Joyce from her visit. Then, she’d made her big mistake.

Never should’ve turned your back on me.

It had been so easy. There had been a trophy right there on a shelf within the Flame Jumper’s reach. How perfect it had been to snatch that award for business excellence off the shelf and bring it down hard on the back of the black bitch’s head.

The Flame Jumper hadn’t known she had it in her to do such a thing. The daycare had to go up in flames today. There was no time left to put it off. She’d been mulling over how to accomplish her mission after discovering the woman had reported to work early to handle some paperwork before the children started to arrive. She’d glanced at the shelf and seen her answer.

Aside from the car accidents she’d orchestrated that could’ve killed anyone in the cars, she’d always made sure no one was around when she created her works of art. How could she not have realized until now that feeding her work with human life would make it truly sheer perfection?

The Flame Jumper smiled at the roar of the approaching sirens. She’d set the fire well, created a path for it to follow, and knew the firefighters wouldn’t stand a chance at extinguishing the flames before they engulfed the whole building. Would they get to the black bitch in time to pull her out? Moreover, would they get to the bitch’s little girl the Flame Jumper had left in the playpen or would the screaming girl get to watch her mother burn before she perished herself?

I hope you get to see it, little one. Trust me. Watching your mother burn is a sight you wouldn’t want to miss.

* * * *

Dean Wolcott pulled the incident command SUV to an abrupt stop in the street outside the Little Tikes Daycare. He cut the engine and hopped out, immediately catching sight of Battalion Chief Tripp Barrett double-timing his way toward him down the sidewalk.

“Did you get here first?” Dean shot the question over his shoulder as he changed his intended direction and headed for the back of the SUV. He’d heard Barrett over the radio indicating his intent to respond to the call. Barrett was battalion chief over all the fire stations in the district. He didn’t respond to every call, but Dean was glad to have him here on this one.

“Just a few seconds before you pulled up,” Barrett answered, following him. “The interior of that place is well on its way to being fully involved. Those are some angry flames spreading quick in there. We’ve got to move fast.”

Dean pulled his turnout gear, SCBA, and helmet from the back of the SUV and slammed the hatch. “Any word on the possible victims?”

Barrett shook his head. “There’s a car in the parking lot. Nobody has been seen leaving the structure. SSPD was already on scene when I got here. A couple of them tried to get in to do a search, but they couldn’t get far without proper equipment.”

Dean gestured with his air mask. He and his men had the proper equipment necessary to get as far into that building as they wanted to go, provided the structure didn’t start to cave on them.

“The car belongs to Decima Rice. One of the officers that attempted to get inside said his wife brings their daughter here. About once a month, Decima comes in early to see to office tasks before the children start to arrive. She’s got a kid of her own, Dean. A girl about fourteen months old.”

Dean froze in the act of slapping his helmet on his head. Christ, there could be a child inside that building.

“I take it you’re going in?”

“Damn right. You were first ranking officer on scene. The command falls to you.” Barrett didn’t look surprised. Dean had been close friends with the man for years and Barrett’s captain even longer. It had been nearly three years since Tripp Barrett had turned over his rank as B-shift’s lieutenant to Max Jasper and accepted the job as the district’s battalion chief, a position that had first been offered to Dean, who had turned it down.

“I knew you would.” Barrett slapped Dean on the back of the shoulder as they started jogging toward the building. “I’ve got most of your men already taking up their posts, readying pumps, connecting hoses, and pulling gauges. Jasper and Magee will be going in with you. Get in, search as quickly as you can, and get out so we can tackle this baby.”

Dean nodded once, secured his mask over his face, and took his first breath of clean, cool oxygen as he joined Jasper and Magee just outside the front door. The structure had once been residential. The insides would’ve been gutted, Dean assumed, nonsupporting walls shifted or taken out to design the rooms necessary for the operation of the daycare center.

Jasper thrust the handheld thermal-imaging camera his way. The camera would allow them to see through the dark and smoke as they performed their search.

Dean shook his head. “Smell anything before you put on that mask?”

“It’s the Flame Jumper’s work.” The lieutenant’s eyes were bleak behind his face shield, concerned and thoroughly pissed.

“Let’s get this done and worry about that later,” Dean instructed. “Take the lead.” He positioned himself on one side of the entrance door with Magee on the other. They didn’t bother to check and see if the door was unlocked. At his nod, they slammed their booted feet into the door around the knob. It popped open on the first kick, and a billow of searing heat he felt through his turnouts washed over him.

Max stepped in first, the handheld thermal camera steady in front of him as he led Dean and Magee into the thick black smoke.

A gorgeous array of orange, red, and yellow flames licked the interior walls of the structure, rolling across the floor in front of them and dancing on the ceiling overhead. Dean admired it even as his mind worked through the best points of attack to extinguish the beauty once they made it back outside. As B-shift captain, it was a rarity for him to involve himself with the hands-on tasks of rescue and firefighting. His duties usually fell to commanding the scene, except when he chose to hand over that command to a higher ranking officer as he’d done today.

Adrenaline surged through his veins, hardening his cock and speeding his heart as he followed Jasper and Magee deeper into hell. He loved being captain and had worked his ass off to earn the position along with the dedication and respect of his crew. That didn’t mean the sheer rush, the ingrained excitement of battling to control something so angry and intent on being out of control, had left him. Like every other firefighter who was good at his job, he respected the beautiful demon, knew how to think like it, and understood how to anticipate its moves even as he loathed it for all the destruction it could cause.

“Front room is clear,” Jasper reported through the mic inside his SCBA as they finished their sweeping search through the murk and turned, single-file, to the right into the first short, narrow hall that opened into a larger room. “Christ! Magee, help me.”

From his place at the rear of the line, Dean watched Jasper and Magee go down, saw the slender body on the floor through the haze, and realized they’d found Decima Rice. He saw Jasper take a deep breath before wrenching off his mask and putting it over the woman’s face.

“What’s she saying?” Magee’s voice split through the two-way radio transmission.

“Her baby,” Jasper answered, waiting until the woman had inhaled a few deep breaths of oxygen before taking back his mask. “She’s trying to get to her baby.”

Dean scooped up the thermal camera Jasper had laid on the floor near his feet. “Get her out of here.”

“I’ve got her.” Magee scooped the woman into his arms, pausing for a nanosecond as Jasper and Dean stepped out of the narrow hallway into the larger room, and then raced the victim through the structure in the direction they had come.

Dean steadied the thermal camera in his hands, sweeping it around the room, watching the screen for the highlight that would indicate a body. Flames consumed the walls, working their way across the ceiling and floor, consuming everything it their path. A chunk of the ceiling gave and swung back and forth precariously, but held on tight. Beyond it and down, the thermal camera highlighted a small figure.

“There she is.” He thrust the camera to Jasper as he shot into action, racing across the floor to a playpen a mere three feet from the edge of the flames. The child lay sprawled unmoving on the floor of the playpen. He scooped the kid into his arm and turned just as the chunk of ceiling lost its hold, crashing to the floor between him and Jasper.

Reacting on instinct and years of training rather than thought, Dean shot a cursory glance right and then left, and settled on a detour route. He was within arm’s reach of Jasper when he heard the loud cracking overhead. In a split-second’s decision, he thrust the kid into Jasper’s arms just as more of the ceiling collapsed. He spun and stepped left in an attempt to dodge the onslaught and unintentionally put himself directly in the path of a falling beam. Too late, he realized the floor beneath where he’d stepped had weakened. It gave way from under him, taking him down, but not before the beam caught him down the center of his back.

* * * *

Regina rounded the corner into the emergency waiting room of Silver Springs Memorial and stopped in her tracks. Every man and woman on B-shift sat or paced the floor in the room. Max was one of the ones who paced with his head bowed and his hands balled into fists at his sides.

“There’s no news yet, Investigator,” David Karlston volunteered from his place slouched in one of the waiting chairs.

Max’s head came up, his gaze slamming into hers at Karlston’s words.

A tight band constricted around Regina’s heart at the look in Max’s eyes. Sorrow, pain, and more anger than she’d ever seen in the man had turned the ring of his already dark eyes so black it was impossible to see where his pupils began. She wanted to rush to him, to throw her arms around him and offer him whatever comfort she could. She held herself back, knowing B-shift was watching their lieutenant. Today wasn’t the same as the cookout shower. A man who was as much their family and friend as their captain had been seriously injured. Would they be as accepting of her showing affection toward their lieutenant today knowing if the worst happened Max would likely step into Dean’s place?

Dear God. She couldn’t even consider the worst. A world without the charismatic Dean Wolcott would be bleak and heart wrenching. She didn’t know if her indecision was etched on her face. Regardless, Max settled the matter when he changed his pace her way and enveloped her in his strong arms. He still wore his bunker pants and suspenders over his SSFD T-shirt, and she smelled the pungent odor of the recent fire thick on his skin and clothing. His shoulders hunched forward as he buried his face in the side of her neck, and she felt his breaths, warm and ragged against her flesh.

Regina sliced her gaze around the room as she held onto Max as tightly as he was holding her. She saw as several of the firefighters looked at them, but recognized only compassion mixing with the sorrow in their expressions. She didn’t know exactly what had happened at the fire this morning. She’d arrived mere moments after Rescue 4 had pulled away from the scene in a hot rush to the hospital with the injured Dean Wolcott inside. She’d gotten a brief account of the incident from Battalion Chief Tripp Barrett and knew Max had been inside the structure when part of the roof and floor had collapsed, taking Dean with it. Laden with the child in his arms he and Dean had gone in to rescue, Max had done the only thing he could. He’d gotten the kid to safety outside before returning with the firefighters who’d formed an RIC—rapid intervention crew—to pull Dean from the flaming rubble.

“How bad is it?” Regina asked Terri Vega and Cory Nox as her gaze landed on the EMTs across the room. Terri was pacing in much the same manner as Max had been, while Cory sat slumped over in one of the chairs.

“He regained consciousness just as we pulled into the parking lot,” Terri answered. “His heart rate was too high and his breathing was labored. He has a few first- and second-degree burns on his arms from where the sleeves of his turnout coat pushed up when he went through the floor and some minor scrapes and contusions, but it’s the internal injuries we’re worried about.”