Three alarm response, p.2
Three Alarm Response, page 2
“No. I have to—Stu is in there.” Tears filled her eyes, reflecting the glow of flames brightly against the cool tone of her pale complexion.
Suddenly on alert, Britt met the woman’s eyes. Someone was still trapped inside. “Where is he?”
“In my apartment.” She closed her eyes and shook her head as if fighting through her panic. “Apartment 225. He won’t be able to get out.” When she tilted her head back and met Britt’s eyes again, her expression had changed, as if relieved that someone was finally listening to her.
“How old is he?”
The woman blinked. “He’s seven. What does that matter? We’re wasting time.”
Britt grabbed her radio and engaged the mic. “Truck Seven to Command. We’ve got someone still inside, a seven-year-old boy.”
“Boy? What? No. Stu is my dog.” The woman still clutched a handful of Britt’s jacket.
“Your what?”
“He’s my dog. I couldn’t find him as I was leaving. But he hides when he’s scared. Sometimes in the space between the couch and the wall, or under the bed.”
Britt sighed. “False alarm, Chief. It’s a dog.” She grasped the woman’s arm and tried to lead her away. “Ma’am, I need you to go over there with the other residents.”
“Are you going in to get him?”
“We’ll do what we can.”
Her eyes went cold, and she yanked her arm free. “I don’t believe you.”
Britt glanced over her shoulder. She was wasting time trying to sort out this conflict, though she had real work to do. “I’m not going to argue with you. Go wait over there until the scene is safe.” She nudged the woman toward all the other residents still clustered together.
Much stealthier than expected, the woman slipped past Britt and sprinted toward the building. After a second of disbelief, Britt took off after her, but with her heavy gear and her helmet bouncing in her face at every step, she was no match for the woman’s surprising speed. As the woman pulled away from her, panic built in her chest. This idiot would run into a burning building and get herself killed, and it would be Britt’s fault.
Just as the woman reached the building, another firefighter emerged from the breezeway. Britt shouted, “Stop her.”
The firefighter, his SCBA mask obscuring his face so Britt couldn’t easily identify him, reacted to Britt’s words and wrapped his arms around the woman, abandoning any concern of propriety or personal space in favor of safety. The woman struggled, then started to cough, both from her efforts and from the haze of smoke inside the hot zone.
“Let me go.”
As soon as Britt reached them, the other firefighter shoved the woman into her arms, obviously more comfortable with Britt restraining her. Close up, she recognized him as one of the guys assigned to Engine Two.
The woman struggled, and Britt pulled her more tightly to her. “It’s not safe.”
“He’s still in there. You can’t let him die.”
She didn’t tell the woman that the chances for her dog were already not very good.
“You’re not going in there. Don’t make me call one of those police officers over to detain you.” Britt tossed her head in the direction of two officers who’d arrived and were now stringing up yellow tape in front of the crowd. “They’ve already got enough to do.”
“You’d have me arrested?”
“More like temporarily in custody. For your own safety.”
She lifted her chin and glared. “Do what you have to do. But if you release me, I’m going in after Stu.”
Britt stared at her, taken aback by the defiance burning in her eyes. She’d willingly run into that building for a dog? She was the bravest or the stupidest woman Britt had ever met. She sighed and turned to the firefighter still standing nearby. “Do we still have anyone searching for stragglers?”
He nodded. “Two of my crew are inside.”
“See if someone can check apartment 225 for a dog. It’s probably hiding behind the couch or under a bed.”
“You got it.” He turned back toward the building.
“Satisfied?” She loosened her grasp, testing whether the woman would make a move toward the building anyway. When she didn’t feel any sudden motion, she released her more fully. A harsh cough interrupted the woman’s nod. “Now go wait back over there before we have to take you out of here on a stretcher.”
Not trusting her not to dart again, Britt followed her until she ducked under the crime-scene tape. She straightened and spun around to face Britt, her expression filled with so much defiance that Britt had to fight her own admiration. The woman’s long, blond, sleep-tousled curls formed a halo of chaos around her head, and her pale eyes flashed with anger.
Britt turned and strode several paces away. At the edge of the police barricade, she paused beside officer Traci Sam.
“What the hell was all that?” Sam grinned, no doubt because she hadn’t had to deal with the situation.
“Some crazy woman who values her dog’s life more than her own.”
“Lotta them around. She’s cute, though.” Sam rested her wrists over some of the gear on her duty belt.
“Sam.” Despite her warning tone, she glanced at the woman again.
Sam winked. “Maybe I’ll go comfort her, you know, sympathize about what hard-asses you firefighters are.”
“Ha. You won’t stand a chance after a firefighter rescues her dog. That hero worship comes on real quick with the straight girls.”
“Just the straight ones? Well, at least I know I won’t be losing out to you, friend. Your fate with that chick is sealed.”
“True story.” She walked away, resisting the urge to glance back at the woman.
Less than five minutes later, a firefighter carried a medium-sized brown dog out of the building. In Britt’s peripheral vision, she saw the woman rush forward, past the officers, to meet him and take the dog. Despite her small stature, she held him securely against her chest, and the dog appeared comfortable in her arms.
* * *
As Claire rejoined her neighbors behind the yellow tape, Stu began to struggle in her arms. At first, he’d been scared enough to be docile, but he’d never liked to be lifted off the ground. At thirty-two pounds of lean muscle, when he wanted to be let down, Claire couldn’t contain him. As she set him on the ground, she grabbed his collar and kept him close to her leg.
“Ma’am, will this help? Maybe you could make a leash of sorts.” One of the firefighters held out a piece of rope a few feet long. Claire had heard one of the other firefighters address him as “Chief.”
“Thank you.” Claire took the rope and bent to pass it through Stu’s collar. After she tied as secure a knot as she could, the chief inspected her work.
“If he’s not a puller, that should hold.”
“He’s used to a leash, so he won’t try to go anywhere now.” She patted Stu’s back, and he pressed against her calf in response.
“When will we be able to go in to get our stuff?” Mr. Thomas, Claire’s upstairs neighbor, shouted in the chief’s direction.
“I’m sorry. You won’t be allowed inside until the fire marshal has finished his investigation.” He gave them all a sympathetic look, but it felt practiced, as if years of placating victims had ingrained the movements into his muscle memory. “You should plan to stay someplace else for a few days at least, maybe more.”
“I don’t know anyone’s number, and my phone was inside.” Mr. Thomas shoved past several other residents to get closer, as if that would change the chief’s response.
Claire didn’t have her phone either. Where was it? She remembered grabbing it as she left her bedroom, but by the time she got outside, she’d been so panicked about Stu that she hadn’t realized she no longer had it. Maybe she’d dropped it as the firefighter dragged her from her apartment.
Had she lost everything but this pair of pajamas? If she’d known that after tonight she would have only one pair of shoes, she might have chosen more carefully before shoving her feet into the bright-green sneakers she’d left by the dresser. But that wasn’t likely since she didn’t even remember putting them on. She almost laughed at the image of herself carefully picking out the one outfit she wanted to save before fleeing her smoke-filled apartment.
“What do we do now?” Claire didn’t realize she’d spoken aloud until the chief turned back toward her.
“The Red Cross has people coming to help the displaced.”
Claire nodded. That’s what she was now. Displaced. She didn’t have her purse, but maybe she’d get it back. Until then, she had no money, no identification, and no place to go. Who could she call at this hour anyway? The rising sun had just started to paint the sky behind the smoldering apartment building in shades of pink, yellow, and light blue.
“If you need to use my phone to call someone…” The offer came from the firefighter who’d prevented her from going in after Stu. Her gentle tone didn’t quell Claire’s anger about their earlier exchange. She glared up at the woman, momentarily caught by her genuinely concerned expression. She’d taken off her helmet, and her short, dark hair stood up in messy, damp spikes. Her brown eyes were gentle, and Claire’s irritation surged forward again.
“I don’t need anything from you.”
The firefighter pressed her lips together as if smothering a response. “Look, lady. I’m just trying to be nice here.” If that’s what came out, what had she been holding back?
“You weren’t trying very hard earlier.” Claire matched her candor, and by the look of surprise on the firefighter’s face, she’d expected a little more hero worship and a lot less honesty.
“I was distracted—with trying to save your life.”
“I should thank you for simply doing your job?” Claire walked away without waiting for a reply. She’d kind of been a bitch, but she didn’t care. She didn’t have time for someone who had no regard for a dog’s life.
She had no idea what to do next. But she wasn’t depending on any firefighters to help her figure it out. The Red Cross was coming. She hadn’t even known that they helped out after a fire. They would probably establish some kind of temporary shelter for her and her neighbors, but would she be able to take Stu?
She kept a change of clothes and some toiletries in her office, since she never knew when a rambunctious pup would plant a set of muddy paws on her. If she could find a ride there, Stu would be safe there with her until she figured out where they could stay.
Chapter Two
“Hey, Captain. Come check this out. You made the news.”
“Very funny, Anderson.” Britt glanced across the open expanse of the fire station’s living quarters. Mason sat with the crew from the engine at the long, industrial-style dining table eating some version of breakfast. Anderson drank his coffee while lounging on one of the couches and watching the morning news. Britt had just poured her own cup and doctored it to her liking.
“I’m not kidding. I mean, they didn’t say your name, but that’s definitely you holding that crazy chick from the scene this morning.”
“What?” Stirring her coffee, she crossed to the couch. On the screen, a female reporter stood in front of the burning apartments. Her baseball cap and jacket with the station logo were probably meant to help her blend in, but the dyed blond hair poking out under the brim and her heavy makeup contrasted against the darkened scene behind her. Given the lack of flames and the color of the smoke still billowing from the building, the video had obviously been shot as they’d gotten the fire under control.
The dog-lover stood next to her, nervously glancing between the reporter and the camera. Now removed from the adrenaline of the scene, Britt could assess the woman more accurately. Her hair appeared as disheveled as Britt remembered. As if hearing Britt’s thoughts, she reached up and shoved one side behind her ear. Around her shoulders, a drab, gray blanket, the kind the Red Cross usually provided, mostly obscured her printed-pajama top. Unable to make out the pattern on her shirt, Britt struggled to recall it from the scene. She remembered the feel of the woman in her arms, slight in stature yet surprisingly strong, but she hadn’t focused on what she was wearing.
The caption across the bottom of the screen identified the woman as Claire Willows, adoption/foster coordinator at Release the Hounds Rescue.
“Ms. Willows, how’s little Stu doing now?” The reporter glanced at Claire but kept her body angled toward the camera.
“He’s okay now. No thanks to that firefighter.” The camera followed her as she bent and patted the dog pressed close to her lower leg. “She acted like Stu was just another of my belongings.”
They cut to a cell-phone video of Britt restraining Claire. Taken by itself, the video didn’t look that bad. Surely, the viewers could have figured out that Britt’s only concern was Claire’s safety. But the next clip showed the dog being carried out and Claire rushing to him. Putting the dog on camera was a game-changer.
“Are you fucking kidding me?” Britt slid onto the arm of the couch, bumping her hip against Anderson’s shoulder. She had no idea how much fallout would come from this interview, but it wouldn’t be good.
“Don’t worry about it, Captain. The brass will back you up,” Mason said.
“Oh, you rookie.” Anderson scoffed.
“She didn’t do anything wrong.” Mason was the most junior member of their crew, less than a year into his career, and didn’t understand the politics of the department yet. His naiveté matched his fresh-faced appearance. At twenty-one he didn’t look more than seventeen, especially compared to Anderson’s weathered face, receding hairline, and full mustache.
“Officially, she followed policy. But the animal lovers are a sympathetic bunch. And in this town there’s not a lot of news bigger than an apartment fire.”
Even as the university had grown, swelling the population to about eighty thousand, Bellbrook retained a small-town feel in a lot of ways. Folks had only just started locking their doors when crime reportedly went up a few years ago, but even then, everyone blamed the college kids.
“HQ doesn’t like it when the department looks bad,” Anderson said.
Mason shook his head, his expression so bewildered Britt felt bad for him. “She did what we’re supposed to.”
“You’re right, Mason. We trust our procedures and do our jobs, and people stay safe. That’s the way it’s gotta be,” Britt said. “Sometimes, a situation is more complicated than that. But whatever happens, I’ll handle it.”
“That’s why they pay her a captain’s salary.” Anderson patted Britt’s knee and settled further into the couch.
“Just turn that shit off. Or at least find something better to watch.”
He laughed as he switched the channel to one of the morning talk shows. She wasn’t usually a fan of those either, but she’d take anything over that news report.
“There’s our local celebrity.”
Britt cringed at Jeff Cooper’s voice from behind her and turned around. “Hey, Chief.”
“I saw you on the news, Everett. Unfortunately, I’m not the only one who did. My office has been receiving calls all day. Sarah doesn’t like answering the phone.”
“I’m aware.” Three years ago, Britt had briefly dated Jeff’s long-time assistant. Sarah had complained that she spent so much time on the phone at work, she insisted on text-only communications in her personal life.
Jeff scowled at the reminder of Britt’s history. He’d dealt with Sarah’s moods for a time after the relationship ended. Actually, the whole thing had been his wife’s fault for playing matchmaker between Britt and Sarah to begin with. Sarah eventually moved on, and the ban on Britt visiting his office was lifted. Since then she’d vowed not to get involved with anyone else in the department, a practice that eventually evolved into not really dating at all. Most of the time, she didn’t even miss the mental drama of trying to figure out what another person wanted from her. But she did sometimes wish she had someone to go home to after shift.
“The department doesn’t need any bad press right now.” Jeff planted his hands on his hips and thrust his chest out—a move he’d picked up after his promotion. At five foot seven, with a lanky build that no amount of weightlifting could bulk up, he was smaller than a lot of the other firefighters.
“Understood, sir.”
The city had just settled a civil lawsuit filed against the fire department after an engine hit a car at an intersection while responding to an emergency scene. The driver of the car had survived but sustained serious injuries that left him unable to return to his job as a licensed plumber.
“You’re going to fix this.”
“Absolutely. I can call her and apologize.” When he shook his head, she rushed on. “Or find out where she’s staying and talk to her in person.”
“Apparently, this woman runs some kind of animal shelter. Your crew will volunteer there on Tuesday.”
“We’re off shift Tuesday.”
“Exactly.”
Anderson spoke up. “We all have to give up our day off because Everett tried to kill this lady’s dog?”
“I didn’t—”
“Yes, Anderson, because you succeed and fail as a unit. That’s the way this works.” He paused, but no one offered any further argument. “I’ll email you the name of the place. You will all be there at zero seven thirty.”
She rolled her eyes at his back before turning to her crew. “Guys, I’ll figure out a way to pay you back.”
“You bet you will,” Anderson said. “And I can’t wait to see how.”
* * *
Claire jerked awake as a door closed someplace else in the building. That nice chief had arranged for a taxi to bring her to the rescue, and she’d dozed restlessly on the sofa in her office for a few hours, but she might have been just as rested having not slept at all. The sofa would’ve been long enough for an adult, if Stu hadn’t claimed the end cushion as well as lying on top of her feet.
