“No. I wanted to thank you, sir.”
“Thank me?” People rarely thanked Noah for removing them from duty.
“You could have fired me. You had cause, but you didn’t. Because of you, I got the help I needed, especially after I—”
“Became ill.”
Clarke nodded, accepting the tacit fiction Noah maintained. “Firehouse 15’s closure isn’t temporary. Everyone has been approached and offered new positions with very generous offers.”
“It’s cheaper than letting Rodriguez back behind a rig,” Noah answered acerbically. Cordova spared no expense to sweeten the dissolution of 15.
“That’s true.” Luna Rodriguez popped her head out and entered the gym. She was dressed in a bright red evening gown. Unexpectedly, she linked her arm in Clarke’s.
Noah’s heart leaped because Knight, Jones, Carver, and Jefferson, all dressed for the Ball, emerged and stood in a row. There was only one notable absence.
He played it cool. “You are off-duty, but I frown upon pregaming inside HQ.”
“As if you would step a foot out of line.” Williams rolled forward in a wheelchair. His suit was partially covered by the splint over his right leg, and his hair had grown into thick short curls.
“Sir, please don’t close Firehouse 15,” Jones said.
“We’ve all requested a return to 15. Or got denied.” Knight fake glared at Rodriguez, who shrugged.
“You put me on recruitment. I spent hours reading applications. You should hear them.” Clarke handed out pieces of paper.
“’CCFD saved me from a car accident on Veteran’s Day. Two firefighters broke me out of my car and saved my life. I want to be one of them,’” Jefferson read.
“’I was amazed by the camaraderie and dedication of the CCFD. The officer in the crashed fire truck immediately tried to care for her captain. She wouldn’t leave him,’” Jones recited without glancing at his paper.
“’My brother was rescued from a tree on Halloween by a female firefighter. That could be me next year,’” Rodriguez read.
“’I’ve loved Cleveland my whole life, and your captain at 15‘s words got me. He could have been my brother—he understands our city. This is Believeland, and I believe,’” Carver said.
“That’s only a few of them. There are four hundred applications for forty slots. One third are minorities, and one quarter are women.” Clarke said.
“Hastings expanded the class to sixty slots because twenty firefighters applied for Rescue Alpha, including me—provided I don’t stupidly get myself killed in the next six months,” Carver added.
“MetroGen may not support Rescue Alpha after Chief Gupta-Carver’s illness,” Noah said carefully, but obviously everyone here knew what had happened.
“Manika’s fine,” Carver said. “She’s taking it slow, but she’s not withdrawing her support. Kyra Yates has the assistant chief of the ER, Marcus Doyle, touring the Rescue Alpha facilities next week.”
“Who coordinated this?” It wasn’t a coincidence for them to have located him.
Had Erin . . .
“McClunis,” Clarke said. “She faked needing Luna and me to help her carry recruitment files to her temp office in admin. She locked us inside with a note telling us to figure our shit out or else.”
If Noah had been in a good mood, he’d have laughed. She fulfilled his objective to ‘find a way,’ to the letter.
“Give me a moment with the Chief,” Williams said.
The team filed out, and Noah glimpsed Soto, similarly attired, shake hands with Clarke before putting one arm around his niece and the other around Isadora Reyes.
“Is McClunis hiding behind the door to lock us in? They’ll need me for the speech.” Noah turned his attention back to Williams.
“Nah, she and I were in physical therapy together yesterday. She threatened to slap me upside the head.”
“Must have been an exciting PT session,” Noah observed dryly. Knowing McClunis, she threatened more than that. Williams never stood a chance if she could bend an NFL-caliber defensive end to her will.
