24
Aferocious, early-season storm blew in that night, the kind more common in summer when the days were hotter. Winds and rains knocked down trees and power lines. A transport truck lost control on the interstate as visibility went to nothing, and eighteen other cars slammed into the pile before traffic slowed enough to avoid the accident site.
The SFD brought in every volunteer who answered the phone, whether they were on call or not, along with trucks from three other towns and counties. Linc, Vasquez, and Brian were on-site before the ambulances. The scene was a mess of twisted metal and the smell of diesel from the truck’s ruptured fuel tank slowly oozing over the asphalt.
Water dripped off Linc’s helmet and spattered down his jacket as he coordinated with other teams. Just when they thought the area was clear, a damn rubberneck spent too much time watching the heavy tow winch the truck back onto its axels and drove himself into the ditch.
By the time they were done, the sun was on its way up, Linc smelled like fuel and sweat, and every muscle in his body ached. He was ready to get to the station, dump his gear, and go back to his apartment to sleep for a hundred years.
But first, he unzipped his soaking, stinking jacket and fished into his uniform pants for his phone. Standard protocol said he shouldn’t be looking until they were back and officially off the clock for this call, but they’d left the station hours ago, and no one was going to fault him for checking in with the real world.
Linc’s phone was frustratingly blank. Not a text, not a missed call. Nothing. That his last memory of Avery would be the shattered look on his face made Linc’s heart squeeze.
He caught Vasquez watching him and stuffed his phone away again while she smiled sympathetically.
“He’ll call you,” she said, kicking a booted foot up on the truck’s frame. “I sent Wanda over yesterday to make sure he got your messages.”
“Yeah.” He stared out the window. The world was gray and wet. He was exhausted and sad. No matter which way he went over it, he still didn’t see how he could have handled it any better. Maybe if he’d gone into the country club, found Avery, and told him what was going on, but he would have still left. And at that moment, he didn’t know Lacey would be okay, so time had been crucial.
The dispatch radio crackled. Linc closed his eyes and folded his arms over his chest. The drive to the station would be too short, but at this point, he’d take any minutes of sleep he could get.
The truck veered sharply, tires squealing.
“What’s going on?” Linc asked as Brian’s sudden turn nearly tossed him out of his seat.
“Got a new call. Residential alarm.” Brian’s voice disappeared as the sirens wailed.
“What? No. Come on. Our shift ended an hour ago.”
“And we’re the closest truck to the call,” Vasquez said.
“Can’t they send someone else?” He was too tired for this.
“The other trucks have barely checked back in. They haven’t inspected their gear.”
“And neither have we!”
She scowled at him. He was being childish, but he’d spent hours in the rain, his boyfriend wasn’t speaking to him, and he was the furthest thing from feeling helpful right now.
Vasquez sighed. “We’ll go check it out. This time of day, it’s probably a false alarm. If we need backup, Brian will call it in.”
She was right. In firefighting, you couldn’t wave a call off with “I’m not on the clock.” He closed his eyes again and grumbled as Brian sped them through Seacroft’s sleepy streets.
Next thing he knew, they were stopping. He opened one eye. The rain was coming down hard again. Nothing would burn for long in this weather.
Vasquez held the radio handset to her mouth. “Dispatch, this is truck seven-two. We’re on-site at 171 Sand Dollar Crescent. There is nothing showing.”
He sat up straight. Sand Dollar Crescent? That was—
Linc peered through the fogged-up window on his side of the truck. Through the rain was the plain white house with the converted basement that he knew only too well.
“What the fuck is this?”
Vasquez shrugged. “We got a call. You should go check it out.”
Like a coward, he shook his head, and Vasquez tsked. “Standard procedure says we have to check it out, even if the initial report is nothing showing.”
He stared out the window. Did he dare go in there? Vasquez was up to something. Except what if she wasn’t, and Avery had a real problem?
