What if there’s no dummy in here? Or what if there is, and I don’t find it? What if—
My shin bumps something solid and stings like a bruise to the bone. I stop in my tracks and wave my hands, but there’s nothing there.
I fold forward to feel for what hit my leg. At knee level, there’s something squishy like a mattress. I press against it and hear it bounce like springs. A bed?
This would be a good place for a dummy. Were it a real person, he or she could have been sleeping in bed, not realized there was a fire, and passed out from fumes. I’m so double-checking our fire alarms when I get home.
Still tipping at the hips, I slide my hands all over the mattress and feel a less squishy shape. A bag of sand?
I pat the bag to find it has limbs. My heart leaps. This must be the dummy I have to rescue.
I scoop the dummy toward me and lock an elbow under each of its armpits. I don’t have to go far to get back to the doorway. I wish Charlie was still with me to lead the way.
I back up, unsure whether I’m heading the correct direction or not. At least if I bump into something with my rear, it will sting less than my shin does.
Three steps, and I haven’t hit anything yet. Maybe I’m through the doorway. I slide my left foot back a step, but my heel snags on something attached to the floor.
Normally I’d be able to set my foot down to catch myself, but I’d already been leaning back to drag the dummy. Its extra weight pushes me toward the ground.
A surprised scream rips from my lungs before I land with a jarring thud. I hadn’t meant to yell for help. That only makes my situation more embarrassing. I hear radio static crackle and a voice echo, but I don’t make out the words.
At least with all this protective gear, I’m not hurt at all, though I’m surely costing Charlie the fastest time. I need to roll over and push myself up as quickly as possible. Preferably before I have to be rescued.
The dummy pins me to the ground. I rock side to side to knock it off, but the deadweight barely budges. I think back to my self-defense training and the way I’d flipped Karson over. I try to bend my knees to plant my feet, but all this gear restricts my movements. I’m a turtle on its back.
Panic rises in my throat. How long do I wrestle with this thing before calling for help?
And just like that, the dummy sits up. Or it feels like it does anyway. But before I can even figure out what’s going on, I’m lifted off the ground as well.
I clutch my arms around someone’s thick neck. This couldn’t be the female firefighter, could it? I highly doubt it’s Charlie. I love him and all, but he would gladly leave me behind if I was moving too slowly.
Could it be Karson? Could he lower the basket that quickly if he heard me scream?
As I’m carried toward the door, I hold my breath and watch for my hero’s face to appear. Wafts of smoke clear, and the first thing I notice are huge sideburns. What is Thad doing here? I thought he’d said he was going camping.
We emerge into the hallway. My classmates cheer. Thad carries me past them all, but I catch Kai’s eye.
He’s rocking in laughter. “If only he’d taken off his shirt.”
CHAPTER NINETEEN
KARSON
If your hero is a firefighter, your heroine better be an arsonist.
—LINDAHOWARD
I’m lowering the basket when spontaneous applause breaks out below. Clapping, shouting, and whistling. This never happened at the police station, but I shouldn’t be surprised. Firefighters get all the glory.
Larry whoops. “Check out Wolverine.”
I think he’s talking about himself in third person until I remember he calls Thad “Wolverine” because of the ludicrous facial hair. I’m not a big fan of baseball or of the former pitcher, so I doubt I’ll really care what he’s up to, but I look over the edge of the bucket in hopes everyone is simply excited to watch him drive away.
When I see him carrying another person in his arms, I know it’s Gemma as soon as the possibility punches me in the gut. She apparently caused trouble in the firefighting class the same way she did on the police academy side, but instead of threatening to kick her out the way I had, Thad carried her to safety. I want to pluck out his handlebar mustache with a pair of tweezers.
Larry pats me on the shoulder. “Hey, copper. You think Hawkeye could beat Wolverine in a fight?”
I level my gaze on the hand that’s touching me until he removes it. “They’re on the same side, Larry.”
