Water trickles over his bulky muscles, his blue eyes burning into me like I’m the danger the alarm was screaming about.
The ala?—
The wailing of the house alarm filters back in, and we both jolt back into action. I leave my stuff on the floor and rush for my quarters.
Davey is pulling his pants on over bright neon board shorts as he hops down the hallway on one foot. “Come on, probie, catch up!”
“Haha, bud.”
I slam my door, but it bounces off the frame, leaving an inch of space. I lose the towel to the floor and pull on my underwearand uniform. Just my luck, I shower and start to wind down and get a last-minute callout.
Curse of the last quarter of shift.
It’s absolutely real.
I’m not above being superstitious with this kind of thing.
I’m down the pole and stepping into my turnout before the next minute can pass. Twisting my hair into a rough ponytail as I climb into the engine, one hand pulling me up the high chrome sidestep, I plant my ass in the only spare seat left.
Right beside Hammond.
Who shifts on his seat like he’s just been allocated the worse seat in the house.
Righto, mate. Whatever.
Probably pissy over getting stuck with the probie.
Feeling’s mutual, bud.
The roar of the engine drowns out the conversation, and the crew picks it up over the headset. Eyes slide to me before they flicker over Hammond by my side.
So it’s just me. Everyone’s . . .
I slide the headset over my head and the conversation stops abruptly.
Sandy fixes his eyes on the road ahead. Owens clears her throat and Schmiddy?—
Isn’t here.
“Where’s Schmidt?” I ask.
Davey leans forward. “Went home, early mark.”
“Oh, right. Okay. It’s weird he’s not here for the last part of the shift,” I say to no one in particular.
Hammond’s gaze lands on me, sticking for a solid minute as he studies my face before checking the tablet in his hands.
“Probies, you’re with me today on rescue. Sandy and Owens, you’re fire attack with 41.”
We speed through the city, slowing occasionally as we wait for traffic to clear. The blast of the engine’s horn echoes through the high-rises.
When we pull over six minutes later, 41 is already in position.
Traffic accident.
Bus vs. courier truck.
Which is currently still ablaze with 41 fighting it, making the scene safe.
