London’s hand presses to her chest. “Where was their mom?”
My hand gravitates toward the radio. “Owens, any signs of life?”
“Negative, Cap. This side of the house and the rear workshop are clear.”
I look to London and shake my head.
“We need to take them out of here.” She steps toward the sofa and pulls back the blanket.
At least it would have been relatively quick. The explosion would have knocked them out before the heat, flames, and fumes stole their little lives.
Bile rises in my throat.
“London, stop.” I move forward.
“No. They would have been so terrified. The least we can do for them is this last thing.”
Hooking the extinguisher to her hip via a shackle, she leans down and talks softly to the first child. Lifting them from the sofa, she holds them in her arms.
Following the lead of the bravest, most selfless probie I’ve ever known, I scoop up the remaining child, and we walk them out.
Free of the house, we lay them on the soft green grass. Sandy has a sheet covering them before I have time to tug the mask from my face.
I snap my radio from my shoulder. “Clear out, Owens.”
“Copy, over.”
Moments later, Davies and Owens walk out the front door of the house. I radio the station for the coroner and send my crew running, having them pack up as the NYPD assess the house that’s gone from a crime scene to a possible homicide.
“All clear, sir.” I update the NYPD sergeant and his team that’s waiting to move in. The mood is so somber I can feel it all the way down to my bones.
Humanity can go suck a big one today.
Whoever left those kids alone will live with this for the rest of their days. And so they fucking should.
Not giving the team a minute to think about what we just witnessed, I bark orders to file into the engine. We pull awayfrom the curb, the cab deadly silent. Not even Schmiddy has one smart-ass or inappropriate comment to unload.
Finally, the man has a boundary.
Chapter 20
LONDON
Hot water sprays over my face, and I choke on the sob that’s been clogging my throat since the second I crossed the threshold of the burned-out house, precious cargo in my arms.
Motionless and rigid precious cargo in my arms.
Eyes that will never open again.
Laughter that will never be heard again.
A life of potential, snuffed out in one careless act.
“Fuck!”
I knew this job came with its hard moments. I didn’t predict impossible ones.
“London?” Davies calls.
