Page 4 of No Good Fight

And all I can think about is Ryder still being inside.

“Jesus Christ,” I whisper.

A familiar voice appears beside me.

“You look nauseous.”

I jump slightly before glaring at my big brother, Josh.

“Don’t sneak up on me, you dick pickle.”

“You weren’t paying attention.” He hands me a coffee. “You okay?”

“Yes.”

“You sure?”

“No.”

Josh snorts softly like that’s the answer he expected.

Unfortunately, my brother knows me too well. Which means he notices the fact that I keep staring at the building like my life depends on it.

“I hate that he does this,” I mutter. “That you both do this.”

Josh takes a sip of coffee. “Running into burning buildings is kind of the whole job description. Not to mention the fact that we’re good at it.”

“You know what I mean.”

His eyes slide toward me. “Ah.”

“Oh my God, stop.”

“I didn’t say anything.”

“You made the face.”

“That wasn’t a face. That was observation and a little bit of understanding.”

I glare at him while he grins into his coffee cup, and all I want to do is slap it out of his hand because he shouldn’t see me so clearly. Not when he missed so much before.

Then movement appears through the smoke. Relief slams into me so hard my knees almost give out.

Ryder emerges from the building with a furious orange cat tucked inside his turnout jacket, coughing hard while the entire street erupts around him. Or maybe I hallucinate that part because all I can hear is the sound of my heart racing.

The woman bursts into fresh tears and uncontrollable sobs as she stares at her cat in Ryder’s arms.

Somebody starts laughing at the absurdity of the situation.

Another firefighter yells, “You’re fucking insane, Cook.”

Ryder just shrugs like risking death for a cat is a completely normal Tuesday night activity.

Which tracks.

He hands the cat back carefully before lifting his head, and immediately finds me in the crowd again with my camera pointed right at him.

Something in my stomach flips over hard.