Protecting What's Mine(118)

The sound of a gunshot rang in her ears.





59





“I literally can’t taste the difference,” Linc announced, dragging the blindfold off to stare at the two bowls of chili in front of him.

“Seriously? I use chipotle seasoning and jalape?os,” Al complained.

“Pfft. Please, amateur. This is chorizo sausage,” Lucille insisted, pointing at the bowl on the right.

“Both taste like Chef Boyardee to me,” Linc said.

Their jaws dropped in abject horror.

“Oh my God. I’m just kidding, guys.” Linc laughed, wiping his mouth with a napkin.

The alarm rang out.

“Let’s get to work,” he said as they hurried out of the room and down the stairs.

He was shrugging into his gear when his cell rang.

“Shit.” He had a text from Mackenzie. “Yeah, Linc.”

“Chief, this is Cheryl at dispatch. Mike’s got an open line on an emergency call. It’s coming from Dr. O’Neil’s address.”

His fingers froze on his coat. “Mackenzie.”

“It’s her house. Voices are garbled. She’s not alone. Sounds like whoever set the fire is still in there? Neighbors are calling in now. Structure fire.”

“Fuck. Brody, it’s Mack’s house,” Linc called.

Their gazes locked. “Go,” Lighthorse said.

“I’m on my way,” Linc told the operator as he climbed behind the wheel of his chief’s vehicle and tore out of the parking lot, lights and sirens blaring.

Fear was a living creature trying to claw its way out of his chest as his tires squealed around a corner.

“Hang on, Dreamy,” he whispered. “Just hang on.”

“Chief, Mike’s saying it sounds like the doc is saying something about a gun.”

He could see the flames from the end of the street. Neighbors were gathered on the sidewalk, clumps of people in pajamas and winter coats.

He heard the faint pop.

“Shots fired,” the call came across the radio. “All units to 214 Rosebud Lane. Shots fired. Structure fire.”

He stopped on the street, leaving the truck on, door open. He could hear the sirens coming. A quarter-mile out. But he couldn’t wait. He grabbed his helmet, threw on his bottle, and sprinted across the yard.

He could hear a barking dog, and his blood boiled. His girlfriend and his dog were in there, and he wasn’t waiting.

“Chief to dispatch. I’m on-scene. Going in.”

“Good luck, chief,” dispatch replied.

“Engine 231, one minute out.”

“Get her out, chief,” one of the neighbors called.

“Be safe!”

With the well wishes ringing in his ear, Linc affixed his mask and kicked in the cottage door.

If it were any other firefighter and any other house, Linc would have made them wait for backup. For command. For a plan. But it was Mackenzie.

The flames had engulfed the living room and dining room completely. He dropped to the floor as smoke billowed in hypnotic waves, blinding him.

His gloved hand found something that shouldn’t have been there. A gas can. Accelerant. Jesus.

He crawled forward into the inferno, the ceiling raining down on him in slow motion as the fire fueled itself. Flames and insulation, ceiling tiles. A macabre storm.

He couldn’t even see the stairs.

“Mackenzie!” He shouted her name. But there was no response.

He tried uselessly to knock back some of the flames licking at the drywall, the floor, as he made his way forward.

The stairs. He found them with his hands. They were on fire, almost melting in front of him. He had to get upstairs. He crawled up one then another. The carpet on them was on fire. Everything was on fire.

Something hit him on the shoulder, then gripped.

It was Brody and Stairmaster. And they were dragging him away from the stairs. Away from his woman. Away from his future.

“No!” Linc roared. He fought them, but they didn’t let him go.

They were almost to the door when the stairs gave, collapsing, sending a cloud of dust to mix with the toxic fog bank of smoke.

They dragged him out.

“Chief and search and rescue are out of the structure,” Command announced in a relieved breath.

Linc yanked off his helmet, his mask. “I’m going back in there.”

Brody stopped him with a hand to his chest. “There were shots fired.”

“Do I look like I fucking care? Mackenzie is in there. Sunshine is in there, and I’m getting them out.”

“The stairs are out,” Stairmaster said.

“I don’t care if I have to climb my way up with an ax. I’m not letting her go.”

“It’s too tight. We can’t get the ladder truck any closer, and we can’t go over the roof,” one of the volunteers reported breathlessly.

“Then we’ll take a ladder around back to the bedroom.”

“Let’s get it off the truck,” Brody said. “Where is it?”

“Staging at the end of the road. Units are stacked up like Tupperware out there.”

But Linc couldn’t wait for the volunteer to return with it.

“I have an idea,” he said and sprinted for the fence, for home.