Connor sat himself down at the table in the common area. He’d grabbed a plate of food and the sports section of the paper in a vain attempt to distract himself. Even the knowing grins and occasional snorts from behind hands from his squadmates hadn’t managed to do that.

Surprisingly, they’d shown amazing restraint. Sure, there’d been a few hoots and hollers as he’d entered the room, and one elbow to the ribs, but overall, they’d been more congratulatory than leering. He grinned to himself. Maybe that had more to do with the fact that most of the squad had found the love of their lives over the last year or so and finally settled down.

Even Matt, an older member of the squad, had fallen—and fallen hard—just a few months back. In his mid-thirties and grumpier than someone twice that age, Matt Rivers was one guy Connor would not have been at all surprised to see single for years. A giant of a man with a gruff demeanor, Connor wasn’t sure he’d even seen the guy out on a date in the years he’d known him. Instead, Matt had seemed to lock himself away—for any and all social situations, now that Connor thought about it. And yet, all it had taken to bring the big man tumbling to his knees was a small blonde woman. Nearly half his size and probably half his weight, too, her reappearance in town had shocked Matt half to death. It had rattled them all, coming so close to the death of a fire victim, or even themselves in the process, but it had been more for Matt that day. Connor would never forget the look on his face.

Of course, now it all made sense. Matt’s panic that day was obvious in hindsight. When you loved someone, you’d do anything for them, even walk into a roaring fire. Connor stared down at the paper and took a bite of food, refusing to think about Scarlett somewhere out there on her own. He was being ridiculous. It was broad daylight, and she was a cop—an armed cop, for fuck’s sake. Yeah, she’d gotten hurt a few days ago, but that had been a lonely moron taking pot shots. Hadn’t it? There’d been no further attacks or even threats directly toward her since then. The chances of a random attack again in just a few days were almost impossible.

But that’s what they’d thought initially about the fires.

This was pointless. Connor dropped his fork back onto his plate, not bothering to be gentle about it, and pushed to stand. Mason looked up at him, raising his eyebrows at the clatter, but didn’t say anything. Connor shrugged at him and kept moving. The newspaper wasn’t going to have anything new enough for his purposes in it. He was stuck there for the foreseeable future, God forbidding any other emergencies that shift, and so he may as well make the most of the time. If he couldn’t accompany Scarlett, then the least he could do was throw himself back into their research. Maybe he’d finally find something that would help—something more concrete than the smoky trails and whispers that fell out of your fingertips as soon as you tried to grasp them.

He just opened his mouth to ask Mason if he could borrow the laptop again when dispatch’s siren rang through the firehouse, followed quickly by the dispatcher’s voice over the loudspeaker. The sound stopped Connor in his tracks.

Monroe was small enough that he knew the voice of just about every dispatcher that worked the system. He might not know them all personally, but each voice was familiar, and with it usually a name. Today, it was different.

He frowned, tilting his head to the side. He must look like a complete idiot. It wasn’t as if the announcement was hard to hear; the sound was practically blaring through the room. It was Holly; at least, he thought it was, but the usual upbeat tone to her voice was gone. Dispatch could probably get repetitive, and some operators droned the information out, but Holly always had a bit of a pep in her step. Until today. Today, she sounded like she was hurling the words out, her voice breathless and half-frantic.

As the alert sounded again at the end of Holly’s call, Connor realized his hands had rolled into fists. It took him another beat for Holly’s words to catch up with him. Explosion. High school. Students and teachers trapped. Connor ran.

A snort escaped him on the way down the stairs to the engine bay when he realized the rest of the squad was moving just as fast. It was something that had been drilled into them ever since the academy. Don’t run. It was dangerous, and panic—or even the appearance of it—was contagious. Watching his teammates thunder down the stairs next to him, it was clear no one gave a damn. Not with what was at stake.

As the truck pulled out of the firehouse, he threw out a quick prayer that Scarlett was hunkered down somewhere. She’d probably made it to the station before the alarm had gone off, but the timing was tight. Who was he kidding? Even if she had, she wouldn’t have stayed there long. She’d want to be in the field, and with so many citizens—God, so many children—in danger, he wasn’t about to insist that she step back. Still, he hoped her boss kept his promise to keep her involvement on the down-low. She could handle command, interrogate suspects, even liaise with the various branches that Connor was sure would be crawling all over the site by now. He could handle all that. Connor could only hope that she’d stay out of the line of sight of bombers—no, terrorists—who likely were already gunning for her.

When they arrived, the atmosphere was so charged Connor swore he could feel the air around them crackling. The county fire rescue service was already on scene, and other squads from nearby firehouses in the county were also pulling in, ready to offer assistance. The school held over a thousand students, and civilian traffic was thick with students, parents, teachers, even nearby locals. Some were fleeing the building, superficial cuts and bruises on their arms and faces. Parents stood, some crying, holding students in their arms, while others hunted through the crowd, some heading toward the collapsed structure. Others stood staring, shell-shocked at the sight before them.

Mason moved first, herding those standing on the perimeter away from the structure, while simultaneously calling out to Shane and Charlie to start up a triage area. Chief Stone had already disappeared into the fray, likely to find the other captains and anyone from HQ to coordinate the rescue efforts.

Connor stared at the school, or what was left of it. A large, gaping hole seemingly hung in the air, ripping a gash up the side of the building. It traveled along the brickwork, exposing classrooms and offices alike. Chairs sat toppled, some having made it out onto the lawn. Paper fluttered out of some rooms, littering the space and landing on top of a fine layer of dust that coated every available surface. Even kids running from the building were covered in it.

Quiet rumbling sounds came from parts of the building. They were too soft to be more sections collapsing, but the building still settling and shifting didn’t make Connor feel any better. Who knew what shape the weight-bearing structures were in? A loud clunk came from near the front of the school, and trickles of small debris rained down onto the concrete.

Chief Stone reappeared, and Mason called out to him. “Chief, we gotta get in there!”

Alex jogged over to their unit, calling them around. “The site survey was just complete, and HQ are getting the utilities shut off as we speak.” He nodded toward Jeremy and Dean. “Gibson and Halstead, find the hydrant and get a line run. Hale and McClellan, you’re on shore-up. The rest of you are on void search the moment it’s safe to enter. Until then, look for surface victims, and help with debris clearance.”

The squad turned and splintered without a word. It was moments like this when Connor appreciated the camaraderie and family-like relationships at the house more than ever. No one needed further explanation. Each member of the house was a man or woman he was proud to work beside—top-notch firefighters who knew their job. Not a one of them was out for fame or glory, or accolades sometimes given, but to save lives. Connor turned with Seth and grabbed the webbing and equipment out of the truck and moved toward the crumbling school.