They’d almost kissed in the Mexican restaurant.
They would have kissed if Eric hadn’t shown up, Jack was positive. Or close to. Sixty-five percent. Now, they were both on duty again and Diesel hadn’t looked his way except to check in that he’d communicated the plan to Troy and Tito. It should have been reassuring—the last thing Jack needed was to get involved with a subordinate. Instead he found it frustrating as hell.
At least Diesel was still following orders. Jack followed his movements even while he listened to the buzz and whirr of his radio—a working radio with extra batteries. They hadn’t been called out to anything larger than this four-car pileup all day. If the brass found out he was traveling with the truck instead of stuck up in his office filling out paperwork then they’d be pissed.
It didn’t matter.
Someone was messing with his team’s equipment, which meant no one was going out in the field without oversight. At least on first shift. He’d double-checked the records and consulted with the lieutenants who oversaw the other two rosters. Both of them had expressed worry, but neither of them had seen any uptick in equipment failures on their watch.
For the moment, he was taking them at their word.
Diesel slowed as he reached the first car, but there was nothing tentative about his approach. He yanked open a door, ducking his head inside. The occupants must have gotten out before the firetruck arrived because he kept moving.
He slowed as he approached the second car, a blue sedan that looked like a crushed tin can. He had to bend awkwardly to get his shoulders through the window, but a moment later he was standing and signaling.
“They’re going to be here any minute.”
“I need them now.” Diesel was firm.
Jack was already moving. He might not be as useful as a full bus with equipment and personnel, but he’d stabilized his fair share of accident victims. Diesel’s hand dropped. He hadn’t turned off his radio, and his breath was coming fast. Shit. Had something gone wrong? There shouldn’t have been an opportunity for anything to malfunction.
His boots splashed in puddles left over from the morning’s rain. The air was heavy with the acrid scent of burnt plastic. The closer he got, the more it hurt to breathe. Something was still on fire, even if he couldn’t see it.
They needed to stabilize the person in the car and get out of there, fast. “What’ve we got? Evers, report.”
“Two adults in the front seats. The passenger is unconscious. The driver—” Diesel swallowed hard. “There’s a kid in the back. He’s alert.”
That explained the hesitancy in Diesel’s voice. If one of the adults was seriously hurt or—worse—dead then he didn’t want to worry the kid. It was a kindness and one Jack wasn’t used to in a department full of men who prided themselves on their bluntness.
When he got to the car, he scooted around to the driver’s side, easing open the front door. Damn. There was so much blood. It clung to the ceiling and radiated out from a crack in the windshield. The man in the driver’s seat was tall and oversize with muscles that had run to fat. His body was positioned awkwardly over the air bag. The damage to his head matched the damage to the glass.
The way his neck was twisted, Jack didn’t bother checking his pulse.
He was dead.
On the other side of the car, Diesel was putting pressure on the passenger’s wounds. Her eyes had opened and she was struggling against his grip. “Don’t move your head,” he told her. “I know it’s scary, but I need you to keep your head still until we can get you checked out by the paramedics.”
It was good advice. Jack just didn’t know if it would be possible. He moved to the rear door, yanking it open to look at the kid crying quietly in the back seat. He was lanky with fluffy brown hair. A couple of years earlier he might have been out of his safety seat already, bouncing around in the back of the car with only a belt to keep him safe. Thank God for improved safety regulations and a six-point harness.
He looked fine.
That didn’t mean Jack was taking any chances. “Hi, dude.” He kept his voice low and calm. “What’s your name?”
The boy’s mouth wrinkled up. His head darted to the side like he didn’t know whether or not he was supposed to answer.
“Jack,” his mom wheezed from the front seat. “His name’s Jack.”
“That’s my name too,” Jack said. “My mom always called me Jackie when I was a kid. Can I call you Jackie? That way we won’t get mixed up.”
“It’s Jack,” the kid said between tears.
“All right then, how about you call me Jackie.” He held out a finger. “How old are you, Jack?”
“Four.”
“That’s a good age. I remember when my son was four. He was into dinosaurs. Do you like dinosaurs?” The kid’s head bobbed up and down. “Good. Good. I never remember, what’s the dinosaur with the really long neck?”
“Brachiosaurus.”
“Great.” He asked a couple more dinosaur questions before moving on to the more basic mental assessments, double-checking that the kid knew his own phone number and address. The car crash meant the kid was going to get checked out by a doctor, but if his responses were anything to go by, he was going to be A-okay. “All right, buddy, does anything hurt?”
“My name is Jack.” He stuck out his chin defiantly.
In the front seat, Diesel was going through the same sort of tests with the kid’s mom. Her name was Anne Marie, she was twenty-seven years old, and she couldn’t remember the address of their home in North Carolina even though Jack had said it a couple of minutes earlier. Not good. She’d definitely experienced some neurological damage.
Jack and Diesel exchanged looks. Diesel’s expression was calm and professional, but sorrow filled his eyes. The more the woman kept talking, the more incoherent her responses became. She was getting worse, and the scent of burning plastic was getting stronger.
Jack made a judgment call and unbuckled the kid’s car seat. “Come on, Jacko.” He bit back an oomph as forty pounds of wriggling, jiggling, preschooler landed in his arms. “Let’s get out of here.”
They’d made it less than three steps before the boy articulated the question they were all thinking: “What about my mom?”
“I don’t know what’s going on with your mom, Jack. Why don’t we get you settled and then I’ll check with my buddy Diesel?”
“Diesel’s a funny name for a firefighter.”
“Freaking hilarious, but your mom’s in luck because he’s the best. I’m glad he works for me.”
“You’re his boss?” Little Jack thought about that for a long minute. His nose scrunched up. “Are you any good?”
Crunch. Metal buckled somewhere behind him. For a moment everything smelled like gasoline. The scent was enough to make his head ache. He accelerated slightly and—
Boom. Something exploded behind him, the noise making his ears ring and the force sending him stumbling forward. He had to twist hard to avoid falling and, damn, he was going to feel that in the morning. It’d be worth it. He was still upright. His legs were still moving. He hadn’t dropped the preschooler in his arms or—worse—crushed him.
“Evers.” He couldn’t turn around, not when it would mean giving the kid a view of what had once been his car. Instead, he spoke hurriedly into his radio, repeating the firefighter’s name. “Evers, report.” Nothing. Oh, hell. “Come on, Evers.”
Why the hell hadn’t he kissed him? Dating one of the firefighters who worked under him would be like playing Russian roulette with a fully loaded gun. It was a bad idea. If anyone from the department found out then he could kiss his retirement goodbye.
It didn’t matter.
He should have kissed him. “Goddamn it—”
“Don’t swear in front of the kid.” For a moment he thought it was someone else’s voice crackling over the line. The street was full of firefighters. Maybe one of them had decided to risk his life by correcting Jack’s language in the middle of an emergency. Then he heard a cough. “We’re fine,” Diesel said. “We’re fine. It was the car behind us.”
Thank God. Jack swung around to take in the damage. The row of junked cars was now on fire. Diesel hadn’t moved an inch. The man was a rock, holding Anne Marie together as they waited for the arrival of the paramedics.
The rest of the crew was dealing with the car fire ten feet behind him. An ant warren of firefighters with chemical extinguishers had descended on the car still burning at Diesel’s back. Jack spotted Theo Wilkes and Lee Juracek both working smoothly, following every possible safety protocol.
Everything was going to be okay. He’d left his antacids back at the firehouse, but he didn’t need them.
Everything was going to be just fine.
Diesel coughed. “Boss, we really need that ambulance.”
And thank God for small miracles because lights flashed off the nearby windows. The ambulances had finally arrived, and the crew came running out with Alex Tate in the lead. The paramedic was one of the best. If anyone could keep Anne Marie breathing, it was him.
“Paramedics are here.” Jack hoisted his passenger higher up on his hip. “Anyone else got something to say?” No answer. Damn it. He hated having to wait. “Wilkes, report!”
“Yes, Captain!” Theo said, but his voice had a hard edge. It took him a minute to get started, and when he did his report was halting, hesitant. It was one of the reasons Jack had picked Troy when they both applied for the open lieutenant position. A man who couldn’t report in the field would never make it through the piles of paperwork that came across his desk every day.