The weather was still warm, and their patch of New York managed to avoid any real disasters for another two weeks.
And then came the restaurant fire.
The place was narrow, less than six feet from wall to wall. In another part of the country it might have been used as a storage closet for the apartment building next door. Hell, it might have been an alleyway or a greenspace with trees stretching up toward the sky. There was no reason to make a damn restaurant that was less than six feet wide.
Even if it did have the best pierogis in the state according to the sign on the door.
“That’s bullshit,” Lee Juracek told Diesel as he picked his way between overturned chairs. “The best pierogis in the state come from The Polish Village in Alphabet City. My Auntie Amelia works there.”
Pierogis were like dumplings, right? Diesel wasn’t quite sure, and he wasn’t about to ask. He was too focused on moving through the debris. The restaurant was empty and the fire was out except for the occasional fit and start from the embers deep in the walls. Now it was time to pick up the pieces.
Please, God, let that not include a body. The fire had been raging when they first arrived, jumping and dancing. There’d been no way into the building and no indication that they were needed in the restaurant’s interior. Diesel and Lee had manned a hose together, wetting down the buildings on either side before spraying directly into the flames.
The fire had started when the chef went out back for a smoke without turning down all the burners. A package of pierogis had been stacked on the back of the stove. It had caught fire and the flames had jumped to the walls a few seconds later.
By the time the customers noticed what was going on it was already too late.
At least it wasn’t a grease fire.
Diesel hated grease fires. He hated the mess, he hated the smell, and he hated that most of them got out of hand when someone tried to put them out. A cup of water on a grease fire didn’t help. It just caused the flame to flare up even higher.
They’d been there ninety minutes before the line cook told the captain about the apartments on the narrow building’s second and third floor. They were illegal conversions only accessible through a set of boat stairs in the back, one bedroom, one bathroom each, and they still probably rented for twice what Diesel paid for his own little corner of hell.
People were willing to pay more for privacy, even if they couldn’t afford a building that had passed all its inspections. Shit. Diesel’s gear weighed heavy across his back as he tried not to think about his own warren of an apartment. His room didn’t have any freaking windows. If something caught on fire? If one of his roommates decided to cook something at two in the morning or left a lit cigarette on the coffee table next to an open bottle? It’d be all over.
“How are you guys doing?” Jack’s voice crackled over the working radios. “You make it upstairs yet?”
“Not yet,” Lee answered for both of them. They’d finally reached the very back of the restaurant. If anything it was narrower than the front. Heat pricked at Diesel’s skin and made sweat roll across his brow. Lee had to turn sideways to start up a contraption that was more ladder than stairs. His boots overflowed the treads, and the entire thing creaked and rattled when he headed up.
Diesel held his breath until Lee landed on the second floor with a thunk. It was his turn. He had a bad feeling about this, but he wasn’t about to complain. Not when Jack was listening to them on the radio.
In the week since he’d gone to the captain’s house, they’d gone out every night in Manhattan. Sushi. Burgers. Banh-mi. No Polish food. Twice the night had ended with desperate kisses at the ferry dock. The rest of the time, they’d made it all the way back up to Diesel’s place where Jack had managed to silence the cacophony in the living room with a hard stare.
The sex was absolutely freaking fantastic, like something out of the kind of porn Diesel would never admit to watching.
And at the end of the night Jack always kissed him on the forehead and left without saying a word.
Casual. That was the name of the game.
The so-called stairs were a little bit quieter under Diesel’s feet, but he was carrying less weight around the middle. That didn’t stop the tiny second floor landing from groaning at his arrival. “This place is a disaster.”
“It’s that bad?” Jack asked.
“He’s speaking architecturally,” Lee hurried to explain. “It’s mostly smoke damage so far. No bodies.”
The key to the apartment had gone mysteriously missing, if it ever existed at all. Lee’s uniform flapped and billowed around him as he kicked at the door, but the cramped space didn’t give him enough room to build up momentum. He had to kick out three more times before the hinges finally splintered and gave way.
Inside was even worse. The electricity had gone out and the shotgun design meant that the light coming through the windows at the front of the building didn’t quite make it to the back. It smelled like smoke and sour meat. Diesel made the sign of the cross as he pulled out his flashlight. He didn’t go to church, but he had yet to meet a firefighter who wasn’t religious given the right circumstances.
“You’ve got the light, you take the lead.” Lee pressed himself up against a wall, allowing Diesel to shimmy past.
“Whoever built this place needs to have their head examined.” He clicked the flashlight on, sweeping its beam across a pint-size kitchen set up with a bathtub next to the sink and a toilet tucked beside the refrigerator. Charming.
“It’s probably a spite building,” Jack said over the radio.
Like that explained anything. Diesel waited a moment, giving them a chance to continue. Nothing. “What the fuck’s that?”
“Back when they were dividing up all the land in the city, things could go sideways fast,” Jack explained. “Someone ends up with an awkward parcel, maybe they try to sell it to one of their neighbors and they can’t reach a fair price, maybe the city takes part of the land to build a road, whatever.”
The smell of smoke was getting even stronger, and it felt like the walls were bowing inward. Diesel took a tentative step forward, forcing himself to draw air in through his mouth. The building might be a pile of bricks and spite, but it had stood for years. It wasn’t about to fall apart now.
He hoped.
“The guy gets mad.” Jack’s voice was rough, like gravel running across asphalt. It was also reassuring as Diesel made his way out of the kitchen-cum-bathroom and into a living room whose major furniture piece was a plaid couch. “He decides to build on it himself to block out the light, ruin the view, block access to a back alley, or something along those lines. There used to be one over on Lexington and 82nd. Remind me and I’ll show you a picture sometime.”
“Fucking hell, a fire and a history lesson,” Lee snarked. “That’s a first. Is there such a thing as a spite couch? Because I’m pretty sure we’re looking at a spite couch, Captain.”
Diesel didn’t say anything, but that didn’t stop the heat from flooding his cheeks. The mini-lecture had been entertaining and illuminating. It had also been freaking special. Jack didn’t usually clutter up the radio with chatter. Taking the time to respond to Diesel’s question? That was freaking special.
Creak. He took another step forward and—
Crunch. His boot went halfway through the unsteady timbers. The crowded apartment was throwing off his spatial awareness, but if he had to guess, they were directly above the restaurant’s small kitchen.
He jerked his boot out, shaking it twice to dislodge any debris.
“This place is coming apart, boss.” He held his breath, waiting for Jack to answer. “You want us to keep going?”
“I want you to stay safe.”
Lee laughed. “It’s almost like you care.”
“Of course I care. You know how much paperwork I’d have to fill out if the two of you died.” There was a sharp intake of breath, like Jack had only just considered the possibility that they might not make it out alive. “How bad is it?”
“We’re fine.” Diesel wasn’t about to reassure his not-boyfriend on an open line, but he wanted to. He moved over toward the side of the room where the floor might be a little stronger. Every movement forward was a two-step process now, first edging his foot forward to make sure the area was safe and then putting the rest of his weight down carefully.
They were almost at the front of the building now, only one room left to check out. “Anyone there?” Diesel called out. Maybe he wouldn’t need to go any farther in after all. “This is the fire department, is there anybody there?” He held his breath. Please, God.
A whimper, so quiet he almost missed it.
Except then it repeated itself, louder.
Two more slow steps. Lee’d dropped back even farther now. “The floor’s not going to hold both of us.” He was talking directly to Diesel, but the radio line was still open. Jack would be able to hear every word. “I’m the senior man. I’ve got more experience. You can come back and we can switch places, or—”
Fuck that. Lee might have a couple of years on him, but that didn’t mean either of them knew what they were doing. Not really. Every single fire was different, an organic living breathing thing that charged the atmosphere around them, creating the possibility that anything—anything—could happen. In the end, all a firefighter had was his training and his gut.
“I’m going to keep going,” he said.
Smoke was sharp and acrid in the back of his throat. It wasn’t billowing or clouding the air. He could see fine, but it hurt when he swallowed. Keeping his mouth closed was always an option, but then he wouldn’t be able to draw in as much oxygen.
The whimpering was gone now. Maybe he hadn’t heard it in the first place. Pipes squeaked. Air blew awkwardly through the downstairs. It could have been anything.
Diesel took another step.
Crunch. His boot went all the way into the floorboard this time, but he could see through the open door. The bed was a messy double with a powder-pink comforter sprawled halfway across the floor. The furniture might have come with the house, but the comforter definitely belonged to the resident.
It matched her fingernail polish.
Powder pink and gleaming. Her manicure was fresh. One hand was outstretched from where she was sprawled unconscious on the bed. Her hair was messy and blond. Her cream tank top and mauve yoga pants were clean. Except for the chemical stench, she might have been asleep.
The time for being careful was over.
Only a few feet separated Diesel from the door. He could make it. Probably. He crossed his fingers and tried to keep his steps light as he darted forward. He wasn’t light enough. The entire building seemed to shake as he arrived at the bed.
Time to call in the cavalry.
“I’m in the front of the building. I’ve got a body. Female.” He put two fingers to the blonde’s throat. “Unconscious, not dead. I can’t get out the same way I came in. Not if I’m carrying her.” The floor wouldn’t hold. Hell, he didn’t even know if it would be safe for him to cross back to where Lee was waiting. “I hope you’ve got a plan, boss.”
“Open the window,” Jack said. “Break it if you have to. We’re getting out the ladder.” His tone was sharp now, brittle. Behind him, Diesel could hear the creak of machinery being put to work. “Lee, you with him?”
Diesel turned his head. He could just make out a flash of yellow as Lee retreated back through the kitchen. “He’s on the way down.”
A collection of snow globes were balanced on the edge of the bedframe. The mattress was curled up on the far side to fit into the room. He’d have to climb over the bed to get to the window.
His gloves were stiff and awkward as he wrapped the comforter around the woman’s body. Everywhere his fingers touched left sooty tracks behind. Fuck. When the comforter was solidly in place he gave it a sharp tug.
The whole contraption moved like a sled, sliding the blonde over to the left side of the bed. With that done Diesel knelt down and crawled over to the two small windows. The first window was stuck. He didn’t even bother trying the second one. Instead, he grabbed his flashlight from the loop on his belt and used it to break the glass.
Gloves might be uncomfortable, but they were damn useful when it came to dealing with a mess.
Beep. Beep. Whirr. The fire engine’s mechanical noises bounced off the canyon created by the street’s tall buildings, making the ladder sound super close. It wasn’t.
“You need to change the angle,” he said. “The ladder’s not going to make it.” No answer. Shit. He tapped his radio, but it was still buzzing away. It worked; Jack just wasn’t transmitting. “Boss, we got a problem?”
The ladder turned six inches. It began to shudder back and forth. It wasn’t quite there.
“Back the truck up,” Jack ordered down below.
Grrr. The engine thrummed to life. The truck lurched backward, moving faster than it should have. Had the driver accidentally put his foot on the gas? He was shouting angrily, audible through the open window instead of over the radio.
The street was less than twenty feet wide and full of people, but the truck was still moving.
What the hell was going on?
Clang. The fire truck backed straight into a metal streetlight. Crunch. It collided with a brick building and the engine died.
Diesel’s entire body flinched and his eyes squeezed shut. He forced himself to take one deep breath, then another. It had to be a coincidence. Their saboteur was into penny-ante bullshit. He swapped out batteries and tied people’s shoelaces together. He wouldn’t screw with the damn truck, right?
“Boss.” He wanted to say Jack’s name but was afraid his voice would crack. There was nothing casual about the anxiety he was feeling now. “Boss,” he repeated a little more firmly. “Are you there?”
“Yeah.” Jack coughed. “We’ve got a problem. The truck’s acting kind of tetchy.”
“Tetchy? From up here it looks like it’s completely out of control.”
“Yeah, well, are you sure you can’t get back out the same way you got in?”
The living room floor didn’t look too bad from where he was standing. Maybe? Except, he remembered the ceiling of the restaurant down below. It was charred, black and ugly like the fire had carved away at the structure with a dull blade.
It was impossible to predict what would happen if he walked across it, and it wouldn’t just be his life he was risking.
The collection of snow globes came in every shape and size. He picked up the largest one. It was heavier than it looked. The base was made out of wood. The glass was solid. Inside were palm trees and surfboards, a family Christmas in Hawaii.
He tossed it through the door and into the middle of the living room floor.
Wood crunched, crackled, and came apart. The floor practically disintegrated underneath the weight of the snow globe. The fire must have been worse than he thought or else the building was more spite than screws and timber.
“Talk to the driver,” he said out loud, working the problem. “Can you get the truck started again?”
“Maybe. We’ll give it a try.” Jack was visible now, pacing back and forth in front of the engine like a caged animal. His hair was sticking straight up, his shirt wrinkled. He turned his head look up at Diesel. “I don’t want anything to happen to you.”
It wasn’t a declaration of love—they didn’t have that kind of relationship—but that didn’t stop Diesel’s heart from fluttering against his ribs. He sucked in a breath and hunkered down for the wait.
Cough. Bang. The engine struggled to start up, but it quickly became clear the truck wasn’t going anywhere.
“Maybe if you try extending the ladder all the way?” The angle wouldn’t be right, but it’d be close. “I might be able to swing out?”
“Fuck no,” Jack swore. “We’re not getting a reputation for that Tarzan shit.” This time he didn’t bother explaining his comment. “Wait for me. I’m coming to get you.”
The radio fizzled, but noise was still coming in through the open window. Down on the street, horns were honking as the everyday traffic of New York City tried to force its way through the blockade but underneath that was a layer of voices, men in yellow uniforms arguing loudly as they came up with a plan.
Whatever they decided on, Jack clearly wanted to participate. He grabbed a bunker jacket from the truck and finished pulling on his equipment in the middle of the road. A dark-haired man stepped in front of him? Lee? No, Theo. They exchanged heated words and Jack pushed past him on the way inside.
He wasn’t alone.
The whole team of firefighters swarmed into the crumbling building behind their captain, and now Diesel could make out what they were saying through the hole in the floor. “Do we know who owns this place?” Jack said. “They need to be fined.”
“They need to be shot,” someone said half a second later.
It was funny but nobody laughed.
Feet scraped and stomped on the impossibly narrow stairs. Then, “Wilkes, Lee, I want you checking the third floor. Be careful. Everyone else, you’re with me.” Jack wasn’t about to let some little thing like the laws of physics get in his way. “Evers?”
“I’m here, boss.”
“Uh-huh.” There was a long pause where he couldn’t see anything and then movement on the other side of the dark living room. “You still got your flashlight?”
“Always.”
“Toss it over so I can see what we’re looking at.”
The metal flashlight was hard and heavy. If it hit someone the wrong way then it could do serious damage, but Diesel didn’t hesitate to issue a warning. He tossed it across the void. Thunk. It hit something on the other side and rolled for a few seconds before someone picked it up.
Light poured down into the open hole.
“Shit. Someone actually lives up here?”
“There are worse places.”
“Uh-huh.” The light flashed upward and the bottom half of Jack’s face was visible for two whole seconds. He wasn’t smiling. “Your apartment’s a shit show. This is like something out of an Upton Sinclair novel.”
Diesel didn’t get the reference, but he was too happy to have help to give a rat’s ass. Maybe they could go back to the bookstore after the shift was over. Jack could teach him about literature, and he’d bask in the other man’s presence. It would be comfortable, cozy in a way he’d never experienced coziness before.
Like when the two of them had snuggled up on Jack’s couch, eating pizza and playing video games.
Damn, that’d been good.
Jack’s jaw tightened. He was surveying the scene like a master engineer, making plans and working angles. A moment later he was moving to the side and gesturing toward the men behind him. He gave a quiet order. Together, they started moving the tattered tartan sofa, shoving it out into the void.
Shit. The entire place was going to come apart underneath them and Diesel would still be stuck like a fairy-tale princess in a damn tower.
Then the sofa made it across the void like the world’s most awkward bridge. “You sure that’s going to hold?” Diesel asked.
Jack leaned against the couch, hard. He bounced it up and down. “It’ll hold.”
Not exactly reassuring. Nerves thrummed through Diesel’s entire body, but he didn’t say a word. Instead, he slid his arms underneath the girl’s body and lifted her up. She was slender and petite, a hundred pounds maybe. That made it easier. He could do this.
No, he was going to do this.
There was no room for error.
The floor was squeaking and screeching under his boots. A crisp burst of air billowed against the back of his neck. His nostrils flared and his stomach rolled. The chemical scent was getting worse, not better. That shouldn’t have been possible. He held the girl just a little tighter as he put a foot on the couch and—
The entire world wobbled like he was in some kid’s teeter toy. “It’s not going to work.”
He wasn’t going to risk it.
He couldn’t.
Not with her life.
“You got a backup plan, boss?”
“This is the backup plan.”
“It’s not going to hold both of us.” But it might hold the woman by herself. She was so damn lightweight. If they got out of this alive, he was going to buy her a burger and a milkshake.
Diesel backed up a few feet and knelt down at the edge of the couch. The cushions had holes in them. All their bounce had been squished out of them years earlier. When the girl was settled down on top of them, he stood and picked up the end closest to him.
Across the void, Jack and the other firefighter squatted down on either side of the couch. They pulled. He pushed. When they were done, the sofa and its occupants were on the other side of the hole in the floor.
Jack took her pulse and checked her reflexes. When he was sure that she was going to make it, he handed her off to the guy at his side. Boots thudded as firefighters carried her out of the apartment.
Then it was just Diesel and Jack and a hole in the floor four and a half feet across. He could jump it, maybe. It’d be easier if he could get a running start, but he’d have one stride if he was lucky.
“You want to try the sofa again?” Jack asked. He pushed the furniture back toward the edge and—
Crack. Wood floorboards came apart like Legos thrown against the wall.
The hole was almost six inches bigger now, and it was growing. Jack pulled the couch back fast. The shift in weight should have helped stabilize the damage. It didn’t. The hole was getting bigger. Eventually, a jump would be impossible.
“Don’t even think about it,” Jack growled. “You’re not a damn superhero.”
“No, but you are.” He grinned. “You’re not going to let me fall.”
Something flickered in the back of Jack’s eyes. For a moment it looked like he was going to say something, but then his gaze hardened. His jaw tensed. “You better hurry.”
Permission granted. Diesel took a half step back, gathered all of his energy, strode forward and leaped across the void like a damn ballerina in full bunker gear with an oxygen tank on his back. His right foot landed solidly. His left collided with the crumpled edge. For a moment it held, but then it collapsed underneath him. He tipped backward.
He was going to fall.
He—
Strong hands brushed against his arms, individual fingers hard to make out through the clumsy gloves. Jack’s grip was like a vise. He yanked hard. Diesel’s arm twisted. His bones felt like they might break in two, but it didn’t matter. He was safe. He was going to be okay.
They were both going to be okay.
And then the ground disappeared underneath them.
Gravity worked its magic.
They slammed downward, hitting the edge of the counter before landing in the clear space between the kitchen and the bathrooms. Something broke, or maybe it just felt that way. Diesel’s eyes flickered and everything went dark.