World on Fire

By Geonn Cannon

Prologue -

Black 26

Her first thought was that this was, at long last, the boogeyman from her closet finally come to get her. The smoke was rising behind him and he wasn't shaped like any other man she'd ever seen.

Usually, whenever she woke up during the night, she found herself looking up at the pale green glow-in-the-dark stars and planets her Daddy had stuck to the ceiling over her bed. Now they all seemed very distant, fuzzy, like the real stars that she could see outside. Sometimes clouds got in the way and the stars looked like they were about to burn out; that's what her personal solar system looked like now. But how could clouds have gotten into her room? Did the boogeyman bring them?

Alex blinked her eyes, which were watering, and started to sit up. The man held her down, but it wasn't a scary move. She stayed where she was and he said, "Hold tight, honey, we'll get you out of here. But we have to stay low, okay?"

She nodded, eyes locked on the big black number 26 that was on the front of his hat. With his hat and the heavy coat he was wearing, he looked like a miner. But why would a miner be in her bedroom? And why was he wearing a coat when it was so hot? It was almost too much for her to stay under her princess-adorned quilt. He pulled the quilt down and pulled her to the side of the bed, letting her fall gently to the floor. "You okay?" he said.

She nodded and he fumbled with something by his side. Alex was scared again, but only for a moment. He put the thing over her mouth and nose and told her to hold it there. She did as she was told, never taking her eyes from where his face was supposed to be. "We're going to get out of here as quick as a flash, okay? But we're going to have to crawl at first, because there's a lot of really hot air over our heads."

"Make us cough," she managed in her small, scared voice.

"Yeah," he said. "I don't know about you, but I hate to cough. So we'll just stay low, okay?"

She nodded. He bundled her to his chest, holding her with one arm and making a tent over her body with his own. He crawled on his one free hand and knees, moving through the small bedroom with a speed that almost made Alex feel like she was on some kind of weird amusement park ride. She wrapped her arms around the monster-man's neck and held on as tight as she could. The thing he'd fastened on her face was slipping and she tried to rearrange it.

"No, honey, you have to keep that on," he said as he covered her hand with his thick glove. "I know it's uncomfortable, but it's better than what's out here."

As he crawled out of her room, she saw the living room and kitchen of their little apartment. That was where Daddy sat by the window and smoked his cigars, watching traffic go by. That over there was where Mommy did her crossword puzzles and looked in the dictionary because that was learning, not cheating. Something smelled bad, like when Mommy 'flubbed one' in the kitchen and they ordered pizza for dinner.

Now they were in the hallway and she could see Jessica Harvell's apartment door across the stairway. It had been broken. Maybe by the monster-man. Maybe they were taking all the little girls. She felt scared, remembering all the scary stories her Daddy sometimes told her. She didn't want to be holding onto the monster-man anymore, she didn't want to be in this gross hallway and she wanted to be in her bed looking up at the stars like--

"You like stars?" the monster-man asked.

Alex jumped, afraid that he could read her mind and she shuddered.

"I saw the posters in your bedroom when I was coming to get you. You like stars?"

"D-Daddy put up a solar system in my bedroom."

"Did he? I missed that. Will you show me when we get your home all fixed up?"

Fixed up? What did that mean? She nodded even though she wasn't sure and then pushed her face against his neck despite how scared she was. The thing on her mouth and nose pressed into her skin and she wanted to yank it off but was scared of what the monster-man might do if she did. Now that they were on the stairs, he wasn't crawling anymore.

Over his shoulder, it looked like the upstairs of their apartment was disappearing in fog.

*'Like Alice,'* she thought. *'She followed someone away from home, too, only I don't think the white rabbit was quite as scary as the monster-man.'*

"My sister bought me a telescope one year for Christmas. Just sits in the corner of my living room collecting dust."

"Daddy gave me a telescope."

"Really? What kind is it?"

She rattled off the details her Daddy had taught her. She didn't know what they meant, but he'd seemed so proud when he presented it to her. She knew it was probably more than they could afford, so she had jumped up and down and kissed him on the cheek and said he was the best Daddy in the whole world. And he was, because he didn't get another new fishing pole for almost two whole years after that. Mommy had said that; Alex still wasn't sure what it meant, but the way Mommy said it...

They were outside and it was so *cold*! She clung to the monster-man, mostly because he was still warm, and he carried her across the parking lot. There were so many cars, so much noise all around... she was starting to get scared when she heard her Daddy's voice across the parking lot.

"Alex...? Alex!"

She twisted in the man's arms and looked frantically for her Daddy. He was in his pajamas, naked-chested and running barefoot towards her. The monster-man released her and her Daddy wrapped his arms around her at the same instant. She hugged him, smelling his smell instead of the stinky smoke smell of the monster-man. "They wouldn't let me go back in," her Daddy was saying over and over again.

Her Mommy was stroking her hair, crying really loud and Alex wondered if the monster-man had broken something in the apartment. It was so loud and so bright! Why was everything so loud when it was still the middle of the night?

They sat in the back of a big, bright truck that was red on the outside and very, very white on the inside. She sat on her Daddy's knee because he didn't seem to want to let her go. She spotted the monster-man a few feet away, recognizing him because of his gloves; the little finger was torn and ragged. She remembered seeing that finger in her bedroom.

As she watched, the man took off his hat and put it down on the back of a big red truck with a ladder on top. He yanked on something that was on his head - it looked like a stretchy sock - and a wave of black hair appeared. Someone walked past him and he turned, smiling at the other man's comment. Alex frowned, leaning to one side to look at the man's face.

"What is it, hon?" her Daddy said quietly, rubbing her back between her shoulders. "What are you looking at?"

"That man."

"What about him?" her Mommy asked.

"He's..." Alex screwed her face up and tilted her head, trying to find the right word. "He's just... an ordinary man."

"Yeah, honey," her father smiled, cradling her head to his chest. "Yeah, he is."

Chapter One,

Ordinary Woman

It had taken her most of a year, but Alexandra Crawford had finally found the perfect route. She'd tried the track at the high school, but it was too monotonous for her tastes. She had tried running around her neighborhood, but too many single (and not so single) men had taken an interest in her for that to last very long. Finally, she had discovered the footpath through Woodbine Park suited her needs perfectly; nice location with plenty of gorgeous scenery, quiet but not abandoned, the perfect length.

It wound through the park, following the brick-lined creek for a while before they parted ways and eventually crossed each other with a small footbridge. Half of the trail was in a sparsely wooded area, providing shade when the sun was too strong and a windbreak when it was too cold. The first and last portion of the path was flanked on either side by large blocks of concrete where very serious senior citizens pondered their next chess move. A few of the regulars sometimes waved at Alex and she always returned it with a cheerful greeting of her own. The main draw of the path, however, was not the scenery or the company.

As she neared the front gate of the park, her body began to slow almost of its own free will. She stepped onto the sidewalk and turned to the right, ducking across the street and into the small café that she'd happened upon while scouting running locations.

There was already one customer, so she stepped into line and checked her pulse. By the time she'd counted off a minute, the first customer was gone and Peter was smiling at her from behind the cash register. "Peter," she said, pulling the iPod plugs from her ears. He extended a tall, disposable cup of cappuccino over the counter and she took it greedily. "Saint Peter," she amended.

"Light of my life," Peter said. "Give me two reasons why we don't run off and get married somewhere. I'm thinking Vegas or Atlantic City."

"Two reasons," Alex said as she took that nearly-religious first sip of her coffee. She leaned against the counter and ticked off the reasons on her fingers. "Okay, how about the fact that your father would kill you if you abandoned his café?"

Peter made a rude sound and then said, "Next?"

"Are we ignoring the gay thing?" she asked.

"Yes, the gay thing doesn't count as a reason."

She pretended to think a moment before she tapped the counter with one knuckle. "I got it. Michael!"

Peter's eyes grew wide and he made a 'cut-it-out' gesture by slashing a finger across his throat. The door to the kitchen area of the café swung open and a muscular man in a blue t-shirt peered out. Peter looked nervously at him and waved nonchalantly. "Hey, Mike... Alex here was just gonna tell you how she wanted to start paying for her coffees."

Alex smirked and said, "Sorry, Mike. Never mind."

Michael rolled his eyes and made a chatter-box motion with his hand before he disappeared again. Peter glared at her and said, "Never nice to play like that, girl."

She gave him a thumbs-up and stepped to the side, allowing his next customer to step up to the counter. The woman ordered and Peter moved to the cappuccino machine. "You got a shift today?" he asked, looking at Alex over the counter display.

She nodded as she sipped her coffee. "Yeah. Noon to noon."

Peter gave her a stricken look. "So I won't be seeing your gorgeous face tomorrow morning? How will I cope?"

"I'm sure you'll survive. If not, I'll make sure Michael throws you a very melodramatic funeral. Besides, I may not be running much longer anyway if the thermostat keeps dropping." It was still warm for mid-September, but before long going outside in shorts and a t-shirt would be a definite no-no. "And hey, you never know... I may have a chance to stop in tomorrow despite the shift. They're jerking me around again, so I may be out and about."

"Another inspection?"

"Mm-hmm," Alex said as she took another drink.

"They're swine, all of them. Big, fat, rutting pigs is all they are," Peter scoffed as he handed the next customer her drink. "Thank you, come again!" he said. "So these inspections... anything special?"

She shook it off. "Nah, just some regular old lame fire inspections. Go look at a new building, make sure it conforms to the fire code... counting sprinklers, checking all of the fire exits, that sort of thing."

"Pays your dues, I guess," he said.

"Yeah, but you'd think my dues would be paid off by now."

"The interest on dues, sweetheart," he exhaled and said, "It's the worst in the business."

Alex laughed and raised her cup to him. "Thanks for the lifeblood," she said as she headed for the door. "Apologize to Michael for the teasing."

"Oh, he *knows,*" Peter laughed, waving her off.

She walked down the street, checking her watch and making a mental note about her time. She hadn't beaten her personal best, but she wasn't slacking off, either. She found her Jeep right where she'd parked it - a minor miracle in some parts of this town - and climbed inside, seeing that she had a whole hour to make the fifteen minute trip to the firehouse.

Turning the key, she revved the engine and decided to try for another personal best.

~

The tires of her Jeep squealed in protest as it lurched into her regular space, next to Murray's SUV and a few spaces down from the Chief's truck. As she climbed out, she saw that she had managed to make the trip in just less than seven minutes. She smiled, making a mental note that her personal best was now one minute lower and headed for the main doors.

The station house was a squat, two-story brick building with a small hill between it and the main road. This gave the impression that the second story was the ground floor and that the trucks emerged from some secret exit like the Batmobile. Murray, the driver for the ladder, had once commented that he was the first black Batman, to which the Chief had replied that he would also be the last black firefighter if he didn't slow down just a tad.

The edge of the building extended around the parking lot like a bony finger, separating it from the driveway. As she rounded the extension, she spotted Chief Leary sitting in a white lawn chair just outside of the apparatus bay. He was with Wayne Murray and Alfred Jones, the probie, and he was the only one seated. The other two firefighters flanked him like guards in some Arthurian legend.

"You always drive like that?" Leary asked, not taking his eyes off the highway.

"Only when I'm trying to beat a record, Chief."

He smirked and nodded without chastising or praising her for her reckless behavior. She nodded to Murray and Jones, both of whom offered a wave, as she headed inside. "You guys been here long?" she asked. They were on-shift with her and weren't acting as if they had just arrived.

Murray smirked at her. "You may have beaten *your* personal best, Crawford..."

"...But the boys still have the title," Jones finished.

Alex laughed, still amazed at how the probie had started finishing Murray's sentences. Pretty soon, the two would become inseparable. Thoughts of possible nicknames for the two were already the source of several contests throughout the house. The most popular at the moment seemed to be Frick and Frack, while Alex was a proponent of the Muppets characters Statler and Waldorf.

The fact that Jones was a lanky white guy also provided a bevy of suggested nicknames, most of them racial in nature. The Chief was lobbying hard for Riggs and Murtaugh, the characters from the Lethal Weapon movies. Nothing had been decided upon yet, so they were still just Murray and the Probie.

The lockers were located along the western wall of the apparatus bay in a foxhole-like depression that was covered by a wooden awning. Alex slipped down the three steps, and passed Eric Wizell on her way to her locker. She tossed her bag into the cubby hole and turned back to the Lieutenant. He was hunched over on the bench, reaching down to lace up a pair of boots.

"Planning on a hike?" she asked as she opened her locker. She peeled off her exercise shirt without hesitation; Wizell had seen her in her underwear too many times for her to worry about a sports bra. She yanked a t-shirt over her head and squirmed into a pair of trousers as Wizell tightened the laces on his boots.

"Like 'em?" he said. He sat up, angling his foot this way and that so she could see the bright new leather. His face was shaped like a heart, wide at the top and pointed at the chin. He kept his thinning hair cut short, forming an M on top of his head. The goatee framed his sly grins perfectly, earning him the nickname Weasel. He stood and worked his right foot back and forth. "Just got 'em. Thought I'd test them out tonight, see how they stood up to a little pressure."

"Here's hoping," Alex said. She shut her locker door and said, "Has the chief said anything about the inspections?"

"Yup. He told me who it was that called."

Alex closed her eyes. "Oh, no. Please, tell me it's not..."

"Sorry, Alex. It was the revered Mister... Lancaster," Wizell said in a tone that most people reserved for Hitler and their mothers-in-law.

Alex shuddered and said, "How many damn buildings can one man design?"

"Hey, the man is an entrepreneur," he shrugged. He picked up his thermos and hoisted it to her. "And guess who he requested do the inspection?"

"Murray. Please, tell me he requested Murray."

Wizell held his hands out in a 'what-can-I-say' gesture and shook his head. "Sorry, kid."

Alex sighed and slammed her locker door as Wizell made a hasty retreat. Inspections were bad enough. Inspections for Martin Lancaster were as close to torture as she'd ever gotten. Ever since they'd met, he had harbored a crush on her. She'd been subtle, she'd been harsh... she was thinking it was time to just slap the guy across the face and tell him flat out that she wasn't interested. But, as Peter had said, it paid her dues. She would just have to grin and bear it.

She left her grumblings behind in the locker area and headed to the Chief's office to sign in. She was halfway across the apparatus bay when the alarm bell came to life.

She moved without thinking, already standing over her bunkers before she consciously realized she was going to work. Wizell fell in right next to her. He yanked his bunking pants up in one smooth motion and climbed into the truck without his jacket or helmet on. Chief Leary's position was that if you could do it while standing around, you could do it in the truck. Alex followed him into the cab and slipped her arms through the loops of her pack just as Murray climbed into the driver's seat.

"You ready to fly, fellas?" he called over his shoulder.

Alex, not knowing whether he'd forgotten she was already there or just lumping her in with the boys, said, "What're you waiting for, a green light?"

"Not on your life, Al," Murray cackled. Jones had just barely made it into the cab before Murray launched the truck forward. Alex braced herself against the wall of the cab with one hand and smiled. Murray whooped and banged the roof with his fist, watching his mirrors for signs of the engine. He laughed when he finally saw it and snatched up the radio mike. "That the absolute best you can do? I am severely disappointed, man, truly I am."

William Sawyer, the driver for the engine, came back with, "Hey, I'm-a leave you in the dust when some LEO pulls you over for speeding."

"Where is the fire, m'man, just tell me where to aim this thing!" Murray laughed and hung up, drumming his hands on the wheel.

Alex was seated with her back to the driver, unable to see into the cab without turning around. And if she bothered to go that far, she would immediately check the speedometer. No way was their speed legal. She looked over her shoulder and asked Wizell, "Where *is* the fire?"

"344 Texala Road," Wizell replied, referring to the map he had folded in his lap. "Warehouse district. Slight possibility of squatters, but otherwise..."

Alex nodded and tightened her air pack. They would still have to go in and check. A cursory look if nothing else. Next to her, Jones had his eyes closed, bobbing from side-to-side with the sway of the truck. The last time they'd gone out, she had punched him playfully and told him to wake up before he missed the fire, only to find out he'd been praying. In retrospect, the black Sharpie-drawn cross on the back of his helmet should have clued her in. She turned away and let him finish his prayer in peace.

"Damn it, Murray," Wizell hissed. "Do you even see these damn people on the road in front of you?"

"I save their lives when they in a fire," Murray said, "but if they in front of me, they just collateral damage."

Alex shook her head, marveling at how the man's language suffered when he became over-excited. The eloquent man who had, in a calmer moment, recited Puck's monologue from the end of 'A Midsummer Night's Dream' was reduced to a whooping and hollering madman in the darkest mental ward. Alex leaned forward and looked through the window, seeing pedestrians standing on the sidewalks with dazed looks on their faces. Probably counting their blessings that they had just avoided being crushed by several tons of screaming fire truck.

"Have you ever been in an accident?" Jones called, eyes still tightly closed although Alex assumed he had finished praying. He had been in the station long enough to become friends with Murray, but until a day or two ago he'd been assigned to the engine. He'd spent four months there, would spent another four months on the ladder and then make a decision as to where he wanted to be permanently assigned. With Murray's driving, Alex figured it was a safe bet which he would choose.

"I've been in lots of accidents," Murray admitted over his shoulder. "But none that were my fault."

Jones looked skeptically at Alex, who nodded and confirmed, "It's true. Every accident he's been, he was the victim."

"Unbelievable," Jones muttered as he closed his eyes once more. His lips started to move and she knew he'd found something else to pray for. 'By the way, God, about the guy driving this truck...'

Wizell was on the radio, informing nearby companies that they were responding. Murray made a sharp turn onto a side road and almost tossed them all to the floor. Jones exhaled sharply and Alex reached over, patting him on the back. She was worried that most of his probationary period would be used getting accustomed to the way Murray drove.

The warehouse district flanked the west side of Shepherd like a barnacle, clinging to the more successful suburbs of the town. Evergreens loomed on three sides of the district, giving the entire area the feeling of a severely underdeveloped neighborhood. It was only when you looked closer that you saw the cracks; dozens of the sprawling, brick-and-concrete buildings were abandoned, their chain-link fences locked, their parking lots littered with garbage and festooned with sprigs of grass that poked up between the slabs of pavement.

Fortunately, the building interesting them today was unlocked and the fence was standing wide open. She'd seen Murray ram through a chained gate with the truck once and, while it had been amusing, she didn't want to witness another reaming by Chief Leary.

She watched through the window as the burning building came into sight. Murray slowed to a stop as they rolled across the parking lot, the tires of their truck rocking over the broken and uneven pavement. He drove past the front face in order to get a look at the third side, as required. It was a two-story warehouse, surrounded on all sides by a parking lot overgrown with weeds. Half the windows on the upper level were shattered, although it was unlikely they had been broken by any explosion; the building had been a wreck for a long, long time.

Wizell jumped from the truck and followed Alex and Jones towards the gear box as the engine pulled into the lot. "Get the ladder up... Jones, Murray, I want a hole on that roof." Lieutenant Thomas Franklin, the engine's officer, hurried over as the ladder began rising. "I'm the Incident Commander until Leary gets here," Wizell added for Franklin's benefit.

Franklin nodded and looked up at the building. "Squatters?" he asked.

"Don't know. I'm sending Murray and the probie up to the roof to vent."

"We're not doing a steam attack?" Franklin asked.

Wizell scoffed. "You worried about water damage in this heap?" He motioned to Alex and said, "Crawford, you're going in with me to search."

"Yes, sir," Alex said. She took off her helmet and fitted a SCBA mask over her face in one quick move. She made sure the strap was tight before she replaced her helmet.

Wizell did the same, turning as the Chief's bright red Suburban pulled into the lot. When Wizell spoke, his voice was heavily filtered through the oxygen mask. "Lieu, fill the chief in on the plan. We'll keep in contact."

Franklin nodded and headed to rendezvous with the chief while Alex followed Wizell towards the front door of the warehouse. They walked along the side of the building, looking into each window they passed to gauge the extent of the fire. "Some bastard set this," Wizell muttered. "Fire don't spread that way naturally." He stopped a few feet shy of the door and held up a hand to let Alex know they weren't going in that way. He leaned against a broken window and peered inside.

Alex looked past him and saw that the fire had spread across the concrete floor, without a doubt following the trail of some accelerant. Wizell was right; no way had this fire started accidentally. The blaze reached right up for the front door, meaning they would have walked into an inferno if they had gone that route.

"The front door's a no-go," Wizell said. "We're going in here."

Alex thumbed her radio as Wizell threw a leg over the sill. "Crawford to Chief Leary; Wizell and I are entering the building through a broken window on the main level."

"I see you, Crawford," Leary's reply came back. "Murray's got the roof ventilated and we're going to be setting up the fans on the ground for you."

"Much obliged, Chief," Wizell said.

Alex climbed in after him, taking a quick look around to get her bearings. The main floor of the warehouse was basically one huge room; a block of offices on the opposite side of the building were the only interior walls she could see. An exposed steel staircase hugged another wall, leading up to the second level. "We have about a half-dozen offices over here," Wizell said through his mask, motioning for Alex to take the opposite end. "You go there, I'm there," he said.

She nodded and headed in the direction he'd indicated. She was thankful that the smoke was still sparse enough that she could see him through it; she'd been in several fires where it was impossible to see two feet in front of you. She got to the first office and tried the knob, finding it locked. Thinking a squatter may be inside and using the lock to protect what little possessions he had, she banged her palm against the wall and called, "Fire department! Anyone in there?"

No reply. She reached for her belt, groaning when she realized that one loop was unoccupied. "Yo, Weasel. Loan me the hooligan."

Wizell unhooked a long bar from his belt and tossed it across the distance between them. She snatched the halligan, or hooligan to most of the people in the company, beneath the two-pronged head. The tool had two blades on the business end, one curved and sharp, the other straight and sharp like a spike. The bottom of the tool was curved like the claw of a hammer. She turned the tool over and slipped the claw between the door and its frame, shoving the bar with both hands. The door cracked and swung open, revealing nothing but a few cardboard boxes marked LDI and scattered papers.

"Nothing here," she reported.

"Ditto," Wizell said. He moved to one of the inner offices and pushed the door open. He was greeted by a wave of fire, blowing out like the exhale of a dragon. Alex took a step back, staring wide-eyed as Wizell dropped. The door he'd opened was now awash with flame, the backdraft reaching out and igniting his uniform.

Alex's stupor lasted almost two seconds before she was on top of Wizell. She smothered the flames licking his jacket with her own bunker coat as Wizell screamed and slapped at his own uniform. As she slapped his shoulder, the flame spread down her own glove.

Wizell tried to push her off and screamed something through his fogged mask, but she wouldn't leave. When she'd quieted the flames on his clothes, she rolled to the side to avoid the flames licking at her back and pressed herself against the concrete floor. The entire bank of offices was awash in flame now, a wall of fire that looked impossibly high.

She grabbed the nape of Wizell's collar and began scrambling backwards like a crab, dragging him along with her. Wizell was squirming, still slapping himself and trying to extinguish fire that may have gotten into the lining of his uniform. Either that or he was panicking, which frightened Alex more than the alternative. "Wizell's hurt! We're coming out!" she called through her radio. She rolled Wizell and got her arms under him to load him through the window first.

As she stood, powerful arms gripped her shoulders and hoisted her the rest of the way out, practically carrying her a few feet before dropping her roughly on the ground. "You all right?" Franklin asked her, screaming to be heard through both of their masks.

She motioned behind her and said, "Weasel's burnt."

"The medics got him. Are you all right?"

"I'm..." she looked down and saw her right glove was completely charred. Cinders had poured from the cuff and down her sleeve and she was only just now feeling the burn as they skittered across her forearm. She stretched her arm out and shook it wildly as Franklin tugged her glove off.

"Medics!" he said over his shoulder. As they ran over, he patted her on the shoulder. "You'll be good, Crawford," she said. "Good work getting Weasel out of there."

"Murray and the probie," she asked, ignoring his praise and looking towards the roof.

"Both fine. They cut the hole and got the hell out of there."

She nodded and collapsed on the ground, arms spread out to either side. She took a moment, breathing hard and staring at the bright afternoon sky. When she got her breath back, she rolled onto her side and pushed herself up. She made sure she could trust her knees and made her way over to the engine. Murray and Jones were standing against the truck, watching as the crew from the engine got their lines laid and aimed streams of high-pressured water into the flaming shell of a building.

"How badly was Wizell burnt?" she asked.

Murray motioned at the medic truck. "Looked okay to me, but they're making a pretty big fuss about him. We'll never hear the end of it."

Chief Leary was staring at the medic truck as he approached them. He jerked a thumb over his shoulder and said, "Weasel will be fine," he said, his casual use of the man's nickname indicating that the crisis was over. He nodded at Alex and said, "Crawford. Go to the hospital with him."

"I'm fine," Alex said.

"You get hurt?" Jones asked.

"Franklin saw your gloves. Probably a few embers down in your suit," Leary said. He put his hand on Alex's shoulder and gently guided her in the direction of the medic truck. "Just go, get yourself checked out and... keep Weasel from accosting the EMT."

Reluctantly, Alex turned and headed for the medics. She was halfway there when one of the reporters on the other side of the barricades thrust a microphone towards her. The woman's body was pressed tightly against the sawhorse, her arm outstretched as if she might stretch the thirty yards between them. "Excuse me, are you the firefighter who made the rescue?"

Alex motioned over her shoulder and said, "Not me. You're looking for Lieutenant Snipe. I saw him back that way."

She walked on and climbed into the back of the medic truck. She knelt on the runner next to the gurney and scanned Wizell's body. He had been burnt on the neck and face, his ears a bright red with black flakes on the lobes. It hurt to look at, but Alex kept her eyes on his and managed a smile. "How you doing, Weasel?" she asked.

He grinned at her and said, "You see the EMT I got?" he whistled and quickly added, "I got dibs on her."

Alex held her hands up as if to say 'no contest' and Wizell's eyes moved to her hand. "Jesus, Crawford..."

She dropped her injured hand back to her lap and said, "It's nothing, Wizell, don't worry about it."

He nodded and said, "The reporters didn't get ya, did they?"

"I told them Lieutenant Snipe did the rescue," she said with a smile.

"Sent 'em on a snipe hunt," Wizell laughed. "Beautiful. Ooh, and speaking of beautiful..." He motioned with his chin at the back door of the truck. Alex turned and saw a blonde paramedic climbing into the back, skirting the edge of the gurney to sit opposite Alex.

"How bad?" the new arrival asked with her eyes on Alex's wrist.

"Nothing to worry about. Couple of bandages... I'll be fine."

"We'll let the doctor be the judge of that," the EMT said. "You two fancy a ride to the hospital?"

"I'm fine," Alex insisted. "Just slap a little gauze on there, maybe an Ace bandage..."

Wizell muttered, "Leary said something about drills tonight."

Alex immediately shifted gears. "But you are the expert and if you think we need a trip to the hospital..."

Wizell graced them with a full-fledged Weasel grin. "I call shotgun."

~

Wizell was taken to a burn unit, wheeled into the elevator by his newest crush, the blonde EMT. As she pushed him towards the elevator, Wizell winked at Alex and said, "Don't be offended, 'Lex. She just wants to get me all to herself."

Alex flipped him off with her unburned hand and sat on the bed the EMT had pointed her to. She didn't have to wait long; a few minutes after Wizell's grinning mug was rolled into the elevator, the curtain was pushed aside and a petite brunette appeared, her face buried in a chart. "Alexandra Crawford?" she asked, finally looking up and meeting Alex's eyes.

Alex was stunned; the doctor put Weasel's EMT to shame. Her eyes were so dark brown they were practically black, her long brown hair pulled back into a ponytail that was in danger of coming loose any moment. Her skin was still slightly tanned, despite the calendar inching towards October. Alex managed to blink and utter a quick, "Hi."

"Hi," the doctor unleashed a grin that knocked Alex for another loop. "I'm Dr. Tom. You're the one with the..." She looked down at the notes. "Burnt wrist?"

Alex looked down at her arm and saw the burns that had traced a skipping trail from her wrist down to her elbow. "Um... upper arm, really."

"Oh," she said. "Must be another firefighter named Alex Crawford. I'm sorry for the confusion." She slipped back around the curtain.

Panicked, Alex jumped from the bed to catch up with the small doctor... and came up short when she found Dr. Tom standing just on the other side of the curtain. Alex blushed behind the soot on her face and tried to look casual as the doctor tried valiantly to refrain from laughing in her face.

After a moment, Alex said, "I was just... thinking. I mean... I guess you could say this is my wrist."

"Excellent," Dr. Tom said as she led Alex back around the curtain. "In that case, I think we may have something to work with."

~

The digital age was the impatient arsonist's dream. No need to wait until the pictures were developed to see how they turned out. Plus, there were more options on how to develop them... no longer did he have to worry about a nosy photo assistant at the Walgreen's getting suspicious of him. Nor did he have to splurge on a dark room to develop them himself. Just plug it into the computer, fiddle with some settings and presto! Just like Mom used to take.

He sat in the dirt with his legs crossed Indian-style, thumbing the "Next Picture" button next to the display screen.

It was still the middle of the afternoon, so he was hunkered down in a recessed stairway that led to an abandoned basement. He was on the property adjacent to the burnt husk, trying to keep from giggling as he looked at his latest creations.

He had been surprised when the hero firefighter had removed her helmet and revealed herself to be a woman. It was nigh impossible to tell when they were all geared up in their bunkers... gender- and race-free, like a group of robots programmed to jump into action whenever their smoke-detectors went off.

Little bugs. Little meaningless things that would be replaced in an instant if one fell.

He felt no remorse for the trap he'd set, wouldn't admit to any remorse if confronted with photos of the injured fireman's wife and two kids and his Dalmatian dog. Firemen were cockroaches. Kill one, two more crawled out of the woodwork.

They were the perfect sacrifices for his fires.

No one had died in this blaze, but that was okay... he supposed. It was his first. Mistakes might have been made.

He would correct them next time.

Tucking his camera into his knapsack, he lifted himself onto his toes and peered over the lip of the underground staircase. Firefighters were still swarming the site, even though the blaze was long extinguished. He understood. They were getting all the junk out, hoping to prevent a re-ignition. They were probably were also trying to figure out why their poor friend had almost been flame-broiled.

He settled back down and pressed himself into a corner, tucking both hands under his armpits. He couldn't leave until the firefighters left or he risked being spotted. It was okay; he had planned for a long night. He closed his eyes and nearly fell asleep, jerking when he realized he couldn't be found this close to the site of a fire. If he slept, they could sneak up on him.

Slapping his face a few times, blinking his eyes wide, he wrapped his arms around himself and rocked slowly as he waited for the crowd to disperse so he could slip away unseen. Patience was a virtue, but he needed to go...

He had more fires to plan.

Chapter Two,

Finding a Round Tuit

A blue-and-white name tag swung precariously from the flap of the doctor's lab jacket. It read "R. Tom, MD." As Dr. Tom treated and bandaged her arm, Alex played a little game with herself trying to determine what the initial stood for. The doctor didn't look like a Roberta. Rhonda didn't seem right, either. They chatted about inane things, the conversation mostly veering towards the heroic Lieutenant Snipe the news channels were all clamoring to interview.

When the bandage was set, Dr. Tom looked at her work and said, "These burns... did you receive them while helping Lieutenant Snipe?"

Alex smirked. "Actually... I feel kind of bad breaking this to you, but..."

"Snipe doesn't exist?" Tom said. She raised her eyebrows and curled her lips in a knowing smile.

Alex laughed. "How did you know?"

"I was sent on a snipe hunt once. Medical school. They sent me off in search of a box of 'round tuits.'"

Alex frowned and shook her head. "I don't get it."

"T-U-I-T," she spelled. "A round tuit. As in 'I'll get a round tuit.'" When she said it like that, Alex laughed out loud and nodded. Dr. Tom grinned and said, "After that, I swore I'd never again fall for a snipe hunt." She glanced conspiratorially over her shoulder and stepped closer to the bed. "Were you the one who saved him?"

"I went in with Lieutenant Wizell. I saw him get engulfed and just did what I was supposed to. It was my job."

"Modest much?" Rachel asked.

Alex shrugged. "It's not modesty so much as... I don't want the recognition. There was a guy in the academy who told us that we weren't training to be heroes, we were training to be firefighters. He wanted to make sure we got that through our heads right off. A few years ago, Chief Leary was involved in a rescue. He told a reporter that Lieutenant Snipe had done it. It kind of steam-rolled from there."

"No one's figured out that this guy doesn't exist?"

"As far as the media knows, he's just a very secretive guy. His phone number is unlisted; he likes his privacy and his friends respect that. And just to cover our asses, every local firehouse lists a Joe Snipe on the duty roster every couple of months. He rotates."

The doctor laughed and said, "Brilliant strategy. By heaping the glory on the fictional guy, you get privacy for yourselves."

Alex rocked slightly on the edge of the bed before sliding to the floor. "You know, I really am fine... I shouldn't keep you. There are probably other patients..."

"Yeah, a few," Tom grinned. "If you're sure you're okay?"

"Well, I'm not exactly thrilled to leave," Alex said. "But I really shouldn't monopolize your time."

"Okay, then." She nodded at the elevator. "By the way, if you wanted to go say hi to your friend, I'm sure they wouldn't gripe too much. Just so long as you keep it short."

"Okay, yeah. Thank you."

"No problem, Ms. Crawford."

"Call me Alex," she said, unsure of what prompted her to say it.

The doctor nodded. "Okay. Alex. In that case, I'm Rachel."

*'Rachel,'* Alex thought, watching the other woman walk away. *'I have a new favorite name.'*

~

Wizell was in the burn unit, his neck and ears wrapped by thick bandages. His eyes cut to the door when she walked in, his lips pulling back in a fierce grimace. He jabbed a finger in her direction and sneered, "You! I've been looking for you!"

"What did I do?" Alex asked, shocked.

"My boots! My brand-new boots! Ruined!" He slapped the bed. "Ruined, I say!"

Alex laughed and said, "Okay, I apologize for not dragging you from the fire feet-first. I'll know better next time." She approached the bed and rested her uninjured hand on the railing while keeping the other behind her back. "Beyond that, how are you doing?"

"My ears, neck, bah. Just skin. But those boots. Man, I searched weeks for those boots!" He fake-sobbed and said, "Those were the perfect boots. And now? Gone. Gone, gone, gone!"

Alex brought her bandaged hand out from behind her back and placed a teddy bear on the bedside table. The bear's tiny plush paws were wrapped around an ice cream shake she had smuggled into the ward. Wizell's eyes widened and he said, "But boots come and go. Friends. Friends are forever." He licked his lips and asked hopefully, "Are you gonna spoon-feed your poor, disabled friend?"

"No," Alex said. "That's non-negotiable."

"I'm injured!" Wizell whined.

"Which is precisely the reason I asked a certified medical professional to assist you." She stepped to one side and said, "Brandi?"

The EMT from earlier came into the room and smiled warily down at the injured man. "She swears to me you're a good guy."

Wizell beamed.

"Get well soon, Weasel."

"Yeah," Wizell scoffed, eyeing Brandi. "Like I have an incentive to leave this place..."

~

It was late afternoon by the time Alex managed to get out of the hospital. Chief Leary was upstairs talking to Wizell and had offered to give her a ride back to the station when he finished up. The sun was starting to set, casting red and orange light over the parking lot. She stood in the shadow of the Chief's truck and watched a group of orderlies smoke in a designated area next to the building. Her bunkers were folded nearly in the back of Leary's truck, her equipment weighing the clothes down so they wouldn't fly away. She was wearing the trousers and t-shirt she'd been wearing when the call went out.

"Hi," someone beside her said. "It's Crawford, right?"

She straightened up and had turned around before her brain registered the voice. She smiled and said, "Hello, Dr. Tom."

"Rachel," the doctor reminded her with a shy smile.

"Then I have to be Alex," she said. She felt something strange talking to this woman. It was... nice, but uncomfortable at the same time.

Rachel nodded. "Okay, Alex. I was on my way out, saw you standing over here by yourself..." She shrugged and looked across the parking lot. Her hair was getting in her eyes and it took every ounce of restraint in Alex's body not to reach out and brush it aside. "I don't know, I saw you over here and I was just wondering if you wanted to maybe grab a drink or... or something? There's a bar not far from here or a restaurant..."

Alex interrupted, "Actually... I'm sorry. I would love to take you up on that, I would. But I'm... I'm actually still on duty."

"Oh," Rachel said. She turned away, touching her forehead absently as she desperately sought something else to look at. "I should have realized, I-I just... I didn't think that..."

"It's okay," Alex said. "I get off tomorrow at noon. Maybe we could meet for... for some lunch, maybe?"

"That would be great," Rachel said, her smile returning. Alex was grateful; anything to see that smile again. "Um... do you have a cell phone or..."

"Yeah, I'll give you that number." Without thinking, she plucked a pen from the breast pocket of Rachel's blouse. She blushed slightly when she realized what she had done, quickly recovering and taking the small notepad the brunette offered. "This is for my cell. You can reach me any time, but if it goes to voice mail..."

"Okay, no problem. And I'll call you if anything comes up to keep me from meeting you."

Alex nodded, unable to think of anything coherent to say.

Rachel took her pen back and glanced at the number before she folded the notebook paper and slipped it into the pocket of her slacks. "So I'll give you a call, let you know where I'll be... it'll be fun."

"Yeah," Alex said, still a bit dumbfounded by what was happening. She nervously scratched below the collar of her t-shirt, unsure of a subtle way to ask what she was thinking. Finally, she simply said, "It's... a date, right?"

Rachel laughed and said, "Yes, Alex, it's a date."

"A... date like..."

Rachel stepped forward and stretched up. She put one hand on Alex's shoulder to balance herself as she pecked her on the cheek. When they parted, Alex was blushing and Rachel was smiling. "It's a date," Rachel said again.

"Okay," Alex said quietly.

"I'll see you tomorrow... Lieutenant Snipe."

Rachel turned and walked across the parking lot. She waved hello to Chief Leary as their paths crossed. Leary used a remote on his keychain to unlock his truck. As Alex climbed into the passenger seat, she whispered a prayer that he hadn't seen the kiss. When Leary climbed into the car, he motioned at the retreating doctor with his head. "What'd the doc want?"

"Um... she... Talk. She, uh, wanted to talk."

Leary glanced at her and smirked. "Too bad she couldn't find anyone who spoke fluent English."

Alex rolled her eyes and smiled indulgently. "Just drive, Chief."

~

Leary parked and climbed out, grabbing a bag from the back of the truck before heading towards the apparatus bay. "Chief, if you don't mind... could I beg off the cleaning duties? I was kind of hoping to get Lancaster out of the way tonight so tomorrow morning would be all clear."

"Yeah, all right," Leary said. He turned and started walking backwards so he could be facing her as he continued speaking. "Murray and Jones probably took care of all the cleaning by now anyway."

"Because they're so responsible," Alex nodded.

Leary scoffed and waved at her before he disappeared around the brick outcropping. Alex headed for her Jeep, fishing her cell phone from her jacket pocket. She dialed Lancaster's number from memory as she unlocked her Jeep. She left the door open as she listened to the phone ring in her ear. She grumbled about the fact that she had this jerk's number memorized and searched for a pen. She found a napkin on the passenger seat and wrote, "Rachel Tom - Lunch."

She stuck the note into the sun visor as the ringing suddenly stopped. A clipped voice announced, "Martin Lancaster."

"Mr. Lancaster, this is Alexandra Crawford with the Shepherd Fire Department. I was wondering if now would be a good time for the inspection you contacted us about."

"Oh! Alex!"

She cringed at the familiar use of her first name, but decided not to waste her time correcting him. She knew it would do no good. "Yes, Mr. Lancaster. I meant to stop by earlier, but..."

"Don't be silly. I saw on the news. Is everyone all right?"

"Yes, for the most part," she said with a glance at her bandaged wrist. She had a SFD windbreaker in the backseat she could use to cover the damage and avoid any sympathy from Lancaster. "I was thinking I could swing by now if you had the address..."

"Oh, yes, certainly." She pulled the reminder from the sun visor and wrote the address below Rachel Tom's name. "I can meet you there in a half hour, if that's all right."

"Sounds perfect. See you then, Alex."

She snapped the cell phone shut and fought the urge to curse. She took a deep breath, started the Jeep and pulled calmly out of her space.

Martin Lancaster was the CEO of Lancaster Designs, an architectural firm that was responsible for designing a good forty to fifty percent of the town. Martin was the son of the company's founder and had only recently been promoted to his current position. Unlike his father before him, Martin complied with all the fire safety regulations and welcomed the fire department's routine inspections of his company's newest projects. Normally, inspections were done by official investigators, but the town of Shepherd had decided that it would save the city the cost by having firefighters rotate the duty.

When her turn had come around, Alex had welcomed the break in her day and headed out to give the new building her typical once-over. Unfortunately, Martin Lancaster had fallen head-over-heels for her at first sight. Since that first inspection, he had been requesting that "Firefighter Alex Crawford be the one to inspect the building." Alex, seeing no way to refuse without drawing undue attention to herself, bit the bullet and went out.

She parked in front of the newest building, the banner hanging over the front door proclaiming that it was the FUTURE HOME of something called Langford, Taggart and Warren, which she assumed was either a law firm or accounting group. Either way, she really didn't care. She paused by the door of her Jeep to pull on the windbreaker and make sure the sleeve extended far enough to cover her wrist bandage. That done, she headed for the door and pushed the temporary buzzer.

A few seconds after she announced her arrival, Martin Lancaster practically skipped down the stairs into the lobby. He brushed aside a plastic sheet hanging in front of the door and smiled at her like a five-year-old presented with a new toy. He unlocked the door and pushed it open. "Alex! Welcome!"

"Thank you, Mr. Lancaster," she said. She hoped by keeping it formal, he would pick up the hint and keep the meeting as strictly business.

Lancaster was a bookish, thin man with wire-framed glasses, the collar of his shirt looking a little wide around his neck. He wore a suit that had obviously been tailored for someone a little bulkier, his brown hair slicked back against his skull. He looked like a high school kid on career day. Alex tepidly shook his outstretched hand before scanning the lobby of the building. She had a checkpoint list to follow. A few high points, bing, bang, boom, she was out of there.

"So, where would you like to begin, Alex?"

'Same place we always begin, you nebbish little nerd,' she thought. Out loud, she said, "I just need your forms..."

He opened the briefcase he was carrying, balancing it against his thigh as he searched through the pockets. He handed her the building permit and construction documents, all of which were required to be turned in. She stuck them onto her clipboard without checking them; she knew Lancaster and knew that everything was in order.

She was just thankful she didn't have the task of doing all of his inspections for all of his buildings. The foundation, plumbing and electrical, floor system, preliminary framing and electrical systems all required their own inspections at various stages of the construction. Lancaster wasn't present for them, so he didn't request her presence. All she had to do was tour the building, make sure the fire exits were clearly marked, sprinklers and smoke detectors were present and working and walk the perimeter of the roof. Easy as pie.

If only Martin Lancaster wasn't dogging her every step, she might actually find the process relaxing.

~

They finished their tour where they had started, in the lobby, and Alex signed the certificate that gave Lancaster a passing grade. He placed it in his briefcase and thanked her for her time. She assured him it was no trouble and made a bee-line for the door. Unfortunately, Lancaster was quicker than he looked and kept up with her. "I was wondering, if you have a few moments free, if you'd like to grab a coffee or..."

"I'm sorry. I'm due back at the firehouse."

"Oh. Well, I was just thinking that since you finished the inspection so quickly, you might have a little leeway on when you--"

"I really should get going."

Lancaster followed her onto the sidewalk. "Perhaps after your shift, then."

"I'm sorry, Mr. Lancaster, but I'm afraid I have to decline."

His smile seemed to collapse under its own weight and he nodded. "Okay. Well... yes, of course. I'm sorry to have imposed, Alex."

She forced a smile as she climbed into her Jeep. "Have a good day, Mr. Lancaster."

"And you."

He went back inside as she started the engine and breathed a sigh of relief. She had been wondering when he would make the jump and broach the topic of actually going out on a date. Now that it was out there, there was a chance he would back off. It was a small chance, and she wasn't confident, but it was still there.

As she pulled away from the curb, she realized she had just been asked out twice in one shift. It was a new personal record and, she would have to check with Murray, but it may also be a departmental record. Smiling, she drove back to the firehouse to brag about her double-proposal.

~

By the time she got back to the firehouse, the engine and medic truck were both absent, most likely responding to an aid call. The ladder stood in the center of the garage, looking lonely and abandoned. Alex walked past it, heading for the back of the apparatus bay. Three rooms were tucked against the back wall; the game room, with a pool table and a few donated arcade games was the center of them. To her right was the 'den,' where they gathered to watch TV or listen to the occasional ball game on the radio.

To her left was the bunk area and bathroom, both of which were dark at the moment. The Chief's office was separate from the other rooms, on the side of the bay opposite the locker area. She could see Leary through the glass, speaking to someone on the phone. She headed over, knocking on the doorframe and mimicking writing a signature. He held up the clipboard to let her know he'd signed her in. She nodded and waved before turning to head back to the den. She could hear Murray inside cursing out his favorite team's coach. She paused in the doorway and watched Jones laugh as another player struck out.

"Keep laughing, Probie," Murray grumbled. "I'll get you back in the playoffs."

"You have a serious gambling problem, Murray," Jones said with a shake of his head. "But as long as I'm reaping the benefits, I say live how you wanna live." He had looked back at Murray to deliver this bon mot and spotted Alex in the doorway. "Hey, Crawford. How's the Weasel doing?"

Murray craned his neck to look over his head at her. "Hey, Crawford. You're upside down again."

She put her hand over his face as she walked past and took her regular seat in the recliner. "Don't worry about Weasel," she said. "Worry about the poor nurses assigned to his wing."

Murray shook his head, eyes glued to the TV. "Nah. Nothing to worry about."

Alex arched an eyebrow. "You *have* met Wizell, right?"

"I ain't saying he ain't flirting," Murray said. "Just that it's not going anywhere. These nurses are dressing his wounds, dealing with his burns, peeling off skin if the burns're bad enough." He shook his head again. "Trust me. The second someone does something like that to your body? They're never anything more than a lab jacket to you."

Alex absently touched her bandage through the windbreaker, thinking back to Rachel Tom's invitation. Murray spewed another curse at the TV and said, "Chumps! Every last one of them, their mothers and their fathers, all of 'em, chumps."

"How much?" Alex asked Jones.

"Fifty," Jones smirked.

Murray slapped the arm of his chair and shot to his feet, making both Alex and Jones jump back. He stared at the TV for a few seconds, nostrils flaring, before he turned and stormed out of the den.

"He's steamed," Jones said unnecessarily.

Alex grinned and said, "What about you? You think what he said is true?"

"About what? Chumps?"

"No, doctors. Do you think you could date a doctor who treated you?"

Jones shrugged. "Depends on what they treated me for. Broken arm, some heroic derring-do, yeah, I think I could date someone who put me back together. STD, though. I'd most likely steer clear of the doc who helped me out there."

Alex raised an eyebrow and Jones's eyes widened.

He shifted uncomfortably and hastened to add, "I mean, I would if it ever came up. Hypothetically, right? The whole thing was..." He cleared his throat and said, "Hey, I, uh... you know, never had..."

"Okay, Jones, I know you're pure." Alex said. She stood and headed for the door. She patted him on the shoulder and said, "You have to have sex before you can get an STD."

"Aw, geez," Jones muttered. He stood and followed her from the den. "I'm not a virgin, you know."

"I'll put it in the newsletter," Franklin said, overhearing the last bit as he crossed the bay to his locker.

"Lieutenant, I... Aw, damn it, Crawford!"

Alex laughed as she went into the kitchen. Murray was banging the cabinet doors open and shut without really bothering to search inside. She put one hand on his shoulder and said, "Murray. Sit. Take a deep breath. I'll cook you something. What're you in the mood for?"

"Beef stew?" Leary said from the door. He looked past her at Murray. "What's with the banging around, Godzilla?" His office shared a wall with the kitchen, meaning Murray's tantrum may have interrupted his phone call.

"Sorry, Chief. Bad bet."

Leary winced and shook his head. He moved towards the other end of the table. "I told you not to go with your gut. What's your gut ever gotten you, other than an ulcer?" He patted Murray on the shoulder and took a seat.

Alex went to the cupboard and searched for the cans of beef stew. She had found a red-and-white can and had just removed it when Jones walked in. He saw it in her hand and snatched it away without saying anything. Alex arched an eyebrow at him and said, "Whoa, Probie. Know your boundaries."

"Sorry," he smiled. "But I thought I'd cook tonight. After all, it's my fault Murray's trying to punch through the walls, right?"

"You're damn right," Murray said over his shoulder. He was still pouting, but seemed to have brightened a bit at the knowledge the new guy would be cooking for him.

Alex stepped back, eager to hand off the cooking duties, and took a seat next to the pouting driver. "Where did the engine get off to?"

Leary waved dismissively at the doors. "Some demonstration downtown. They're having pyrotechnics, wanted some firefighters on hand just in case. If we get a call, Engine 8 over in Greensboro will come back us up." He looked around and said, "Where's Holt?"

With Wizell out of commission, a lieutenant named Robert Holt had been pulled in from another company in another town; Alex hadn't paid much attention to those details.

Murray answered, "He's upstairs pumping iron. Said he wanted to check out our set-up."

"Where's the can opener?" Jones asked.

"Hand crank in the drawer by the fridge," Leary said. He returned to the Holt topic. "Set-up? What, like becoming a firefighter is really just an excuse to bulk up while at work?"

"It is for me," Murray said. He rolled up the sleeve of his t-shirt and flexed his bicep.

"Hand crank?" Jones whined when he found the old-fashioned can opener. "What is this, the Dark Ages?"

Leary raised an eyebrow. "I have a penknife on my keychain you could use if you prefer."

Jones grumbled and turned the hand crank over in his hands, trying to figure out how it worked.

Alex slapped her thighs and stood. "Okay, since I was saved from cook duties, you guys want something to drink? I can run across the street."

"Something orange-flavored," Leary said. "Don't care about brand, so long as it's got sugar."

Murray asked for lemonade and Jones made it two. As she passed Jones, she saw him try and fail to hook the hand-crank to the can. She took both can and tool from him, setting the can on the counter and effortlessly attached the opener to the side. With a few quick, strong twists, the top came loose. It was tilted up at a slight angle, allowing her to get her trimmed thumbnail under the edge and lift it up. She handed the can back to Jones and smirked, "Learn to use it. Your life in the kitchen will be much easier."

"All I'm saying is an electric can opener is, like, twenty bucks. Who needs this hassle?"

Murray shook his head. "If you'd been born thirty years ago, wolves would have eaten your ass when you was a baby."

She left the squabbling boys behind and headed to her locker. She took her wallet from her coat and headed out. The store was literally across the street, kitty-corner from the station. She trotted up the hill and looked both ways before she jogged across the street. She walked into the store, greeting the night clerk that she knew by name, and headed for the coolers at the back.

By the time she grabbed all the drinks, going back when she remembered Leary had wanted something orange, two kids had entered. They were both carrying a skateboard under their arms and laughing about the wounds on the taller boy's knees. A girl trailed behind them, obviously bored out of her skull by what the boys were talking about. Alex got a root beer for herself and headed for the front counter to pay.

"You a firefighter?"

She turned and saw the teen girl standing behind her. The skater boys were at the frozen drink machine, unaware their female hanger-on had detoured. Alex was wearing her department t-shirt, so it wasn't a surprise she'd been spotted. "Yeah, I am."

"Cool," the girl said. "So they, like, let women actually hang off the truck and stuff?"

"We stopped hanging off the truck a good while back," Alex said. "The boys started letting us sit up front with them."

The girl nodded absently. "So, you like... sleep with all the guys? That's what I heard, I mean, that you guys all sleep together in the station."

"Well..." Alex said. "We *do* have separate beds. Bunk beds."

"So there's no sex?"

"I can't speak for anyone else," Alex grinned. "But no, nothing happens."

The girl made a half-hearted shrug and said, "That's cool, though. Being a firefighter."

"I think so," Alex grinned. "What's your name?"

"Michelle."

"Nice to meet you, Michelle."

From the candy aisle, one of the boys finally realized his girlfriend had wandered. He joined in the conversation, nodding at Alex. "So do you guys have, like, a dog?"

She turned and looked at him. He looked half-baked and was smiling like a moron. He repeated his question and Alex said, "Yeah. We call him Weasel."

"Huh," the kid said, stuttering a laugh. "Cool. Weasel."

Alex paid for her drinks and took her bag. "Nice meeting you, Michelle." The girl half-heartedly waved after her. Alex headed back across the street, careful not to jostle the bag too much. Once, she'd gotten Murray's soda shaken too much and it had sprayed all over everything when he opened it. The resulting spray war had become nearly legendary and, while fun, she didn't want a repeat of it.

She carried the bag into the firehouse, the smells of stew rising from the kitchen area and making her mouth water. She was halfway across the bay when she realized there was a woman's voice among all the chatter. She slowed her progress, confused, and craned her neck to see into the room.

Sitting at the head of the table in the seat previously occupied by Murray, with her back to the door, was Dr. Rachel Tom.

Alex fought the sudden urge to run to her locker and change into something nicer.

Chapter Three,

Make One Little Ruckus and Suddenly You're on America's Most Wanted

Alex headed into the kitchen, ignoring the nerves that had just started jangling like a five-alarm bell. Leary saw her coming and smirked. Rachel paused and looked over her shoulder. "Alex! They said you were out."

"Yeah," she said nervously as she put the bag of drinks down on the table. She was avoiding the playful grins of her co-workers and trying to focus on forming coherent sentences. "Um... hi."

"Hi," Rachel said.

Jones stepped between the two of them. He fished through the bag and fished for the bottles inside. He pulled them free, flashed a smile at Alex and went back to the stove.

"Probably need some help with the spices, eh, probie?" Murray asked, getting out of his seat and standing at the stove with Jones. Both men stood with their backs to the room, neither of them even bothering to pretend they were working.

Leary also stood, moving around the table. "You guys don't use enough cayenne... let me see if I can find some." He stood next to Murray and joined in the wall of silence.

Alex shifted uncomfortably from one foot to the other, very aware of the three men crowded behind her. From the lack of noise coming from their 'preparations,' she knew they were just trying to give the illusion of privacy. She cleared her throat and motioned at the apparatus bay with her head. "Wanna take a walk?"

"Sure," Rachel said.

As she led the doctor out of the kitchen, she looked over her shoulder and said, "The root beer is mine. And save me some of the stew, would ya?"

"We'll have to open another can... at least," Leary said.

"Probie'll have better luck cutting off one of his fingers," Murray chuckled.

Alex joined Rachel in the bay, smiling apologetically like a teenager embarrassed by her family's appearance on the front porch before a date. "Sorry about that," she said, keeping her voice low. She put her hand on the small of Rachel's back and guided her towards the open garage doors. She noticed that Rachel tensed at the touch and was about to pull her hand away when the other woman relaxed. They stepped out into the chilly air, the streetlight on the corner casting a light glow over the driveway.

Rachel nodded at the empty section of the bay. "Was there a fire...?"

"Not yet," Alex said. "The engine is just on hand at some demonstration downtown."

"Oh, okay." She looked into the bay again and said, "So... y-you're not on the engine?"

Alex shook her head. "No, I'm with the ladder."

Rachel smiled, obviously embarrassed. "Okay... uh, I don't..."

Alex grinned. "Not a lot of people know the difference. The engine carries the water supply and a whole bevy of tools like ladders, axes, the fans, stuff like that. The ladder has, as you could guess, the ladder. We go up on the roof for ventilation, we do search-and-rescue inside the building... the engine, all they do is spray water on the fire and grab all the glory."

"Glory hogs," Rachel said.

Alex laughed. "Do you want a tour?"

"No, that's... I just came by to let you know that... um, you don't have to... meet me for drinks or anything if you don't want to."

Alex felt her stomach drop. *'She changed her mind,'* she thought. *'Decided she was just caught up in the moment, is rethinking it, no problem.'* She managed to nod and said, "Well, I guess... we could call it off if you wanted to..."

"No!" Rachel said, putting her hand on Alex's arm. Alex looked down and wondered if she'd just imagined there was a spark from their contact. "I-I didn't mean that. It was just... I ambushed you and I... was thinking that you really couldn't say no without embarrassing me. I just... wanted to say that I wouldn't... I mean, if you still want to go, I'd be thrilled..."

"I still want to go," Alex said, interrupting her.

Rachel looked as if a weight had been lifted from her. "Great. That's... thank you for not... laughing in my face."

Alex smiled. "I'm looking forward to it."

"So I'll... I'll see you then?"

"Count on it."

Rachel shifted her feet and then looked back into the bay. "I'm sorry if I embarrassed you back there..."

"Oh, please," Alex laughed. "*I* apologize for anything these pigs said while I was gone."

"They're sweet. Especially Mr. Murray."

Alex fought the urge to laugh harder. "Yes, he... he is darling."

"Okay, then... I should go. I'll see you tomorrow at noon."

"It's a date," Alex said. She extended her hand as Rachel moved in for a hug. They awkwardly shifted until they were shaking with one hand and embracing with the other. Rachel grinned when they pulled back and Alex said, "Okay... that wasn't weird at all."

Rachel smiled nervously. "Sorry."

"It's okay. We'll figure it out."

She couldn't swear to it in the dim light, but she thought that Rachel blushed. "Okay. Well..."

"Well. Have a nice night."

"You, too."

Alex watched Rachel walk back to her car, waving as the doctor drove past. Once the taillights faded over the rise, she turned and walked back into the bay. She froze in the doorway of the kitchen.

Leary, Murray and Jones had moved the table so they could all sit at the long end facing the door. Each of them had a bowl of stew in front of them, but none were eating; they were too busy smiling at her. Murray was the first to speak, holding his hands out palm-up. "Well?" he said, affecting an effeminate tone. "Dish, girl!"

Alex rolled her eyes and went to the pot. She found a bowl that wasn't too dirty and served herself. She paused at the table long enough to snag her root beer and shook her head. "You guys seriously need to get a life."

They booed her playfully as she walked out of the kitchen with her root beer. She stepped outside and took a seat in the lawn chair Leary had been in earlier. She cracked the top of her drink and set it on the ground next to her. From the kitchen, she could hear loud scratching noises as the guys moved the table back where it belongs. A few minutes later, Leary came outside and leaned against the bay doors.

"Date?" he asked.

She thought for a moment and then nodded.

"She's cute."

Alex smirked. "Yep."

"Want the guys to ease up on you?"

"'The guys?'" she asked. "So you were against moving the table?"

"Kicking and screaming," he said, but his smirk gave him away.

"It's all right, Chief. I can take it," she assured him.

He nodded. "Enjoy your stew."

She raised her spoon and saluted him with it as he walked back into the building. She crossed her leg over her knee and watched the sparse traffic flow by the firehouse. Truth be told, she was a little touched by their playfulness. She had joined the academy with a class of four other women. The guys had been dismissive, harsh and misogynistic. It had been torture and it had only slightly lessened when she was assigned to the department.

Slowly but surely, however, she was gaining their respect. They'd seen what she was capable of and, by God, they were starting to trust her. And now, here she was... the night after fighting a fire, sitting outside of her firehouse, a war wound on her arm and eating a hot bowl of stew. And she had a date in the morning.

Things were definitely on the up-swing.

~

His footsteps echoed through the abandoned corridors, reverberating off the bare walls. The offices had long been empty, all of the storage closets he had checked were crammed full of empty copier paper boxes, long-dead electronics and sundry junk. He had shoved some more loose paper into the cracks, making sure the closets were as full as they could possibly be. Then he poured a small mason jar of gasoline over the mess and closed the door. The fumes would build up in the cramped space and he'd get an even bigger bang for his buck.

He carried seven more jars in his tote bag, protected from banging against each other by fluffy towels. The fumes were bad, but he'd gotten used to them a long time ago. Hardly even noticed them anymore, but the headaches he got afterward told him that his body still noticed. He tried to move fast and he wore a white rag around his nose and mouth, but the headaches still came. An unfortunate by-product of his mission, one that he felt he could easily deal with.

Opening the stairwell door, he walked to the edge of the landing and peered down. The stairs were illuminated by the moon, ghostly white against the darkness of the stairwell. It looked like they circled down into Hell. He poured another mason jar down the stairs, watching as the gasoline seemed to jump from step to step, splashing out to either side as if thankful to be free of its glass prison.

He was humming a song, something by Bruce Springsteen, and tried to remember the name of the tune. The title escaped him, as did the lyrics, so he continued humming. He was sure it was something about fire. Leaving the stairwell, he walked back the way he'd come. Gas fumes assaulted him from all sides, from the bag on his side, from the closets he'd already rigged... It smelled like ambrosia to him, but he knew his body would rebel later. At the end of the hallway, he knelt and carefully spilled another pool beneath the windowsill.

One floor down, two to go. He'd used three jars here, which left him only five for the other two floors. He'd have to scrimp on one of them... most likely the top-most floor. Unless... if the bottom and top floors were both inflamed, there was a chance the second floor would be engulfed with them. He regretted not thinking of that before he wasted three jars on the second floor, but no use crying over spilt gas.

He threw open the stairwell door and, ignoring the fumes, rushed up the stairs to the topmost level.

~

Alex lay down in the bottom bunk, still wearing her t-shirt but stripped to her boxers below the waist. Her bunking pants were pooled next to her bed, her boots standing up beneath them. Should the alarm go off, all she needed to do was swing her legs over the edge and step into them, yanking the pants up and hooking the suspenders on her shoulders. Easy as pie, took her about three seconds to do it.

The lights were out, save for the main lights in the apparatus bay. The engine had returned around ten and the guys who weren't sleeping around her were watching something in the den. Knowing Captain Sawyer, it was probably a porno.

Murray was on the bed above hers, snoring loud enough to keep her awake and pondering the struts holding his mattress up. She had one arm tucked behind her head, the other draped across her stomach. All she could think about was her date with Rachel the next day. In - she checked her watch and did the math - eleven hours, they would be sitting together and having coffee.

It had been ages since she had been on a date. Her shifts didn't exactly preclude a social life, but it didn't exactly help, either. Her last date had been with a police officer named Tania. Fifteen minutes into the date, Tania had basically insulted every angle of firefighting she could think of. Firefighters were, in Tania's opinion, lazy and shiftless, being paid a king's ransom to sit around the firehouse, watch TV, play pool and occasionally get a little soot on their faces. "My job," she's said, eyes locked firmly down her nose, "a *real* job... people *shoot* at me."

Alex's opinion was that people would shoot at Tania even if she was a dentist.

She rolled onto her side and saw Jones sprawled in the next bunk, hand covering his face. He had yet to get used to sleeping in the same room as a bunch of other people, especially people as loud as Murray.

She closed her eyes, finally about to drift off, when the alarm began to sound.

Captain Franklin, who had the night watch, spoke over the intercom: "Ladder, Engine, Aid; respond to warehouse fire, three-three-one-four Pine, fully involved, Class-B." He repeated the message one more time and, by the time he finished, Alex was following Murray across the apparatus bay.

~

Rachel was curled in the corner of her couch, reading a few pages before slipping into bed for the night. She'd always been a night owl, something that had proved life-saving in her residency, and seldom climbed into bed before three. Tonight, however, she was having more than a little trouble concentrating.

She kept reading the same paragraph, trying to absorb the action on the page and finding herself unable to focus. Finally, she slipped the bookmark in and put the book on her lap. All she could think about was her upcoming date with Alex. A firefighter. She grinned and took off her reading glasses, checking her watch as she reached for the remote. She was certain there was something on TV Land she could lose herself in for half an hour.

The TV came to life, filling the living room with pale blue light. She was about to turn on the DirecTV when she realized what she was watching.

At first, she'd thought the local news was rerunning its eleven o'clock broadcast. Then, she spotted the little "LIVE!" banner in the bottom right corner, next to the address. 3314 Pine Street, which was in the warehouse district.

"...continues to blaze out of control. Two firefighting companies are on-hand trying to battle this inferno, but they seem to be making absolutely no headway against this thing." She watched in dull, uncomprehending horror as a man in full bunkers swept past the reporter on the ground. The reporter caught up with him. "Sir, excuse me... excuse me, Sir?"

The chiseled, aged-but-not-old face of Chief John Leary turned towards the camera, teeth bared, eyes flashing with anger. His short white hair was standing on end, obviously the result of removing the helmet he was carrying under his arm. Rachel saw only the smiling man blowing on a spoonful of fresh beef stew, telling her that Alex would 'be back in just a jiffy.' He snapped something that the reporter's microphone didn't pick up and headed back towards the building. The reporter stammered something about how the Chief was 'obviously very busy' and promised to 'get a statement later.'

'Right,' Rachel thought.

The TV crew cut back to the studio, where a harried looking anchor was shifting papers on his desk. He obviously wasn't used to being on the air this late and his discomfort was extremely evident. He looked up at the camera, probably making sure he was still on, and said, "If you're just joining us, we're continuing coverage of a fire that was first reported around 1:30 this morning. Since our crew has been on the ground, the fire team has managed to keep the fire from spreading to surrounding buildings..."

Rachel was busy watching the picture-in-picture shot of the fire. If Leary was on the grounds, it stood to reason that Alex was hard at work as well. The second fire in one shift... she honestly didn't know the odds, but it couldn't be all that common, could it? She was scanning the dark background - it was hard to tell one silhouette from another - and trying to read the reflective tape on the back of the firefighters' jackets as they sped back and forth.

"We're getting word now," this from the reporter on the scene, "that a firefighter may - I repeat, *may* be trapped inside the building. We don't have many details at the moment, but as soon as we can confirm anything..."

Rachel refused to believe what she was hearing. Her mind taunted her, assuring her that it was definitely Alex. Alex had come into her life only to be snatched away in a blaze of fire in the middle of the night. Isn't that always the way? Fate poked her in the side, laughing when she jumped. She stood up, halfway decided on changing into street clothes and heading to the hospital. She wanted to go, she wanted to stay and hear the rest of the news, she wanted to scream at the reporter to go away and let the firefighters do their damn jobs.

She dropped back onto the couch and hugged her knees to her chest, staring at the television and hoping for good news.

~

Alex Crawford laid on her belly, hand against the wall, the world in front of her a screaming swirl of yellows and blacks and grays. There was a bell ringing in her ear, the oxygen tank's five-minute warning siren mixed with the wail of a motionless PASS device somewhere in front of her. The fire was roaring above her; the screaming was coming from inside her own mask.

Fingers wrapped around the collar of her bunking coat and she felt herself lifted bodily off the floor. Someone was half-dragging, half-carrying her backwards the way she'd come in. Once they passed through the front door, the cold air hit her like a wave and she lost her oxygen, collapsing in a heap on the dirt. The person who'd saved her picked her up again, letting her walk this time as he moved her towards the engine. "You all right?" he asked, helping her pull her mask off. "Where's your partner?"

She didn't recognize the man standing in front of her; he was from the Greensboro station and had responded to the same call. "He's in there," Alex managed, coughing a bit as she watched the doorway dissolve into a wall of flame. "Oh, my God, he's still in there."

~

Rachel had her eyes closed, fists pressed against her forehead when she heard it.

The reporter was giving another recap of the situation, turning to indicate the three-story inferno behind him. He'd just paused to take a breath when there was an ear-piercing scream. A woman's scream.

Alex?

Rachel's heart jumped and she opened her eyes, frantically searching the background for signs of the woman she'd met that morning. Nothing. Damn it, nothing! She couldn't see anything in the dark, the smoke and with the idiot reporter standing in her way. She stood up and turned off the TV, the sudden darkness causing her a moment's blindness as she swept her hand across the coffee table for her car keys. She wasn't going to just sit around; she couldn't.

They would appreciate the extra hands at work, anyway.

~

When she arrived, the emergency room was astoundingly serene. She headed for the elevators, looking around for signs she had missed the commotion, but everything seemed business as usual.

She rode the elevator to the third floor, where the real drama was happening. Wizell was in a wheelchair, his bandaged head swiveling back and forth to look at whichever nurse happened to be nearby and speaking at the moment. "I do not care. I am going down to that building and..."

"You're staying right where you are, Mr. Wizell," Rachel snapped as she stormed onto the floor. Despite the panic that had propelled her the entire way to the hospital, she felt a kind of relief. Here, finally, was a problem she could deal with head-on. Wizell snapped his mouth shut, turning his wide eyes on her.

"D-Dr. Tom," one of the night nurses said. Her brow creased in confusion, but she didn't dare question her presence. She had, after all, just cowed the most belligerent patient on the floor.

Rachel stood in front of Wizell's chair and glared down at him. "You will go right back to your room, get back in bed and you *will* calm yourself. Am I understood?"

"Yes, ma'am," he said meekly.

Rachel exhaled. "Good." She looked at one of the night nurses as said, "Rebecca. Please escort Mr. Wizell back to his room. And make sure the restraints are nice and secure just in case we have to use them."

"I'll be good, I promise," Wizell sighed, holding up his hands in surrender. "Geez, make one little ruckus and suddenly you're on America's Most Wanted."

"What are you doing here so late, Dr. Tom?" the remaining nurse asked.

Rachel held up her hand, watching until Wizell was wheeled back into his room. She guided the nurse over to the desk, keeping her voice hushed. "Has he been watching much of the news?"

"Just the first little bit. He started his great escape right afterward, so he didn't get a chance to see any developments. None of us did. Is it bad?"

"The fire is out of control from the looks of it... His company may have lost someone."

"Oh, God!"

Rachel shushed her and said, "I'm here just in case we get a sudden burst of admissions. Couldn't hurt to have an extra set of hands."

"Right, of course, Doctor. If it does get crazy, I'll get on my knees and worship your foresight."

"Well, that probably won't be necessary," Rachel said. She tried to cover her fear with a smile as she took off her coat. "I do, however, accept cash gifts."

~

Alex sat in the back of the medic truck for the second time in one day, watching as the other firefighters doused the building. The fire was burning itself out; all they were doing for the moment was slowing its advance on the neighboring buildings. She couldn't believe the similarities to the afternoon's fire. It was another warehouse, this one three stories tall with offices on the upper two levels. She and her partner had gone in looking for squatters and had again found no one.

Instead, another door had opened on a fireball. It was still burned into Alex's vision. That, and the image of a helmet engulfed in bright yellow flame.

The bumper of the truck sagged and she blinked herself back to the present, focusing on Leary's haggard face. He sat across from her and put his hand on her shoulder. "What happened in there?" he asked softly.

"He's gone, sir," Alex managed. "Right in front of me. He..." She bit her lip and shook her head. "He disappeared. No one could have survived it."

Leary squeezed her shoulder just once and pulled his hand back. He turned to look out of the open doors at the smoldering building. "When the fire dies down, we're going in and we're going to pull him out. We will find him, Crawford. Got that?"

"Yes, sir."

"His PASS device..."

"Ringing loud and clear, sir," she said. She turned her head back to the building. The PASS device hooked on their jackets signaled when the wearer was immobile for a certain length of time. No one liked to admit that its primary job was to find corpses. Over the calls of other firefighters, over the sirens that were still blaring and all the horrendous noise caused by the media circus, she swore she could still hear it ringing. A small, monotonous tone calling for them to come and find it. "Can you hear it, too?" she asked.

Leary was quiet for a minute, obviously trying to drown out the ambient noises. "Yeah," he finally said. "I can hear it."

He sat with her for a long time, watching out the back of the medic truck as their team and Greensboro's guys drowned the fire out. "Gas," she muttered. "I smelled gas in there. Really strongly."

"Yeah. This was set."

"Bastards," she spit.

By the time the fire had been pretty much contained, the sun was starting to color the sky at the edge of town. Leary helped Alex out of the truck and stood aside as she pulled her gear back on. The surface objective was to overhaul the building, clear out all the flammable materials and snuff out any remaining heat pockets that could rekindle the blaze. But the true objective was to find their missing firefighter.

Somewhere under all this garbage, Alfred Jones was waiting to be found and Ladder 12 would not go home without him.

Chapter Four

Just Bugs, No Bunny

"Excuse me," he asked, trying to get the attention of a reporter on the scene.

One of the talking heads, someone he vaguely recognized from the evening news but couldn't name, was wrapping a microphone cord and around her hand. She looked up at the sound of his voice and said, "I'm sorry, sir, you can't be here."

The arsonist fought the urge to smirk, wondering how many times firefighters had said the exact same thing to her. "I-I live around here," he said. "I saw the fire. I hope no one was hurt..."

The reporter sighed. "They're saying that maybe a firefighter was trapped inside. That's all they're saying right now. Please, I'll have to ask you to step back."

He fought the urge to smile at this news, struggling mightily to keep his expression neutral. "Oh," he managed. "Oh, dear, that is horrible!"

He started to walk away, not getting too close to anyone lest they smell the gasoline stink that clung to him like a second skin. He shoved his hands into his pockets, ducking his head and finally releasing the snicker that had been building up since the trucks had first arrived. He'd done it! A firefighter had gone down!

Looking over his shoulder, he saw the building was a maelstrom of flame; perhaps he'd gone overboard with this one. Between the first fire, which had been too weak, and this one, he needed to find a middle ground.

It would be fine, though... the next fire would be a masterpiece compared to these two. Snickering again, he turned and hurried away from the scene.

~

They pulled Jones from the rubble a few minutes past six in the morning. His oxygen mask had melted into his skin and his uniform turned a deep charcoal color. The medics loaded him onto a gurney and covering him with a body bag before they removed him from the skeleton of the building. Leary passed Murray and Alex, handing each of them a corner of a sheet. They nodded their understanding and moved a few feet apart.

When the medics carried the gurney from the building, Murray climbed onto the bumper of the engine and lifted his portion of the sheet over his head. Alex did the same on the bumper of the ladder. The reporters who had shown up in full force were stuck scrambling back and forth in an attempt to get a halfway decent shot around the sudden barricade. Once Jones had been loaded into the ambulance, they dropped the sheet and went back to their duty. The building still wasn't safe.

Alex watched the ambulance bounce as it rolled over the TV camera cords and other various pieces of equipment the reporters had left lying around. Several of the talking heads tried to get their stuff out of the way, but the truck wasn't giving them time to clear out. Alex managed a weak smile and picked up her ax, following Murray back into the smoky husk.

~

Rachel did whatever was needed, since she was there, but she spent most of her time leaning against the doorway of the waiting room and watching the fire coverage on the news. One of the reporters announced that they were bringing the body out, at which point the camera spun back towards the building.

"Oh, what the hell are they thinking?" Rachel muttered. She hated the fact that she was glued to the screen. The reporters were just getting in the way and why? So people like her could sit at home and gawk. She twisted her lips and rubbed the back of her neck.

At that moment, two firefighters stood on the bumpers of the truck nearest to them - Rachel saw that one was the engine and the other was the ladder - and held up a wet, smoke-damaged sheet. She smiled, fighting the urge to applaud. When the sheet was dropped again, the firefighter that had stepped onto the ladder turned and slipped around the edge of the truck.

Rachel felt her breath catch when she spotted the CRAW written in reflective tape over the tail of the jacket. She whispered, "Alex," as she clutched the pendant hanging from her necklace. "Thank God, Alex."

A few minutes later, the reporter back in the studio - the replacement of the one who had been in at 2 AM - broke in. "We have a little more information to offer you at this time. Apparently, the casualty was a probationary firefighter, which means he had only recently graduated the academy."

Rachel had a flash of the man standing at the stove earlier in the evening, ladling stew into a bowl. He had offered her some, could practically still hear him say, "You're sure? There's plenty to go around." She could see his Marine-length hair cut, his thin face and that smile that she was sure had melted hearts all around town. He had been so young! She'd seen young people die; it was a fact of life in the hospital. But he had been so... alive earlier. Just making soup and joking with the guys. The worst part was she couldn't even remember his name.

"Ma'am?"

She looked into the dark waiting room, straightening slightly. The speaker had been a young man - probably the same age as the firefighter - sitting on the couch. He looked concerned. She cleared her throat and said, "Um, yes, sorry, yes?"

"Are you all right? Would... you like me to get a nurse?"

She realized that she was crying, realizing a moment later that she was still wearing her street clothes. "No, that's all right," she said, forcing a smile. "Thank you."

She turned and went back to the nurses' station, resting her hands on the edge of the counter until one of the women there noticed her. "I'm going to go home," she said softly.

"All right, Dr. Tom. Do you want us to give you a call if someone from the fire is sent in?"

"No," she said. "I don't think I'd be the best thing for them right now." She smiled and thanked the nurse before she headed to the elevator.

The corridor branched off right before the elevators, stretching out to either side in short halls. It was a benefit for the more mobile patients, so they could look out the windows. Convalescing patients were walked from their rooms to the windows during their exercises. Even though the view was mostly of a parking lot and the strip mall across the street, everyone still seemed fond of coming down and looking at the evergreens. It was also used by nurses who wanted to have their smoke breaks without going all the way to the ground floor.

As she passed, she spotted Wizell sitting in his wheelchair and staring blankly through the glass. Following his gaze, she saw the weakly rolling black cloud at the edge of town. She started over, thought better of it and stayed where she was. She wondered if he knew; if he had heard the news. He most likely had; hard to believe he hadn't seen the news broadcast of his friends doing their jobs.

She pressed the down button on the elevator and left Wizell to his thoughts.

~

At the firehouse, Alex headed to the edge of the apparatus bay and turned on the faucet. The truck needed to be hosed down and there was no reason why she shouldn't get it done with as soon as possible. Leary and Franklin were heading for the Chief's office where the unfortunate task of calling Jones's family would be done. She pulled a couple of sponges from the cabinet and went to find the garden hose.

Murray walked over and she automatically handed him a sponge. He took it without comment and turned to look over at the Chief's office.

When she picked up the bucket and carried it over to the truck, Murray said, "Twenty-one, man. Shit."

She knew he was talking about Jones's age. They'd managed to salvage his helmet, the singe-marks contained to the front. She noticed the cross he'd drawn with a marker hadn't been touched and she wanted to take an ax to it. He'd prayed on the way to this fire, the way he did on every call. Lot of good it had done. She motioned at the rig and told Murray, "C'mon. Let's get this done. You want to hang the hose to dry?"

"Sure," he said. He pulled some of the equipment from the truck, setting it aside to be washed. He looked over his shoulder at the chief's office and asked, "Who do y'think they'll put with us?"

She shrugged. "One of the twins, probably."

"You'd like that, huh, Crawford?"

She could tell by the tone of his voice he was kidding, but she shot him a look and said, "Not today, Murray."

He nodded and sprayed the hose at the side of the truck. A wave of soot and dirt immediately began to cascade down the red flank. Alex watched the stream for a moment before she dunked her sponge into the bucket and got to work.

~

Jones's replacement arrived at ten, two hours before the end of shift. As Murray had predicted, they had sent one of the twins. Alex guessed it was Heather, but there was no real way to tell just by looking... at least not any that she was aware of.

The twins were stationed with Ladder 4, a company on the other side of town, and had become a bit of a legend after an encounter at a fire ground. Then-Chief Goldberg, having never seen either of the Riley twins at a fire, had spotted one of them laying a hose line. A few minutes later, he glanced at the roof and saw what he thought to be the same firefighter assisting in ventilation. Over the course of the fire, Heather and her sister Helen had inadvertently caused the old man more than a bit of confusion.

Afterward, when he found out the truth, he began referring to them as Bugs and Bunny, a reference to the old cartoon where the wabbit played all the positions in a baseball game. The name had stuck and, although it had never been specified, everyone agreed that Heather was Bugs and Helen was Bunny.

Alex and Murray had finished washing the truck and had replaced all of the now-gleaming equipment. The hose was hung up to dry in the hose bed and they were finally taking a few minutes to decompress in the den. Alex was seated so that she could see the front of the bay and kicked Murray's shin when the other woman arrived. "Look who's here."

"Figured she wouldn't come 'til next shift," Murray said.

"Probably just wants to touch base, get her stuff in the locker... save her time getting acclimated."

Murray nodded, watching as she walked into the Chief's office. Her blonde hair was in a ponytail that reached only mid-shoulder. She was wearing a Ladder 4 shirt and navy blue trousers. She had a set of bunkers over one arm, her helmet tucked under the other. Murray raised an eyebrow and said, "Damn. There's a carbon copy of her running around?"

"Down, boy," Alex smiled.

"Hey, you got the doctor yesterday. Can't I call dibs on this one?"

"She's not a drumstick at Thanksgiving dinner, Murray."

He scoffed and shrugged. "All right, all right." The twin had left the office and was carrying her stuff across the bay to the lockers. "Okay, what do you think?" he asked. "Bugs or Bunny?"

Alex tilted her head slightly and spotted something on the other woman's helmet. "My money is on Bugs."

"Why?"

"Trade secret."

Murray exhaled and watched the woman stow her gear and then said, "All right, then. I'll say she's Bunny. Fifty-fifty odds, right?" He scratched his chin. "Wanna start slow? Say, thirty bucks?"

"No way!" Alex said. "I'm not getting into your gambling net like..." She hesitated, worried that saying his name would shatter the business-as-usual façade they had going. "No bet," she amended.

"Yeah, all right," Murray said.

The woman spotted them and headed over, extending her hand with a smile. "Hi. Heather Riley. You can call me Bugs... Just Bugs, no Bunny."

"Bugs," Alex said, taking the other woman's hand. "I should've made the bet."

Bugs smiled and looked at Murray. "Yeah... I've gotten so used to the betting about me and my sister that I just wrote Bugs on the back of my helmet to avoid confusion."

The same helmet she'd just carried across the apparatus bay. Alex winked at Murray, who was suddenly glad she hadn't taken his bait. "It's nice to meet you," he said, standing and shaking her hand.

"Two women in the same station," Bugs grinned, raising an eyebrow. "Whatever will the old boys club think?"

"No worries," Alex said. "We hardly even think of Murray as a woman anymore."

From his seated position, Murray brought his foot up and kicked her in the ass.

~

Alex tossed her leather backpack onto the couch and shrugged out of her jacket. She draped it over the back of her recliner as she passed and ran her fingers through her still-wet hair. She'd showered at the station, getting all the soot and grime out of her hair, but she had still smelled of smoke when she climbed into her Jeep at the end of the shift. Stifling a yawn, she stripped down to her underwear, not bothering with pajamas before collapsing on top of her comforter.

Her next shift was in 48 hours and she planned to spend at least half of that unconscious. Her eyes closed as soon as she hit the pillow, her bed seeming to catch her as she fell into it. Just before sleep claimed her, she thought of how lucky she was to not have anything to do for two whole days.

And that's when it hit her.

She rolled onto her back and muttered a curse as she ran back into the living room. She grabbed her jacket off the back of the chair and turned the pockets inside out. No phone. Her backpack had fallen over and spilled across the couch cushions, saving her the trouble of doing it herself. She finally found her cell phone at the bottom of the pile. She turned it on and fumbled with her keys until she found her voice mail in box.

No new messages.

She frowned and checked her watch. She and Rachel had made plans to meet at noon. She was forty-five minutes late, so why no call? She knew the irony of her being offended, but still couldn't bring herself to ignore it. She kicked herself for not getting Rachel's phone number and went back into the bedroom. As she pulled on a blouse and found a pair of jeans in the hamper. As she buttoned the blouse, she tried to think of the best place to intercept the doctor. Not the hospital; she wouldn't have scheduled a date if she had been on duty.

Unfortunately, that was the only place in Rachel Tom's life that she knew about.

She sat on the edge of the bed, distraught, feeling like she'd missed the opportunity of a lifetime. It was silly... some woman she'd spent a grand total of fifteen minutes with over the course of a single day... who cared? There were other women. Theoretically, anyway, there were other women. She groaned and ran a hand through her hair. The one woman in years who had actually made her feel something, the one woman who had made her excited about the prospect of eating a meal across from someone... and she'd missed it.

She stared at the phone and tapped her thumb against the display screen and was shocked into yelping when it began to vibrate in her hand. She kicked herself for being so jumpy and answered it when Murray's cell phone number appeared on the display. "Murray?" she said. "Why... what's up?"

"Hey, Alex, got a minute?"

"Yeah, I suppose. Where are you?"

"Still at the station. The Chief, he... he wanted me to kind of go through Jones's things and... you know..." He trailed off, leaving the unpleasant details to Alex's imagination. It was a fact of life; Jones had died and his replacement would likely need the locker space. Didn't make the process of cleaning it out any more enjoyable. He cleared his throat and moved on. "Anyway, that doctor from last night?" Alex's heart kicked up a notch. "She stopped by, wanted to know if we could give her your phone number. I wasn't sure and..."

"Yes! She... it's all right, Murray. Is she there now?"

"Yeah, want me to put her on?"

"Yes!"

After a pause, Rachel's voice came over the line. "Alex?"

"I was just trying to figure out how to get a hold of you!" She paused. She was out of breath, smiling like an idiot, and in danger of making a very big fool out of herself. She cleared her throat and said, "I, uh... thought you were going to call."

"Well, after last night, I..." There was a long pause and Alex thought they'd been disconnected. After a moment, Rachel quietly said, "The man whose phone I'm borrowing is standing right here smiling at me... Um, i-is there someplace we can meet?"

Alex gave her the address of Peter's café and gave her directions. When Murray got the phone back he said, "Hey, Alex. Need a chaperone?"

"Good-bye, Murray."

"Make sure she doesn't get too handsy?"

"Good-bye, Murray."

"Will you take some pictures for me if she *does* get too handsy?"

She snapped the phone shut without bothering to say good-bye again, but she smiled at Murray's sense of humor. One five-minute phone call and here she was, revitalized and cheerful. She gathered her backpack and headed out the door, hoping to get to the café before Rachel did.

~

Peter had inherited the café when his father retired, a kindly old man who had lovingly referred to Michael as Peter's "spouse." He seemed to accept them as a couple, but Peter had hinted a few times that it had been a long, tough road. When Peter's father recently decided to pack up and move to South Carolina, he had been torn between selling the business and keeping it in the family. He'd only handed over the reins after he'd tasted Peter's cappuccinos and personally tested half of Michael's menu.

Alex sat nervously in the booth next to the front door, fiddling with her coffee cup as she watched the sidewalk. *'How long does it take to get here from the firehouse?'* she wondered. *'Why would Rachel seek me out just to blow me off?'* A few customers passed the threshold of the café, but not so many that Peter couldn't come around the counter and stopped next to her table. "Waiting for someone?"

She smiled nervously.

He gasped and slid into the seat across from her. "Alex has a <i>girl</i>friend!" he grinned. "Who is she? How long as this been going on?"

"I met her yesterday."

"Ooh, she moves fast!"

Alex shrugged and said, "Well, she was the doctor I saw after the first fire..."

He shushed her and moved forward, touching her unburned arm. "Honey, that reminds me... no talk of the fire around Michael. The sirens woke him up last night and we watched the whole horrid thing on the news. He was terrified. Just... so you know. He's fragile right now."

"I didn't know," Alex said. She glanced towards the kitchen door. "Is he all right?"

"He really likes you. Your job scares him a lot. Me too, for that matter."

"Why don't you guys come over some night for dinner? My treat. I'll soothe his nerves."

"He'd really appreciate that. I would, too." He looked over her shoulder and said, "We'll set it up later, all right?"

"Sure," Alex said and turned to follow his gaze. Rachel was standing behind her, looking flushed and smiling brightly. She was looking nervously between Alex and Peter, as if trying to figure out whether to stay or make tracks. "Rachel! Hi! This is..."

Peter shushed her and stood with his arms held out. "This is a man who is just vacating your seat. I'll leave you two ladies alone... unless you'd like something to drink?"

Rachel slid into the seat he'd just vacated and said, "Yes, um... could I get some water?"

"Bottled or tap? We have Clearly Canadian; cherry, blackberry, orange pineapple, peach...?"

"Pineapple would be fantastic, thank you."

He got the bottle out of the cooler and returned, placing it in front of her. He smiled at Alex and said, "If you ladies need anything else, let me know." He went around the counter, as far from their booth as he could get. Alex knew he would do his best not to eavesdrop, but she still dropped her voice a notch.

"I was so relieved when you called."

"I wasn't going to," Rachel said. "I saw everything on the news and I knew you were having..." She swallowed and said, "I just thought that coffee would probably be the furthest thing from your mind today."

Alex shrugged. "It sort of was. I have to confess, I had forgotten all about it until just before you called. But I'm glad to have the excuse to ignore everything that happened this morning, even for a little while."

Rachel took the hint and nodded her understanding. After a beat, she said, "You look exhausted... are you sure you don't want to reschedule this?"

"You know, it's silly, but... I'm afraid if we call off our first date, it'll curse us."

"First date," Rachel repeated with a smile. "Us?"

Alex looked out the window and smiled nervously. "I suck at relationship stuff."

"Eh, you get at least a passing grade."

Alex looked at Rachel's bottle and said, "Tell you what... take a drink of your water." As Rachel uncapped her drink and took a long sip, Alex drank what was left of her cappuccino. "Okay, there. Our date is over. Would you like to walk me home?"

"Are your dates always this short?"

"Only when I'm saving the best for later."

They slid out of the booth and Alex reached for her wallet. Peter gave away his eavesdropping and rushed over, waving her off. "No, honey. First dates are always free in Peter's Café."

"Thanks, Peter," Alex said. As Rachel stood, Alex put her hand in the small of the other woman's back, a gesture she'd done once before and was already finding more and more comfortable. And apparently, she wasn't alone; this time, Rachel didn't tense at all. She guided Rachel out of the café and pointed down the street. "It's just a few blocks this way."

"Few blocks...? My car is right here," Rachel said, indicating a sedan parked at the curb.

"Oh," Alex said. Her face fell as she saw her romantic idea collapsing around her. "I didn't think about your car."

"It's the thought that counts, I think is the saying," Rachel said. "Look, you just got off a shift; you've got a right to be exhausted. On top of that, it was a hellish shift. We should just try it again later."

"Okay. It's a deal... can I have your cell number?"

"Oh, right," Rachel said. She pulled her purse around and dug around inside. She withdrew a pen and pad and wrote her number down. "This is my cell and my house... I don't want another scavenger hunt like today."

Alex nodded. "Yes... and the less exposure you have to Murray, the better."

Rachel laughed and said, "Okay. And I lost yours, so..."

Alex scribbled her home and cell numbers down as well. As she capped the pen, she looked down at her hands and said, "I'm really glad you went to the trouble to find me today. It's been... a really bad morning and..."

"It was entirely a selfish move, trust me," Rachel said softly. She slid her hand across Alex's shoulder and moved in. She pecked Alex's cheek and hesitated, obviously debating whether or not to move to the lips. Before she decided, too much time had passed for it to be spontaneous, so she stepped back. "Want a ride home?"

"I think I'd better walk off that kiss first," Alex said, avoiding Rachel's eyes.

Rachel laughed and said, "Okay. When is your next day off?"

"Tomorrow, actually," Alex said. "Twenty-four on, forty-eight off..."

"Oh, right, right. Well, do you want to..."

"Dinner. Tomorrow."

Rachel laughed. "Well, then! We'll work out the kinks tomorrow, then?"

Alex nodded. "I'll call you."

"You'd better," Rachel said playfully.

Alex watched Rachel climb into her sedan, waving at her through the windshield as she started the car. When she'd pulled away from the curb, Alex turned and caught movement inside Peter's Café out of the corner of her eye. She turned and saw Peter and Michael both in a window booth, smiling at her through the glass. Peter made a heart shape with his fingers and Michael mimicked a heart pounding against his chest.

Alex gave them another hand gesture, but she only used one finger.

~

Alex stretched out on her bed again, this time in a pair of boxers and a tank top. She threw an arm over her face to block the early afternoon sun, settled in, and hoped for a good, peaceful sleep. At least for a couple of hours... She had Rachel's phone number safely transferred to the pad by her house phone, so she wouldn't accidentally throw it out or lose it when she dug for change at the store.

The only problem was that every time she closed her eyes, she saw Jones opening that door, saw the flames engulfing him.

He should have been behind her. She should've been the one to open that door. Letting him lead the way had been a show of faith, a reward for his excellent progress. Instead... instead, she had signed his death certificate. It was just like Wizell's accident, only...

She opened her eyes, moving her arm and staring up at the ceiling.

It was *just* like Wizell's accident, except the flame was bigger. She got out of bed and went into the kitchen, searching until she found one of the street maps she'd stocked up on while studying to be a driver. Unfolding it onto the dining room table, she found the sites of the fires and covered them with her finger and thumb. They were just a few blocks from each other.

She sat down, thinking back to Wizell's accident. He had opened the door and the backdraft had knocked him down and burnt him badly. The second fire, less than a day later, had been only a few blocks away... it had been bigger, it had been badder and it had actually killed the firefighter that was caught in it.

Someone was torching these buildings. Worse, they seemed to be traps set to catch reporting firefighters off-guard. She stood up so fast she nearly toppled her chair; she had to call Leary and tell him what she'd learned.

Chapter Five

Peaches and Cream, Baby

Deputy Chief Hawkes had informed her that Leary had already gone home, leaving the house in his very capable hands. Alex had hesitated, not sure whether or not to tell him what she'd learned. If it was true, then they needed to have all the information as soon as possible. But if she was just being paranoid... if it turned out that she was just seeing conspiracies around every corner, she'd prefer if it stayed between her and the Chief. After all, Leary had been at both of the fires. Hawkes had never even met Jones, as far as she knew...

She told Hawkes that she would call back later and to let Leary know she needed to talk to him.

After hanging up, she went to bed and stretched out on top of the covers. She stared at the ceiling, half hoping for sleep and half dreading the nightmares that were sure to come.

~

She and Jones were crawling down the corridor, a hose line dragging the ground between them. They reached a bank of doors and Alex slid her hand up the wall. She could feel the heat even through her glove and slapped the back of Jones's leg. "Keep moving!"

He gave her the okay sign over his shoulder, half-lost in the cloud of smoke. He continued crawling and she took up the slack of the hose.

It was a fully involved fire, which meant others outside were already applying streams to the open windows. Alex looked up at the ceiling as they rounded a corner, watching the smoke. It had seemed wrong the first time, now it was even worse. It was like a giant, flaming sign that said "Turn Back Now." She ignored it now as she had the first time and followed Jones deeper into the building.

She had seen what he was doing wrong the first time and had shouted at him. But even in her dream, it was already too late. She still saw sheets of smoke flowing into the cracks around the door as if the room was alive and taking a deep breath. And the exhale would be the envy of every fire-breathing dragon since King Arthur's day.

Jones knelt in front of the door, either not hearing her or just ignoring her and reached up. She remembered cursing and grabbing the leg of his bunkers, trying to pull him back as he twisted the knob in his hand.

She pulled her hand back at the last moment, right before the door opened and Jones was engulfed. The wave of flame looked so *wrong,* so unreal...! Instead of exhaling, as she had the first time, she inhaled to scream. (Where the hell was her mask?) The flames followed the oxygen and by the time she realized what she'd done, it was too late. Her lungs had become superheated, fried and useless as she gasped uselessly for air. Her throat now burnt, her lungs twin lumps of charcoal, her entire insides feeling like she had swallowed a match.

And just before she burst into flames, she jerked awake in bed, breathing deep and hard with her healthy lungs. She had screamed instead of breathed. She had survived, Jones was dead. Her face and pillow were wet. She brushed off her cheeks and slipped out of bed on shaky legs. She stood for a moment, making sure her knees would support her, and went to the shower.

She turned the cool water as high as it would go, stripped out of her underwear and unwound the dressing on her arm. She got into the stall and stood motionless under the spray. Goosebumps rose on her flesh, her hair slicked back against her skull as she simply stood there and willed herself to become a block of ice. After a few moments, when her hands and knees were shaking with the freezing temperature, she finally turned on the hot water and soaped up.

She couldn't smell the smoke anymore, but that didn't mean the odor was gone. One of her ex-girlfriends had broken up with her because she "couldn't be with someone who smoked, so how could she sleep next to someone who reeked of the stuff?"

When she finally felt clean, she shut off the shower. She toweled off, redressed her burn and put on a pair of fire department sweats. The apartment felt a little too warm after her freezing cold shower. She padded barefoot to the window and pushed it open to let in some fresh air. Her apartment was a spartan one-bedroom over a pawn shop and a Korean hairdresser. She had a few neighbors, but they were private and never lasted very long. It was nothing to do with her and everything to do with the kids who were at that moment closing a deal down on the corner. Her longest-lasting neighbor was a sweet old man who claimed his name was Mr. Round and that his rotund waist was just a coincidence.

Down in the street, someone was screaming for someone else named Michelle to unlock the car door. The screech of tires immediately thereafter hinted that maybe Michelle had decided to leave the door locked. She watched as a pair of teenaged kids on the corner exchanged a very complicated hand gesture and then went their separate ways. A limping dog exited the alley across the street, pausing to push his muzzle around an overflowing trash can before lopping down the street and disappearing into the darkness.

She loved the neighborhood, loved Mr. and Mrs. Ki-hyun who ran the hairdresser shop downstairs. She hated what was happening to it - the car theft, the broken windows and the graffiti on every surface - but what could she do? Call the police and give them another paper to shuffle at the end of the day? She sighed and moved away from the window. She had enough worries; she could put the world directly outside her window out of her mind for the day.

It was almost seven, the sun already set and her apartment was filled with shadows. She stumbled over her backpack and kicked it out of her way as she wandered towards the kitchen. She turned on the light over the stove and caught a glimpse of the map still unfolded on the dining room table. She prayed she was wrong; someone setting fires to kill firefighters... it made her nauseated just thinking about someone sick enough to do it.

She carried her water into the living room and sat on the couch in the dark. She put her feet up and closed her eyes. She hated waking up so late; it threw off her internal clock. In a few hours, it would be bedtime. She could already see herself, up at two in the morning, watching some 80s sitcom on Nick-at-Nite. The past few weeks, it had been "Family Ties," so she was hoping for a bit of variety tonight. Maybe Dick Van Dyke or one of Bob Newhart's shows.

She loved watching those old shows; just watching the theme song reminded her of being nestled under her Dad's arm, smelling his cigar smoke, laughing because he was laughing. She wanted someone to curl up next to her during the trips down memory lane, but so far no one she'd gone out with could get past the fact that the shows were so old. Nick-At-Nite and TV Land were wastes of cable television, as far as they were concerned. Alex, on the other hand, couldn't imagine Bob Newhart's staccato, stuttering delivery ever becoming considered passé. He still killed her each and every time.

The phone rang and she grumbled, picking up a cushion off the couch and covering her face with it. "Shut up and leave me alone," she groaned. After a moment, the fourth ring was silenced and her voice issued from the answering machine: "This is Alex... Go for it."

There was a beep and then, "Alex! Alex! Alex! Alex! Alex!"

She tossed the pillow away and grabbed the phone on the ninth "Alex!" and shut off the machine. "Weasel!"

"Alex!"

She grinned. "How are you doing?"

"I'm in a hospital bed with a catheter in a very uncomfortable position. The nurse that I spent half the shift working on just went off-duty so I have to start all over with the new one and the food here sucks."

She sat back and said, "But other than that?"

"Peaches and cream, baby. The docs want to keep me another day... claim that I have some kind of infection. They just want to keep the ol' Weasel around a little longer. This place is Dullsville, so I really don't blame them for lying to keep me here."

"How dare they?" Alex said, feigning indignation. "You're *our* entertainment!"

He laughed and said, "How about you, girl? Your wrist all right?"

She looked at the wrist she'd burned the day before and worked it back and forth, watching the bandage wrinkle and twist but feeling nothing too bad below. "It's healing nicely, I think. No loss of movement."

"Good," he said. "Hate to think you were permanently injured trying to save my sorry ass."

Jones's face flashed in front of her, along with the memory of being lifted bodily from the corridor and carried out. She didn't even know who it was, who had saved her life. She knew that he was a Greensboro firefighter, but she hadn't bothered to learn his name. "I would've stayed," she said softly. "To save Jones. Someone picked me up, carried me out of there..."

"From what I've heard, it was a flashover. That Greensboro guy shouldn't even have been in there, but if he hadn't... you know as well as I do that if you had stayed another ten... hell, if you'd stayed another *two* seconds you would've roasted alongside Jones. They found his body, kid. Wasn't nothing you could've done differently. You think Jones would've wanted someone to die alongside him?"

"We were partners. He was a probie. If anyone was supposed to die..."

"No one is *supposed* to die. Haven't we taught you anything?" He sighed and said, "We have a dumbass job where we run into a fire and put it out. Up until, what, fifteen or twenty years ago firemen didn't even wear *masks* into fires. Some people think firefighters have a death wish and a lot of times, I can't find a way to disagree with 'em. Alex..."

"Jones shouldn't have been in front of me. I should've been leading the way and..."

"And nothing. You could've gone in first. You could've strapped his bunkers on for him, too. Helped him aim when he went potty. Jones was twenty-one years old. He was a little green, sure. But he was a damned good firefighter. You should feel proud that you gave him a chance to lead the hose."

"He *died,*" Alex repeated. "It was his first time leading and--"

"He lost the lotto, kid. Could've just as easily been me. He might've died on his second entry or his fifth or his ten-thousandth. No use second-guessing, no point in playing what-might-have-been. What happened is what happened and we've got to deal with that."

Alex took a deep breath, looking out her window. She could see the top of next door's pawn shop glowing brightly, flashing in random intervals. After a moment, she said, "Thanks, Eric."

"No problem, Alex. I spent about six hours this morning staring out the window coming to the same conclusion. Thought I'd... I don't know, share my wisdom."

"It's appreciated."

"Well, bits of wisdom so rare for me that I had to tell *somebody.* And no one else at the firehouse takes my calls anymore."

She smiled again, glancing towards the TV. Bob Newhart was talking with Marcia Wallace. "Thanks, Wizell. It's appreciated. Have there been any more fires today?"

"None I've heard of. Heard sirens earlier, probably just an aid call since there wasn't any smoke I could see."

She nodded. "Here's hoping."

After a moment, he said, "Alex, can I ask you a question?"

"Sure."

"You don't even feel a *little* guilty for when I got burnt?"

She rolled her eyes and laughed. "No, I don't feel any guilt whatsoever for that."

He sighed wearily into the phone and said, "Oh! Oh, nurse, hurry! My poor little heart is breaking! Oh, no, nurse!!"

Alex laughed and touched her face, surprised to find it dry. "Weasel... I'm glad you're... I'm glad you made it."

"And I'm glad you weren't hurt worse than you were. All us guys, we... you're our sister, you know?"

She found herself insanely touched by that sentiment; when she'd first signed on, she had gotten the cold shoulder from everyone. She had her own bathroom and some other women in a neighboring firehouse had started a petition to get separate lockers, too. Alex had passed on signing, instead stringing up a sheet to block her corner locker from the rest of the room. After that, the guys started to realize she didn't expect or want special treatment just because of her gender. When Murray had instigated a water war with her, she knew they were coming around. But this... "Sister." She smiled at the phone and said, "Thanks, Eric."

"Okay, I gotta go... the redhead is coming back and I want her to think I'm at death's door. They tend to play fast and loose with the sponge baths when they think you're gonna die."

"Just make sure they don't shave anything."

He was quiet for a moment and then sheepishly asked, "W-what would they... they shave?"

She laughed and said good-bye, hanging up on him and stretching out on the couch again. A five-minute phone call from Weasel and, all of a sudden, she didn't feel half as bad about everything. She was alive, barely injured, she had a date with a beautiful woman in twenty-four hours and Bob Newhart was on TV. What was there to complain about?

~

He had the plans laid out in front of him, the perfect spots for his presentation marked. The fire would look small, easy to extinguish... but the hot spots. They would prove most deadly if the firefighters weren't extremely careful. And they had no reason to be cautious. He guesstimated where the fire engine would park, figuring what the collapse zone would be. What was it, one-and-a-half times the height of the building? He wasn't sure... he figured two times, just to be on the safe side.

The news was replaying their late-night footage of the fire and he paused, riveted by the coverage of his handiwork. He drummed his fingertips on the edge of the table as they pulled the body out, cursing the damn firemen who'd held a sheet up to block the shot. Way to ruin the moment. He sighed and moved closer to the TV, getting a closer look at them. The big one's jacket said Murray. The other one...

CRAW... Craw-what? Crawdad?

No, Crawford. Alexandra Crawford. They had talked about her earlier in the day, saying that she'd been 'inches away from death herself.' Apparently, she had been on her hands and knees behind the male firefighter, escaping death only because of the order in which they'd gone into the building. Irony. He was a huge fan of it. He grinned. "Alexandra Crawford," he said quietly. "I promise to aim for you next time."

When the news moved on to other local news, he returned to his table and sat down, arranging his toys. He put a toy fire truck on the plans, wondering how tall the ladder really was. It would have to reach the roof, of course, so they could ventilate.

The roof... He checked the information on the building and smiled. The rafters. The firefighters would be very careful when cutting ventilation. They would be certain not to cut any rafters. But if the rafters were already severed... well, then, that would make for a very interesting chain reaction, wouldn't it?

He fought the urge to laugh and began to outline his new plan.

~

"Ki-hyun Hair and Nails," the high-pitched, female voice crackled. "How I help you?"

"Hey, Moon, it's Alex."

"Alex! How nice of you to call!"

Alex smiled at how much Moon's accent cleared up when she realized she was talking to a friend; the way she explained it, people had an expectation of what a Korean hairdresser should sound like. Why should she be the one to disappoint them? "I... may need your services."

Moon half-gasped, half-groaned into the phone. "That mop you call hair? Shave it all off, say you're a boy until it starts to grow out some. We'll start from scratch."

"Hey, come on," Alex said, bending down and looking at her reflection in the microwave door. "It's not *that* bad." And it was much better than tying her hair into pigtails on the way to a fire. It was easier to just cut it short and ignore it. "I... h-have a date tomorrow."

Another sound from Moon, this time half-laughter and half-shriek. "Ooh, Alex finally found someone who meets all the requirements? Wonders never cease! And if your hair is 'not that bad,' why're you calling me before a big date to make you look good?"

"Good?" Alex asked, surprised.

"Marvelous, dear, I meant to say marvelous. Sorry, I forgot who I was for a minute. Won't happen again. Now, you're off all day tomorrow, so all day is the window, yes?"

"Any time tomorrow, yeah. Probably should be early..."

There was a shuffling of papers and then Moon said, "Okay, and when are you meeting this big, life-changing, soul mate of a person?"

"Tomorrow night... we haven't set a time yet."

"Tomorrow. I can get you in at four in the afternoon. With your disaster of a hairstyle - if I may take liberty to call it that - it'll take about an hour."

Alex nodded and made a note. "Okay. Sounds perfect."

Her voice dropping into a teasing cadence, Moon asked, "And you have a nice dress for the date, yes?"

She rolled her eyes. "Moon, I'm wearing slacks."

Moon grunted. "Such a lady..."

Alex laughed. "I'll see you tomorrow, Moon."

"Four o'clock! Don't be late! I'm going to need every second of it. Oh, the horrors I will be facing tomorrow... "

"Good-bye, Moon. Say hello to your husband for me."

"Kim will be here tomorrow. He misses you!"

"I'll be sure and bring him a tuna sandwich."

Moon gasped and said, "Trollop! Home-wrecker! I'm hanging up on you!"

The call was disconnected and Alex laughed, shaking her head. Nothing like a conversation with Moon to make her laugh. She hung up and looked at her reflection again and plucked at a few errant strands. "It's not *that* bad," she repeated as she grabbed a beer.

~

Alex spent most of the night channel surfing, watching a few episodes of "Bob Newhart" and "Cheers" on TV Land, and waking at eleven the next morning. She dressed in her sweats and headed out, parking a few extra blocks from her jogging trail to make up for missing the day before. She had her iPod playing, but was paying more attention to the world around her than normal.

Two fires in one twenty-four hour period... it couldn't be a coincidence. The only explanation was that Shepherd had a firebug. The idea sickened her and made her much more aware of the people around her. The thought of someone intentionally setting fires made her want to hunt the guy down and force him to inhale several lungs full of smoke. Serve him right.

Of course, she thought, watching a couple of people light up cigarettes near the pond, some people might not find that to be a very painful torture. She shook her head as she followed the trail into the woods, checking her time and smiling at the result.

Leary still hadn't returned her call, but she wasn't surprised. He was a family man, with a wife and a young daughter, and very seldom answered work-related calls on his days off. It was all right; they'd gone a whole day without a second fire. Maybe the guy had been scared off by how big the second one had gotten. Her heart told her that wasn't true; these guys *liked* the big booms and they got off on the fires that killed someone. They were freaks who thrived on destruction.

She remembered once, when she was still a probie herself, when they had all been out drinking at a local pub. Murray and Franklin had headed out early and spotted a kid playing with a firecracker in the alley. She wasn't exactly sure what had transpired afterward, but Leary had assured her that the kid would never even see another match without twitching.

Maybe when she became a chief she'd force them to tell her.

As she was heading for the cool-down portion of her jog, she realized her cell phone was vibrating against her hip. She slowed, checking the readout - Unknown Name - before she yanked the earplugs out and answered the phone. "Alex Crawford," she said.

"Um... Alex? Rachel Tom."

"Rachel, hi!" she said. She stopped completely and bent forward, resting her free hand on one knee.

"Am I... interrupting something?"

Alex realized then that she was panting into the mouthpiece like some late-night pervert. "Sorry, uh, you caught me while I was jogging. I've been thinking about where we should go tonight."

"Oh? Do tell."

"There's a place not far from the firehouse... it's..." She swallowed and shrugged. "Well, it's a theme restaurant."

Rachel laughed and Alex wondered how to save that sound as her ring tone. "It wouldn't happen to be a firefighter theme, would it?"

"Well, it just so happens..."

Rachel laughed again.

"A priest, a rabbi and a snake walked into a bar..."

"Wait, what?" Rachel asked, sounding confused.

"Nothing. I just wanted to hear you laugh again." She blushed at how corny it sounded, but it seemed to work.

"Fresh," Rachel accused. "Okay, I'll meet you at... uh..."

Alex grinned. No one outside of the department could remember the name of the place. "It's called Vollie's."

"Mm-hmm," Rachel said. "Maybe over dinner you can explain to me why it's called that. Seven all right with you?"

"Yeah, seven would be wonderful. Do... do you need me to pick you up, or..."

"That would be wonderful. Do you know Spring Creek Apartments?" Alex didn't so Rachel gave her directions. "I'm in Apartment 4-B. I'm looking forward to it."

"Same here. See you then."

"All right."

She hung up and was about to hook the phone back onto her waistband when a thought struck her. She opened the phone again and dialed the police station, moving from one foot to the other as she waited for the dispatcher to answer. "Shepherd Police Department, this is Nancy, how may I direct your call?"

"Hey, Nancy, this is Alex Crawford..."

"Oh, hi!"

"Listen, is Bill Von Elm around?" Von Elm was the fire marshal for Shepherd and would most likely have already snooped around both sites at least a little.

Nancy checked and came back quickly. "I think he just headed out to look at one of your fires from yesterday." A pause. "Were you at either of those?"

"Both, actually," Alex said, leaving out the part about being with both of the firefighters who'd been injured.

"Oh, how awful!"

"It's the job," she said, her mood darkening a bit. "Listen, Nancy, just let Bill know I'm looking for him. It's not urgent, but..."

"I understand. I'll let him know, hon."

Alex thanked her and finally stuck the phone back on her waistband. She looked down the path, seemingly a few miles in the distance. As fast as her heart had been racing during the conversation with Rachel, she decided maybe she didn't need to run the rest of the way. The thought of Rachel banished the unpleasant thoughts Nancy had brought forth and, smiling, Alex started to walk the path.

~

He couldn't very well contract anyone to do it for him, so he was forced to take matters into his own hands. His neighbor had a reciprocating saw that would be perfect. He'd looked forever, finally locating the tool in a box marked "sawzall." Though he'd seen it in action, it had taken him about half an hour to figure out how to work the damn thing properly. He could have asked his neighbor, but then the neighbor would know he'd taken it.

Eventually, he'd figured out how to operate the tool and looked up at his handiwork. The rafters were sagging mightily, but the ceiling around them seemed all right. The problem would come when the firefighters moved across it to cut their ventilation. Come to think of it, they probably used a sawzall for that, too. Poetic justice, he thought.

He put the tool back in the box the way he'd found it, hoping that he would get away without the idiot next door asking questions.

That done, he gathered the rest of his tools. He had a lot of work to do before the building was ready for the fire to start. It would take a long time, he was dismayed to admit, but perfection was better than rushing through and ending up with an injured firefighter like the first time.

He was still kicking himself about that. They interviewed the survivor on the news, made him out to be some kind of hero. *'All he did,'* the arsonist thought, *'was stay alive.'* And what was he doing with that life? Running around playing grab-ass with the nurses, calling himself "Weasel." What the hell kind of name was that for a grown man? Honestly... he regretted that the self-proclaimed Weasel had survived.

All in good time, he figured, kneeling down to set the first trap in this building. Given time, perhaps Weasel would return to work. Then he would have a personal target to shoot at. That would be fun. It was nice to have an alternative if his current approach ever got boring.

As he spilled gasoline down the stairs, he looked at the abandoned building around him. "You were magnificent in your prime," he muttered, feeling a bit sad about ending this building's life. "You've been forgotten, but don't you worry." He watched the gas flow down into the darkness. "You're going to go out in a blaze of glory. No one will be able to ignore you after tonight."

Chapter Six

Next to the P in SOUP

Rachel lifted her leg from the tub and watched the water slide down her calf before she submerged it again. She shifted in the water and let herself sink a little to let her hair get wet. She'd been soaking for almost half an hour, her toes and fingers already hopelessly pruned. She had started out reading, but found herself unable to concentrate on the words. Her mind kept going back to the date she had later in the day. With a *firefighter.*

She had spent the last few days trying to remember what had possessed her to make the first move, but it was hopeless. Alex Crawford was not her typical date. She tended to go for intellectual types, the kind she found in libraries with their noses buried in a giant book. She liked shy women, women who wore glasses and frumpy sweaters, the kind that really came out of their shells given the right prompt.

She shuddered in the bath and smiled at herself.

Alex definitely wasn't her typical shrinking violet. But something about the way she had looked at the hospital... Rachel wasn't a believer in love at first sight; in her mind, nothing stronger than lust was possible at first sight. The only time she had ever been in love, it had taken her a long time to realize it. Almost too long. She brought her hand out of the water and brushed her cheek, leaving a wet trail behind anyway.

Whatever the reason, she was drawn to Alex Crawford, firefighter with nerves of steel and a quiet demeanor, and was powerless to stop herself.

She craned her neck and looked at the clock next to the sink. She had plenty of time, but she decided bath time was over. She had to get herself gussied up for her date.

~

Ki-hyun Hair and Nails was a narrow shop with tables along the right wall, a waiting area set up along the left. The front window was half-covered by the ornate sign that Kim had painted himself, showing a sunset over what Alex assumed to be a Korean beach. The tables could be turned so they were flush against the wall or angled out so Moon could sit on one side with the client on the other. At the moment, half the tables were angled out for nail clients, although the place was vacant.

Kim, a sweet old man with snow-white hair and an eternal smile on his face, had his back to her, sweeping hair from the floor around the chairs. At the moment, he was wearing a bright pink shirt underneath his pale white apron, softly singing in his native tongue. Alex held up a bag from the Subway down the street and said, "Hey, Kim... ready for a break?"

He looked up, eyes shining when he saw Alex and his jaw dropping when he saw the sandwich. "Six-inch tuna?"

"On wheat. Do I know you or what?"

He put down the broom and headed over, taking the bag and pecking her on the cheek. "You're too good to me, too good. You should come in here more often!"

"That's what I tell her, all the good it does," Moon griped. She was walking out of the back room of the store, pushing aside the curtain that covered the entrance, and shook her head when she saw Alex. "It's so much worse than I thought. You, what, rub soot on your head when you're at fires? This is what you do to cause poor Moon to have a heart attack?"

"You should hear her when someone with split ends comes in," Kim chuckled. "End of the world time."

Moon went to the nearest seat and swiveled it around, patting the back. "Okay, Firelady, you come and sit here. I have another appointment at five minutes past five and I am going to need every minute between now and then on your atrocity of a head."

"Sweet talker," Alex grinned as she walked over and took her seat.

Kim sat down in the waiting area and crossed one thin leg over the other. Alex looked at his reflection in the mirror and said, "I thought you were sweeping?"

"And miss seeing my wife work a miracle? Never!" He took a big bite of his sandwich and grinned.

~

Thirty minutes later, Moon turned the chair around to face the mirror and held her hands out. "There and viola," she said. She clapped once and then planted both hands on her hips. "How do you think about your hair now, Firelady?"

Alex turned her head to look at the sides. "It's... um... nice."

"Nice?!"

"And... I don't know, a little shorter?" She laughed at Moon's stricken look. "What? I'm sorry! I really don't... um, I really can't tell what you did."

Moon gasped and snapped her fingers at her husband. "Get me the clippers. I shave her head."

"No, no, just... what, point it out to me."

Moon sighed and stepped around Alex's seat. She picked up a bottle off her table and pointed it at Alex like a gun. "First, this is a miracle product. Very important. You should try to find a bottle of this that you can afford on your salary, because it's very, very expensive and rare. It's called conditioner."

"I use shampoo," Alex said, but she took the bottle from the irate Korean.

"Shampoo. Okay. Fine and dandy. Next time you go to a fire, I hand you a little bitty fire extinguisher and have you go to work with just that." She walked around behind Alex and clutched her head with both hands. "Your hair, it cries to me, Alex! It cries and I can't bear it! Oh, the screams of terror from your poor, neglected hairs. Each one, like a screaming banshee to me!"

Throughout her tirade, she whipped Alex's head back and forth, forcing her to hold onto the arm rests. When Moon released her, Alex said, "Okay, okay, fine." She looked again at her reflection. "So this is all just from conditioner?"

"It's not *really* a miracle gel, sweetheart. I also highlighted it." She put her face next to Alex's, referring to the mirror. "Here, here... it's a little lighter brown. Brings out your eyes."

"My eyes are blue," Alex said.

"You want I should give you blue highlights? Punk rocker blue or little old lady blue? I have both." She feathered Alex's hair, motioning at the mirror when she finished. "You see? Moon worked miracle. Made you look delicious and oh-so irresistible. Your date, bah, won't know what hit her."

Alex grinned. "Thanks, Moon... how much do I owe you?"

"One promise. You will put on make-up before you go on your date. A little lipstick, even. Maybe eyeliner. Just *something,* because your date, she deserves to be proud of who she is with, right?"

"Okay, Moon, I promise."

"And details. That will be my tip. I want all the details. Tomorrow."

"I'm back on duty tomorrow."

Moon's eyes widened and she took a step back. "You will put my masterpiece under a helmet? With smoke? Oh, why do you torture me so, Alex? Why do you let my beauties live only one day?"

Alex grinned and leaned in, pecking Moon on the cheek. "I'll give you all the juicy details as soon as I can. And I'll do my best to keep it from getting too mussed."

"On the job," Kim called from the back room. He'd finished his sandwich long ago and was watching TV. He pushed aside the curtain and said, "Avoid mussing it on the job. Finger-mussing during the date is okay."

"Dirty old man," Alex and Moon muttered in stereo.

~

Alex headed upstairs and checked her closet, finally settling on a white shirt under a black vest. She wore a pair of jeans, hoping to give the date a casual air. She nervously applied some lipstick and fiddled with some eyeliner, kicking herself for feeling so anxious. This was high school graduation, her first kiss and coming out to her best friend all over again. She messed with her hair again, finally seeing the highlights Moon had added, and exhaled sharply. "You'll do fine. *She* asked *you* out. She's already interested. Ball is in her court."

She checked her wallet, made sure her cell phone was charged and turned on her answering machine before she stepped out into the hallway. It was six-thirty, giving her half an hour to get to Rachel's apartment.

~

Spring Creek Apartments stood four stories tall, a narrow slip of brick building nestled between two others. Alex approached from the west and looked up the alley next to the building. Her mind immediately began calculating the problems she would face fighting a fire here; narrow alley, close proximity to the neighbors that could cause the fire to spread more easily... with a strong enough wind, the entire block would be in danger.

She put the thoughts out of her mind and found the buzzer marked "TOM." After a moment, Rachel's voice came through the tinny speaker box: "Alex?"

"Hi, it's me, it's Alex. I'm a little early..."

"No, it's fine. Come on up."

The buzzer sounded and Alex stepped into the air-conditioned foyer. The building didn't just seem cool, it seemed chilled. She resisted the urge to shudder and headed across the faded yellow tile, glanced at the stairs before she settled on the antique elevator. Taking the stairs would give Rachel a few extra seconds to get ready, but four flights of stairs also increased the risk that she would start sweating. The risk of sweating was already bad, considering how she reacted around this woman, so she didn't want to tempt fate.

As she rode the elevator up, she second- and third-guessed herself about her decision not to bring flowers or chocolates. She just wasn't sure if that was in style anymore, or if Rachel only ate healthy things or, God forbid, if she had allergies! She sniffed her wrist at the thought and prayed her perfume was all right.

The elevator deposited her at the fourth floor. The stairs led down to her left and the short landing offered her only two door options. The first and closest, to the right of the elevator, was unpainted and neglected. Straight ahead, however, was a lovingly maintained green door with a gold 4-B hanging above the peephole. She stepped up, rapping her knuckles just below the number and stepping back to make sure Rachel could see her.

"Just a second!" The voice came from deep inside the apartment, so Alex relaxed a bit. She looked down at her hands, wondering whether or not to put them in her pockets or clasp her wrist behind her back or... she sighed, knowing that holding flowers and chocolates at least gave her something to do with her hands. It was probably why the practice began in the first place.

She fiddled with the edge of her vest and wondered if she should have heeded Moon's suggestion of a dress. *'No,'* she told herself firmly. *'Not at Vollie's. If someone spotted me, I would never hear the end of it.'*

Just as she was about to knock again, the door swung open and Rachel appeared in her robe. She held up one hand and held the robe closed with the other. "No, no, before you ask... You're right on time. I'm just... a little rushed here. Sorry. Come on in, make yourself comfortable."

She opened the door a little wider and Alex stepped inside. Rachel motioned towards the living room and said, "I'll just be a minute." She disappeared down a dark corridor that branched off from the small entryway and a few seconds later a door closed. Alex wandered past the wall that divided the kitchen and the living room, impressed at the size of the apartment.

The living room was the hub of the apartment, everything else stemming from this central point. The only light came from two lamps on either side of the room, making Alex want to kick off her shoes and curl up for a nap. The couch and armchairs were focused on the picture window rather than the television. Alex walked across the room, her eye drawn to the ceiling as she stepped over the threshold. A nearly opaque skylight dominated, directly over the couch. Alex resisted the urge to whistle at the sight, instead glancing at Rachel's bookshelf.

Books swarmed the four shelves, some crammed diagonally across the tops of others. She recognized a few author names, one or two books she'd been meaning to look for at the library and more than a couple that she'd bought herself. She heard the bedroom door open and smiled, turning to see Rachel. "You have great... wow."

"Great wow?" Rachel said, smiling. She was wearing a red kimono-style blouse, the sleeves ending just below her shoulders and leaving her arms mostly bare. The high neck of the shirt was just barely touched by the loose strands of Rachel's auburn hair, her eyes dancing in the weak light of the living room. She was wearing a black dress, cut above the knee. "What were you going to say?"

"I..." Alex swallowed. "I'm sorry. It was something about... books."

Rachel laughed again. "So I guess I look all right?"

"Understatement," Alex said.

"So... shall we?" Rachel said, motioning at the front door. Alex stepped forward and followed Rachel from the apartment, waiting for her to lock the door before stepping into the elevator. Rachel pushed the button for the lobby and they stepped back until they were standing side-by-side in the small car. Rachel looked over and said, "You look really great tonight."

Alex scoffed. "Next to you, I probably shouldn't have bothered. You look outstanding."

Rachel laughed. "I think you mentioned something about that. But no, I'm serious. You did something with your hair, right?"

Alex grinned in spite of herself. "You just made an over-dramatic Korean woman very, very happy. Yes, I did get some highlights."

"It suits you." The elevator doors opened and Alex put her hand in the small of Rachel's back as they stepped out. Rachel said good-night to someone passing by them in the lobby and let Alex hold the door for her as they stepped out into the night. There was a chill in the air and, without thinking, Alex put her arm around Rachel and drew her in. Rachel smiled and said, "Thank you."

Alex didn't reply, but rubbed Rachel's bare shoulder to keep it warm until they reached the Jeep. "That thing you do with your hand..." Rachel said.

"What... putting my hand on the small of your back?"

"Yeah, that," Rachel said. She smiled for a moment and then nodded as if coming to a conclusion about something. "I like that."

"Oh," Alex said. She opened the door for Rachel and jogged around the front of the car, sliding behind the wheel. "You buckled?"

Rachel patted the seatbelt and said, "Yep. I'm starved; I skipped lunch in anticipation of tonight. What kind of food does Vollie's serve?"

"Steak, they have a lobster plate..." Her face paled and she looked at Rachel. "Oh, God, you're not a vegetarian, are you?"

"Once, in college. But I was drunk and it didn't mean anything."

Alex laughed out loud and said, "God. I'm so nervous about everything being perfect for tonight. I even decided against bringing chocolates because I didn't know if you were a health food nut or... n-not that I'm calling you a nut..."

"Alex!" Rachel laughed. "Relax! This is a *date.* If it goes perfectly, it goes perfectly. If not, we'll have a funny story to tell our friends at dinner parties. First dates do not make or break a relationship."

Alex exhaled. "I'm sorry. I just... I keep feeling like I'm on a job interview. That if I don't impress you, I won't have another chance and that I'll lose you." She exhaled. "And now I'm scaring you off..."

Rachel smiled in the darkness. "Alex? What are you doing next Saturday?"

"What?"

"Humor me."

"I'm... uh, I think I'm working."

"Friday, then?"

"I don't know. I'm probably going to be off for one of those days, I think..."

Rachel nodded. "Okay, then. Either Friday or Saturday, you're going to come to my apartment and I'll cook for you. It'll be our second date, which means this date is a moot point. Does that make you feel better?"

Alex took a deep breath and said, "Strangely enough, it does."

Rachel reached over, resting her hand on Alex's forearm and squeezed once before taking her hand back. Alex shuddered, forcing herself to keep her face neutral.

Riding a few blocks in silence, Alex stole a glance at Rachel and saw the other woman smiling absently. "What?" she asked.

"Hmm?"

"You're smiling."

"Oh, sorry. I've... it's been a while since I've been on a date."

Alex nodded. "Ah. So... wait, shouldn't you be the nervous one, then?"

"I don't know," Rachel said. "Sometimes I feel like I'm just... numb."

When Alex looked over again, she saw pain in Rachel's eyes before she turned away. She wanted to know more, but there seemed to be a barrier between them in the car that hadn't existed a few minutes ago. Alex hesitated, then reached over and put her hand on Rachel's thigh. "I'd like to wake you up again."

She pulled her hand away, kicking herself for sounding like such an idiot, such a moronic cliché. She turned to apologize and saw a tear on Rachel's cheek. "I'm sorry, I shouldn't..."

"No, it was the right thing to say," Rachel said softly. "Thank you."

They continued to ride in silence until a tan brick building rolled into view. Alex said, "Okay, here we are." She pulled into the parking lot, passing an antique fire truck that was on display like the newest SUV at a car lot. Two bright lights were focused on either side of the truck, revealing banners that said "VOLLIE'S." A smaller font went on to warn that this was "Restaurant Parking Only" and that "Violators Will Be Torched."

"You were supposed to tell me what that meant..."

"Vollie's," Alex said. "It's what we call volunteer firefighters. Like the new guy is a probie. It's firefighter lingo."

"Oh, okay," Rachel said. "And you said they have steak?"

Alex nodded. "Some of the best, melt in your mouth steak in town."

"I can't wait," Rachel smiled.

~

Alex parked near the fire truck and took a moment to get her things together so Rachel could get am up-close look at the display truck. The cab was open-air, with a hose wound on one side and a ladder neatly folded on top. She tried to imagine one of these dinosaurs responding to a fire in this day and age and couldn't. When she turned, Alex was standing at the back of her Jeep and smiling over at her.

Rachel hooked her thumb over her shoulder and walked back over. "You get to ride one of these every day?"

"On a bad day, I ride it three or four times. And ours is a tad more modern..."

Rachel stepped off the platform, accepted the hand that Alex offered, and said, "I would hope so. But still, it's impressive... such an elaborate display for a restaurant!"

"Wait until you see inside," Alex teased. She guided Rachel up the sidewalk.

The building was designed to look like a firehouse; the windows were framed by faux garage doors. A stone Dalmatian stood guard at the front door and Alex rubbed his head as she passed. "For luck at my next fire," she said. Rachel pulled her hand from Alex's and headed back to rub both hands over the cold, gray head of the statue.

She walked back to Alex and grinned. "That should take care of you for the next few fires."

Alex laughed and opened the door to the main restaurant.

There was a line, but the hostess spotted Alex and waved her forward. "Alex!" the girl said with a bright smile. She turned to the next couple in line and said, "Folks, this woman is a Shepherd firefighter. Would you mind if we allowed her and her companion...?"

She didn't have a chance to finish; heads started nodding immediately. The hostess guided them through the main restaurant to a secondary room.

It was smaller, more intimate, with more space between the tables. Each table had a black lantern with a small candle burning inside, transforming the dining area into an intimate dining room. The hostess sat them in one of the back booths where they could have a little bit of extra privacy, even though the rest of the room seemed to be empty, and promised to send a waiter over to take their order.

"This place is fantastic," Rachel said, lowering her voice despite their solitude. "I don't know why I've never heard of it before."

"Firefighters really keep it afloat. A lot of citizens get perturbed by the long line, even more of them are irritated when we get to jump right to the front of it." She shook her head. "They'll eat at a restaurant made in our honor, but show us a little bit of courtesy..."

Rachel picked up the menu and said, "My father used to pay for civil servants when he saw them in restaurants... if someone was wearing an official t-shirt or a uniform of some kind, he'd discreetly ask the waitress to bring him their check and he would pay for it. Ninety percent of the time, we were gone before they had any idea what he'd done."

"That happens sometimes... but don't order the steak and lobster and then cross your fingers."

"Yes, ma'am," Rachel smiled. She opened the menu and scanned the photographs at the top.

Alex glanced up from her own menu and gasped when she saw what page Rachel was currently on. "Rachel, don't look at the..."

"Oh, my God!" Rachel whispered.

"...soup page," Alex finished. She sagged in her seat and closed her eyes in anticipation of what Rachel had seen.

Next to the P in "SOUP," Alex Crawford was standing on a sidewalk in a drenched, formerly white t-shirt. Her hair was plastered to her skull from the spray behind her and she was looking off to her right like someone on the cover of a romance novel. She had both hands in front of her, holding a limp stretch of hose, obviously having just extinguished a fire. The photo was in sepia, the edges given the same charred effect the rest of the menu had.

Rachel covered her mouth and looked up at the mortified Alex. "Oh, my God!" she repeated.

"I didn't know they were taking that picture. Well... I mean, I saw the flash, but I did not know it was for something this public and I only agreed to let it be in the menu in the interest of charity. Can we please move past the mocking stage?"

"Mocking?" Rachel said, looking at the picture again. "Dear me, you are hot."

Alex looked up. "What?"

"Can you buy one of these menus?"

Alex blushed furiously and tried to snatch the menu away from her. "Give me that."

"Uh-uh," Rachel said. She turned in her seat so Alex couldn't reach it. "I'm taking this home. I'm having it framed." She clicked her tongue and said, "My date is a celebrity. I don't know if I'll be able to contain myself."

Alex sighed. "Do you want me to order for you, or are you just going to have soup?"

Rachel turned the page and said, "All right, all right." She scanned the photos in the rest of the menu, all of them local firefighters, as the waitress approached to take their drink orders. She was dressed in custom-made bunker pants, extra-wide red suspenders and a t-shirt that read "Vollie's Fire Department" over the left breast. She was a perky redhead whose nametag read Sheila. They ordered their drinks - a house wine - and salad - Caesars for both - and sat back to wait for Sheila to return. Rachel smiled. "So. The picture... do you still model?"

Alex groaned and put her head down on the table as Rachel laughed.

Chapter Seven

Don't Be That Jackass

During the entire meal, only two other couples were seated in the special dining area, but they had been placed strategically so each party was as far as possible from the others. Alex had insisted Rachel order the goat eyes, refusing to tell her what they were. When they arrived, Alex fed one of the grilled mushrooms to her date, laughing when Rachel snapped at her fingers.

Over their salads, Alex discussed her parents, her time in the academy and some of the more memorable pranks she'd played and that had been played on her. Rachel, in turn, told about her family and residency during the main course.

Halfway through the meal, Rachel excused herself to use the restroom. The waitress pointed her to a small corridor branching off the main dining area. She told Alex she'd be right back and weaved through the tables, taking time to gaze at all the marvelous memorabilia throughout the restaurant. There were dozens of framed newspaper stories. Most of the stories showed the hometown boys and girls in action, but some were of historic fires: The Great Chicago Fire of 1871, the Tillamook Burn of Oregon, the burning of Atlanta in 1864.

There were hoses on the walls, long hooks and various oxygen masks. Rows of helmets circled the wall just below the ceiling, representing the various companies in Shepherd.

When she turned the corner for the bathroom, she caught sight of the most elaborate piece of memorabilia. The wall between the men's room and the women's was dominated by a full firefighter uniform. The helmet was flat against the wall, the crown facing out. The rest of it was arranged as if an invisible man were occupying the pants and jacket.

Rachel stepped up to it, looking up and imagining she could smell the smoke coming off the material. On either side of the suit hung more framed newspaper clippings from the local paper detailing rescues and fires. She recognized a few of the names - Leary and Franklin jumped out at her - but saw no mention of Alex in any of them. She was about to read one of the articles when she remembered why she had gotten up in the first place. Casting a final glance at the phantom fireman, she went into the ladies room.

~

By the time Rachel paid - she insisted and actually slapped Alex's hand when she reached for the check - the restaurant had mostly cleared out. They thanked the hostess and headed out into the night. Rachel immediately hugged herself against the cold wind. Alex put her arm around her date, amazed at how automatic the move already was. She kissed Rachel's temple as they parted to get into the Jeep.

Rachel scanned the empty parking lot and said, "Wow, how long were we sitting there talking?"

Alex checked her watch. "It's almost ten."

Rachel whistled. "I'm so sorry! I didn't realize I was being such a chatterbox!"

"Yes, well, you should have paid attention to all my complaints," Alex grinned.

Rachel put her head back, closed her eyes and let herself sway with the motion of the car as Alex drove her home. When the Jeep came to a stop, she pretended to be asleep just to see what Alex would do. She felt the other woman's knuckles brush her cheek, felt a hand cup the side of her head. "Hey," Alex said softly.

She opened her eyes and said, "Am I home?"

"I got you here safely," Alex said. The streetlight on the corner illuminated half of Alex's face and gave her a halo. She let Alex open the car door for her and they walked inside together. As they waited by the elevator, Rachel said, "I had a great time. We're going to have to try Vollie's again."

"We?" Alex said, smiling and raising an eyebrow. "So, with you cooking for me next week, would that be our third date?"

Rachel grinned and said, "Mm, I don't know. We did have that coffee. Maybe it would be our fourth."

Alex touched Rachel's cheek and leaned down. She caught Rachel's bottom lip with both of hers and turned them both until Rachel's back was to the wall. Rachel cupped the back of Alex's head and moaned softly as she angled her mouth against Alex's. They held each other for a moment before they parted. Rachel's tongue flitted out and touched her top lip as she sank back to her regular height. "Hum," she said. She smiled dreamily and looked up at Alex.

"Was that okay?"

"Hum, ho, yes," Rachel said, looking up at Alex. "Yeah. Yeah, that was... yeah."

Alex smiled. "Well... you made me speechless at the beginning of the night. Looks like we're even."

"Looks like," Rachel said. The elevator doors opened with a ding and Rachel sighed. "I'd invite you in for tea, but... we probably wouldn't end up drinking very much tea."

"What makes you so sure?"

"I don't have any tea."

Alex laughed and kissed Rachel again, just to the left of her eyebrow. "That's okay. I really should get home and rest."

"Just so long as you *want* to come upstairs," Rachel said teasingly.

Alex touched a loose strand of Rachel's hair and bent down to kiss her again. She slid her hand from Rachel's shoulder, down to the small of her back and settled her fingers just above the curve of her ass. Her tongue flicked against Rachel's teeth, her arms tightening around the other woman before releasing her. Rachel staggered back a step, touched her bottom lip and nodded. "Okay. So you're willing to come upstairs."

"When you're ready for me," Alex said softly.

Rachel rose again and kissed the corner of Alex's mouth. "I'll call you about next week."

"Okay."

"Thank you for dinner."

"Thank you for asking me out."

Rachel laughed and stepped into the elevator. As the doors began to close, Alex put her hand out and stopped it. "Oh! I meant to ask... I know it's kind of weird, but Jones's funeral is tomorrow. I'll understand if you don't want to go, it being a funeral and all, but..."

"I would love to be there for you," Rachel said solemnly. "Just give me a call and let me know where and when."

"Great," Alex said. She thought and added, "You know, we've basically just booked ourselves into at least a month-long relationship."

Rachel laughed. "I'll restrain my cry of horror until I'm safely in my apartment."

They exchanged their good-nights and Alex stepped back. She hated feeling needy, but she was sad even before the elevator doors fully closed. Once the doors bumped shut and the lights faded, indicating that Rachel was on her way up, Alex headed for the lobby. She made it as far as the stairs.

With little thought as to how it would look, she suddenly dashed to her left. She used the banister to whip herself around at each landing, taking the stairs three at a time, huffing and puffing until she came to a stop outside the fourth floor elevators. She made it with nearly a whole second to spare. The doors opened on Rachel's smiling face and she stepped forward before she realized there was someone in front of her.

"What..."

Alex pushed Rachel against the elevator wall and kissed her. She didn't care that she was sweating or how hard her heart was beating. Rachel put her hands on Alex's forearms and leaned into the kiss. Finally, Alex pulled away and said, "Sorry. Had to... do that..."

"Do you need mouth-to-mouth?" Rachel asked with a laugh.

Alex smiled. She stepped back and said, "Good night, Rachel."

"Good night, Alex."

She leaned against the wall and let Rachel leave, for real this time. The elevator doors closed on her this time and she touched her lips. All in all, a marvelous date.

~

The night was still freezing, but she felt it a little more since she was alone. She climbed into the Jeep, wishing she'd brought a jacket, and started the engine. As the heater started to circulate warm air, she stared down at the LCD radio display and smiled. "A relationship," she muttered. Who would've thought?

She started the car and pulled away from the curb. She barely noticed the ride home or the trek up to her apartment. She moved like a sleepwalker and dropped onto the edge of her bed in a state of bliss. She saw the blinking light on her answering machine, meaning she had a message, but decided to ignore it. Anything worth hearing was worth waiting until the morning.

~

Murray came into the chief's office the next morning as Alex was signing in. She glanced up at him catching his quizzical look. "What's up, Murray?"

"What the hell happened to your hair?"

"Jealous?" she asked as she walked out of the room. She jumped up to slap his bald dome as she passed him.

Murray scribbled his name into the log and hurried to catch up with her. "No, I can't tell what's different. Did you... did you cut it?"

"I changed it a little," Alex said. "I had a... a thing last night."

This only served to confuse Murray further. "What kind of thing? The Fireman's Ball isn't until January, right? What kind of thing did you have?"

Alex rolled her eyes and went into the den, dropping onto the sofa. Bugs Riley was already there, having gained control of the remote and refusing to hand it over. Some Oprah-clone was on, talking about relationships and how there's no "me" in "relationship." Alex made a face and said, "This is what we're watching?"

"Better than what Sawyer had in mind," Bugs assured her.

Alex had no doubt about that and put her feet up on the table. Murray stepped over her legs and sat across from her, staring hard. "Hey, Bugs, you're a woman."

"God, he's observant," Bugs wondered.

"What the hell did Crawford do to her hair?"

Bugs glanced over and said, "She got highlights, I think. Right?"

Alex shrugged, smiling a little.

"Did you have a... a *date*?" Murray asked, eyes gleaming.

"Murray..." she said, hoping she sounded threatening.

Bugs slid to the edge of the couch, suddenly intrigued. "Ooh, gossip... I love it. Who was the lucky guy?"

Murray barked a laugh and said, "With Crawford, every guy on the planet Earth is the lucky guy."

Alex slapped his leg and Murray hooted, rubbing the spot where she'd hit him.

"What?" Bugs asked.

"It wasn't a guy," Murray said in a stage-whisper.

"Wayne!" Alex hissed, unleashing the man's seldom-used first name. It was the equivalent of a mother using all three names to call her child. He jumped as if she'd slapped his face, eyes wide. "Would you please...?"

He held up his hands. "I'm sorry, Alex."

Alex sighed and shrugged. She looked at Bugs and held her hands out. "It was a woman."

"Oh," Bugs said. Realization finally dawned on her face on she leaned back. "Oh, I see. Well... uh, w-what did... oh, I'm sorry, I didn't..."

Murray scratched the back of his head and tried to make a dignified exit, muttering "Excuse me," as he stepped over Alex's legs. He was halfway out of the den before he turned around. "Hey, Alex... didn't you wanna talk to Leary about something?"

"Right," Alex said, half-forgetting the arsonist in the afterglow of her first date with Rachel. "Is he here?"

"Right outside."

She stood and followed Murray into the apparatus bay, surprised to see Leary was speaking with the second person she'd been trying to contact. Fire Marshal Bill Von Elm was standing with the Chief in the garage door. Von Elm was an older man with a shock of white hair rising from the crown of his head. It was swept back, reminding her of an aging rooster. He had a pair of round eyeglasses perpetually perched on the edge of his nose, his pear-shaped middle threatening every belt she'd ever seen him wear.

She approached carefully, giving Leary the opportunity to see her and wave her off if necessary. He glanced over and, instead of asking for a moment, motioned her forward. "Crawford. Bill tells me you were trying to get hold of him this weekend."

"Yeah, and you, too, Chief," Alex said.

"Oh. I had a..."

"It's all right, I know," Alex interrupted him. She looked at Von Elm and said, "But if this is a bad time..."

Von Elm shook his head. "No, we were actually trying to find you last night. What do you know about Martin Lancaster?"

Alex blinked. Of all the questions she expected, this was nowhere on the list. "Well... uh, I don't know much. He inherited his father's development company a few years back. Guess it's been about a decade or so now. He's maybe overly concerned with fire inspections..."

"Has a little crush on you, doesn't he?" Leary asked.

Alex stifled a groan. She was hoping this would never come up. "Well... he likes me. Requests me to do the routine inspections of his new buildings. Did something happen to him?"

"No, no," Von Elm said. "He came into the office today, had some information about the last two fires. Apparently, both of the buildings were Lancaster Development projects back in the day. They were built before he took over, but he thought there might be some kind of connection."

"Have you determined the fires were set?" Leary asked.

"Looks that way. Gas all over the place, down the stairs, in pretty much every nook and cranny. The back doors in both buildings were forced open, so we're thinking a group or two groups of kids were messing around, wanted to see a building burn. You guys have any kids in your lookie-loos?"

"Who knows?" Leary sighed. "I stopped paying attention a long time ago."

"I didn't see anyone," Alex said. "Lancaster thinks someone is targeting his buildings specifically?"

Von Elm shrugged. "Yeah, well, he's probably just paranoid." He sniffed and leaned against the wall. "Does he strike you as the kind of guy someone would target?"

Alex sighed. "I don't know... I don't think so. He's a pest, but going to these lengths just to get back at him or annoy him? I doubt it."

"Well, just kind of wanted a character witness, you know. Make sure we weren't just dismissing it out of hand." He shook Leary's hand, making it disappear within his own meaty mitt and nodded at Alex. "Nice to see you again, Ms. Crawford."

Alex said good-bye to him and walked with Leary towards his office. "That take care of what you called me about?" he asked.

"Not really," Alex admitted. She waited until they were behind the truck, lowering her voice to keep anyone from overhearing. "I wanted to talk to you about the possibility that Lancaster isn't the target of these fires. *We* might be."

Leary frowned. "What makes you say that?" he asked as he guided her towards her office. He shut the door behind them and offered her a seat on the couch while he headed behind the desk.

"Jones was killed in a flashover. Wizell was injured in one, but it was a midget in comparison."

"You're certain it was a flashover?" Leary asked.

Alex nodded. "I saw the smoke seeping in around the door, but it was too late to do anything about it. As soon as he's had time to go over the investigation, I want to ask Von Elm about the rooms where the flashover started."

"Well, if you're thinking the fires were flashovers, you already know what the rooms looked like; trash on top of trash, probably on top of old furniture, all of it on fire. It ate up all the oxygen in the room and when Wizell and Jones opened the doors..." He let his words trail off.

"It's not the floor plan I'm interested in," she said. "It'll probably look normal, but if you look at it from the point of view of someone setting a trap..."

"A trap?"

Alex pressed her lips together. "Wizell was only burnt. It was bad, yes. But he survived and he'll be back in a weeks."

"Actually, a couple of days," Leary corrected. "But that doesn't mean anything. I've been in most every house you have and I know what you've seen. Piles of newspaper, piles of clothes, chimneys that have never had the dignity of being cleaned... half the people in this town are living in tinderboxes without even knowing it. If you were looking specifically for a trap, every one of those fires would look suspicious."

"It's not just the flashover part. I'll concede that the majority of rooms I've seen have been less than fire-safe. But the escalation... surely you have to see that. The second fire, less than a day later, was like the first one on steroids. Someone was watching and saw that they didn't have enough oomph behind their blast. So they doubled up and made sure they took someone out."

"Okay, say this is true. We're trained to see things like evidence of a flashover. They're supposed to see it like a big, flashing neon sign that says 'stay out.' Unless he was..." He caught himself and looked away.

Alex picked up. "Unless he was counting on someone screwing up or letting the probie go first."

"I didn't say that."

"Doesn't make it any less true. I know I screwed up, Chief. Jones is dead because of me and I have to live with that. Maybe whoever set the fire knows enough to set the trap, but not enough to know we look for those signs. Maybe he didn't realize the trap would be so obvious."

"You're saying he just got lucky with Jones?"

As much as it sickened her to admit, Alex nodded and said, "Yes. The fact that I let Jones go in first played right into this sick bastard's plan."

Leary rested his chin in his hand, staring blankly at the wall above her head. "Okay. So this guy isn't targeting Lancaster, he's trying to kill firefighters. Why?"

"We won't know why until we know who. Maybe not even then."

"Okay. Then get Holt down here and get everyone into the kitchen. Gonna have a little meeting."

She stood. "Where is Holt?"

"Weight room," Leary said.

She whistled. "Again?"

Leary shrugged. "Some say he only took Weasel's shifts so he could use our stuff."

Alex laughed and headed out, gathering Bugs and Murray before heading to the stairs to grab Holt off the bench press. He grunted when she told him there was a meeting in the kitchen and he followed her like a trained bear. As she took her seat at the table, Leary clapped both hands together and said, "All right, the reason I asked you all here..."

"One of us killed old lady Hargrove for her fortune," Murray said with a surprisingly convincing British accent.

Before Leary could say anything in reply, the alarm began to sound. Captain Franklin, again fielding the calls, intoned the information of address and situation. Nothing major, but enough that the ladder and engine were both going. Alex slid into her bunkers like a second skin, climbed onto the truck and took her regular seat.

As the truck pulled from the garage, she took a look around and saw half of her crew had been replaced since their last shift. Robert Holt was in Wizell's normal position up front, while Bugs Riley was sitting next to her in the back of the cab. It felt foreign, as if she was hitching a ride with a bunch of strangers.

Murray, however, made it feel like home. He pounded the roof and whooped, making Alex smile and making Holt blanch slightly. The radio crackled and Leary came over the air. "Okay, I'm going to have to do it this way. I want everyone to be on their toes on this call. We lost two guys this week; I'm not losing any more."

"You heard Franklin, Chief," Murray called back. "Gas leak. Easy-peasy."

"They're all easy until some jackass lets his guard down." He paused and then added, "Don't be that jackass, Murray."

Murray laughed and said, "I will do my level best, Chief."

Ignoring Murray's laughter up front, Alex checked her helmet to make sure it was held tight. Securing the strap, she prayed that staying safe would be as simple as paying a little extra attention for a while. A little hyper-vigilance never hurt anyone. She crossed her fingers and took a cue from Jones, closing her eyes to whisper a quick prayer.

~

The gas leak was routine stuff. Get the engine in the street, go door to door and get the people out, sit around and wait for the gas company to come out and fix the problem. After evacuating a few apartments, Alex and Bugs started venturing inside to open a few windows to air out the building. They repeated all the information they had over and over again as they ushered the residents out of their homes and down the stairs.

"It's all right, ma'am," Alex was saying, helping an old lady step out of her apartment. "Your knitting will still be there when you get back."

"Well, that Mr. Preston a few doors down... he sometimes likes to get into things that aren't his... you'll take care of that, right, Officer? You'll make sure he doesn't take anything of mine?"

Alex nodded, not bothering to correct the woman. If the first five corrections hadn't stuck... She simply said, "Mr. Preston will be escorted out just like you are. We're getting everyone out and then my friend and I will come out, too. All right? All your stuff will be fine."

"Okay, but if Mr. Preston gets back in first, he better not come into my apartment."

"If he robs you, call the police station and ask for Officer Alex, okay?"

Bugs stifled a laugh, pulling the old woman's door shut. Once the resident was waddling down the stairs, Alex turned and exhaled, shaking her head. "Little old lady thinks her afghan is the Holy Grail or something."

"Amazing," Bugs muttered. She followed Alex up to the next level. "Tell people their home is in danger of bursting into flames and they suddenly have all this stuff they have to do. Do they just not get that, if the apartment explodes, it won't matter if their clothes are in the washing machine or not?"

"It's the 'never-happen-to-me' syndrome," Alex said. "No one believes it will be *their* building because that only happens in the movies and on the news. It's up to us to impart reality to them."

Bugs sighed and said, "Yeah, well, it'd be much easier to just stand on the street with a megaphone and say 'Come out now! We'll meet you down here and offer you cookies.'"

Alex laughed. At daytime, low-danger calls like this, more often than not, housewives and older women in the neighborhood brought out cookies, lemonade and other refreshments for the firefighters with nothing better to do. The older women were looking for someone to mother, while the housewives were checking out the hot male firefighters. "Oh, yeah. What do you bet Murray rushes through his part and bogarts all the cookies?"

"I'm not taking that bet," Bugs said. They reached the landing and branched out, each heading to a different apartment.

They knocked and simultaneously called, "Fire department!"

~

Despite the disparaging tone most people adopted when speaking about it, Rachel loved taking the bus. It gave her time to read or, on days when her shift was particularly relentless, take a quick nap. This morning - or afternoon, really, since it was inching towards three - she was heading home after spending a hectic morning shift trying to reign in a man who'd accidentally shot himself with a nail gun. She was taking the time to enjoy a great novel she had recently stumbled over.

She was so eagerly enjoying her current chapter that she hardly noticed how long they had been sitting at what she assumed to be a red light. She finally looked up when the man in front of her turned around and sighed, "Can you believe this?"

She marked her place in the book when she realized he was speaking directly to her. She looked around and asked, "Why? What's going on?"

"Firemen have the whole street shut down. Traffic's backed up... it's going to take forever to clear this mess up." He checked his watch and slumped against the seat, turning to look fully at her. "This is just irritating, you know... I've got a big meeting to get to and, wouldn't you know it, my Lexus picks today to break down."

Rachel smiled. "Aw. I'll be sure to tell my girlfriend what a terrible, terrible day you had." When he turned back around to face front, she slid out of her seat and moved to the opposite side to look down at the disturbance.

Firefighters were swarming around a brownstone a few hundred yards ahead, beyond the roadblock. She couldn't make out many details, but if she squinted she could just barely make out the names on the backs of their coats. She spotted a Riley and Murray - with his size, he was almost unmistakable, even at this distance - and...

There! She spotted a slender woman exit the building and stand with Murray and Riley. Something in the way she moved, as the old song said, but the coat confirmed it: Crawford. That was Alex! She smiled and resisted the urge to slap the window like some giddy schoolgirl trying to get her crush's attention. The bus inched forward and she moved her head as a light pole moved in to disturb her view. Alex spoke with her coworkers for a few moments and then headed down the sidewalk towards the traffic jam.

"She's walking this way!" Rachel whispered.

"Who?" the alleged Lexus-owner asked.

"Never mind."

As the two firefighters approached, Rachel was surprised to see that Riley was also a woman. She could tell that she and Alex were talking, but the distance was too great to make out any words. When the two women made it within three car lengths of the bus, Rachel reached up to open the window and shout before she thought better of it. She'd never seen Alex at work, never seen her in full uniform for that matter. The urge to spy on her was almost too great to pass up.

Two men in jumpsuits from the gas company met them halfway and the little group paused next to the bus driver's window. Alex seemed close enough to touch, but she looked like such a different woman. The helmet overshadowed her face, the high collar of her coat reached up and brushed her cheek when she turned to indicate the building.

As Alex and Riley turned to lead the gas company men down the street, Rachel felt a surge of pride. She felt like every proud parent who had ever seen their child in a school play, every sideline father who saw his son score the winning touchdown. She wanted to grab the Lexus-jerk and point out the window and tell him that was her girlfriend.

That was her girlfriend.

Chapter Eight

Your Brain Damage is Kicking In

The rest of the day, Alex wandered the firehouse going through the motions and trying her best to ignore the feeling of walking on air that she'd had since waking up that morning. Every thought ran back towards Rachel, every comment reminded her of something Rachel had said or done the night before. When she wasn't pining for Rachel, she was trying to remember the exact tone of her laugh or the way the skin around her eyes wrinkled when she smiled.

When she wasn't doing that, she was kicking herself for acting like a complete and utter high school kid.

Other than the gas leak, they hadn't had a call the entire shift. When they returned, Leary reiterated his radio speech, letting them know that there were concerns about the safety of fires, letting everyone know they should be on their toes for the next couple of calls. Holt had merely grunted and headed upstairs, probably upset that a call had interrupted his workout.

Everyone else was trying to ignore the fact that Jones's funeral was set to coincide with their end of their shift. His mother had worked out the schedule with Chief Leary to be certain that all of her son's new friends could attend. Almost everyone had brought their dress uniforms to work with them that morning, planning to change at the end of shift. The wool uniforms were currently hanging in their lockers to avoid getting wrinkled, identical suits hanging breast-to-back along the wall in the dark locker area.

The only unadorned locker belonged to Bugs. Alex assumed she was going to skip the service and didn't particularly blame her; she understood that going to the funeral of the man you were replacing would feel a little weird. A little past seven in the morning, however, Leary called Bugs into his office and had a short discussion with her. Afterward, she made some noise about needing to head home sometime before noon to pick up her uniform.

When she had a spare moment, Alex headed outside with her cell phone to call Rachel and let her know the funeral details. She leaned against the wall, facing the street as she dialed Rachel's number. Murray and Bugs hadn't been giving her a moment's piece and, to keep them from eavesdropping, she'd finally moved it outside. "Rachel? It's Alex. I didn't wake you, did I?" At dinner, Rachel had mentioned working the night shift at the hospital the next night.

"No, it's all right. I was just napping," Rachel said, contradicting herself. "What's the plan?"

"The funeral starts at 1:30, so I was thinking I would swing by your place around an hour before that."

"That sounds perfect. I'll be ready to go at about 12:30," Rachel said. After a moment, she added, "You know, I saw you on my way home from work this afternoon."

"Oh, yeah? Where? You drive by the house or something?"

"No, it was downtown. You were working... some kind of gas leak or something...?"

"Oh!" Alex said. She watched an SUV pull into the firehouse parking lot as she tried to remember the scene of that afternoon's fire, watching until it moved out of sight before she finally asked, "Where were you?"

"On the bus."

Alex thought for a second, trying to remember a bus. "Bus... oh, yeah, I saw that. Bugs and I were right by it. Why didn't you try to get my attention? It would've been nice to see you."

"I don't know. I just... I'd never seen you in your uniform and looking all... hot."

Alex was glad she'd moved outside; she would never have lived down the deep crimson blush she currently had going. "So you were spying on me?"

"A little," Rachel admitted.

Alex smiled. "Well, I'll just have to remember that. See about getting some revenge."

"I'll be on the look-out."

They said good-bye and hung up, Alex heading back into the station. Murray intercepted her halfway across the apparatus bay, putting an arm around her shoulder and steering her back the way she'd come. "Hey, Crawford, what's up, how you doing, fancy a soda, me too, let's walk to the store, my treat."

She glanced sideways at him. "Murray, your brain damage is starting to kick in."

"Just walk," he said, looking over his shoulder.

"You're freaking me out, Murray."

They were halfway to the big garage doors when she heard someone shout "Alex!" from the kitchen.

She groaned and stopped as she recognized the voice. She looked at Murray, patting him on the arm and whispering, "Bless you for trying." She turned and faced Martin Lancaster with a fake smile plastered on her lips. "Mr. Lancaster. What a... surprise."

"A pleasant surprise, I would hope," he said, walking towards her.

"It's a surprise," Alex said, forcing herself to approach him. "What... are you doing here?"

"I simply wished to express my condolences for your fallen brother. If your Mr. Von Elm determines that these fires are indeed aimed at me or my company, I feel it would be my duty to make amends for..."

Alex held up her hands to stop him. "We're just doing our jobs, Mr. Lancaster. There's no need for..."

"Oh, please! I insist! And with the funeral being today..."

"You are not coming to the funeral," Alex said, unable to stop the words before they were out. "I mean... i-it's probably just going to be a family affair. The people he worked with, his family, things like that. I don't think his mother wanted a big spectacle..."

"Well, I'm sure one more person..."

"It really wouldn't be right. I'm sorry, Mr. Lancaster, but we have to ask that you not attend."

He appeared crushed, but nodded slowly. "Okay. I understand. Thank you for your candor, Alex."

"Ms. Crawford."

He pinched a smile and said, "Yes, of course. Well, I should get going. Thank you for your time, Al... Ms. Crawford. Mr. Murray."

Murray grinned and said, "Not a problem, Mr. Lancaster."

Martin slipped between them and headed for the door. When he was gone, Murray whistled and said, "Ooh, boy howdy, that was harsh."

"The man has been harassing me for close to a year," Alex said as she walked towards the kitchen. "Maybe now he'll stop requesting me for his inspections. I don't mind doing my share, but..." She froze when she saw the kitchen. "What is all this?"

"Lancaster brought it," Bugs explained as she buttered a bagel. "He's a good guy."

"Yeah," Alex scoffed. "I'll let you take a couple hundred of his inspections, see how much you like him then." She was still a little awed by the spread. The table was covered with boxes of bagels, bags of donuts, a bowl of fresh fruit, two tall cartons of orange juice, a gallon of milk, bags of Pepperidge Farm bread... the firehouse was set for at least a week's worth of breakfasts. Or two days, depending on how much restraint Murray was able to display.

Alex took a seat, picking up a bunch of grapes and plucking one from the stem. "Okay, I've only met him the once. But you gotta admit," Bugs said, motioning with her strawberry-drowned bagel, "the guy knows how to say thank you. Once, at Engine 4, we pulled this guy out of a smoky apartment. Wasn't breathing, had to perform CPR, I think they even put him in that hyperbole chamber."

"Hyperbaric chamber," Murray corrected.

"Right," Bugs nodded. "Anyway, once he was all better, he shows up at the firehouse with a brand-new big screen TV. Just in time for the World Series, too. We got to watch the Red Sox break the curse in style, I tell ya."

"Never mention those rat bastards again," Murray said, eyes aflame with hatred.

Bugs looked up, eyes wide, and looked to Alex for help. She smiled and explained, "Murray had to give everyone in the firehouse fifty bucks the day after the World Series."

"Because..."

"We're not allowed to say why," Alex interrupted, winking. "It wasn't the most charitable donation we've ever received."

Murray grumbled, "It was a sure thing... eighty damn years and they go and break their tradition the day *I* try to make some dough," and went back to devouring a banana.

"What are you doing after this?" Bugs asked.

"Toilets," Alex groaned. "When I took the test to become a firefighter, I had no idea the job description included cleaning toilets."

"Or windows," Murray said. "Man, *maids* don't even do the windows anymore."

"Neither do you, Streaky," Alex said. "Why d'you ask, Bugs?"

She shook her head. "I need to run back to my apartment and pick up my dress uniform."

"I thought you went already?" Alex said.

"I did. It was a little wrinkled, so my fiancé offered to get it pressed for me."

"Your fiancé does your laundry?"

Bugs held her hands out in a 'what-do-you-want-from-me' gesture. "He offered, I needed it done... what's the problem?"

"Man no use iron," Alex grunted. "Man make fire. Man kill thing, wife barefoot and pregnant."

Murray held up his hands. "Whoa, now, whoa... don't make me out to be some sick chauvinist. I'm modern, I'm a sensitive guy... but it just seems weird that the future Mr. Bugs is standing at home with an apron, hunched over an ironing board while his bride-to-be is out fighting fires. It's topsy-turvy is all."

"This isn't your grandfather's fire department," Alex shrugged.

"No, it ain't. Because my grandfather wouldn't have been very welcome in a firehouse."

Alex knew he had a point and conceded it to him. Besides women, blacks and Hispanics had the hardest time breaking into the profession. She was about to say something when Robert Holt wandered into the kitchen. He was dripping with sweat, his t-shirt sleeves cut off at the shoulders. He glanced at the food on the table, not saying a word as the three people seated there followed him with their eyes. He opened the fridge, withdrew a jug of fruit punch and chugged half the bottle.

Releasing a healthy belch, he screwed the cap back on and replaced it in the fridge. He wiped his mouth on his forearm and left the kitchen again. Murray shook his head and said, "That dude is weird."

"Talking about me behind my back, are ya?"

Alex jumped. She hadn't even seen the new arrival until his arm was around Murray's neck, his free hand flat on top of his captive's bald head. Murray froze, eyes wide, lips pressed out as if he was trying to whistle as his hands went to the arm wrapped around his throat. "Holy...!" Murray gasped.

Bugs and Alex were out of their seats, Alex barely believing her eyes. "Weasel?!"

"The one and the same, darling," he said, grinning brightly. He released Murray, who gasped and spun around to confirm the owner of the voice. Wizell reached out and clasped Alex's hand, chuckling evilly. "How's the No-Boys-Allowed Firehouse doing without me?"

"We're dragging ourselves through each day," Alex assured him, moving around Murray for a hug.

"My trachea is fine, by the way," Murray rasped.

"Big baby," Wizell muttered with a grin. He slapped Murray on the back and turned to Bugs. He squinted and pointed a finger at her. "Now, I know you're one of the twins... and you've got to be... uh..." He snapped his fingers and said, "Aw, man, just tell me."

"Heather Riley."

Wizell clapped once and said, "Bugs! We got Bugs in the firehouse!" He shook her hand and said, "Eric Wizell. Weasel to those who know me. Pleased to meet you."

Alex shook her head and examined the lieutenant. He was wearing his dress uniform, every thread precisely where it belonged. His gloves were tucked into the jacket pocket, the fingers sticking out and draping over the edge. His cap was the only thing missing, but it was most likely out in the apparatus bay. The only incongruous parts were the bandages wrapping around his neck and ears. "They let you out of the hospital, huh?"

"Oh, well, special occasion and all," he said, indicating his uniform. "I gave them my puppy dog eyes and a little bit of the bottom lip..." He turned to Bugs, widening his eyes and puffing his bottom lip out to Oliver Twist-levels. "I got a day-pass. They're not letting me come back to work until next week. The bastards. I'm fine now. I'll find an excuse to hang out here, you got my word on that."

"Yeah, but I don't want to be behind you in a fire when that fancy new skin of yours starts flaking off," Alex said.

Wizell scoffed. "Women." He sighed and patted Murray on the shoulder. "Is Leary around?"

Alex nodded. "He should be nearby. C'mon, Bugs, we'll go see if we can round him up."

"Okay," Bugs said, unsure of why she had to go. They headed out into the apparatus bay. Alex glanced back and saw Wizell take Bugs' seat, putting a hand on Murray's shoulders. He had known how close Murray and Jones were, knew how the death had to be hitting the big man. Alex moved on, giving the men their privacy.

~

Wizell and Leary sat in the lawn chairs out front and sipped root beers while they talked about the calls the truck had taken in the past few days. From the locker room, Alex could hear them laughing and joking about Holt's constant weight-room presence. She and Bugs were in the locker room, the curtained-off space expanded to take up the extra room necessary for a second woman.

Alex had taken off her t-shirt and was reaching for her dress blouse when Bugs said, "Can I ask you a personal question?" Bugs asked.

Alex tensed slightly, but said, "Sure."

"Murray's little... slip the other day. About you... being..."

"Do you want me to leave until you're dressed?" Alex asked sincerely. They were both in their bras, but Alex had her trousers on. Bugs was standing just behind her in a pair of boxer shorts.

Bugs laughed, "No, don't be silly. I was just wondering if it made it easier or harder to be in the department."

Alex frowned. "What do you mean?"

"Well, for one thing, you probably don't have guys hitting on you all the time. That's gotta be... pleasant."

Alex laughed. "Oh, please. The fact that I'm not interested doesn't deter them one iota. If anything, it makes them more determined. A couple of guys think that I'm only gay because I haven't spread my legs for the right guy yet."

"Right," Bugs said. "Just like Murray and Leary are only straight because they haven't found the right queen to bend them over a chair."

Alex laughed and said, "Oh, God, do not let them hear you say that!" She pulled her dress shirt out of the closet and shook her head. "Wearing a shirt and tie, cleaning toilets... and here I thought running into burning buildings would be the worst part of my job."

"I'd give anything to be running into a burning building right now," Bugs griped as she worked her hair into a bun. "So it doesn't give you any... I don't know, special camaraderie with the guys?"

"Just because we happen to like sleeping with the same people?" She shrugged. "I didn't get very much respect in the department until I dragged Murray through a window. Not only saved his life, but showed the boys I could do all the stuff they could. They warmed to me after that... and after I strung up this sheet so they wouldn't have to sacrifice their entire den."

"Why would they...?"

"The big wigs down at city hall wanted to give me my own locker room. If the measure passed, they would have changed the den into a women's locker room. So I went out and campaigned against it, making sure the bill didn't get voted in and then I just put this up. It showed them that I was a team player."

"So it's all political, huh?"

"Yeah, pretty much," Alex sighed. "You just have to roll with the punches."

Bugs nodded. "I know. It just sometimes feels like we're gonna keep taking the punches until the guy hitting us gets a sore shoulder."

Alex grinned and finished buttoning her blouse. "Very apt."

"So are you seeing anyone?"

Alex shrugged, a picture of Rachel popping into her mind. "I have someone I'm currently very fond of, yes." She pulled on her trousers, tucked the shirt into the waistband and fastened the belt. Wiggling her toes in the tight black socks, she half-turned and said, "Can you imagine if we got a call right now?"

"Oh, yeah," Bugs laughed. "I can see the headlines now... 'The Dapper Department.' Firefighters responding to a blaze in suits and ties."

"Screw that," Alex said. "This suit cost me over three hundred bucks. If I have to go into a fire, I'm going in naked before I get this thing dirty." She angled the mirror on her locker door and bent down, trying to watch as she wound the tie around itself. "Damn things... most departments in this day and age have clip-on ties. It's the wave of the future. Keeping these horrific little... tying ties... is like keeping a typewriter when a computer will do."

"Or having laces when Velcro tightens your shoes just as well," Bugs said as she stepped in front of Alex. "Here. You're hopeless... let me get it." She reached up, undoing the sloppy knot Alex had made and redoing it in a few seconds. She looped and knotted the tie, then pulled the knot tight against Alex's throat. "Too tight?"

"No, it's good. Thanks."

Bugs stepped back to her locker and pulled her jacket off the hanger. "Does your girlfriend usually tie your tie for you?"

"There's no 'usually' with us... I mean, we just started going out."

"Oh, I see," Bugs said. "Well, you better make sure she can tie a tie before it gets too serious. I've seen relationships crumble for smaller reasons."

Alex laughed and said, "I'll keep it in mind."

~

Rachel, unsure of what to wear, went online and searched for fire department funerals. All the images she could find showed scores of firemen in identical black suits and caps, the picture of formality. All the firefighters seemed to be wearing a regulation dress uniform and she didn't see many civilians in any of the photos she found, so she had to decide what to wear based on the dress uniforms. She headed to her closet and summarily disqualified most everything she owned.

After about twenty minutes of debating with her inner fashionista, she withdrew a simple maroon gown and laid it out on the bed. The dress was an appropriate length for a funeral, wide shouldered and not too low-cut. The only markings on the dress were the narrow threads breaking up the smooth expanse from the bottom of her breasts down to her waist and a smattering of violets running along the hem. She shed her robe and slipped into the dress and stood in front of the mirror to refresh her memory of how it looked on her. She reached up to gather her hair, testing it both up and down to see which complimented her better.

She primped and preened for a few minutes, then told herself to stop being silly. Alex, after all, probably wasn't acting like a giddy high school senior on her way to the prom. She sighed and let the dress fall. She slipped out of her underwear and went to the run the water for her bath.

~

Leary stepped out of his office with both arms held out, his wrists turned out as if he expected to be handcuffed. "Would someone give me a damn hand here?" he asked. Alex walked by with her hand over her eyes. "Crawford, would you mind..."

"Sorry, Chief," she said. She kept her hand firmly over her eyes and said, "If I look at you in your dress uniform, I may have to revoke my homosexuality."

"Cause you look so damn fine," Murray grinned as he stepped up to fasten Leary's cufflinks for him. Leary sighed as Murray's thick fingers managed the small holes with ease.

Bugs walked by, fitting her cap over her bun. "Ooh, men dressing men. Does he tie your shoes for you, too, Chief?"

Leary grumbled, "I'm just not that good manipulating at small things... that's all."

"Then how do you aim in the bathroom?" Wizell asked.

"Are you still here, Charcoal?" Leary snapped.

Wizell held his hands up. "Whoa, whoa, not nice making fun of the nearly fried guy over here. Channel 6 called me a hero."

"Channel 6 also airs Jerry Springer in the afternoons," Leary pointed out. "I'm not exactly holding my breath for their Pulitzer or Tony or whatever the hell award they give TV stations. Now come on, let's get a move on, gals and fellas." He pulled his cap on and Alex glanced back at him. All joking aside, the man was built to wear the dress uniform. It was enough to make any woman take a second look.

They spread out to their own cars. Leary paused to talk with the incoming lieutenant before he joined them in the parking lot. "We gonna convoy to the church?"

"I can't," Alex said. "I have to pick up Rachel."

He gave her a thumbs-up and said, "Everyone else?"

"Sounds good to me," Wizell said. "I don't know where the church is."

Murray banged the roof of his trunk and said, "Carpool with me, Weasel."

Wizell hurried to catch up and slid into the passenger seat of Murray's truck. The company pulled out together, lining up behind Leary's Suburban. When Alex's Jeep pulled off towards Rachel's apartment, Bugs, Murray and Leary all sounded their horns in farewell. She waved through the window at them, honked her own horn in return and laughed when she saw all the other motorists' looks of confusion.

~

Rachel was putting the finishing touches on her make-up when there was a knock on the door. "Perfect timing," she smiled at her reflection. She shut off the lamp and hurried down the dark hallway, her bare feet making shush-shush noises in the carpet. "Just a minute!" she said, pausing in the foyer to slip into her flats. She smoothed the bodice of the dress, grabbed her purse and opened the door.

"Oh, wow," she gasped, unable to restrain herself.

She'd seen the photos online, but nothing could have prepared her for the sight of Alexandra Crawford standing at her door in full dress uniform. The jacket was jet black, save for two yellow stripes circling each wrist. Six gold buttons marked with SFD gleamed on her chest, the black tie perfectly knotted under her chin. She wore a military-like cap that shielded her eyes, her dark hair feathering out in the back.

When Alex brought one hand up to fiddle nervously with her collar, Rachel saw that she was wearing fine white gloves with three pleats on the back running from her wrist up to her fingers. She exhaled and finally blinked, taking a step back. "You... look magnificent."

Alex shifted from one foot to the other, looking down at herself. "I look like the guy in those ads trying to get kids to join the Marines." She looked up and said, "You, on the other hand..."

"Is this all right? I-I wasn't sure what was appropriate..."

"This is more than appropriate," Alex interrupted. "You look gorgeous. Gorgeous." She tilted her head and said, "If I could, just..."

Rachel nodded.

Alex stepped forward and brought her hands up. Rachel bowed her head as Alex reached around and cupped the back of her head. Her fingers slipped around for a bit and, when she stepped back, Rachel felt her hair fall loose onto her shoulders. Alex brushed her fingers through the freed strands and said, "Yeah. Perfect."

"Thank you." She extended her arm and said, "Shall we?"

Alex took the arm and tucked it against her side as she escorted Rachel to the elevator. Rachel couldn't help smiling; after a lifetime of being the background, being the blood-smeared anonymous face in an emergency room, now she felt wanted, attractive... loved. She covered Alex's hand with her own and rested her head on the taller woman's shoulder.

~

He couldn't resist. It was just too sweet. Too perfect.

He sat in the back pew and tried to remain inconspicuous. The family was already here, the mother in tears while the father stood his ground stoic, proud. His son had died a hero. Yeah. Hero. He died trying to save a room filled with ratty furniture. Where's the ticker-tape parade? Big whoop. The daughter, the dead fireman's sister, was a mess. Make-up streaking down her face, sobbing against her mother's shoulder. It was truly a spectacle... someone should've done something about it, but no one did. Stupid people with the boundaries.

The firefighters arrived en masse, sweeping into the room like the Knights of the friggin' Round Table. Crisp black suits, hats pulled low to hide their eyes. They looked more like the Mafia, now that he thought about it. Here to bury one of their own, a very closed-off, fraternal organization. Yeah, just like the Mafia.

He supposed that made him Eliot Ness. Cleaning up the city, one dirty mobster at a time. He resisted a smile at that and scanned the crowd of firemen for his special project. He panicked when he didn't see her; had she decided not to come? He knew she had been right behind Jones when he died. Maybe the guilt had finally gotten to her.

Fuming, he stood and headed for the back of the sanctuary. No one saw him go, which was fortunate; not many people stormed out of a funeral muttering curses. He'd wanted at least a few more fires of playing with Crawford. If she was going to break this easily, he had been sorely mistaken in choosing her for his pet project.

He climbed into his car, ready to burn rubber out of the lot, when he spotted a familiar Jeep slid into an empty space.

Alex Crawford got out of the driver's side, went around the front of the car and opened the passenger door. She put her arm around an attractive woman with long dark hair, guiding her to the front of the church. What was this? Jones's wife? Or perhaps...

He looked again at how Crawford's hand rested in the small of the other woman's back. It was such a natural gesture, so easy, so...

Intimate.

His eyes widened and he pressed back against the seat, watching the door of the church long after Crawford and her... her... the other woman... had gone inside. This changed things, he told himself. This changed things *dramatically.*

Chapter Nine

Hold On Real Tight

Rachel was allowed to sit with Alex and the rest of the company in the front pew reserved for pallbearers. Leary, Alex, Wizell and Murray were four of the volunteers, while Alfred's brother and father took up the front positions. Rachel sat between Alex and Jones's brother, a beefy twenty-something kid with eyeglasses and a pencil-thin mustache. He continually lifted his glasses and blotted his eyes with a hanky. Wizell, she noticed, had become the epitome of class. His evil grin, the playful gleam in his eye, everything that made him "Weasel" was hidden behind a veil of reverence and dignity. She was highly impressed by his about-face.

As the service began, Rachel reached over and took Alex's hand. Alex squeezed it, her hand like steel through her cotton gloves. The priest spoke of Alfred's contributions, of his devotion for the church and the programs he ran with the kids. He revealed that Alfred had approached him for a Junior Firefighter Program in the church which would teach elementary school kids how to observe basic fire safety in their homes.

The brother sitting next to her stood when the priest opened the floor to comments. He walked onto the stage and took the podium from the priest. "Hi, I'm Alfred's brother, Mike." He sniffled softly and he looked down at his hands for a moment before he started speaking. "Alfie... man, he always wanted to be a fireman. Since we were kids and we were playing with matches, he was always the one who squirted us with the water hose." He cleared his throat. "Sorry, Mom, by the way..."

The audience laughed softly.

"I heard that when he died, Alfie was serving as the nozzle man. He was leading the way into that fire. It was fate that he happened to pass away on that assignment, but I know that he died proud. And I want to thank whoever gave him that opportunity."

Rachel felt Alex's hand tighten around her own and looked up and saw tears glistening at the corners of Alex's eyes. Rachel reached over with her other hand and touched Alex's bicep. Alex covered Rachel's hand with her own and smiled weakly.

The brother finished his speech and joined them again on the pew.

The priest resumed his place and said, "Would anyone else care to speak?"

Leary stood, causing every firefighter in the room to turn and look at him in surprise. He straightened his jacket and stepped up on stage, his shiny-as-new shoes squeaking on the wooden floor as he took his place.

He cleared his throat and whispered a thank-you to the priest. He gripped the lectern with both gloved hands and flexed his fingers before he spoke. "I'm going to give the people who know me a few seconds to close their mouths..." A laugh from the gallery. "I'm Chief John Leary. I was Alfred's boss for the four months he was on the Engine and, just recently, after he transferred to the ladder. Before he moved over to the ladder, I had a talk with him and asked him what he wanted to do. He said, 'Fight fires.' I asked him if he wanted to be a hero and he looked me in the eye and said, 'I want to be a fireman, sir.'

"Alfred wasn't a firefighter for very long. But we shouldn't forget that he *was* a firefighter." He pursed his lips, flexed his fingers on the edge of the podium again and then shrugged. "That's it. That-that's all."

He turned, shoes squeaking, and stepped off the stage. After a few moments of silence, the priest returned to the lectern and said, "Thank you, Chief. If no one else would like to speak, Alfred's sister, June, requested that she be allowed to sing a special song for her brother. June?"

A lovely teenage girl with flowing red hair stepped onto the stage, taking a microphone from the stand. She waited for the organist to begin a hymn and began singing something that Rachel vaguely remembered from her days in the church. She couldn't quite recall the words, simply getting a flashback to sitting in a pew and squirming in her least-favorite gingham dress, doodling on the bulletin and wondering how long it was until lunch.

She looked over at Alex, who had her eyes closed and her lips pressed tightly together. Her jaw was working madly, her brow furrowed and her nostrils flaring. She squeezed Rachel's hand, then released it and rose suddenly. She stayed low, ducking her head down and hurrying down the aisle until she exploded out the back doors of the sanctuary. A few people turned to mark her passage, but June Jones showed no sign of disturbance.

When the song was finished, there was a polite smattering of applause. Rachel stood, eased down the row and followed Alex's escape route to the back of the church. She found Alex in the foyer, hugging herself tightly and looking out the glass doors at the parking lot. "Are you okay?" she asked softly.

Alex turned and looked at her with red-rimmed eyes. "I got pulled out of a fire when I was six. My apartment was on fire and they got my parents out. They went back and got me, saved my life. I thought the fireman was a monster at first. But he saved me. And then I saw him without his helmet and... he was just an ordinary man." She looked out the door again, her hands balled into fists. "When I was seventeen, he died. House fire. Ceiling collapsed. It was... eleven damn years, but I still couldn't shake the feeling that he died in exchange for me. He died so I could live. It's why I became a firefighter. To make up for his life. Now... Jones is dead for me, too."

"He didn't die because of you, Alex. There's no way to know what will happen in fires or... hell, walking down the street. Would you have felt so guilty if that first fireman had died of a heart attack?"

"But he didn't. He died in a fire."

"That doesn't matter." Rachel put her arms around Alex and held her tightly. "You've made up for what that man did for you. You saved the lives of others. Fate is repaid."

The doors to the sanctuary opened and the priest stepped out. "Ms. Crawford? They're ready for the pallbearers now."

Rachel turned her head until her lips were against Alex's ear. "Will you be okay?"

"Yeah," Alex whispered. She pecked Rachel on the cheek and slipped from her arms. "Okay, I'm coming," she said to the priest. She let her hand trail down Rachel's arm in an effort to stay in contact with her as long as possible. She turned at the sanctuary door and tossed Rachel her keys. "You can wait in the Jeep for me if you want... I'll be there in a few minutes."

Rachel nodded and mouthed, "Okay" as Alex ducked back into the sanctuary. The doors were pushed open a few moments later and held in place by two teenage ushers. Jones's fiancée, mother, and sister were the first ones out and Rachel stepped aside to let them pass. They waited outside as the rest of the mourners filed out into the suddenly chilly afternoon. Finally, the pallbearers appeared.

She felt a surge of sadness and pride as she watched Alex taking the right center section of the casket. The firefighters, resplendent in their dress uniforms, were a sharp contrast to the more casual suits of Jones's family members. Rachel waited until they passed, then slipped out the side door and headed for Alex's Jeep.

The door was unlocked with a remote entry button and she climbed inside, turning to watch as Jones was loaded into the hearse. When she turned back, she spotted several CDs tucked between the driver's seat and the console. Looking over her shoulder to make sure Alex wasn't coming, she pulled them out and catalogued Alex's music choices. The Who, Rolling Stones, nothing too surprising until... She gasped when she found Billy Joel's Greatest Hits. She giggled and turned the case over to read the track listing.

When the door opened and Alex climbed in, Rachel held up the CD. "Busted," she said.

Alex looked at the case and took it from Rachel, tucking it between the seats again. "An old girlfriend got that for me... I should toss it out or sell it online or something..."

"I wasn't making fun of you," Rachel said. "I like Billy Joel. 'Piano Man' might be my favorite song."

Alex held the wheel for a second and stared out the windshield. "Who is the real-estate novelist?"

"Paul. And he never had time for a wife."

Turning in her seat, Alex lowered her voice and said, "No one hears about this."

"Not from me," Rachel assured her.

"Okay," Alex said. "If you swear." She took the disc from the case and fed it into the player. When she started the Jeep, the harmonica signaled the intro to 'Piano Man.' Rachel grinned and fastened her seatbelt.

They joined the procession behind the Chief's Suburban and directly in front of Murray's SUV. Rachel turned in her seat, waving her fingers at Murray. He leaned forward and pushed his nose up with his thumb, poking his tongue out at her. She laughed and said, "Murray and Wizell look unexpectedly... grown-up in their dress uniforms."

"Yeah, it has a maturing effect on us all," Alex said with a smile. "Because every minute wearing them feels like an hour to us."

Rachel reached over and stroked the sleeve of Alex's jacket. "Still... you have to admit, it's very... appealing."

Alex looked down at Rachel's hand, looked at Rachel, then looked back out at the road. She cleared her throat and said, "Mm-hmm."

"What are your plans for after the cemetery? You're off-duty, right?"

"Mm-hmm. Why, did you have something planned?"

"Not particularly," Rachel said. She leaned back in the seat and shrugged. "I just... I don't want to leave you."

Alex smiled. "Well, I'll see if I can think of something."

"Try your hardest," Rachel said. "If I have to, I'll go to the firehouse and wash trucks with you."

Alex laughed and reached over. She slid her hand between Rachel's shoulder and the seat and rubbed Rachel's back. "Thank you. I didn't think I would be laughing today."

They went the rest of the ride in silence, Alex occasionally humming along with Billy Joel as he sang about Captain Jack's private island. When they pulled into the cemetery, Alex reached down and silenced the piano man. They parked along a narrow gravel road, the doors of every car in the procession seeming to open on cue and a sea of black and brown poured from the cars.

Rachel walked around the back of the car, intercepting the woman everyone was calling Bugs, and met Alex on the other side. Alex said she'd meet up with them soon, hurrying down the row with Murray to unload the hearse. Bugs and Rachel walked together down the gentle slope towards the large green tent covering a freshly dug hole.

"I fucking hate funerals," Bugs muttered.

Rachel looked at her for a moment, trying to determine if it was an attempt at conversation or just a general observation. After a moment, she said, "Yeah, they're awful."

"I'm Heather Riley, by the way."

"Rachel Tom."

"Tom. That's an interesting name."

Rachel smiled. "So is Bugs."

The other woman smiled and then looked over her shoulder. Her smile faded quickly. Rachel turned and saw the pallbearers were carrying the casket down a gravel walkway rather than heading downhill with it. They carried it past the mourners and carefully placed it upon a contraption meant to lower it into the ground. Rachel's eye caught on the mother and fiancée, who were clinging to one another in the front row. When Alex was again by her side, Rachel wrapped an arm around her and put her head down on one sturdy shoulder. She felt Alex's soft glove in her hair and closed her eyes.

The priest spoke again and Jones's sister stood. This time, she sang "Dream a Little Dream of Me." Alex lowered her head and her lips were against Rachel's ear. "Do you have a shift tonight?"

Rachel shook her head, the intimacy of Alex's whisper threatening to send her into convulsions. She felt Alex's fingers tighten on her shoulder, just a slight gesture, there and gone. But Rachel smiled and pressed her face against the wool of Alex's jacket. It was so warm. Cozy, even. She wondered what it would be like to curl up naked in this jacket... she wondered if maybe she'd get a chance to find out soon...

The service ended and the priest thanked everyone for coming out. He led the group in prayer and then sent them away "with God." Jones's mother, a matronly woman with thick eyeglasses, made her way over before the firefighters could escape. "You worked with Alfred?"

"Yes, ma'am, we did," Murray replied.

She took each of their hands in turn, giving each one a shake before moving to the next one. "Alfred spoke of you all often. You treated him well."

"He was a good man, Mrs. Jones," Leary said.

The corners of Murray's mouth twitched, but he contained himself before the woman saw it. She thanked them all again and then allowed her son's fiancée to lead her up towards the cars. Alex asked, "What was the smile about, Murray?"

"Me-ee and Missus... Missus Jo-ones," Murray sang, finally releasing his smile.

Alex rolled her eyes. "Better off not knowing."

They headed up the hill and Murray put an arm around Wizell. Together, they half-whispered, half-sang, "Got a thaaang going on..." Rachel grinned; the Weasel was back.

Ignoring the men, Alex put her hand in the small of Rachel's back and said, "I'm going to go to the firehouse and change, then we'll go to your apartment so you can change into something more comfortable."

"Where are we going?"

"Somewhere without a dress code," Alex said. "I'm not specific on all the details yet, but I know that much."

~

Alex and Bugs changed on one of the sheet while the guys were changing a few feet away on the opposite side. Murray said, "We shoulda put the ladies next to a window. Then we'd get them sexy silhouettes on the sheet. Hindsight and all that."

"I'm sorry, Murray," Bugs said. "Did you say hindsight or harassment?"

Alex had a sweater and jeans in her locker and changed into them in record time. Carrying her sneakers in her hand, she wrapped the tie from her dress uniform around her eyes and crossed the barrier between boys-side and girls-side. "Don't worry, guys, no peeking... the blindfold is as much for me as it is for you."

When she'd made it clear of the locker area, she pulled off the tie and stuffed it into her pocket. Holt was crossing the apparatus bay, puffing on a cigar and apparently heading for the front of the garage. "Hey, Holt!" she called, waving politely at him. He turned and frowned at her. "Did you go to the funeral?"

"Nuh-uh," he said.

"How's the gym?"

"Eh."

"Well, nice talking to you."

He nodded and lifted his cigar in a salute before he turned around again. She went into the kitchen where Rachel was waiting and touched the brunette on the shoulder. "Ready?" she asked.

"Mm-hmm," Rachel said.

They said good-bye to the other firefighters they passed, Alex promising she'd catch them the next time they headed to the pool hall. When they were safely in the Jeep, Rachel asked, "So... you change with all the guys, huh?"

"Yeah. There's a sheet between us, though. The guys are gentlemen, despite the façade Murray and Wizell put on."

"I'll take your word for it," Rachel smiled. "So, any thoughts on where you're taking me?"

"Somewhere away," Alex said.

"Good," Rachel nodded and settled into her seat. "Away is good."

~

While Rachel changed clothes, Alex sat on her couch and thumbed through the books on the coffee table. A paperback novel called <i>Sparks of Love</i>, a hardback Stephen King alongside a thick novel by Amy Tan and a leather-bound copy of 'Oliver Twist.' Eclectic taste, Alex thought. Sort of like the kind of woman who reads classic literature and dates a firefighter. She looked around the apartment, bathed in the sun thanks to the skylight. It was gorgeous, impeccably clean... the sort of place people like Alex Crawford only saw during a fire.

The bedroom door opened and, a few seconds later, Rachel appeared. She was wearing a green blouse that wrapped around her torso, her hair down and her long legs hidden by slacks that belled at the bottom. "What do you think?"

"It doesn't show enough leg," Alex said. "Otherwise, it's perfect."

Rachel grinned and said, "Well, then. Shall we go?"

"We shall," Alex said.

~

Alex got into the Jeep and revealed she was just going to drive until something pointed her in the right direction. Rachel agreed that it sounded like a nice adventure and off they went. Billy Joel serenaded them until Alex had to change the CD, telling Rachel to pick anything that struck her fancy. "If you like Billy Joel," she reasoned, "nothing in my collection should horrify you too badly."

They finally settled on a Leonard Cohen compilation. "Any preferences?" Alex asked with her finger over the 'track advance' button.

"I like all of his songs. Except for 'Alexandra Leaving,' of course."

Alex blushed and skipped ahead to "Hallelujah." She conceded there were versions of the song that were on par with the original, but no one could beat his version of the chorus. Rachel agreed, humming along and idly watching the scenery whip past the window.

After an hour of driving, the sun was getting low in the sky. Rachel suggested finding a campground nearby, getting some take-out and just having a picnic under the stars. Alex agreed and had started searching for a suitable spot to pull off when she saw something just off the road that make her laugh.

"What is it?" Rachel asked.

Alex pointed at the wooden sign by the side of the road as they sped by.

Rachel leaned forward and smiled when she read the announcement. "Oh, this is too perfect," she said. "A winter carnival. There's an honest-to-God winter carnival about a mile up the road." She smiled. "I haven't been to a carnival in ages!"

"In that case," Alex said. She reached over the console to take Rachel's hand, "I think we've found out where we're going for our... um... second date?"

"I think this would be the... fourth."

"We'll well on our way to a real relationship."

Rachel smiled.

~

According to the flyers, the stands along the boardwalk were set to close at nine. The carnival was set up on a boardwalk, just off the beach. The fence between the boardwalk and the sand had been lined with Christmas lights, making the entire area look like the world's most cluttered landing strip. Alex and Rachel wandered hand-in-hand through the displays, the barkers offering them 'end-of-the-night' specials and promising they wouldn't leave without a 'stuffed bear as big as their heads.'

Alex declined all of the games of chance, telling Rachel she was saving all her money for snacks. About halfway down the midway, Alex gasped and said, "This is what I was saving my cash for. Feel like a funnel cake?"

"I... don't think I've ever heard of one."

Alex gasped and said, "Okay, we're getting you a funnel cake. You obviously led a very sheltered life and, as your girlfriend, I'm obliged to make amends." They stood in line and Alex ordered a plate. She turned to Rachel and presented a paper plate covered by a mish-mash of thin, deep-fried ribbons made of dough. The entire thing was covered over with a mountain of powdered sugar.

They walked together off the boardwalk and found a nicely secluded spot on the sand to sit and enjoy their snack. As Alex settled the plate on her thighs, Rachel said, "You called me your girlfriend."

"Did I?" Alex asked. She honestly hadn't noticed when she had said it, but she wasn't surprised it had slipped out.

Rachel nodded and said, "Am I?"

Alex leaned in and kissed Rachel's lips gently. "Yes. Now... prepare yourself for a treat! A carnival mainstay, a staple of the midway-walkers diet. I present to you... a funnel cake." She tore one of the ribbons off and held it between two pinched fingers. "Open wide."

Rachel did as requested and Alex rested the treat on her outstretched tongue. She chewed it carefully, swallowed and took a swig of her drink. "Well?" Alex asked.

Instead of answering, Rachel moved onto her knees and leaned forward. She cupped Alex's cheeks and leaned in to kiss her. Alex picked up the plate and moved it to one side. Rachel settled on Alex's lap and ran her fingers through Alex's short hair. After a few seconds, hoots and whistles began to rise from the boardwalk and both women parted, blushing.

Very aware of the audience they now had, Alex picked up the plate and guided Rachel back to the boardwalk. "I haven't had this much fun at a carnival since I was a kid," Alex laughed. "And I haven't been kissed at a carnival since I was sixteen."

"So that kiss wasn't fun?"

"The kiss was okay," Alex said. "But what happened after the carnival was even more fun."

Rachel laughed and pressed against Alex's side. As they headed down the boardwalk, Alex spotted a stand selling balloons. It was about to close for the night, so Alex hurried over. "One green balloon?" she asked.

The man peeled a green one away and said, "On the house. My last customer of the night."

She took it and stuffed three dollars into the tip jar he still had set up. "My last purchase of the evening."

He laughed and tipped his hat to her - he actually tipped his hat; she could barely contain her laughter - and went back to Rachel. She stood close, reaching around and gathering the brunette hair in one hand while holding the balloon with the other. "What are you--" Rachel asked, trying to look above her head.

"Shh," Alex admonished as she tied Rachel's hair into a ponytail using the string.

Rachel pressed her face against Alex's sweater and smiled, wrapping both arms around her waist. "What if I float away?"

"I'll just have to hold onto you extra-tight," Alex whispered into the top of Rachel's head.

"Okay," Rachel breathed.

They held each other for a few moments before the flow of the crowd forced them to move on. The street lights remained on, but one by one the midway's lights turned dark. Booths stood empty, abandoned for the night with curtains pulled down over their fronts. Signs proclaimed bargains that were no longer available and knick-knacks that were no longer on the market.

When they got back to the Jeep, Rachel ducked her head and used her hand to guide the balloon into the car so she wouldn't accidentally pop it or get it caught in the door. They sat in the darkness for a while, watching as sweepers moved out and started to clean up after the day. "Erasing the day," Rachel said softly.

"Yeah," Alex said.

Rachel looked over at Alex in the darkness of the car. "What was the name of the fireman who saved you when you were six?"

"Michael Graham," Alex said without hesitation.

"Do you feel fate is still trying to get you?"

"Mm-hmm."

Rachel reached over and took Alex's hand. "Then do you mind if *I* hold on real tight, too?"

Alex smiled. "I think it would make all the difference."

~

Rachel's apartment building seemed almost closed for the night. From the outside, a few windows were alight, but the lobby issued forth only a dim glow. Rachel opened her eyes long enough to key in her code at the front door, getting them past the intercom system. Alex escorted Rachel up to her apartment, practically carrying the exhausted doctor into the elevator. During the trip home, Rachel had grown progressively quieter and her head had dipped towards her chest a few times. Now, she was just barely conscious, her eyes shut, her weight resting against Alex like a drunk being escorted from a bar.

At Rachel's door, Alex smiled and kissed her cheek. "Hey," she whispered. "You're home. I need your key to get in."

Rachel's eyelids fluttered and she glanced towards the door, groaning and standing up. "Right." She fumbled around in her pockets for a moment, finally producing a key and opening the door. As she stumbled inside, she stepped out of her sneakers and flipped on a light switch. Three lamps in the living room immediately came on. "Do you want something to drink?" she asked, heading into the kitchen. "I have wine, grape juice... some apple juice."

"I should probably get going... it's kind of late."

"Are you sure?" Rachel eyes, eyes tired but focused intently on Alex.

They looked at each other for a moment and then Alex reluctantly nodded. "Yeah. Probably should."

"Well... okay..."

Alex kicked herself. Rachel sounded so damn rejected. She walked around the island and into the kitchen. "I had a really great time today. I... never would have imagined it waking up this morning, but... you really made today good." She tucked a strand of hair behind Rachel's ear. "You look good with your hair up."

Rachel pressed her forehead against Alex's shoulder and whispered, "I really wish you'd stay."

"I know," Alex half-breathed, half-sighed.

"So stay. I won't regret it in the morning."

"I-I don't think we should."

"Are you scared of me?"

Alex closed her eyes and kissed Rachel's temple. "Yeah."

"I'm just a woman," Rachel said. "I want to hold you. I want to be with you." She kissed Alex's neck just below her ear and felt the taller woman tremble. "But I'll wait for you."

Alex stepped back and kissed Rachel's lips, moving her hand from the small of Rachel's back to the curve of her ass, cupping it through her trousers. Rachel's lips parted and the kiss deepened, Alex moaning helplessly as her tongue moved into the warmth of the other woman's mouth. Speaking against the kiss, Alex said, "I should go."

"Then go soon," Rachel begged.

Alex broke the kiss and touched Rachel's hair again, taking a moment to release the balloon string. She handed the balloon to Rachel and said, "Good night."

"Good night. I want to cook for you."

"I'm off tomorrow night."

Rachel nodded. "Good night, Alex."

Alex wanted to go back to her, kiss her again just for good measure. But she resisted. She held herself back, knowing she wouldn't be able to stop. She opened the door and stepped into the hallway, shutting the door behind herself before she did something she would regret.

Alone in the apartment, Rachel smiled and whispered, "Suddenly, the night has grown colder." She snickered and tied the balloon string around the back of a chair. She ran her finger down its length, making the head rise and fall like a fishing bob. Sighing, her body electrified from the parting kiss, she headed down the hall to take a long soak in a bubble bath.

~

They hadn't spotted him after the funeral, nor had there been any sign they realized they were being tailed during their insanely long road trip. He couldn't decide if they had a specific destination in mind or if they were just driving aimlessly north. When they stopped at the carnival, he climbed out and wandered the midway a few paces behind them, always close but almost never within earshot. They bought a snack and sat on the sand, feeding each other.

He turned away during their putrid display of affection, waiting until he saw them move apart from the corner of his eye.

Tracking them back to Shepherd wasn't hard; by that time, they were practically the only other car on the road. They stopped outside of an old apartment building and Crawford practically carried the brunette inside. He groaned, expecting to not see them again until morning. The neighborhood was quiet, the cars on the street speaking to the level of money secured behind these walls. It was high-dollar, which meant security systems.

He waited a few minutes, watching the face of the building until he spotted a window light up on the top floor. He planned to stay until the light went out and head home. Or at least somewhere he could stop thinking about what they were doing.

To his surprise, Crawford came out of the building alone a few minutes later. He trailed her at a safe distance until she parked in front of a brownstone in a seedy part of town. It was apples and oranges compared to the neighborhood they'd just left. He parked in an alley and sat in silence, paying attention to the door Crawford entered.

A few minutes later, a light came on in the window over a hairdresser's shop. He drummed his fingers on the steering wheel until the light went out again. He gave her some time, just in case she planned on leaving again, but after half an hour he slipped out of his car. This neighborhood wouldn't bat an eye at the sight of someone getting into a car he didn't have the keys to.

He hurried across the street and worked the lock. He'd picked up the skill at a 'camp' that was supposed to have repressed his criminal activities. Even before his teens, he'd been a holy terror. He snickered at the thought, knowing that the camp had been the origin of his more horrendous acts. It was there he learned how to set a good fire, there that he had learned how easy it was to pick someone's pocket.

The lock was pathetic. He was in the car before anyone happened by and spotted him. He went through the glove compartment, looked at her CDs - he resisted the urge to break the Billy Joel disc in half - and searched for something good. The bad part about the neighborhood was that Crawford was smart enough not to leave anything expensive in the Jeep overnight.

Then, he found it. A cell phone.

He picked it up and flipped open the front. The screen saver was a fire department seal. He fiddled with the keys until he found the phone book. A smile spread across his face as he read the names and numbers of people near and dear to Alex Crawford's heart. He closed the phone book and went to 'recently received calls.'

"Tom, Rachel" was at the top of the list. He closed the phone and tucked it into his shirt pocket as he got out of the car. A kid in low-riding jeans and a skullcap sidled by on the sidewalk, eyeing the Jeep. They locked eyes and he slammed the door. "Keep walking, kid."

The boy held up his hands in acquiescence and kept walking.

He patted the side of the Jeep before returning to his own car. The kid had his pick of people to rip off; Crawford was his designated victim.

Chapter Ten

Let This Be the One Bad Thing That Happens Today

Alex woke the next morning unsure of what time she'd finally fallen asleep. She had mentally kicked herself the entire way home and as she stared at the ceiling, trying to grasp the reasons that had been so clear back at Rachel's apartment. She kicked aside her blankets and slipped out of bed, automatically reaching for her cell phone. When she realized the corner of the dresser was bare, she bent down and searched the pockets of her jeans. Nothing. She sighed and dropped the pants. She'd track her phone down later.

In the shower, she shampooed her hair and, fearing the wrath of Moon Ki-hyun, added in the conditioner she'd bought the day before. She was about to step out of the shower and, at the last minute, decided to shave her legs. The date with Rachel was at the back of her mind; she'd had reasons for leaving the night before, but damned if she could remember them in the light of a new day. If the opportunity arose tonight, she didn't want her legs to be the deciding factor.

Once she was out of the shower and dressed, she headed downstairs and searched her front seat for the errant cell phone. She was annoyed to find the remote for her car alarm was malfunctioning and the car had spent the entire night unprotected. But it still sat in the same space, everything seemed in order, so she wasn't too worried.

The bad news was that the cell phone was nowhere to be found, not even when she knelt on the passenger side and peered upside-down beneath the driver's seat. She sat down and stared at the floor in frustration. She reached over and fiddled with her CDs, frowning when she saw how cock-eyed they looked. "I thought Rachel put these back a little neater," she muttered, straightening the cases.

With a sigh, she got out of the car and slammed the door. She set the alarm, making sure this time that the alarm chirped, and headed back upstairs. As she was unlocking her apartment door, it hit her.

The beach. The phone must've fallen out of her pocket when she and Rachel were sitting on the beach with the funnel cake. She kicked herself again - she was finding a lot of reasons to do that, it seemed - and headed to the house phone. She dialed her own number and leaned against the counter, chewing her bottom lip as the ring tone sounded in her ear.

After a minute with no answer, she sighed and hung up. She didn't fancy another drive all the way out to that boardwalk, but she couldn't exactly think of any other options. If she did, she'd have to do it soon in order to get back in time for her date. She dialed again, this time Rachel's number.

"Hello?" a sleepy voice replied.

"I'm sorry, I can call back..."

"No, I'm up, I'm here," Rachel said. "Alex. Hi. I'm up."

Alex couldn't help smiling. "Hi. How are you?"

"Sleepy," she said. "What's up?"

"I just wanted to let you know I have to head out to the beach again... I lost my cell phone, so I want to see if I dropped it when we had our snack."

"Oh, okay."

"I just didn't want you to worry if I was incommunicado today. And I *will* be there for dinner. What time should I be at your place?"

"I was thinking seven. We could eat and then maybe watch a DVD, listen to some music... whatever."

The 'whatever' made the hair on Alex's arms stand up and she smiled. "Sounds good."

"I was thinking making an Alaska Salmon Bake... is there anything you're allergic to? Lactose intolerant, vegetarian, anything I should know before heading out to buy groceries?"

"Definitely not a vegetarian and I don't have an issue with allergies. The salmon thing sounds wonderful."

"Okay... so I'll see you at seven."

"Okay."

They hung up and Alex grabbed her leather backpack. She left the apartment, and prayed she could track down the right part of the beach.

~

Rachel hopped out of bed and checked her watch as she dressed. She couldn't believe she'd overslept, but she'd spent a long time staring at the ceiling and wondering how she could have made Alex stay the night before. She had a few errands to run, ingredients for the salmon bake to pick up. She attempted to set the world record for showering, dressed quickly and hid her wet hair under a baseball cap.

As she was gathering her purse and things, her cell phone rang. She pulled the door shut with her free hand as she flipped the phone open. "Dr. Rachel Tom," she said. "Who is this?"

No reply. She took the phone away from her ear and looked at the display screen. 'Information Not Available.' She grimaced. "Hello?" she said again. When no one answered, she disconnected and shoved the phone into her purse. She headed downstairs and had just stepped onto the sidewalk when the phone rang again. She sighed and paused, checking the readout. 'Information Not Available.' She silenced the ringer and decided to ignore it for the rest of the morning.

~

He blinked when he saw the woman on the street pause and look down at her cell phone. Surely it was just a coincidence... he couldn't be so lucky... He smiled as the woman stuck the still-chirping phone into her purse. She looked different than she had last night, but this must be the same woman he'd seen Crawford with. He put the cell phone down and slipped out of his car to follow her on foot.

~

Alex stepped out of the bakery and planted both hands on her hips. She scanned the boardwalk and tried to remember where they'd gone the night before. Three businesses were open, but none of them reported anyone turning in a lost cell phone. She spotted a clump of bushes that looked familiar and shifted the sand with the toe of one shoe. She'd borrowed a cell phone from someone in the bakery, so she dialed her number and searched the sand again, waiting to hear the familiar ringing coming from one of the small dunes. Nothing.

She returned the phone to the man in the bakery and reluctantly headed back to her Jeep, casting a look over her shoulder at the sand. If the phone wasn't here, where else could it possibly have gotten lost?

~

He followed Dr. Tom through an assortment of stores and restaurants, pausing outside a fish market and waiting for her to come out rather than following her in. He took a moment to see what she bought and tried to get a picture of what she was planning. So far, she'd picked up a small bag of lemons, some parsley and a bag of pecans. He was stymied. The fish market probably held the secret key ingredient, but he dared not go inside while she was still there.

From across the street, he peered through the glass and wished the market was on the other side of the street; at the moment, the sun was wreaking havoc with his spying.

She exited a few minutes later with a large bag, the shape of the box within giving him absolutely no clues. He waited until she got ahead of him and began to track her again. She seemed happy, practically gliding down the sidewalks as she completed her chores. She stopped at an outdoor ATM and he got into line two people behind her. He had his head ducked, pretending to go through his wallet when she turned and walked past him.

After a few minutes of wandering, he struck upon a brilliant idea. He almost jogged back the way they'd come, going back to the apartment he'd spent all night in front of. He found countless ways to look busy without looking like he was loitering, smiling politely to passers-by, pausing to tie his shoe or to lean against the wall and speak into the cell phone he'd pilfered from Alex Crawford's car.

Finally, after only twenty minutes of waiting, opportunity struck. He had Alex's phone pressed to his ear when he saw the elevator inside the lobby open. This was his chance. He hesitated just long enough so that the elevator passenger could get to the front door. Then, he moved onto the front steps just as the tenant was pushing the door open.

"I don't care if that's what he said," he sighed, faking a conversation. He grasped the door and pulled it open, giving the tenant a courteous smile. 'Just here to help,' the smile said. "Yeah, I'm right outside your building now, Rachel. I'll be up in a minute."

The tenant walked on, seemingly not hearing or not caring about the conversation.

He smiled. He was a damn good improviser.

~

Rachel used her code on the intercom and the door signaled that it had been accepted. She pulled the door open and made a bee-line for the elevator, hoping to get the fish into the freezer before they started to thaw. She'd lost a lot of time getting that idiot connoisseur to admit he wasn't sure of the best wine for her meal and call someone else to help. She stepped into the elevator and pressed the button for her floor just as someone in the lobby called out, "Hey! Hold the elevator, please!"

She did as he asked, sticking her leg out and letting the doors bounce off her calf. The man stepped inside the car and exhaled, leaning against the wall. "Almost didn't make it," he said with a bright smile. "Thanks for holding it."

"Ten years of squat thrusts finally pay off," she said. *'Please let the fish be all right,'* she whispered in her mind, watching the numbers. "Um, which floor?"

"Um, the, uh... fourth."

Rachel frowned. "I'm the only tenant on the fourth floor. Unless... well, the landlord keeps some supplies up there."

"Oh, I'm sorry. I must have my numbers mixed up." He reached over and pressed the button for the lobby.

She glanced at him, suddenly wary. He was dressed casually, in a sweatshirt and jeans, but he seemed somehow uncomfortable in them. He was wearing a baseball cap with a completely straight visor, meaning it was relatively new. "Who buzzed you into the building?"

"The super. I'm helping him out a little today, you know, taking up some of the slack. He's my uncle."

She nodded, but wasn't particularly convinced. She made a mental note to call the super and make sure this guy was on the up-and-up. He motioned at her shopping bags. "Had yourself a little spree, did ya?"

"I'm preparing something for dinner tonight."

"Ah. Bought something from Fisherman's Wharf, I see?"

"Yeah," she said. The elevator doors opened and she stepped out, making sure not to turn away from the man for too long. "Is there anything you need on this floor?"

"No, I should go see my uncle about what he wanted me to do. It was nice to meet you."

She nodded slowly. "Yeah. You, too..."

The elevator doors closed and she headed for the stairs, leaning over the railing until she could see the sliver of the lobby below. Listening intently, she heard the ding of the elevator followed by footsteps on the tile floor. Her heart pounded as she waited to hear him on the steps, coming up to catch her unawares. Instead, she heard the front door of the building open and close.

She stepped back. Whoever the guy was, she must have scared him off. He should work on his cover story, though... now that she thought about it, she was pretty sure the superintendent was an only child. No way was he an uncle.

Putting the bizarre incident out of her head, she unlocked her apartment door and repeated her internal mantra: *'Please don't let the salmon be hurt.'*

~

He kicked himself for giving in to impulse. He never should have gotten into the elevator with her. But all's well that ends well, he supposed. She had been suspicious from the very beginning, but he felt that she wasn't overly concerned about him. She'd probably already put him from her mind. He wondered if she would mention the incident to Alex over dinner. It was unlikely, unless her life was so without drama that such a bizarre interlude was all she had to talk about.

He walked back to his car and slipped behind the wheel. He considered calling again, another hang-up, but decided against it. Couldn't have her putting two-and-two together with the crank calls and the weird man in the elevator.

Putting the phone in the glove box, he sank down in his seat and prepared for another long stake-out.

Rachel washed her hands, as the water on the stove slowly came to a boil. She wiped her hands off on a dishtowel and went back to them, eyeing the recipe she had propped against the seasoning bowls. "Okay... mix this and that and set aside. Mix these and... Crap!" She just noticed that the dish required finely chopped pecans. She cursed herself and looked at the whole pecans she had bought. What the hell had she been thinking?

She put the mustard, honey and butter into a mixing bowl, nestling the phone between her ear and shoulder as she mixed it. "Hello, yes, this is Rachel Tom from the Spring Creek Apartments?...Yes, Apartment 4...I have a problem...Do you happen to stock finely chopped pecans?...You do?...Yes, I'll pay extra for delivery...How much do...Just one bag...Okay...All right...I'll buzz him in...Thank you so much." She hung up and smiled, "Crisis averted!"

That done, she skipped to the next step. She quartered the baby potatoes and dumped them into one pot of boiling water. The green beans went into the next pot. With the side items going, she turned her attention to the main course and started by seasoning the raw salmon fillets. She didn't know how spicy Alex liked her food, so she kept it at a happy medium. She used a basting brush to apply the mustard/honey mixture and glanced at the clock just as the downstairs buzzer sounded. "Right on time," she smiled.

She buzzed him up and was waiting at the door when the elevator doors opened. The same kid who always delivered her groceries smiled at her. "Are you ordering nuts just so you can see me, Dr. Tom?"

"That must be it, Michael," she said, taking the bag and handing him a ten. "Keep the change. Get yourself a haircut."

He rolled his eyes and stepped back into the elevator before the doors even had a chance to close. She waved good-bye and went back into the kitchen. "I'm on a roll," she whispered as she mixed the pecans with bread crumbs. She added a small amount of parsley and smiled at the way it all looked on the fish. "Marvelous. It *is* a good thing."

She withdrew the small ruler her mother had ordered her to always keep on hand and stuck it into the thickest portion of the thickest fillet. "Inch and a half thick... ten minutes per inch... fifteen minutes."

She set the tray into the oven and said, "Have a nice rest, fellas." She reached for the dial that turned on the heat, her fingers tensing as she gripped it. She took a breath and whispered, "Stop it." As if she'd uttered the magic words, her fingers turned the dial to three hundred degrees.

With nothing left to do, she checked her watch. The food was cooking, the table was set and the waiting game had begun. She nestled the bottle of wine in a bucket of ice as she tugged off her apron and headed down the hall for a proper shower.

~

Alex was home in time to change, put on the bare minimum of make-up and checking her messages. No one had called to tell her they'd found the errant cell phone. She sighed and dialed the number once more, hoping for a miracle. Still nothing. Okay... so it was official. Her cell phone was missing. Not great, but not the most terrible thing in the world.

"Please," she whispered as she headed back out. "Let this be the one bad thing that happens today..."

~

Hair blow-dried, make-up applied, dress half-on, Rachel returned to the kitchen and bent down to check the progress of her meal through the glass front of the oven. Everything looked good and the kitchen had a wonderful smell building in it. Shrugging into the shoulder straps of her dress, she zipped herself up using a hanger and straightened the bodice. Perfect.

She sliced two lemons and lay them on the edges of her finest china plates. They were just regular, black china - no one to pick a pattern with, sadly - but they were the nicest dishes she owned. She found her wine glasses, holding them up to the light and wiping away any watermarks she could see. She put those down on either side of the table and went to the kitchen to dig through her groceries. She found two decent-sized pieces of parsley to accent the plate with and placed them next to the lemon-halves.

Her oven timer dinged and she removed the fish from the oven. They smelled divine, but she used a fork to flick the corner of one to make sure it was flaky enough. "Perfect," she smiled.

She turned off the oven, looking all the way down the row of dials that lined the front of the stove top. She fiddled with them, turning them all a half-turn to the right before turning them off again. They were all off, the little red light was dark, the oven was off. She bent down and peered through the glass; making sure the red-hot coils were fading back to black.

Finally convinced the stove was actually off, she carefully transferred the fillets to the plates. She took special care arranging them just so, and then added the potatoes and green beans to complete the picture. Her stomach growled its approval and she smiled, looking at the clock. Seven minutes until seven. Could she time it or could she time it?

Sneaking a green bean to hush her stomach, she removed the bucket from beneath her sink and filled it with ice. The bottle of wine - pinot noir - was placed in the bucket and wouldn't be opened until dinner. She realized she was breathing hard, anxious about her date with Alex. All she could think about was what Alex thought of this meal. She snuck another green bean and began setting the table.

~

He watched Alex pace outside the apartment, going into the alcove a few times but retreating before she made her move. The third aborted attempt made him groan in frustration. He wanted to pound on his horn and yell at her to just get it over with, but he didn't want her to know she was being watched. Finally, after an excruciating wait, she pressed the intercom button and went inside.

"About time," he muttered, sliding down in his seat and watching the highest window.

~

"I'm sorry if I'm early," Alex said. She looked down at Rachel's dress. "Wow. You look beautiful."

"You're right on time, actually," Rachel said. She ignored the compliment and tried not to blush at the scrutiny she was under. Alex had worn a buttoned-down shirt and black slacks, going with what had worked for her on the first date, but Rachel was in a low-cut black velvet dress that ended just above her knees. Her hair was up but loose, a few strands curtaining her face.

Alex broke off her examination long enough to hold up the meager assortment of flowers. "I-I didn't know if I was supposed to bring anything... this was all they had down at the shop on the corner."

"They're lovely," Rachel said. She took them and bent to sniff one petal. "I'll just go find a vase, okay? Would you like something to drink?"

"Yes, please. Whatever you have is fine." While Rachel was in the kitchen, Alex took the opportunity to wander the apartment. She edged towards the dining room table, and admired the beautiful setting; two candles, two water glasses. All it was missing were the flowers, which she had actually remembered to bring. Hiding a triumphant smile at the thought of doing something right, she said, "It smells amazing in here."

"Momma was a chef," Rachel said as she returned from the kitchen with the flowers in a bell-shaped vase. In her other hand, she held two glasses of wine by the stems. "Would you..." Alex took the glasses and Rachel placed the flowers between the candles. "Momma taught me how to make a delicious feast in under an hour. It's a helpful trick when you spend half the day before a big date in bed."

Alex laughed and said, "Well, I'm sure it will be marvelous. You look marvelous. Did I say that?"

"You did," Rachel laughed. "You can say it again, too, but three is your limit."

"Well, then," Alex said, "I'll save the last one for later."

Rachel blushed slightly and pulled one of the chairs out. "Have a seat. I'll go get our dinner." She got halfway into the kitchen before she said, "Oh, do you mind lighting the candles? There's a lighter right on the edge of the table."

"Sure," Alex said. The lighter had a long neck with a trigger below. There was a child-safety roller that Alex had to push with her thumb before she could activate the flame. It took her two tries before she realized that the trigger was locked in place. She released that and lit both flames as Rachel returned. "Have a lot of kids around?" she asked, waving the wand jokingly.

Rachel tensed slightly. "Don't play with that."

"Okay," Alex said. She put the lighter down on the table. "Sorry."

Rachel smiled self-consciously and put the plates down. "No, I'm sorry. I'm Ms. Worry-Wart about stuff like lighters and leaving the oven on and all that."

"Ah, a firefighter's dream woman."

Rachel grinned and said, "Have a seat."

Alex sat as instructed and allowed Rachel to push her seat in. When she was settled, Rachel bent down and nuzzled the back of her neck. She whispered, "I'm really glad you came tonight."

Alex shuddered in response.

Rachel stroked her arms once before retreating back to the other side of the table. "Dinner is served," she said, placing one in front of Alex and one in front of her seat. She vanished again and returned with a bottle of wine in an ice bucket. "And here is the wine, in case you need a refill."

"Wow," Alex said. "I thought we weren't going to a restaurant tonight..."

Rachel smiled self-consciously and said, "Well, I couldn't exactly defrost a couple of TV dinners and plop them down in front of you, right?"

"A TV dinner would still be wonderful as long as I ate it with you."

Rachel ducked her head to hide her blush. "You keep making me blush," she said shyly.

"Should I stop?"

"Stop and I'll hurt you," Rachel warned.

Alex took the wine from the ice and popped the cork, managing to accomplish the feat without the cork flying across the room. She stood and poured a little more into each of their glasses. When she sat again, she lifted her glass and toasted, "To Alfred Jones."

"To Alfred Jones," Rachel agreed. Their glasses chimed against each other and they each took a sip. "Now... let's dig in. I skipped lunch and I'm famished."

~

"So. The numb comment from the other night," Rachel said without prompting.

Alex looked over the rim of her wineglass and raised an eyebrow.

Rachel dabbed her lips with a napkin and cleared her throat. She looked down at her half-cleared plate and shifted slightly in her seat. "I feel I should tell you about just so... you'll know. I had an older sister, my idol. She was only a few years older than me, but I just adored her. She protected me." Her eyes drifted and then snapped back to Alex. "Anyway, when I lost her..." she let that fade off. She licked her lips and took a drink before starting again, "When I lost my sister, it was like my arms had fallen off. I was... adrift. When I was sixteen, Rebecca - that's my sister - had been gone for ten years, but I was still adrift. So I started hanging out with women that were stronger than me. Women who could... protect me like Rebecca had.

"The girl I was seeing when I was eighteen, the girl I lost my virginity to, liked to prove she could protect me. She hit me... broke my little finger just to prove she could."

"Rachel," Alex whispered.

She shook her head. "It's fine. I got out before graduating high school, she vanished... I got help. It was my first and last abusive relationship. I just... have a hard time trusting people."

Alex nodded. "So... why did you trust me? I mean, not to sound ungrateful..."

Rachel smiled. "I stepped out of the elevator and I saw you sitting on that bed... and they told me you needed help. Something in me..." She shrugged her tanned shoulders and looked down at her wine. "I don't know. It was like it was the last step of putting the past behind me; helping someone stronger."

Alex shook her head. "I'm not stronger than you."

"You are," Rachel said. She reached across the table and touched Alex's hand. "I promise."

Alex stroked the back of Rachel's hand. "So... am I replacing your sister?"

"No. I've given up trying to replace her. You're just someone with big arms that I want to feel wrapped around me."

Alex shuddered - a very good shudder, a kind she hadn't felt in quite awhile - and smiled. "Can we finish eating first?" she asked.

Rachel laughed. "Sure, I can wait until we finish eating."

~

Alex resisted the urge to lick her plate, settling instead for stealing a potato from Rachel's plate. "That was the most delicious piece of fish I have ever tasted," she said as she leaned back in her seat. "You're a culinary goddess."

"A culinary demigoddess, maybe," Rachel countered as she stood. "My mother holds the title, even though she's long gone. But I accept your compliment." They gathered the dishes together and carried them into the kitchen, placing the dishes in the sink for another time. Alex put an arm around Rachel as they walked into the living room, the plan being to choose a DVD for part two of their date, but halfway there Alex stopped.

"What is it?" Rachel asked.

In lieu of a response, Alex bent down and kissed Rachel's lips. She cupped her face with both hands and moaned quietly. Her fingers lightly brushed Rachel's cheeks and moved the feather-soft waves of hair out of the way. Their tongues dueled, exchanging the essence of the meal they'd just shared, and Rachel's body went limp. When they parted, Alex looked down into Rachel's eyes and said, "It's been a while since anyone looked at me the way you have tonight."

Rachel didn't know what to say to that, so she simply pressed her face against Alex's shoulder. As they embraced, she felt the sinewy muscles of Alex's back, her strong shoulders filling out the back of the shirt. "Remember what I said about wrapping your arms around me?"

Alex flattened her palms against Rachel's shoulders, held her tight, breathed the scent of her hair. "Tight enough?" she whispered.

"I feel so safe with you," she whispered, the feel of Alex's arms around her blocking out the rest of the world. Her lips moving against the crisp material of Alex's shirt, she asked, "If I asked you to stay tonight..."

"It would save me having to ask you," Alex interrupted. Her hands were on the bare part of Rachel's back between her shoulder straps. Her fingertips were practically searing the skin.

They moved together, Rachel angling Alex back until she was against the wall. "What--" Alex asked, but quieted when Rachel shushed her. They kissed again, but only briefly before Rachel began to kiss her way down Alex's neck.

She worked the buttons of Alex's dress shirt, parting the two halves and kissing each exposed bit of flesh before she reached the arch of the white tank top underneath.

The feel of Rachel's tongue on her skin was almost too much for Alex to take. She reached her hands out to either side, chin against her collar, watching as Rachel moved lower. She kissed through the material of Alex's bra and undershirt, lifting the hem and nuzzling the exposed flesh of her abdomen with lips and tongue.

As her zipper was tugged down, Alex scooted her feet apart and looked across the room. She could see herself in the window, breasts pressing against the taut tank top as she took a deep breath. She was a crucified supplicant, her fingers digging at the wall for any kind of handhold as Rachel lowered her pants and underwear down to mid-thigh.

What followed was a miracle of the lips, the teeth, the tip of the tongue and points south. Rachel made quiet noises, spoke half-words, but the meaning wasn't important. The sound of her voice was, the vibrations her lips made, the thrumming of her tongue as she lapped at her dessert.

Alex turned her eyes skyward and focused on the black veins of the skylight. She could see the moon, could see everything, and there in a hazy reflection, herself. Herself, pants around her knees, with a beautiful woman in a beautiful gown kneeling before her as if in worship. She arched her back and moved one hand down to thread Rachel's perfect hair through her fingers as she came.

With kisses along her thighs and then slipping over her abdomen, Rachel stood again. She kissed Alex with meaning, wet lips sliding along dry, hands slipping around her waist. "Good?" Rachel asked as she pressed her forehead against Alex's.

"Mm," Alex replied, eyes closed.

Rachel bent down and pulled Alex's clothes back into place, helping her fasten the slacks. They kissed again and Rachel stepped away, going over to the couch. "What about you?" Alex asked.

"We have all night," Rachel smiled. "You should probably pace yourself."

Alex followed her, sitting on the couch and letting Rachel curl complacently against her side. *'Pace myself,'* she thought. *'Yeah. Definitely something I can do.*' Still trembling in the elbows and knees, she kissed the top of Rachel's head as the movie started.

Chapter Eleven

Did You F-in' See What Just F-in' Happened?

"You're missing the movie," Rachel said. She smiled and let her eyes drift shut as well. Her hands were under the hem of Alex's shirt, her body pinned on the couch beneath the other woman.

"So are you," Alex said as she nipped the point of Rachel's chin.

"I've seen it before."

They kissed. Alex pushed her hand between Rachel's back and the couch cushion. "Is it really, really good?"

"Mm..."

Alex rephrased her question: "Is it better than this?"

Rachel arched into Alex, moaned loudly and bit her bottom lip. "Oh, it's only okay..." She reached for the remote to silence the movie. Her fingers went limp and the remote fell to the carpet with a thud. Alex started to slip her hand beneath Rachel's dress, but the other woman squirmed and pulled her hand free. "Not down the back," she breathed. She put Alex's hand on her thigh and looked up at her with gleaming eyes. "There," she said, spreading her legs.

As Alex's hand moved north, Rachel tugged the hem of her dress up so the material wouldn't tear. She whimpered as Alex's fingertips stroked her through her underwear. She brought her left leg up and hooked it on Alex's hip. "Is this payback... for what I did to you... against the wall?" Rachel breathed, the words puffing around Alex's face.

"This," Alex said, moving her hand slightly, "is part one of payback."

"What's part two?"

Alex moved her hand again.

Rachel cried out in pleasure.

~

They moved to the bedroom, Rachel taking the lead and sitting Alex on the edge of the bed. Alex stared raptly as Rachel slowly undressed, documented every article of clothing as it was removed and carefully laid to the side. Alex shed her own shirt and underclothes, feeling silly in her slacks and bra as Rachel walked nude over to the bed. "I hate being the only one naked," she said, drawing her hand down Alex's bare stomach.

Alex took the hint and reached behind her back, finding the catch of her bra and releasing it.

"The-ere's a good girl," Rachel cooed. She bent down and kissed Alex's lips hungrily.

As they kissed, Rachel raised one knee onto the bed, straddling Alex's waist and sitting on her lap. Alex moved her hands along the outside of Rachel's thighs, holding her up as Rachel scooted closer and intensified their kiss. Alex moved her hands to tenderly cup Rachel's ass. "No higher," Rachel said against Alex's mouth.

"What?"

"Keep your hands where they are," she breathed.

Alex kissed her again and squeezed gently to let her know she didn't plan to stray. Rachel, showing her gratitude, reached down and moved her hand between Alex's thighs.

~

Almost an hour later, both nude and tangled in the sheets, Alex made a mistake.

She was sitting in the center of the bed, Rachel comfortably facing her on her lap. She had her hands on Rachel's hips and casually slipped them to the small of her back to pull the other woman closer. Rachel tensed in her arms and hissed, "Stop," but it was a second too late. Alex frowned as her fingers passed over the rough and scarred flesh, leaning forward to peer over her lover's shoulder.

Rachel pressed her face against Alex's neck, warm tears flowing from her cheeks onto Alex's shoulder. She sobbed, "I was going to tell you."

Alex flattened her palm against the burn, horrified to see that it spread beyond the span of her fingers. It ran from just below her shoulder blades, fanning out in a triangle, until it faded just above the cheeks of her ass.

"Rachel," Alex breathed.

"Can you not ask?" Rachel whispered. "Please, Alex. Just... make love to me right now. Please?"

"Okay," Alex breathed. She moved her hand to Rachel's shoulder. Her other hand went traveling as well and cupped a sensitive area. Rachel cooed and kissed Alex's shoulder.

~

Rachel curled next to Alex, her hair a dark sunburst on the pillow behind her. Alex watched her sleep, the innocent way her lips parted to murmur at dream companions. She couldn't get her mind past the scar tissue; the way it had felt, the way Rachel's demeanor had changed as soon as it was touched... She eased her way out of bed, taking care not to jostle the mattress, and found her boxers on the ground.

She put them on, settling on her blouse when she couldn't find her undershirt. Semi-dressed, she sat in the recliner across the room and looked at Rachel's sleeping form on the bed. It was just past three in the morning, the streetlight and the moon had melted across the window pane and was washing the room in a muted yellow-blue aura. From the armchair, she could see Rachel's profile glow in the combination of lights.

'Who hurt you?' she wondered, the feel of that burn imprinted on her fingers. 'Who hurt you and how can I hurt him?'

After a few minutes, Rachel stirred beneath the sheet and stretched an arm across the now-vacant side of the mattress. Her hand hesitated for a moment and, when she realized she should meet resistance, her head came up off the pillow. "Alex?"

The abandonment in her voice broke Alex's heart. "I'm here," she said softly.

When Rachel sat up, the sheet fell away to expose one bare breast. "I... I thought you left."

"No. I couldn't sleep and I didn't want to disturb you."

"Come back," Rachel breathed, lifting one hand in an imploring gesture.

Alex, unable to resist, stood and undressed before climbing back under the blankets. When they embraced, she felt the scar tissue under her hand again. Rachel winced, but not as much as she had the first time. "Now you can ask," she said, her face against Alex's collar.

"Not if you don't..."

"It's okay. I can talk about it, but not during... I can talk about it now."

Alex kissed Rachel's temple and, although she was already sure of the answer, asked, "It's a burn, right?"

"Yes." She took a shuddering breath. "I was six. My big sister picked me up and put me in a closet and I was mad at her. She was babysitting me and I thought she was just being mean. I thought she wanted to be alone with her boyfriend. But then she ducked over me, covered me with her arms and... she..."

Alex felt warm tears on her chest and stroked Rachel's back.

"The apartment was on fire," she said, her voice barely a whisper. Her breath was captured between her mouth and Alex's breast. "She was on top of me, crying. There were security bars on the windows so we couldn't get out."

Alex closed her eyes. She knew those damn bars; mildly efficient keeping burglars out, wonderfully efficient at keeping firefighters out. Murray called them "fuck-me bars."

"I don't know how much time went by. It was... s-so loud. I dream about it sometimes, but I don't know how much is real and how much I've just made up to fill the holes. I remember being curled up with my face in the corner. I remember my sister crying and screaming. I don't really remember the pain. I barely remember the hospital, but only because you don't forget a hell like that. It's funny... I was permanently scarred by the fire, but all I remember was being hurt afterward in the hospital. When I woke up, my sister was dead and my back was..." She swallowed hard. "My sister took the brunt of the flames. It... some of it got past, burned my back. The main thing I remember is Rebecca's voice in my ear saying, 'don't be afraid, Rachel, I have you, it's not going to get you.' Over and over again."

After a long moment, she continued. "Since then, I've been terrified of fire. The stove, sure, to cook... I can handle that kind of heat. But... matches. And cigarettes. It's why I got so bent out of shape about you playing with that stupid lighter. Why I asked you to light the candles in the first place. If I even hold a book of matches I start shaking like a leaf. So when I saw you in the emergency room, I just thought... I thought, 'This woman ran into a fire. This woman faced a fire and won. I have to meet her.' You made my knees weak."

"Can I ask you... the first time I put my hand there, you tensed up. But afterward, you told me you liked it. Is it okay that I keep touching it?"

"It's numb most of the time," Rachel said. "It doesn't hurt or anything. But when you have your hand there, it's like you're... protecting it. Protecting my vulnerable spot. That's why I like having your hand there. It's... intimate."

Alex embraced Rachel and fanned all ten fingers over the small of her back. Rachel nuzzled Alex's shoulder and said, "Are you going to stay until morning?"

Her face in a mask of Rachel's sleep- and sex-mussed hair, Alex said, "At least."

~

He jerked awake, checked his watch and looked up the street. Her Jeep was still there. He supposed this was the night. He sighed and sat up, rubbing his eyes and replacing his glasses. No point in sticking it out here if they were just going to stay holed up for who-knew-how long. Crawford would be on duty in a few hours. It would be the perfect time to spring his new trap.

~

Alex took the first shower and Rachel hopped into the stall immediately after. Dressed in the same clothes as the night before, Alex ate a bowl of Crunch Berries in Rachel's kitchen. When Rachel emerged from the bathroom in a terrycloth robe, they kissed and Alex poured a bowl of cereal for her. "Milk?" she asked.

"Yes, please," Rachel said.

She got the carton she'd found in the fridge and brought it back to the table while Rachel poured a glass of coffee. Alex poured her a bowl of cereal and presented it with a flourish, smirking. "It's not exactly Alaska salmon bake with pecans, but I think it'll do for breakfast." She kissed Rachel's temple and brushed a stray hair out of her face. "Happy anniversary, by the way," she said.

"What?" Rachel frowned. "Anniversary?"

"One week ago today. That was when we met in the emergency room."

"A week?" Rachel said, thinking back. "My God. Well, happy anniversary! Did you like the present I gave you last night?"

"Mm-hmm," Alex said. "In fact, I think I'm going to play with it again the next chance I get."

Rachel blushed and sipped her coffee. "Do you have to go?" Rachel asked.

"Afraid so... duty at noon and I want to get some jogging in."

"Was last night not enough of a workout for you, dear?"

Alex smiled. "That was a different kind of exercise, I think. A lot of different muscles involved, at least."

Rachel swallowed her mouthful and said, "Are we going out again soon?"

"The sooner the better," Alex said. She covered Rachel's hand with her own. "I'll have to check my schedule, though, compare it with yours."

"Yeah," Rachel nodded. "Two people with crazy schedules... we're due for a long period of frustrating conflictions."

Alex looked at the time and stood, "I should go." She leaned down and kissed Rachel, tasting Crunch Berries on her breath. "And you really should know better, being a doctor and all... I expected to find bran or kashi or something."

"I have a sophisticated and eclectic palate. And I'll have you know I *do* have some kashi," Rachel countered. "Be safe today, okay?"

"Always," Alex said. "But now that I have a reason..." They kissed again and Alex stepped away, heading for the door. "Bye. I love you."

Rachel stopped the spoon halfway to her mouth and turned in her seat. Alex was smiling at her from the door and nodded. "Yeah, I meant it." She waved again and stepped out into the hallway.

Alone in her apartment, Rachel looked down at her bowl of soggy cereal and smiled. She rested her chin on her hand and laughed, those three words echoing in her head: "I meant it."

~

Murray grabbed Alex's shoulders from behind and started knocking her back and forth. "Ready? Huh? Ready?" Then he gripped her shoulders and squeezed, giving her the roughest massage she'd ever had.

"You're gonna kill me, Murray," she said.

They were standing outside a flaming warehouse, several different streams of water crisscrossing the face of the building. They'd just arrived and were waiting for word the fire was being held back before heading to the roof to cut ventilation. Leary approached, tugging his ear. "Murray! Let's go, we've got the all-clear! Get up on that roof!"

"All right, all right, it's about time! C'mon, Crawford," Murray said, moving to the ladder.

"No, take Bugs," Leary countered. "Crawford, you're with me. Help me get these fans set up."

"Chief..." Alex started to complain.

"Bugs has the saw, she's ready to go," Leary said. "Plus, she needs the experience. Let's go!"

She followed him as Bugs climbed onto the truck with Murray. Leary hoisted the big fan and she was right behind him, unwrapping the cord from another fan as they got it off the truck. They carried the fan to the front of the building and set it on the front steps, stepping back to watch Murray and Bugs scamper up the ladder.

Murray leapt onto the ledge with the grace of a dancer, Bugs following right behind him as if choreographed. Leary grabbed his radio. "We're ready down here whenever you give us the call, Murray!"

"Things are a bit shaky up here, Chief..."

"Bugs is new," Leary said. "Give her a..."

"No, it's... Goddamn, I'm like a... holy shit, Chief!"

There was a crash, a collapsing sound echoing from inside the building as the fire roared towards the sky with renewed life. Leary automatically slammed himself into Alex, his momentum carrying her away from the building in case of collapse. They both looked over his shoulder at the carnage, the flames licking the sky. Only one explanation for its renewed vigor; it had found a new and plentiful source of oxygen. "The roof collapsed," Alex said, unable to believe what she was seeing.

"Not again," Leary breathed, agony in his voice. "Not another fucking one."

"God, Chief. Murray!" Alex exhaled.

Static burst onto their radios, followed by a very loud and very heartfelt, "Fuck me sideways!"

"Murray?" Leary said into his mike. "Murray, copy; are you there?"

"Chief! Oh, fuck, Chief, fuck me blind, hold on."

Leary looked at Alex, eyes wide. After a few minutes of silence, Leary was going for his radio to call again when the door of the building was kicked open. A firefighter, uniform charred black, burst out. Judging from size alone, there was no doubt that it was Murray. He had another, smaller firefighter held against his side as he stumbled into the cool evening air. He made it only a few steps before falling on his face.

Alex and Leary rushed over and pulled the two away from the collapse zone, calling for medics at the top of their lungs. Murray thrust his head forward and his helmet hit the ground with a solid 'thud.' He yanked off his air mask and looked up at Leary with wide, half-crazed eyes. "Did you see?! Did you f-in' see what just f-in' happened?!"

"Did you fall through a roof?" Alex asked. She knew how stupid the question was but was unable to keep it from coming out.

"Chief never told me not to," Murray said. He turned and said, "Is Heather okay?"

Alex moved to Bugs, who was being tended to by a paramedic. "Bugs, are you okay?" she asked, grasping the other woman's hand.

"Murray saved my life," she said, coughing between every other word. Blood was streaming from her blonde mop of hair, her steely blue eyes moving back and forth without focusing on anything. "Murray saved me," she repeated. "He fucking saved me."

"Yeah, he did," Alex said.

She stood and went over to the Chief, who was standing by the ladder truck. Leary looked at her and said, "So, Murray tells me the roof is ventilated now."

Alex snickered at the statement and said, "Guess we can turn on the fans." They headed for the front door, picking up the fan Murray had knocked over during his hasty retreat. As they turned on the monstrously noisy contraption, she glanced over at him and asked, "Are you okay, Chief?"

"Thought I lost both of them," he said softly. He ran his thumb across his bottom lip, shook his head and walked away. Alex watched him go, looked down at the fan and then headed over to Murray.

~

Both of them?!

*Both* of them? How was that fair? That wasn't fair!

He smacked his fist against his thigh and allowed himself a mini-tantrum inside the safety of his car. Damn. He had put so much thought into that. It was supposed to have been perfect. He exhaled and let the rage slowly seep away until he was calm again. He threw the binoculars into the passenger seat and started the car.

He'd have another chance. He would just have to be patient.

With any luck, his next trap would get the entire damn company.

Appalled, he pulled out of the parking lot with his headlights off to avoid anyone noticing him. As he merged with the flow of traffic, an idea came to him. Perhaps there was a way to salvage some fun from this fire after all. It wouldn't be the same as a death, but what in life was, really?

~

Rachel slid the file back into place and smiled at one of the intern's jokes. She was about to head down the hall to check on a patient when her cell phone vibrated in the pocket of her lab jacket. She had already forgotten about the crank calls the day before and withdrew the phone, hitting the 'talk' button and saying, "Dr. Rachel Tom."

A hoarse, low voice replied. "Your girlfriend just died in a fire. My condolences."

He hung up without another word. She looked down at the phone in her shaking hand, eyes wide as her brain processed his words. One part of her brain told her that it wasn't true, couldn't be true, it was just the cruelest joke anyone had ever played on her. But then, another part of her brain whispered, 'but what if it is true?'

She moved down the hall, slowly building speed until she was running. She burst into the waiting room and snatched the remote from a man sleeping in an easy chair.

She changed the channel, surfing aimlessly until she found live footage of another warehouse fire. She saw the medic truck on the scene with its lights flashing, saw the firefighters milling around on two sides of the building... saw that the entire roof had collapsed, leaving a gaping maw spitting fire at the sky. From another dimension, she heard the reporter say that two firefighters had fallen through the surprisingly weak roof.

She hit the floor, her knees crying out in protest as they smacked the linoleum. Later, they told her that she'd screamed loud enough to be heard at the nurse's desk, but she didn't remember that at all.

~

Murray sat on his gurney, finally calmed down enough to sit still, looking down at Bugs as he breathed through the oxygen mask. The fire had been knocked down and all that remained was clearing the wreckage. Leary approached the medic truck, climbing onto the bumper and glancing at Bugs before he said, "All right, Murray, what the hell happened up there?"

Murray pulled his mask off and shook his head. "Okay, uh... we made it onto the roof, but something was hinky up there, man."

"Kinky?" Leary asked.

"No, hinky. Not quite... kosher."

"How?"

Murray seemed lost for a moment. After he'd had a moment to think, he shook his head. "All I remember clearly is falling. I thought I was dead meat for sure..." Clearing his throat, he said, "The roof was way too unstable. Shaky. It got really bad after Bugs started cutting... like we were just standing on a surfboard made out of plywood. The roof started to buckle, so I jumped and grabbed Bugs. Figured I'd..." He exhaled. "I don't know. I guess I figured she could use me to break her fall or something, I don't know. I wasn't thinking."

"And you just walked away?" Leary asked, sounding as if he wouldn't believe it if he hadn't seen it with his own two eyes. "That was a three-story drop in there, man."

"Bugs hurt her knee and hip. Not bad, but I had to help her walk outta there."

"Where did you land?"

"There were no fucking floors, Chief... just air, all the way down to the ground level. We hit this big pile of crap... I don't even know what it was. I was on fire, but Bugs patted me out and we got outta there like the hounds of Satan were on our heels." He shrugged and muttered, "Probably ain't too far from the truth..."

Bugs said something into her mask, so Leary moved to her side and removed it.

"The rafters," she said. "I saw them when we landed... just barely... They were all screwed up..."

"It's an old building," Leary said.

"No... They looked like clean cuts. Like someone sawed through them."

Leary looked over his shoulder and spotted Crawford amid the overhaul crew. "Sounds like the arsonist theory might hold water after all." He clapped Bugs on the shoulder and said, "Get well soon, Riley. They only give us so many replacements during the calendar year."

"I'll be back ASAP, Chief, promise."

Leary climbed out of the truck and grabbed the doors, seeing Bugs take Murray's hand before he shut the door on them. He turned and stalked back towards the building. If someone was setting traps, like Crawford suggested, if they were trying to kill *his* firefighters... this was going to be the last damn time.

~

"It was like something out of the movies," Alex said, "the way Murray came strutting out of that building with Bugs? Oh, man, me without my camcorder."

Wizell slapped Murray on the leg. "I thought I told you to leave the heroics to me, ay? Or at least time them so I'm around to see it! Man, I cannot believe I missed Mr. Hero here. Three damn floors, man!"

"Excuse me," a nurse said from the edge of the curtain.

"Sorry you missed the big show, Weasel. But did Superman time his heroics so the spectators could watch? Did Batman?"

"You calling me Lois Lane?" Wizell asked.

Alex nodded at the other bed. "If anyone's Lois Lane, it's Bugs here. How's that IV drip working out for you, Riley?"

Bugs gave a thumbs-up. "I'm thinking of coming here after shifts from now on."

"Excuse me," the nurse said again.

Wizell finally heard her and stepped to one side. "Sorry, sweetheart," he said as she walked in.

"Look, Murray," Alex said. "You do realize we're never going to let you live this down, right? The teasing begins now! Okay, so, how many drivers does it take to completely screw up a ventilation cut?"

The nurse put a hand on Alex's arm. "Excuse me."

"Can it wait?" Alex asked. She had a whole list of jokes she couldn't wait to unleash on Murray.

The nurse tried to smile, but it didn't work very well. "I'm sorry to interrupt, but do you know a Rachel Tom?"

Alex frowned. "Yeah."

"There's been an incident."

The blood immediately drained from Alex's face.

~

The nurse looked up at the smell of smoke, automatically prepared to chew out whoever had lit the cigarette. Instead, she saw a frightened looking woman with soot-blackened face charging towards the desk. "Rachel collapsed?" she asked. She put her dirty hands on the counter and left two starfish-shaped smudges. She was wearing her bunker pants, wide suspenders holding them up over her once-white department t-shirt. Her hair was standing up in spikes, her blue eyes wide and searching. "Is there someone here who..."

"You mean Dr. Tom?" the nurse said.

"They said she collapsed," the firefighter said, snapping her eyes forward again, locking onto the voice of someone who might be able to help her. "Where is she, is she all right?"

"She's fine," the nurse said, coming around the edge of the desk. "She's right this way."

She led the firefighter down the corridor and knocked on the door frame as she stepped inside. "Dr. Tom? There's a..."

The firefighter shoved past her and made a bee-line for the bed. "Rachel, what happened? Are you all right?"

"Alex," Rachel gasped. She held her arms out for a hug and caught Alex just before she hit the bed. The nurse who'd been sitting with Dr. Tom rose from the easy chair, heading for the door. Both nurses left and closed the door behind them.

~

Alex sat on the edge of the bed, cradling Rachel under her arm. Rachel was sipping her apple juice and staring at her sneakers. "I feel like such a fool," she said. "Everyone making such a fuss over me..."

"You collapsed in the waiting room... correction, they said you *screamed* and collapsed. What happened?"

"Someone called me," she said, keeping her voice low. "They said 'Your girlfriend just died in a fire.'"

"What?!" Alex growled.

"Honey," Rachel said quietly, touching Alex's blackened hand. "Of course, I... figured it was just a crank call. I got a couple of those yesterday. But I turned on the news and there was this huge fire and they were talking about firefighters falling through a roof..."

"That was Murray and Bugs."

Rachel gasped. "Not that sweet man I met at the funeral... oh, God, and the blonde..."

"No, they're fine. They're a little banged up, they're downstairs getting the royal treatment, actually, but I'm fine."

Rachel sighed and closed her eyes. "I need to get over this. I can't panic and flail and fall down every time you leave for work in the morning. You could die in a fire, but I could get pricked with an infected needle. It's a crap shoot. We shouldn't spend all our time worrying about what may happen."

Alex rubbed her shoulder and said, "Maybe you're just... maybe last night..."

With a grin, Rachel pressed her face against Alex's shoulder. "What, you think now that we've slept together, I'm going to turn into an obsessive loony?"

Alex smiled. "You're the one getting all melodramatic in the waiting room."

Rachel sat up and said, "I'll be fine. I just have to call my cell company about these damn crank calls."

"Have they all been this bad?"

"No, the ones yesterday were just hang-ups... More annoying than anything else. This is the first time the guy spoke to me."

Alex shuddered. "It's a little frightening, though, right? That someone knows you at least well enough to know about me."

"I'm choosing to ignore that at the moment. The last thing I need is a stalker."

Alex hugged Rachel and kissed the top of her head. "Yeah... I got here first."

Rachel laughed and pushed away, sliding off the bed. "I have to get back at work before they declare me legally dead. Thank you for coming to make sure I was okay."

"I couldn't stay away," Alex said. They kissed at the door and parted ways. As she reached for the elevator call button, the doors parted and Leary stepped out. He scanned the corridor before glancing to his left and seeing her. "Chief, what are you doing here?" she asked, moving over to him.

"Been looking for you... they said you were up here. How is... uh..."

"Rachel. She's fine. Just a little episode."

"Glad to hear it," he said. He took her by the elbow and dragged her into the elevator car he'd just vacated. "Based on something Murray told me, I called the arson investigator and had him take a quick look at the latest fire. Turns out the rafters were cut by some sort of power tool. It was deliberate and it looks like it was done recently."

"How can he tell that?" Alex asked. Her mind was racing at what she was being told. An arsonist *was* targeting them. God, how could that be true?

"Something to do with weather and exposure... He said that the, uh, wear and tear were uneven or... something," Leary said. He waved dismissively. "I don't know the details. The important part is that I'm sorry for not listening to you before. These fires were definitely set. Someone out there is trying to hurt us."

Alex shook her head. "Okay, playing devil's advocate... how do we know this fire is related to the other ones?"

"It's just like the other two; it was also designed and developed from the ground up by Lancaster Designs, Incorporated. Project headed by Martin Lancaster."

Alex groaned and slumped against the wall of the elevator. "So who is the target? Us or Lancaster?"

"Von Elm is on his way over to talk with Lancaster now. I figured with your history..."

"Aw, Chief," she groaned.

He held up his hands. "Hear me out. Your history, plus... if you walk in looking the way you do now, he may feel sympathetic. We might learn something useful."

"So I'm there to be pitied?"

"No. I meant the look in your eye when you thought Murray and Bugs were dead. I'm talking about how Murray said you looked half insane when you heard Rachel might be hurt. I want you to scare that little jackass into cooperating."

Alex smiled. "That, I think I'm capable of."

~

He watched the news coverage, smiling the entire time despite the failure to kill anyone. Three fires, one casualty. He was so far behind schedule it was barely tolerable, but this mass panic was wonderful. Every major news station in town was playing footage of the fire, one of them combining their coverage with shots of all the fires in the past week. "Must be a month for fires," one reporter intoned with a raised eyebrow.

"Oh, yes," he responded to the screen. "Oh, yes, indeed."

Helicopters had circled the latest building like maverick honeybees, each making sure their network got its fair share of tragic entertainment.

It was magnificent. He only wished the fire had burned longer. The firemen were far too efficient in getting the blaze to die down.

He turned back to his desk and opened the file. He sorted through the paperwork and tried to decide which would be his next project. Seven buildings, all abandoned and none scheduled for demolition. All standing, skeletons of their former glory, homes to rats of both the vermin and human variety. They gathered garbage, blocked sunlight, they were called eyesores and bore embarrassing "Condemned" signs over their shamed faces. He could get them legally demolished easy enough, but... the thought of big machines pushing them over would make him nothing more than a bully. No, with fires, they ended their lives with dignity at the very least.

No more would they be ignored, he had vowed. They would not only be given a proper burial, they would go out in a literal blaze of glory. Their final moments would be seen by all and feared by anyone who had the misfortune to be nearby. But the damn firefighters...

He admitted he needed them. By taking a life, the building fulfilled its destiny. It accepted its place in the hearts of at least a handful of firefighters who would never forget the building that took their friend. A sacrifice to the gods.

He had a few things he wanted to try... new accelerants, new traps to set up. He was still furious that his rafter snare had come up empty. He'd worked a long time on that. Ah, well... he would just have to up the ante next time.

He pulled Crawford's cell phone from his desk drawer and stared at it for a long time. Was it too soon to put in another call to Rachel Tom? His finger was poised over the button when an intercom on his desk buzzed. He sighed and answered. "I asked not to be disturbed during the news."

"Yes, sir, I'm sorry. But there are some people here to see you."

Frowning, he stuck the cell phone back into his desk drawer and glanced at the door of his office. Who would be here to see him? He had no appointments. "Yes, sure, send them in," he said.

The door opened and his secretary escorted the unannounced visitors in. He couldn't resist smiling. "Alex! How nice to see you... and who is your friend?"

"Fire Marshal Bill Von Elm," the portly man said. "We need to have a talk about the recent fires, Mr. Lancaster."

He had to fight to keep his smile. Things had just taken a definite turn for the worst.

Chapter Twelve

Mill About Smartly

Lancaster's smile seemed to waver slightly, but it came back in full force a heartbeat later. "Of course," he said, regaining his composure. He straightened his tie and ushered them into the office. "Please, come in." He looked past them at the secretary. "Thank you, Sandra, that will be all... u-unless our guests would like something to drink. Coffee? Tea or lemonade...?"

"No, we're fine."

"Okay, thank you, Sandra."

The elderly secretary nodded and stepped out of the room. Lancaster closed the door behind her and indicated the seats in front of his desk. "Alexandra, Marshal Von Elm... or should I call you Mr. Von Elm, which..."

"Marshal is fine," Von Elm muttered, sinking into the leather seat the developer had indicated.

Alex remained standing, indicating her soiled bunker pants as an excuse. She was wearing the same thing she'd worn to the hospital, per Leary's instructions, and had felt incredibly conspicuous waiting for an elevator in the pristine lobby of Lancaster Designs, Inc. "I would prefer Ms. Crawford, while we're on the subject of names."

Lancaster looked at her for a moment, and then held his hands out. "Very well, suppose I can't argue with that." He walked around his desk and carefully lowered himself into his own seat. "Now, *Ms*. Crawford, Marshal Von Elm, to what do I owe this unexpected visit?"

Von Elm spoke. "I was assigned to look over a few recent fires. During the course of our investigation, we discovered some disturbing evidence that indicates fires are the product of an arsonist. We think the same firebug is responsible for all of the fires."

"Oh, dear," Lancaster said, his face paling. "Someone like that, running around in a town like this? Do you have any idea who it might be?"

"No," Von Elm admitted. "At the moment, we're not even sure who the true target is. Every fire seems to be aimed at eliminating the firefighters that respond, but we also have to deal with the fact that all the buildings are projects of your corporation."

"Is that true?" he asked, leaning forward. "I... thought I was just being paranoid. Oh, my goodness, if somehow my buildings a-are more susceptible to arson, I must offer my most sincere apologies..."

Alex shook her head. "No, it's not your buildings. I inspected a lot of them myself and they seem sound. We also have to consider that it's just a coincidence. Your company does very well and the fact that the arsonist keeps picking your buildings might just be luck of the draw."

"Hmm." He smiled weakly and sat back in his chair. "The one time I win the luck of the draw..."

Von Elm smirked. "Look, Mr. Lancaster, basically we just wanted to know if you had any enemies... rivals that might want to tarnish your company's reputation or cause you financial troubles."

"Financial troubles aren't an issue... all these buildings are insured." He glanced at Alex and said, "Which I hope you won't take as a motive. It's a smart business practice to..."

"We understand, Mr. Lancaster," Alex said. "But try to think... Is there *anyone* you know that would want to hurt you in this way?"

He ran a finger along his top lip and stared at the window for a moment. "I'm afraid I can't think of anyone specific off the top of my head," he sighed and shrugged apologetically. "My enemies, what few there are, tend to aim for my pocketbook. And we're not talking subtle snipers here. I've been had court dates five out of the past eight weeks. If anyone was going to try and hurt me, they'd do it there. In the courtroom, with the legal system behind them."

"I had no idea you were in such dire legal straits, Mr. Lancaster."

"It's worse than it sounds, really," he said. "Land rights, property lines in dispute, people suing because my new development blocks their view of the mountains or some such nonsense. It's usually settled out of court."

"Anyone take umbrage at their settlement? Maybe think they weren't getting what they deserved, decided to take a pound of flesh along with their money?"

Lancaster grinned. "As Ms. Crawford could probably attest, Marshal, I'm a very charming man. Usually, when the case is over, the plaintiffs thank me and apologize for taking my time."

Alex rolled her eyes at the comment and noticed Lancaster was pushing his chair back and forth with one foot. He seemed relaxed, almost at ease with the world around him. She frowned; he'd been antsy when they had arrived, but now that he was hearing their questions it was almost as if he had not a care in the world. "May I ask you a question, Mr. Lancaster?"

"Of course, Ms. Crawford."

"How do you feel about firefighters?"

He blinked and tilted his head. "Well, I don't know. How do you mean?"

"Just... in general. If you see a fire engine on the street, what's your first thought?"

Lancaster glanced at Von Elm and shrugged. "I... don't know. I hope no one is hurt. I hope it's not my building they're heading for..." He smiled and held his hands out. "I must confess, I don't spend a lot of my time thinking about them. It's a shame, too, considering the invaluable duty they serve."

*'Hard to believe,'* she thought, *'considering the number of times you've called the firehouse, all the times you've dropped off snacks, all the pestering you've done...'* She bit back the cutting remarks lined up on her tongue and said, "Do you know what a flashover is, Mr. Lancaster?"

"Yes," he sighed, scratching his temple. "That's a kind of food, isn't it? No, wait, I'm thinking of apple turnovers." He looked at Von Elm, as if expecting a laugh or a rim shot, and then shook his head. "I'm afraid the answer is no, Ms. Crawford, I don't know what a flashover is."

"It's not important," Alex said.

"Any other questions?" Von Elm asked. She shook her head and the Marshal stood, smoothing his shirt over his belly. "All right, then. Thank you for your time, Mr. Lancaster. We just wanted to let you know that this guy seemed to be focusing on your buildings and see if you might be able to point us in the right direction."

"I'm sorry I couldn't be of more help."

He shook hands with the Marshal, then turned and extended his hand to Alex. She looked at him for a moment and reached out to grasp his hand. "It was nice to see you again, Alex."

She pinched off a smile and nodded her head once. "Back at ya, Marty."

He suddenly tightened his grip on her hand, his eyes blazing for a moment before returning to normal. Calmly, he said, "Martin... if you would please."

"Right. Sorry."

He relaxed his grip and Alex squeezed. Martin's foot stuttered forward and he muttered a quick, "Ah," before he could stop himself. Alex smiled and released his hand. He cupped the hand, massaging the knuckles.

Alex shrugged. "Sorry. Don't know my own strength."

He escorted them to the door of his office and thanked them for letting him know of the potential problem with his buildings. When they were alone in the hall, Von Elm stepped close to Alex and said, "What the hell was all that in there? Flashover, the whole hand deal... Is Lancaster a suspect?"

"Lancaster is a prick," she said, shaking her head. "Leary shouldn't have sent me... I hate this guy."

"Really," Von Elm said sarcastically, leading the way down the hall. "If only there was some way to decipher your complex system of communication."

She lifted her right hand, showing him her middle finger.

"Now what is *that* supposed to mean?"

~

Martin walked back to his desk, fuming. How much did they know? If they were going to arrest him or even interrogate him, there's no way they would have just left like that. But Alex - pardon... *Ms.* Crawford - had been glaring at him throughout the interview, almost as if she knew he was responsible. The marshal seemed as blindsided by her questions as Lancaster himself, so it obviously wasn't a good-cop, bad-cop performance. Alex had to have seen something that made her suspect him. Maybe he'd overplayed his crush on her. It didn't matter now anyway.

He sat behind his desk and stared at the closed file of potential targets. Crawford. It all came back to her. She had been a nice distraction - hypnotic eyes, strong arms - but she was becoming a nuisance. And from what he'd seen of her dates with the doctor, he didn't have a chance with her anyway. Shame... such beauty wasted on another women.

He leaned back in his chair, wishing there was a way to ensure that she would be the sacrifice in the next fire. There was no way to do that unless he was privy to Leary's command decisions. There was by-the-book and there was the experience factor. He wasn't sure he could trust the Chief to do the anticipated thing.

Closing his eyes, he tried to think of a way to remove Leary from the equation. The only way he could think of accomplishing his goals would be if there was a situation Alex absolutely, positively had to be in. His eyes opened as a plan started to form in his mind. There was one way to assure where Alexandra Crawford would be during a fire. It would mean deviating from his original plan, of course, but it would be worth it to get that suspicious bitch out of his way. Then he could continue without her interfering.

~

The next morning, Alex left the bunks and headed for the kitchen. She froze when she spotted the cluster of bodies within the bunker area, talking in hushed voices. "Whoa. Someone having a panty raid and forget to call me?"

Wizell, instantly identifiable due to the bandages on his neck and his oddly shaped head, turned and flashed his trademark grin. "Hey, Crawford. Come on down, give us a hand."

Chief Leary and Captain Franklin were standing next to him, a sign that whatever they were up to was at least approved by the bosses. William Sawyer, Murray's rival on the engine, smiled as he handed her a roll of crepe paper. "Time to get in touch with your artistic side, Crawfish."

It was a tradition in the firehouse to decorate someone's locker after a big event like a wedding, divorce, birthday and the like. She looked at the locker and saw that Murray was the intended victim this time. Banners with 'Fireproof!' branded on them covered the front of the locker door. "What's all this about?" she smiled as she took a roll of crinkled paper.

"Murray has been cleared for duty," Wizell explained. "One day after falling through a freaking roof, he and Bugs are both coming back."

"Wow," Alex said, raising her eyebrows. "I thought Bugs hurt her leg or her hip or something?"

Leary said, "She was banged up, but she called in this morning and the doc seems to think it was just a bruise. She's going to get an x-ray this morning and then be with us in time for lunch."

"Excellent," Alex said. "But... well, if we're decorating, shouldn't we give Wizell's locker a sign that says 'Quit milking it, you pussy'?"

Wizell nailed her in the face with a roll of scotch tape.

~

Alex was in the den playing some sort of boxing video game with Wizell. Alex's character, Ray "Boom Boom" Mancini, was pummeling Wizell's version of Ali. As he neared a TKO, Wizell griped, "That fire must've ruined my reflexes. I swear, I can't move this thumb near as well as I used to..."

"There goes your social life," Alex said. On the screen, the digital Mancini served an upper-cut to The Greatest, dropping him to the mat.

She threw her arms up in victory and Wizell cursed at the game. He pointed at her and said, "It's a good thing you're a firefighter. If you were really Mancini, you would've ruined boxing forever with that dirty fighting."

"TKO, baby. Whine to your momma."

She glanced at the door and saw Bugs watching, a slight smile on her lips. "Hey, Bugsy. Come on, let's show Wizell how dangerous a girl fight can really be."

"I'll take a rain check on that. But could I pull you away for a minute or two? There's something I need to talk with you about."

"I'm all ears," Wizell said, resetting the game to fight against the computer.

Bugs thumped him on the back of the head and motioned to Alex. "Do you mind?"

"No, it's all right." She patted Wizell on the back when she passed by and said, "Next time, I'll be Mancini and you can be Duk Koo Kim."

"No way, man, I know how that fight ended!"

Alex laughed and followed Bugs into the apparatus bay. They went outside, walking across the grass to a quiet spot next to the kitchen window. Bugs leaned against the wall, withdrawing a cigarette and offering one to Alex. "No, thanks. What did you need to talk about?"

Bugs inhaled a lungful of smoke and blew it out slowly through her nose and mouth. Alex stood upwind, away from the exhaled flow and stuck her hands into her back pockets as she waited. Without preamble, Bugs blurted, "I slept with Murray last night."

Alex blinked, whipping her head around to look at Bugs' face, certain she had heard wrong. "You, uh..."

"I know how stupid it was, I know I should've walked away, should have known better, I told all that crap to myself this morning when I woke up and realized what I'd done, so we can skip that part of the lecture."

"Are we also skipping the part about your fiancé?"

Bugs shrugged.

"Shit, Heather. What were you thinking?"

"I was thinking that I had just fallen through a flaming building with this guy who held my hand on the way to the hospital. I remember feeling more scared than ever before and him being there for me. I wasn't thinking. When we landed in that building, before he pulled me up, I told myself that I was a goner. I didn't think there was a way out. My leg hurt, I figured I was probably paralyzed anyway... I was prepared to die. But then Murray picked me up and practically carried me out of that building. I'd be dead if he hadn't fallen with me."

Alex leaned against the wall, watching the traffic go by the station. "Don't try to prolong it," she suggested. "Let Murray know it was what it was; a one-night stand." She looked over and said, "That *is* what it is, right?"

"Yeah, of course," Bugs said, nodding emphatically. She took a drag on her cigarette and examining the ash before she flicked it into the grass. "It's just..."

"Uh-oh," Alex said, anticipating that even worse news was on its way.

"You never go into a fire without the proper tools. You get into trouble like that. But sometimes, when you're caught off-guard, you might find yourself in a flaming inferno without your halligen or your PASS device. We didn't, ah... Murray and I weren't fully equipped."

Alex frowned. "I saw you on the truck."

"After the fire," Bugs said. She raised her eyebrows and gestured with her cigarette. "After..."

"Oh, shit," Alex muttered. "You didn't use anything?!"

"Murray graduated from high school a long time ago, Alex. Guys don't exactly carry condoms around in their wallets these days. I... didn't plan on it."

"You and your fiancé... you don't have birth control pills? A diaphragm?"

Bugs averted her gaze to look intently at the grocery store across the street. "We decided we wanted kids right away. So we... we've been trying."

"I hope your fiancé has really dark skin," Alex said.

"There's a chance that we... that nothing really happened," Bugs said.

Alex rolled her eyes. "Either what you guys did can lead to a baby or it can't. There's not a whole lot of middle-ground on procreation. Which is it?"

"We... uh," she stopped and exhaled. Finally, she shook her head and rubbed her temple with two fingers. "We did a lot of stuff. But... I don't know, I can't remember where we drew the line. If anywhere."

"High school biology time..."

Bugs sighed. "We did what you do to have a baby. I just don't know if Murray... you know... when he was inside..."

"Oh, God, please, take these mental images away from me," Alex groaned. She turned and leaned against the wall next to Bugs. "Okay, where do I come in? What do you want me to do?"

"I don't know. I just kind of had to tell someone. I thought you'd be the least judgmental, but I guess I was wrong."

Alex laughed. "Oh, no, you were right on the money. You do *not* want Chief Leary or Franklin or, hell, even Holt finding out about what you just told me. You slept with another firefighter. The Chief is highly intolerant of this kind of thing." She brushed her mouth and thought about her options. "Okay. I assume you know about the morning-after pill? Is that an option?"

"My regular doctor is friends with my family. He went to college with my fiancé, so... even with the confidentiality..."

Alex nodded. "The fact that someone close to you knows is a little..."

"Gross. And I'd think about it every time we ran into each other. And who knows, he may spill the beans."

"Does confidentiality not mean anything to this guy?"

Bugs shrugged. "There's protocol and then there's friends-for-life. There's a chance he'd bring up prescribing the pills the next time they were out for a good-ol'-boy drinking binge. I can't risk it getting out."

Alex sighed, "Jesus, Bugs, you're really in it." She scratched her cheek and shook her head. "All right, I know a doctor who can help us. She'll check you out and get you a morning-after pill. And from now on, if you're going to make mistakes like this, get your hands on some birth control, all right?"

Bugs nodded and said, "It was just that it seemed like Murray was the only real thing, you know? After the fire?" She took a drag off her cigarette and shrugged. "I called my fiancé on the phone and he... was scared. And he was compassionate and loving. But there was a voice in the back of my mind that kept saying 'He doesn't get it. He doesn't get how scary it was, or how I thought I was going to die or how I *prepared* myself to die. And he'll never get it.' And then, there was Murray. Who not only went through it with me, but saved my life. And... it wasn't just about sex, Alex. It was about him being there. And me being there. And just... being there right then. You know?"

"Yeah," Alex admitted. She chewed her bottom lip and sagged against the wall again. "Look, we'll have my doctor friend look you over, make sure Murray didn't give you any STDs or vice versa. She'll make sure everything's good. With any luck, your fiancé is none-the-wiser and you go on living with this secret. Can you do that?"

"Yeah," Bugs nodded. "Thanks, Alex."

"No problem." She patted Bugs on the shoulder and said, "I'll get those tests set up this afternoon, after shift, okay?"

"Sure. I owe you one."

"We're good," Alex assured her. "Just... for the love of God, never pull me aside to tell me you slept with Wizell."

Bugs laughed and said, "Believe me, that happens and you'll read about it in my suicide note."

They headed back inside, spotting Murray in the den with Wizell. She put a hand on Bugs' shoulder and said, "Go across the bay."

"And do what?"

"I don't care... just mill about smartly," she said, meaning for Bugs to just wander around and look busy. Bugs headed towards the equipment locker and Alex went into the den. She rounded the chair and straddled Murray's legs, blocking the TV. He cleared his throat and looked up at her with his eyebrows raised. "Not that I'm complaining about the view, but I'm kind of in the middle of something here..."

"Go talk," Alex said.

"I'm just..."

"Go," she said, nodding into the bay. "Talk."

Murray looked over his shoulder and followed her gaze. He spotted Bugs standing by the equipment. He sighed and handed her his controller. He pulled his legs back and stood up. "You know?"

"A little. Go on, have a nice chat."

He nodded and slipped out of the room. As Alex sat down, Wizell watched Murray go and said, "Who does he have to talk to?"

"He knows."

"About what?"

"Again... he knows."

Wizell sighed and shook his head, hitting his controller to resume the game. "Ya stop watching a soap opera for one week and suddenly you don't know any of the characters..."

Alex laughed and patted his shoulder. "It's all right. You'll be back in the swing of things before you know it. Now..." she said, picking up her controller. "Prepare your ass for a royal reaming."

~

Alex unlocked her apartment door, tossed her bag inside and went back down the hall. She picked up the package resting on top of her neighbor's welcome mat and rapped her knuckles against the wall. She heard the chair hit the wall - a steady series of bangs - and then the shuffling of a walker being pushed across the hardwood floor. When the door opened, the security chain was still in place and a moon-shaped face peered out at her.

"Hello, Mr. Round," she said, lifting the package. "You have a delivery."

"Ooh!" he said, his high-pitched voice wavering. He closed the door and moved the chain out of the way. When the door opened again, his entire body was revealed. Alex always thought he looked like one of those "It's a Boy!" balloons with arms and legs made of ribbon. He was wearing a green sweater and a white shirt with a bowtie, his entire wardrobe apparently bought from Stock Grandpas 'R Us. He smiled up at her, his glasses perched on the end of his button-nose. "Who is it from?"

"Your son," she said, reading the return address as she handed it over. Both the addressee and sender names ended with Round, so Alex was forced to accept the fact that this man had actually grown to fit his name. He took the package, smiling down at it. "Looks like another bottle of Scotch," she guessed.

"Oh, yes, yes, he's too good to me!"

"Enjoy it, Mr. Round."

He nodded and said, "Oh, I will! I will! And you'll have to bring your boyfriend around and share some with me!"

Alex sighed. "I've told you, Mr. Round..."

"Yes, the girls, I remember. But I figured that if you were going to let that man drive your car, then..."

Alex blinked, not hearing the rest of what Mr. Round said. "Wait a minute," she interrupted, putting a hand on his wrist. "What do you mean 'drive my car'? Who did you see in my car? When?"

He shrugged. "I don't know... It was a few nights ago, pretty late. I just assumed he had driven it somewhere."

"Start from the beginning," she said, heart pounding. "A few days ago, you saw a man in my car? What time was it?"

"Well, I was looking out my window at the stars, as I always do, you know. It must have been past eleven. And, you know, the view from up here is so much better when you get above all the street lights and headlights and..."

"Please, Mr. Round..."

He cleared his throat, hugging his package to his chest. "Well, I happened to look down and I saw your Jeep. I saw someone in it and, at first I just assumed it was you. Then, the door opened and a man got out. He walked across the alley and got into another car and drove away. I figured he had driven you someplace."

"Can you describe the man?"

"He was just a shadow to me. I'm sorry. Did I do something wrong?"

"No, Mr. Round, I'm sorry. I shouldn't be grilling you like this. Thank you for telling me."

She bid him farewell and practically ran into her apartment. Her cell phone *had* been in her car. Whoever had broken in had to have stolen it. She grabbed her house phone and dialed her cell, listening angrily for whoever it was to answer. After seven rings, it went to voice mail. She cursed and hung up, heading across the apartment and staring out the window.

She watched a limping dog, probably the same one from a few nights ago, inching down the sidewalk, trying to keep up with her racing mind. Someone had broken into her Jeep, left no sign they'd been there and had stolen only her cell phone? The coins in her ashtray hadn't even been touched. And in this neighborhood, all cars were just bundles of pieces waiting to be dismantled and sold.

As she pondered the mystery, her mind kept tugging her back to the arsons. Lancaster was hiding something. She was sure of it.

The buildings were all insured. Maybe Lancaster had hired someone to torch them, get the money. Maybe the lawsuits against his company were bleeding him dry, sending him deeper and deeper into the bankruptcy well. He finds a firebug who likes to watch flames dance, gives him a couple of addresses and the guy gets his rocks off burning a few old and abandoned buildings. The firebug is satisfied and Lancaster gets to sit back, wait for the insurance company to call and he gets an instant payday.

But if he was going into debt, he certainly wasn't showing any signs of it. She was still getting called out to regular building inspections. If the company was losing money, how on earth could he afford to continue developing all these new buildings? She sighed and sat down on the couch, putting her feet up and closing her eyes.

It was pointless to play detective, especially when there was no real evidence Lancaster had done anything. She reached for the house phone again and dialed another number, this time getting a reply on the second ring. "Dr. Rachel Tom," a sleepy voice said. "Who may I ask is calling?

"The love of your life."

"Okay, Rhonda, but we'll have to make it fast. I'm expecting a call from Alex Crawford soon."

Though sure Rachel was kidding, Alex was surprised to feel her heart drop. "Hey, Rachel... please, don't joke like that."

"Okay," Rachel said. "Is something wrong?"

"Long day," Alex sighed, covering her eyes with her hand. She was surprised to find wetness on her cheeks. "God," she managed, sniffling and wiping at her eyes.

"Murray and Bugs?"

"Yeah," she breathed.

"The fire or the... other thing?" Rachel asked. Alex had spoken with Rachel about Bugs needing the morning-after pill earlier and had explained the whole sordid mess over the phone. Rachel had set the appointment for the next day, explaining that the 'morning-after' reference was a misnomer and the pill would still be effective if taken within 72-hours of intercourse.

"The fire. Murray wanted me on the roof with him. The Chief overruled him, sent Bugs up instead. If it had been me... Murray wouldn't have been watching as closely. I may have..."

"Hey, what did we just talk about yesterday? No second-guessing, no 'what if' or 'if only' talk. You're here. Bugs and Murray are both alive, too... *really* alive judging by the tests I'm supposed to do tomorrow." Alex couldn't resist smiling at that. "It just wasn't your time. It wasn't theirs, either."

Alex stared at the ceiling. "Time. That doesn't matter."

"What do you mean?"

"Someone is setting these fires. They're trying to kill firefighters. The fire yesterday, the rafters on the roof where Bugs was trying to cut had been sawed through. The roof was too weak and collapsed. Someone is trying to kill us, Rachel."

There was silence on the other end of the line. After a moment, she said, "My God, Alex. Who would... who could be that evil?"

Something snapped together in Alex's mind like puzzle pieces. She blinked and said, "Someone evil enough to call and tell you that I had died in the fire."

"You think the arson and my prank calls are connected to each other?"

"They have to be." She sat up. "My neighbor told me that he saw someone in my car a few nights ago. I figured they'd stolen my cell phone, but I didn't put it together with your crank calls until right now. Shit," she breathed. "This guy has all my numbers. He has all my contacts. He's the one who's been calling you."

"This is scary, Alex."

Alex hesitated and said, "He may not be targeting firefighters. He may be targeting *me.*"

Chapter Thirteen

Slowly, Sadly, Lonely

Martin Lancaster had a perfect view of Shepherd outside his office window. Night had fallen and most of his employees had gone home. Some of them had families and others might even have night jobs... the majority of them were married, either to a person or to some vice. He wasn't sure what they did outside these walls and he didn't pretend to care. His secretary had stopped by to see if he needed anything else before she left and he had sent her away. He knew she was widowed and had two grown kids; he'd seen their pictures on her desk and knew them only as Ugly Boy and Slutty Girl. Their real names were useless to him.

He was taking the night off, a well-deserved rest from the exhausting work of setting fires. As much as he hated to admit it, he was becoming disillusioned. What good was it if the fires didn't work? The firefighters were pretty much in the same position they were before, minus one stinking probie. For all he knew, that kid was meant to die in a fire anyway. He couldn't claim that one with any sense of pride. It was like bragging about stepping on a spider. No thrill, no skill, no guts.

The city was quiet tonight. He wondered if there would be any legitimate fires tonight... perhaps another arsonist would come to his aid. It wasn't like he held the monopoly on setting blazes. If someone else joined in the fun, well, it would be all the more fun, wouldn't it? Turn that damn investigator on his ass trying to catch two birds with one net or something like that.

He sipped his vodka and grimaced. It had been his father's drink and he'd never seen the appeal. But his image of a CEO, the mental picture of the man behind this desk, always included a tumbler of alcohol, almost always vodka. So he kept up the tradition.

The vodka was a salute to his grandfather, a Russian immigrant who had come to this country and promptly been beaten and robbed in an alley. He'd survived, but only just barely. When he was up and about once more, he sold most of the family's meager possession and used it to buy the building flanking the alley where he'd been robbed of his dignity. Anatoly Laenko became Anthony Lancaster. Everyone in the family had a traditional Russian name to go with their American name. Behind closed doors, they called the bland American monikers their 'code names.' Maksim Laenko, the only son of Anatoliy's only son Artur, was Martin Lancaster to the rest of the world.

Anatoly had taken the one building and transformed it into two. He refurbished the buildings, made them sparkle and then sold them both for a profit. He sent Artur to college to become an architect, all the while building the family fortune in anticipation of the day Artur would take over for him.

When Anatoly was eighty, his son came to him with a diploma and a plan. He turned his father's business into Lancaster Designs. Martin had been in the office, buried in the fluffy cushions of his grandfather's couch, watching as Artur put an arm around his own father and motioned at the windows. "America tried to take you away, Father. Together, we shall take this single, small town and we will make it ours."

Artur took over the company, demonstrating a keen eye for the business side of things as well as for the design aspect. He took the reins of the company after his father died, immediately beginning to shape Martin to take his place. With Artur in charge, the company's profits took off, his name gracing the front page of local papers, his face appearing in all of the business magazines. But as his fame grew, so did his depression. Arthur Lancaster was the bright boy of business, the millionaire that everyone was scrambling to hire. Artur Laenko was a hidden man, a cipher hiding in the shadows.

Maksim, known as Martin to his schoolmates, was dragged to the office and forced to sit through hours of board meetings and business lunches when he should have been out on his own, being a boy. As much as he hated his father for stealing his childhood, he also started to become a carbon-copy of the man. All outside influence was overwritten by his father's 'lessons.'

One night, looking over a blueprint and well into his bottle of vodka, his father had gestured at the building on the paper. "She is waiting to be born, Maksim. Buildings, they breathe... and when they are left, forgotten... they die. They die slowly, sadly, lonely."

Martin had never been able to get the image out of his mind. His first fire had been an accident, an expedition into one of his father's empty designs to look at the empty offices. He'd kicked over his lantern by accident and watched in horror as the gas spread in a wide pool. He had run away, hiding and watching when the firefighters showed up. That night, the building had been on the news and a reporter had come by the apartment to speak with his father.

When they left, Artur had clapped his son on the back and said, "That is one building that lives again, eh, Maksim?"

He had only nodded, amazed at what he had accomplished.

Although amazing, he had never attempted to repeat the act even after his father's death and his subsequent inheritance of the company. Burning a building was exhilarating, but it was also dangerous. But when he met Alexandra Crawford, something had clicked in his mind. Firefighters rushed into burning buildings put their lives on the line. If they were to sacrifice themselves, the building would live on in the minds of others.

His first intention had been to approach Crawford as an accomplice. After all, if anyone knew about burning a building and getting away with it... but she had proven to be far too noble for that. He continued to request her for his inspections, deeply in lust with her by that time. Of course, that was nothing more than an empty dream now.

He pinched his lips around a mouthful of vodka. That doctor... it was unnatural what they were doing. He was furious with himself for wasting so much time with Alex. He'd been wasting time with everything lately, it seemed. He was irritated with how slow he'd been in realizing that. Planning one building at a time, trying to eliminate random firefighters. The trick would be to target specific sacrifices. Alex Crawford would be the first to fall.

Correction, he thought, finishing off his bottle and smirking at his reflection in the window. Rachel Tom would be the first to die. But Alex would follow very soon thereafter.

~

The fire marshal's office was adjacent to the police station, basically a lean-to wedged between the garage and the main building. It was dwarfed by the buildings on either side, hunkering in their shadows as if trying to go unnoticed. Alex parked her Jeep in the visitor's lot and walked around the side of the building to avoid meeting any officers. She had no problem with the police, knew they performed an invaluable service just like the fire department. But on slow days the rivalry between departments became the sole source of entertainment for some people.

She restrained a groan when she saw two uniforms heading her way across the lawn, grinning when they recognized her. "Hey, Sparky!" one said. It was the police department's name for every firefighter in town.

"Hiya, Officer Fife," she replied. Fife was the fire department nickname for any and all cops. Another popular nickname was "Officer Keystone." She was just glad there'd never been a slapstick comedy about firefighters.

The cop was unphased by the Don Knotts reference. "Are you playing in the softball tournament this year? Always interested in adding some eye candy to the bases."

She rolled her eyes as they crossed paths and said, "Mm, not this year, Barney."

"Come on, Sparky! It's for sick kids!"

She smiled and shrugged her shoulders, continuing on to Von Elm's office. She knocked on the outside door and slid into the cluttered one-room extension. It seemed like more a paper storage room than actual office, with cardboard boxes and mountains of paper on every horizontal surface. Von Elm was in the center of it all and looked up as she came in. He waved her into the office and said, "Have a seat. You didn't come through the building?"

"I went around back because I wanted to avoid as many cops as possible... no offense."

He laughed and shook his head. "Ah, none taken. When you straddle the line between policeman and fireman, you find it difficult to side with one or the other. Unless one of them happens to be in the room with you." He stood and gestured at the coffee maker.

She smiled and said, "A cop with the cops and a firefighter with us. What are you when you're at home with your wife?"

"Casanova," he said. He winked and stood up. He gestured at the coffee maker and said, "Anything to drink?"

"No, I'm fine."

He poured a cup for himself and sipped it before he retook his seat. "I got my reports on those fires you and Leary were asking about. Without a doubt, all three were arsons. Guy wasn't even trying to cover his tracks."

Alex leaned forward and took three of the files from the top stack of his desk. "So you're thinking it was the same guy all three times?"

"Pretty sure. Had a lot of the same characteristics. He liked to build little bonfires, pour gas all over them. Didn't worry too much about leaving a trail of accelerant, neither." He motioned for the file she was looking at and she handed it back. "Have you seen the building Wayne Murray and Heather Riley were in yet?"

"No."

"This is killer." He leaned forward and framed a square with his hands. "The guy, this arsonist, cuts the rafters to weaken the roof, right? If Murray and Riley had fallen here, here or here," he pointed to different portions of the roof on the schematic, "they would have hit the top floor. Cement, reinforced, they'd be dead or paralyzed. And if they were paralyzed..."

"They would've burned to death."

"Precisely. But since they fell where they did..." He showed her another series of photographs. "The building originally had an open-air lobby. All three floors looked out over it, so it was a wide-open space. When they fell, they landed on a huge pile of furniture the tenants left behind and the scroungers hadn't gotten to yet."

Alex frowned. "Why did a warehouse have a lobby?"

"It wasn't a warehouse," he said. "More like a factory. They made, as far as I can tell, a lot of empty boxes."

Alex leaned back in her chair. "So it's not just abandoned warehouses anymore. It's pretty much any building designed by Lancaster."

"Or his father," Von Elm pointed out. "Did some reading up on that family. Weird stuff... did you know they all have two names?"

"What do you mean?"

"Russian and English both. Our friend Martin is known at home as Maksim Laenko. Martin is his 'public name.' Lady I spoke to said he got bent outta shape if you tried to call him 'Marty.'"

She nodded. "Yeah, we saw that when we were at his office."

"Oh, yeah, the handshake thing," Von Elm said. "He did get a little perturbed, didn't he?"

"He was pissed," Alex corrected. "Maybe something you ought to keep in mind if you have to interrogate him about something."

Von Elm smirked. "I like the way you think. Keep 'im on edge, make him angry."

"Getting back to the buildings... Have you found any more traps in the latest buildings other than the cut rafters?"

"You mean more flashover rooms like the ones that hurt Jones and Wizell? No, none of the rooms in the third building showed signs of that. I looked over the room that killed Jones, by the way. It was hugely bad. Was anyone in there with him? Like a partner or something? You guys do that two-in, two-out arrangement, right?"

Alex felt her back tense. "Yes, there was someone in with him," she said flatly. "Why? Are they responsible for what happened?"

Von Elm shrugged. "Maybe. I mean, the signs of flashover are obvious. But you can get distracted in a fire and you miss what was obvious in training. I was asking more because this report said another firefighter went in behind Jones. I was wondering how the hell that person managed to survive. Seems impossible to me."

"Me too," Alex said softly. She tapped the files against her thigh and then held them up. "Do you mind if I take these?"

"No, they're copies anyway. I have a couple more in the cabinet over there." He nodded at the opposite end of the room and then looked down at his desk. "Or... here. Ah, they're somewhere."

"Okay. Thanks, Bill."

"No problem, Alex. And by the way?" She turned around. "You Sparkys have more class than a roomful of Barneys."

Alex grinned and saluted him before she left.

~

Heather Riley sat on the exam bed, waiting as Rachel updated her chart. "Okay. That should take care of you for the time being. You can come back in for a check-up in a month or so, just to make sure everything is still going well. You may experience headaches, stomach ache, breast tenderness, vaginal spotting of blood and dizziness... and your monthly visitor might not show up on the right date." She closed the file and said, "I'd really feel better sending this over to your regular physician..."

"But I appreciate you keeping it quiet, Dr. Tom."

"I don't like being a party to covering up an affair," Rachel said. She rose from her stool and walked across the exam room. "But you're my patient and as much as it irritates me... I couldn't say anything without your permission."

Bugs smiled ruefully. "Well, to be honest, Doctor, you can't exactly know what I'm going through here."

Rachel frowned and leaned against the counter. "How so?"

"Well... you know, you and Crawford don't exactly... I mean, the problem of contraceptives isn't really high on your list of things to worry about."

"I may not understand an unwanted pregnancy, but I do understand monogamy. What you did to your poor fiancé... I can't even begin to imagine what that man is going through. Or what he would be going through, if he found out about this."

"You're forgetting that *he* can't imagine what *I* went through, Dr. Tom. Murray held me as we went through hell. I may have taken a ring from someone else, but Wayne Murray understands me in a way someone outside the department never could." She glanced at the window and hesitated, as if debating whether or not to say the next bit. Finally, she said, "And I'm sorry, but unless you and Alex are fooling yourselves, you should admit you're in the same boat."

"I understand Alex," Rachel said. She kicked herself as soon as she said it. She sounded defensive even to herself.

Bugs shook her head. "Not the way another firefighter could. It's like we're soldiers and, when we come home, everyone pretends to know what it was like on the battlefield. But no one can. Not unless they were there with their life on the line."

Rachel checked her watch and said, "I have another patient, so if you're done theorizing..."

Bugs gathered her jacket and slipped off the table. "I'm not saying you don't love each other. I still love my fiancé. I'm just saying that you need to either admit that you'll never entirely understand one another or end it now before anyone gets hurt."

Rachel said nothing, holding the door as Bugs stepped outside. She followed her into the corridor and watched as she waited for the elevator. Her mind flashed back, reminding her of the moment etched in her memory... the way they'd hunkered down in a closet, the way her sister's face hovered over her like a ghost in the darkness. She remembered the insane heat, the almost unbearable heat as her back blistered and scarred.

She remembered the process of debridement, a fancy word for the torture she'd gone through. She had wept, lying face-down on the table while nurses peeled away layers of dead skin. The long soaks in the tub, the unbelievable pain... she had always thought pain ended when the fire was out, had never dreamt it continued for so long afterward.

The woman who held her hand during the procedure was named Nancy. She had dark hair and lips so red. When she was discharged from the hospital, it was Nancy who pushed her wheelchair out to the parking lot. Sitting on the curb with the nurse, her back numb and foreign under her sweater, she had hugged Nancy and thanked her. They both cried, Nancy saying she was sorry for Rachel's sister. Years later, Rachel would pinpoint that as the moment she decided to become a doctor.

As Bugs stepped into the elevator, Rachel snapped out of her reverie and said, "Alex and I understand each other. We understand better than you'll ever know, Ms. Riley." She looked down at her watch again and headed off to meet with her next patient.

~

Alex sat in the den and read Von Elm's files on the arsons. Gasoline used in all of the blazes, used to ignite piles and piles of junk. All of the buildings were abandoned, which, in that section of town, was hardly surprising. As she read, Wizell and Sawyer walked in, talking about some game. Sawyer carried with him a constant cloud of cigar smoke, a trait that never failed to remind her of her father. "Hey, guys."

"Are you watching the Seahawks game?" Sawyer asked.

Alex looked at the dark television set, looked at Sawyer and then replied, "Take a wild guess, Will."

"Mind if I..."

"Go right ahead," she told him and went back to her reading.

Sawyer grabbed the remote and dropped onto the couch next to Murray. He lifted his boot and rested it on the edge of the table. He made sure whatever game he wanted to watch was on a commercial before he looked over at her. "What're you reading?"

"Some of the fire marshal's reports on these arsons."

"Does he think they're related?" Murray asked.

Alex nodded.

"Hot damn," Sawyer said. "Fire bug, right here in our own damn town. Tell you what we oughta do with these arsonists is just tie up their hands and legs and just toss them into the next big fire we have. Give 'em a taste of what they want." He sipped his soda and saw that the game was coming back, the leader board revealing that the Seattle Seahawks were leading. "Aw, kick ass!" he said, scooting forward and leaning towards the TV.

Murray nodded at Alex, trying to get her attention. He dropped his voice and said, "So, uh... everything... taken care of?"

"Yeah, it's all good last I heard."

Murray exhaled and said, "Look, you know that I didn't..."

"It's all good," Alex interrupted. She motioned at Sawyer with her head, even though he was still engrossed with the football game on TV.

Murray smirked and said, "Hey, I slept with Bugs last night. It was a mistake, so Crawford's doctor girlfriend helped smooth things over for me."

Sawyer took a sip of his drink.

Turning back to Alex, Murray said, "He's like Rain Man and Judge Wapner with the Seahawks, man. Turn on a game and he turns into, like, a brain-damaged monkey."

Sawyer slapped Murray on the back of the head. "It went to commercial, numb-nuts. And if you had five hundred bucks riding on this game, you'd be a little hypnotized, too."

Alex grinned and turned her attention back to the files on her lap. There had to be a way to connect Lancaster to the fires other than just the fact that he designed them. It was circumstantial at best and any defense attorney would destroy it before they got within spitting distance of a court room. The fact that Lancaster had brought the information to them himself made it look even more ridiculous.

She yawned and rearranged herself on the cushions. It was going to be a long night and she planned to stay awake long enough to find any hint that they were on the right trail.

~

Martin walked into his dark apartment to the music of a ringing phone. Dumping his briefcase and coat, he grabbed the phone and said, "Lancaster."

His secretary began speaking rapidly, out of breath and whispering. "Mr. Lancaster, that fire marshal is here again. He wants to talk to you about..."

"I know what he wants to talk about, Sandra. It's why I'm not there. Just tell him that I'm out for the day... hell, for the rest of the week. I don't wish to be disturbed until next Monday. Tell him that; I'm sure he'd understand."

"But Mr. Lancaster, he's like the police..."

"I know that, dear. But at the moment, I'm merely someone who... interests Mr. Von Elm. He can't drag me in without accusing me of a crime. So, for the moment, I am incommunicado. Whatever he wishes to speak with me about will keep until Monday."

"Yes, Mr. Lancaster."

He hung up on her, loosening his tie and groaning wearily. He name Martin Lancaster grated on him; the ups and downs of the business world, the posturing and the grand-standing, all that unsightly carrying on... he didn't know how his father had done it. He walked through the apartment, shedding his Oxford shirt and tie and standing bare-chested in front of the picture window in his living room.

Shepherd was a small town and it was his. The Lancaster name stood proudly on dozens of buildings in the small burg that surrounded him. But none of them were Laenko. He felt a deep regret that his grandfather's name would soon be forgotten, a footnote in the family history books. Towards the end, he remembered his father responding more and more to the name Arthur, his correspondence arriving addressed to Arthur Lancaster rather than his traditional name.

The old man had grown weak in his later years. It still saddened him to remember his father's steady decline into dementia. It was never easy to watch a family member succumb to such a nasty disease.

With the lights still off, he walked across the room and looked at the city map he had pinned to the work table. Tonight, he was going to go off his routine. Tonight, he would not only burn a building that was still thriving, his target would be another's design. He hated that; it would be the same as setting fire to someone else's child. Maksim Laenko was many things, but a murderer?

Yes, after tonight, he would be. Without a doubt.

He dressed slowly, picking his clothing carefully. He would need the maximum protection from the heat he would be experiencing. He had an oxygen mask, a hood and gloves... It was another departure for him; he would be remaining in this fire. It was his piece-de-resistance, the final piece of his little puzzle.

He put everything he needed to carry into a duffel bag and slung it over his shoulder. He stepped into the corridor wearing his ratty sweatshirt and jeans. Martin Lancaster was still in the apartment; tonight, Maksim Laenko was being released from his prison. An unfair incarceration, lasting his entire life and ending tonight. He could almost feel his tongue adapting, wrapping around its natural accent.

Yes, tonight would be different. Tonight was the final piece.

Let Von Elm come and ask his questions whenever he wanted. After tonight, Martin Lancaster, Rachel Tom and Alexandra Crawford would all be dead.

~

Alex was forced to put down Von Elm's reports when the alarms started just before midnight, following Sawyer and Murray to their trucks. Sawyer whooped out that he hoped Murray didn't choke on his fumes when he left him in the dust. Wizell settled into his seat in the front of the cab and complained that Holt had left the seat all sweaty. He swore to never leave the company again, which was greeted with a groan from everyone riding with him.

Alex was strapping her helmet in place as the radio blurted out the fire location. She spun in her seat and stared wide-eyed at the radio. She had to have heard wrong. "What did they just say?" she said, shouting to be heard over the engines and Murray's whooping.

"Spring Creek Apartments," Wizell told her. "Shee-it, I've been there. The alleys are thin as hell on either side. Tons of cars on either side of the street... this is gonna be a goddamn nightmare."

Alex didn't need Wizell's commentary on the streets around Spring Creek Apartments. She remembered it very clearly from a few nights before. It was Rachel's building.

Chapter Fourteen

To Live and Die in a Blaze of Glory

Rachel walked across her silent living room and pushed open the window, a wave of cool air washing over her. She leaned on the sill and put her face against the screen to peer down towards the street. Cars lined both sides of the block, restricting late-night travelers to a single lane. A few penumbras of light stretched forth from the lobbies of the other buildings on her block, street lights standing proudly in their own orbits of pale yellow.

A man in a green jumpsuit was meandering along the sidewalk in front of her building, using a back-mounted sprayer to wash the leaves from the building's stoop. From open windows, she could hear her neighbors James and Teresa singing along with their record player. Classical opera. James, rotund and proud, was the neighborhood Pavarotti. From the floor directly below her, a cat mewled for food from her owner.

Rachel smiled and stepped away from the window, remembering the old Sesame Street tune: "These are the people in your neighborhood."

She padded barefoot into the kitchen, humming the children's song, and turned on the light over the stove to check the levels of her cereal boxes. She spotted the dishes from her date with Alex, still sitting unwashed in the sink, and smiled at the memory. It had been a long time since she'd had a night like that. She could barely remember the last one. The way Alex had held her during the movie, the way they'd just seemed to fit together in one corner of the couch... the way they'd fit together later...

She sighed and grabbed a Snapple from the fridge, returning to the living room before popping the top. She wanted to call Alex, wanted to see what was happening. She knew the firehouse could be boring some nights... maybe she'd relish a call. Of course, they did sleep at the firehouse... if they had already gone to bed, she would hate to wake her up.

As she twisted her arm to look at her watch, the sound of breaking glass echoed up from the street. She nearly dumped her drink as she stood up and rushed back to the window. She looked down at the street again in search of the vandal responsible. The sidewalk washer was nowhere in sight, but neither was anyone else. She scanned up and down both sides of the street twice and saw nothing that looked like a car thief or opportunistic teen.

She was about to call the building manager when someone in the hall downstairs started yelling, "Fire! Fire, get out now! The building is on fire!"

She tied her robe around her waist, kicking herself for wearing only her pajama bottoms and a tank top, and hurried for the door. Outside in the hall, she headed immediately for the stairs. Her bare feet slapped on the steps and her robe flew around her legs as she descended. She peered over the banister and saw her neighbors doing the same, the opera music still blaring from the second-floor apartment. She could see fire light flickering on the ground floor, dancing back and forth across the walls. "Oh, hell, there really is a fire," she muttered.

When she reached the second-floor landing, she was surprised to see someone heading up towards her. He wore a green jumpsuit and black gloves, his face covered with an oxygen mask. She was confused until she saw the big semi-transparent tank on his back, the liquid inside sloshing back and forth in time with his ascent. The sidewalk washer. What the hell...? "Did you see what happened?" she asked.

"Building's on fire," the man said. Something about his voice... almost familiar. He had a vaguely Russian accent, but she couldn't think of anyone that matched the nationality.

"Why are you going up? Is someone trapped up there?"

"No," the man said, looking at her through the glass of his oxygen mask. "But there will be in a moment."

Before she could question what he meant, his gloved fist impacted her just below her rib cage and knocked the air from her lungs. Rachel started to collapse and the man ducked down, pressing his shoulder against her soft belly.

Hoisting her onto one shoulder like a bag of laundry, Martin carried her back the way she'd come. In the lobby below, the little bonfire he'd made began to spread. He heard the familiar buzzing of a fire alarm and smiled. Phases one and two were complete. Time to start phase three.

~

Alex's heart raced as they sped through familiar streets towards Rachel's apartment. *'That's where I bought her flowers,'* she thought, turning to watch the florist shop speed by. "Hey," Bugs said softly. Alex turned to look at her, surprised to see wetness in the other woman's eyes. "I'm sure she's okay. Someone probably just left their stupid space heater unattended."

"I'll throttle the bastard if I got all dolled up for a fucking space heater," Murray griped from the front seat.

"Take a number," Alex smiled, glad for a bit of relief from the pain growing in the center of her chest. 'Rachel will be fine. Rachel will be fine. The odds of her being hurt are astronomical.'

A more pessimistic voice reminded her of the arsonist running around.

'An arsonist who has only torched empty warehouses. An arsonist who, if we're right, is only torching buildings designed by his own company.'

'So far...'

'This building is from the forties,' she returned. 'No possible connection to Lancaster or Laenko or whatever the hell his name is.'

The truck came to a halt between two rows of cars parked bumper-to-bumper. "Ain't these people heard of parking garages? Pain in my ass..." Murray said, easing the massive truck down the narrow lane. Miraculously, he avoided hitting any cars in the process and stopped in front of the Spring Creek Apartments. Swinging the door open, he stood on the runner and shook his head. "Oh, mama. No one can tell me *this* isn't arson. Smell that? Whoo... smells like a gas truck took a piss down this street."

Wizell stood at the front of the truck, radio to his lips and talking to the Chief. "We're at the site now. Visible fire in the lobby of Spring Creek. Preparing an entrance to extinguish and then doing a door-to-door search to find and evac the residents. Advise, over."

Murray quirked his lips as he walked all the way around one of the cars at the curb and onto the sidewalk. "Have to walk through a freakin' maze just to get to the back of the truck." His boots splashed on the concrete and he looked down, frowning. "Holy hell, man. Yo, Lieutenant, did someone already try to put water on this thing?"

Wizell half-turned, radio still to his lips, when it happened.

A bag landed on the sidewalk a few feet away from Murray and burst on impact. The bag was on fire and, once it landed, so was the pool in which Murray was standing almost ankle-deep.

"Holy shit," Wizell breathed. "Murray! The gas is on the sidewalk!"

By the time the warning was spoken, it was too late. Murray's boots and bunking pants were aflame. He screamed, backpedaling towards the street as the fire surrounded his lower body. Bugs and Alex came around from the back of the truck, their progress stymied by the cars proximity to the side of the truck. After angling around one too many rear view mirrors, Alex unhooked the axe from her belt and began chopping them off as she neared them.

As she passed the equipment rack, she yanked a fire extinguisher from its bed and jumped onto the hood of the last car in the row. She fell to her ass, sliding down the hood until her boots hit concrete. Wizell had pulled Murray to safety and was using his own coat to beat the flames spreading on Murray's legs. "Oh, fuck," Bugs said.

Alex aimed the nozzle of the extinguisher and screamed Wizell's name as a warning. The Lieutenant stepped back, allowing her to coat Murray's charred legs with the chemicals. She tossed the extinguisher to Wizell and turned, looking over the building. Nothing but empty, dark windows. The lobby seemed abandoned, but that didn't mean a damn thing. "Do you see anyone?" she demanded. When Bugs refused to answer, still staring wide-eyed at the screaming Murray, Alex grabbed her collar and yanked her forward. "Do you see anyone?" she asked again.

"No, there are no residents visible," Wizell said, coughing into his glove. "And we're staying put until the Chief can get here."

"Firemen!" a voice across the street called. "Firemen!"

Alex and Bugs raced over, zeroing in on a rotund man in a button-down shirt and boxer shorts. "This fire... oh, hell, how the hell did the street get on fire? Is that fireman okay?"

"Is there anyone still in the building?" Alex asked, ignoring the man's questions. She was scanning the crowd for Rachel's face, praying she was somewhere in the back.

"I haven't seen the woman from the top floor. She's a doctor, I think..."

Alex felt something seize inside of her as she turned, eyes drawn to the top apartment. She started across the street, but Bugs stopped her. "We can't get in there until this sidewalk fire is out. And Wizell says we're not making a move until the chief and the engine can get here."

"Where are they?" Alex demanded.

"He's not sure."

Alex pulled away from Bugs and stormed to the end of the truck. Bugs trailed her. "Alex, we have to fall back. We have to be with Wizell when..."

"You can sit with Wizell and Murray," Alex interrupted as she unhooked the collapsible ladder from the side panel. It could be extended up to fifteen feet, but was now only about five feet long; easily manageable by one person. "I have to go," Alex said, hoisting the ladder onto her shoulder. "I have to do this. Listen, Wizell should've told you this and if anyone asks, he *did* alright? Get the A-Triple-F down on this sidewalk, get this fucking sidewalk extinguished. Heather! Do you hear me?"

"Yeah... what? You have to do what?" Bugs asked, trailing Alex. They were walking away from the Spring Creek Apartments. "What the hell are you going to do with a fifteen-foot ladder?! The fire is back that way!"

Alex ignored her and silently thanking the endless drills where she'd been forced to lug a thirty-footer the equivalent of nine flights of stairs. The metal clanged noisily next to her head, banging on her helmet, but it was barely even noticeable. As she approached the neighboring apartment, she saw that the pool of gasoline ended well before the front door of this building. No doubt about the target here... making her all the more certain as to the culprit.

Lancaster would pay.

~

The wind was knocked out of her lungs as she was tossed onto the bed. She bounced off the mattress and fell to the floor in a heap. An instant later, the man was on top of her and dragging her across the carpet until her head impacted the wall. "Please," she gasped, trembling as he hooked his hands under her armpits and dragged her into a sitting position. "Please, whatever you're going to do, please..."

"Shut up," he sighed.

He grabbed her wrists and fastened a pair of handcuffs to them. "Stay right there and I won't have to hurt you," he said. He moved back to the bedroom door. She tested the handcuffs, tugging on them to test the chain while casting anxious glances at the door. Who the hell was this man? Her mind raced, trying to place him. He seemed so vaguely familiar... the man she'd stood next to in the laundry room, the man on the corner who always seemed to buy his newspaper at the same time she did, the man...

The man next to her in the elevator!

She got onto her knees and crawled over her bed, searching the night stand for her cell phone. She had just found it when the man returned. "Please, no..."

He shoved her roughly back and grabbed the phone when it tumbled onto the mattress. He checked the display screen and then hurled the phone at the closet door. She hit the floor and crawled into the corner where he'd originally put her, praying he didn't punish her. "Where's your lighter?"

"What?" she asked.

"Your lighter," he sighed. "I brought everything but the damned lighter."

"T-the kitchen... one of the drawers in the kitchen..."

He grabbed her by the handcuff chain and pulled her towards him. She was half-dragged and half-crawling behind him and gasped when she realized his destination. The closet. She began to fight him, pulling with both hands to hold herself back. "No!"

"You're a trouble-maker. Get in there."

Her sister's face flashed in front of her, the smoke, the heat, her back aflame... "No! I can't go in there!"

He paused and looked down at her, then sighed and shoved her backwards again. "Fine." He jabbed a finger in her face and said, "Sit. Do not move."

She squeezed her eyes closed and shook her head frantically. "Just don't make me go in there. Please."

With a heavy sigh, he turned and walked from the room. Rachel crawled into the corner, covering her face with both trembling hands.

~

She carried the ladder into the building and ran up the stairs. The floors were all deserted, the residents most likely scrambling down to the street for safety. As she passed the third floor, a bare-chested man in sweatpants nearly ran her down. "What's with all the damn sirens?"

"Your building is on fire," she lied. "Get out. Now."

"Aww, shit, man, my dope!"

She grabbed his shoulder and shoved him towards the stairs. The druggie stumbled, but started his descent anyway.

At the top landing, she shouldered her way through the emergency fire door and set off an ear-ringing alarm. She ignored it, grabbing the ladder with both hands and carrying it like a lance as she ran across the roof. The alley between the two buildings was way too small for a ground ascent. But it was more than enough for a ladder to bridge the gap.

"Crawford?!" The Chief's voice made her jump, coming from the radio nestled between her bunking coat and her shirt. "What in the *hell*... What..."

She grabbed her radio and said, "I'm sorry, Chief." The only other thing she could think to say was, "I couldn't not."

With that, she silenced her radio and continued her mission.

She rested the ladder on the lip of the building, extending the sections until it rested on the edge of the Spring Creek building. She was panting, her arms and legs trembling as she crawled from one side to the other. Once on the roof of Rachel's building, Alex pulled off her helmet and yanked the hoodie up over her head, leaving only her face exposed. Her SCBA covered that, protecting her from the heat. She only prayed Rachel had something protecting *her.* Equipment in place, she grabbed her ladder and trotted across the roof until she found what she was looking for.

Rachel's skylight.

Grabbing the ladder with both hands, she rammed the sloped glass. The ladder sank into the dark room like a knife into a wound. She felt it hit something and peered down through the thick black-gray smoke. Angling the ladder until she felt it wedge against what she assumed was the couch, she stepped back and used her axe to clear a bigger hole in the skylight.

She mounted the ladder and slowly lowered herself into the apartment. Once on the ground, the entertainment center caught her eye. The same TV where they'd watched that sweet movie about the dwarf who liked trains... well, most of the movie, anyway... Rachel had almost fallen asleep in her arms right here... right *here*.

'Worry about that later,' she chided herself. She turned and scanned the living room. Smoke trickled across the ceiling of the entry hall, hesitantly spreading towards the living room and kitchen. The front door stood wide open, the hallway outside a vivid portrait of hell. Fire was on the stairs, quickly rising to pay a visit to the topmost resident. The smoke had already covered the ceiling, darkening every bright surface and leaving a thick cloud above her head.

Dropping into a crouch, she navigated the living room and felt along the floor. She banged her arms against the legs of chairs, against corners of a desk, into the wall. She couldn't find anything, could barely see now. The smoke was getting thicker. She found the hallway door, knowing it led to the bedroom. It branched off from the entry hall, mere inches from the open door.

She reached up as she passed, pushing the front door shut. With the skylight open, she knew it wouldn't be long before the fire sniffed out a new source of oxygen and came knocking. "Rachel?" she called, one hand on the wall next to her to guide her way. "Rachel, can you hear me?"

Her voice, filtered through her breathing mask, didn't carry very far. She passed the bathroom, kicking herself for not bringing the thermal imager, and crawled past. The smoke around her was a wool blanket now, the air almost certainly not breathable. If Rachel were still here... if she were still conscious...

She put that thought out of her mind and moved forward. "Rachel!" she called again. Still no reply.

The bedroom door was closed and she had an image of Rachel, asleep in bed, slowly enveloped in smoke and gases until...

She did a quick scan of the doorframe and saw no signs of a flashover, put the back of her hand against the wood and felt no signs of heat beyond. She turned the knob and pushed the door open, entering the bedroom on her knees. Rachel's bed was empty, the covers pulled taut over the mattress indicating she hadn't been to bed yet.

Could she have been in the living room? Had she somehow missed...?

There! A muffled sound, like a voice. She moved across the room and crawled around the bed. There on the floor, between the night stand and the bed frame, Rachel looked up at her with terrified eyes. Her mouth was wrapped in a wet rag that also covered her nose; not the best protection against smoke and carbon monoxide, but definitely better than nothing.

Alex knelt by her and touched her lover's soot-covered face, brushing her hair away from her eyes. "We're going to get you out of here, okay?"

Rachel lifted both hands - they were bound by handcuffs - pawed at her mouth.

"No, honey, we need to keep that on... its helping you breathe." She helped Rachel out of the corner and said, "Stay low... hands and knees. Just stay with me and I'll get you out of here." She looked around and whispered, "Is Lancaster still here?"

Rachel nodded, tears in her eyes.

"Okay, we'll get out of here before he even knows I got you. Okay? Now come on, I'll lead the way."

They got onto their hands and knees and quick-crawled out of the bedroom. The front door of the apartment was now a rectangle of firelight. If Alex hadn't closed the door, the entry hall would likely have been in flames by now, cutting off their only point of egress.

As she crawled past the open bathroom door, she heard Rachel cry out behind her. She misinterpreted the sound and turned to look back... missing the dark shape that stepped out from the bathroom like the specter of some dark nightmare.

Laenko reared his foot back and buried his boot in Alex's stomach. She rose a few inches with the impact and rolled to one side with a cough. Laenko planted several more kicks to her torso before he stepped forward and slammed his foot down on her face. The oxygen mask cracked, but didn't shatter.

"Your irons!" Laenko shouted through his own oxygen mask. He held up a gun so that she could see it, even in the dying light, and repeated, "Remove your irons!"

At the madman's mercy, Alex unhooked her axe and halligen tool and tossed them both across the hall. "How in the hell are you planning to get out of here, Marty?" she asked.

"The name is Maksim," he replied, his voice now heavily accented. "You will show proper respect!"

"You're a moron, Marty," Alex said. "We're all going to die right here. Was that your plan?"

"Yes," Rachel gasped, the wet cloth around her neck. She was sobbing openly now, her hands between her knees. "He's sacrificing himself to kill you, Alex!"

Alex couldn't believe her ears. "Why?!"

"To live and die in a blaze of glory... to have the flames carry me from this life. It is the death you have been seeking Alex. The memorial to which you will always be remembered. This building will serve as our tombstone, Alex. You, a fallen firefighter... braving this inferno to save the one you love? You will go down in history, Alex. Perhaps they will write a song about you one day."

He raised the gun and shrugged.

"Or... perhaps not."

"No!" Rachel cried.

Laenko hesitated, raising the gun slightly before he turned to look at Rachel. "You are an innocent. Perhaps I will allow you escape... I have no issue with you once Alexandra is dead and gone."

"The ladder is in the living room," Alex said to Rachel, not moving her eyes from Lancaster's oxygen mask. "Pull it up after you and use it to crawl to the building next door."

"No!" Rachel repeated. "I'm not leaving you!"

"Such loyalty. Perhaps if Alexandra is not physically able to go..." Laenko said. "Perhaps you would leave her then?"

They didn't have time to consider what he was asking. Laenko changed the angle of his shot slightly and fired. Alex howled in anguish and grabbed her left thigh with both hands. "Go, Dr. Rachel," Laenko said. "Go or it will be as if you fired the weapon yourself." He fired again and Alex's body jerked. He had hit the same leg, a little closer to the knee this time. Alex was twitching on the floor, her body curled into the fetal position.

Laenko looked at Rachel and shrugged. "Well, Alexandra. It would appear as though your girlfriend is as stubborn as you are." He turned the gun and said, "I will do you a favor... release you from your misery and save you from a fiery death with one small bullet."

"Do it," Alex said hoarsely. "Just... let her go."

"Such loyalty," he repeated.

"Please," Alex all but sobbed.

Laenko sighed and said, "If you are going to beg..." He cocked the hammer and said, "Good-bye, Alexandra."

The next sound Alex heard was Laenko's howl of pain. Opening her eyes, she saw Rachel pulled the bloody halligen away from Laenko's arm, the claw-hammer end dripping with blood. She adjusted her grip and swung the three-pronged tool once more, burying the blade this time in the soft flesh of Laenko's stomach. The blow knocked him back and something cracked as he slammed against the bathroom door. He slumped, his hands trembling as they wrapped around the tool imbedded in his gut.

Rachel unhooked his oxygen mask and fit it over her own face before turning to Alex. "Are you hurt? Can you..."

"My leg... Oh, fuck, Rachel..."

Rachel looked down. The left leg of Alex's bunking pants was dark red, the spatter on the wallboard behind her indicating that the bullet had gone out the other side. "It hurts so much," Alex breathed.

"I won't leave you," Rachel swore. "Come on." She knelt and got Alex's arm around her shoulder and pulled her up. They moved at a crouch towards the living room, the flow of sweat on Rachel's face starting up again as if someone had turned on a faucet. Alex was like dead weight, her boots scraping behind her like weights.

"Y'can't... lee me... here," Laenko gasped. They turned to look at him, at the blood trailing from his mouth like drool. His eyes were wide and glassy, his face white where the oxygen mask had protected him.

"To live and die in fire," Alex managed to say. "It's time for the dying part, you sick fucker."

They turned, leaving Laenko alone in the hall. "There's a ladder coming out of my skylight," Rachel said as they inched towards the couch.

"Yeah," Alex said. "I like to make an entrance on the third date."

"Fifth date," Rachel laughed, coughing a bit into her mask. They stopped at the foot of the ladder and stared up at the night sky through the jagged hole in the skylight. "Alex, are you going to be able to do this?"

"Yes," Alex said. "Definitely." She put a hand on Rachel's ass and pushed her forward. "You go. I'll follow you."

Rachel hesitated, cupping Alex's head with both hands. Through the hood, the helmet, her mask and everything between them, they looked at each other. "Come up after me," Rachel whispered, her breath fogging the mask. "I will not leave this building until you are with me, do you understand? I cannot leave without you."

Alex clutched Rachel's neck and bumped their oxygen masks together. "Go. I'm stubborn, but I'm not suicidal. Go. I'll be right behind you. I just don't want to fall on you if it takes me more than one try."

"Okay," Rachel said. She turned and gripped the ladder, taking the rungs much faster than Alex thought she would. When she was at the top, she turned and gripped the highest rung with both hands. "Okay, Alex. Hurry!"

She grabbed the highest rung she could, lifting her right leg and placing it on the lowest. The heel of her boot caught the rung and held her foot in place. Good. Good. Excellent. She exhaled and looked up; the ladder was suddenly a mile long, stretching up towards Mars or Saturn or God, she couldn't do it, she wouldn't make it, there was no way with one leg...

'It's okay. We didn't expect a woman to do as good as the guys, anyway.'

The voice was loud and clear, echoing in her helmet as if it had been broadcast over the radio. Captain Al Shannon. He hadn't wanted a female in the academy. Thought she would lower the curve, let a lot of sub-par male candidates into the department. 'Hell in a hand basket,' had been his phrase of choice. Using both hands and neither leg, Alex pulled herself up.

*'Need some help, sweetheart?'*

She reached up, her arm trembling, gritting her teeth as she reached for another rung. The heat was unbearable. Her uniform hung on her like an anchor, the oxygen tank on her back gripping her shoulders as if it was actively trying to pull her back into the apartment. The night sky surrounding Rachel's face looked so inviting...

*'I'll just give your tush a little push, how's that, darlin'?'*

Crying out, she went up another rung. She lifted her right foot, her left foot banging uselessly against the metal ladder.

"Please, Alex!" Rachel cried from above.

One hand up, hold tight. Don't fall. Pull...

Hold tight, next hand up. Lift leg, drag leg... oh, God, her shoulders burned, her back was on fire, wasn't it? She couldn't breathe, couldn't see, her lungs were on fire... something was pulling on her, oh, God, someone had grabbed her jacket with both hands! Laenko was alive and he was pulling her...

Up?

"Please!" Rachel sobbed. Her hands were balled into fists around Alex's jacket, pulling on her like she was a rag doll. They both fell to the roof, the smoke billowing out of the hole behind Alex. They clung to each other, Alex on top of her on the simmering roof, both of them rasping, staring at each other through the fogged glass of oxygen masks. "You're out!" Rachel said, her muffled voice high-pitched and almost frantic.

"Get the ladder!" Alex said, forcing herself up onto her one good leg. Rachel struggled with the ladder and eventually pulled it up rung-by-rung as if it was climbing her. The ladder stretched fifteen feet above her head and fell backwards, hitting the roof with a loud 'clank!'

Alex pointed to the edge of the building and Rachel got to her feet, dragging the ladder to where it needed to be. Alex hopped along after, her left leg now completely useless, meeting Rachel at the edge. "Oh, God," Rachel breathed, looking down.

The neighborhood was now completely awash in yellow, white and red lights, flickering and flashing and dancing on the brick walls all around them. Alex was panting, weak in every sense of the word, looking at the ladder that was their last hurdle before freedom. She pulled off her helmet, yanked her SCBA off and dropped it onto the roof. "Rachel," she said, her voice hoarse.

Rachel looked at her, saw the oxygen mask was off and removed her own. Her hair was wild, her face dark with soot. "Where did your handcuffs go?"

Rachel lifted both hands, revealing the cuffs were still intact and locked... only they both hung from her right wrist. The thumb on her left hand, however, looked like a slab of rubber someone had tacked on with crazy glue. She had dislocated her own thumb to get out of the restraints. "We don't have much time," she said. "Do you go first?"

"You go first," Alex said.

"Because you don't want me to see if you fall to your death?" Rachel asked, eyes gleaming with tears.

Alex touched Rachel's face, smearing soot with the palm of her gloves. "I love you."

"You proved that tonight," Rachel said, gripping Alex's forearm. She unhooked the oxygen tank hanging from Alex's back and dropped it onto the ground before going after the buttons of her bunker coat.

"Are you raping me?" Alex asked, smiling weakly.

"Still have your sense of humor," Rachel said with a smile. When her coat was gone, Rachel said, "Your uniform. How much does it weigh?"

"Fifty pounds... give or take..."

"Good Lord," Rachel breathed. Leaving the pants but emptying the pockets, Rachel said, "Okay. Get on the ladder. Hands and knees." Alex did as she said, her left leg sticking out as she couldn't bend the knee, and peered down at the filthy alley below. Water was running through it like a river, meaning that her colleagues were hard at work below. Rachel was now on top of her, arms on either side of her head, gripping the edges of the ladder. "Push with your right foot. Climb with your hands like you're climbing a regular ladder."

Sweat dripped from Alex's face as she did as Rachel suggested. Push, grip with one hand and then the other. It was slow going, but Rachel was right behind her whispered, "Good... just a little more, good, good, we're getting there, baby..."

When Alex fell onto the neighboring roof, a sense of euphoria washed over her. She rolled onto her back, opening her arms as Rachel came off the ladder behind her. "You did it," Rachel said.

Alex rose onto her elbows and kissed Rachel, long and hard, before rolling onto her side. "We still have four flights of stairs to get down. Help me up?"

She put an arm around Rachel and limped back to the stairwell door. Adrenaline faded as they headed down and the pain in Alex's knee slowly became unbearable. Her entire pants leg was sodden red, her foot leaving a wet and bloody trail in its wake. With every step, she felt the blood pooling in her boot. The pain was unmistakable, but she didn't want to think about what this injury meant to her life, her career... she tightened her arm around Rachel and closed her eyes as they stepped out into the cold night air.

Paramedics descended on them as they entered the command area. The entire middle lane of the street was now filled with fire trucks, dozens of faceless firemen weaving in and out between their vehicles. The street looked like a plate of spaghetti, hose lines lying on top of each other, piled on top of each other, almost sinking in a sea of water.

The paramedics helped Rachel and Alex walk all the way to the corner, loading them into the waiting ambulance where they were each stretched out onto gurneys. Another oxygen mask was fitted over Rachel's face, her eyes rotating weakly until she focused on the woman lying next to her. Two of the EMTs had cut away the leg of Alex's pants and were working on the bullet wounds.

Alex turned her head slowly, eyelids hanging heavily. Her eyes were the brightest part of her entire body, almost painfully blue against her soot- and smoke-smeared face. She smiled lazily behind her oxygen mask and reached out, opening and closing her gloved fingers in a grabbing gesture. Rachel reached out and grabbed it, squeezing as tight as she could.

She heard someone say, "We have to get her to a hospital," before slamming the doors of the ambulance shut. The same someone said, "We're losing her."

They were halfway to Shepherd Memorial Hospital when Alex's grip weakened and her hand dropped away from Rachel's.

Epilogue

A Very Lucky Woman

When Rachel next opened her eyes, her gurney was being led down a very familiar corridor. She recognized the orderly over her head, the doctor walking alongside her and the paramedic at her side. "Alex," she gasped, weakly pawing at the rail and trying to roll onto her side.

"Take it easy, Dr. Tom," the doctor said. "Just lie still."

"Where's Alex?"

A quick glance at the paramedic, but Rachel moved too slowly to see the responding gesture. The doctor said, "Don't worry about her right now. Okay? Just close your eyes and try to relax, okay?"

"Is she dead? Is Alex dead?"

"We don't know much at the moment," the doctor said. Why couldn't she think of the man's name? Malcolm... something. Or was it Dr. Malcolm?

"I w-want..." Her words dissolved into coughs, her entire body shaking with the effort. Her throat felt raw, her lungs tightening in a vice. She breathed deeply, pushing her head back into the pillow and squeezing her eyes shut.

"Dr. Tom, don't try to talk," Dr. Malcolm said.

It was a pointless admonition; she was already unconscious again.

~

Bugs and Wizell pushed their way through the charred black door, shining their flashlights across the remnants of the living room. "Fire didn't spread too far here," Bugs said, kicking the edge of the sofa. It seemed to have been smoked and charred, but not completely burnt.

"It didn't need to go looking for oxygen... Got a broken skylight here. Fire came in, took a deep breath of outside air and had a seat right where it was." Wizell said. He walked towards the center of the living room, lifting his boot when something cracked beneath it. "Broken glass on the ground... fire didn't blow this out."

"Lieutenant," Bugs said from the back hall. "Got a body."

Wizell back-tracked, joining her outside the bathroom. "Jesus," he breathed, kneeling down next to the black coal mummy. His arms and legs had pulled in towards his chest, but the wall all around was splattered with blood. "Is that a halligen over there?" he asked.

"Looks like it," Bugs replied, kneeling down and picking it up. "Blood all over all of it. Fire investigators will want to see this."

Wizell stood and said, "Yeah. Let's get the rest of this junk cleared so we can get the hell out of here."

"This is where Crawford was heading."

"Yeah," Wizell said.

"Do you think she's the one who killed this guy?"

Wizell shrugged. "Dunno. If not, I hope she got some licks in, at least."

Bugs put the halligen back where she'd found it and followed Wizell back into the living room to begin overhaul.

~

The hyperbaric chamber was horrendous; a tight, glass tube that made her feel as if she were on display. Doctors milled around outside, speaking to each other in quiet voices about her. Many of them, she knew, were kick-starting the rumor mill. Huge fire, one of our own is a victim, firefighter heroically saved her, etc. She would be a reluctant celebrity for the next few days, until the next big thing hit.

Every now and then during treatment, pressure built up in her ears and she plugged her nose, exhaling as hard as she could. She wiggled her jaw, staring at the ceiling through her glass tomb. Eventually, she closed her eyes, moving only to pop her ears and ignoring everything else around her. All she wanted was Alex. Why wouldn't anyone tell her where Alex was?

~

Back on her gurney, on her way back to her room, she kept her eyes closed. They thought she was sleeping, thought she couldn't hear them.

She only heard two words of their back-and-forth gossip.

'Dead firefighter.'

~

When she was feeling up to it, Rachel sat in the wheelchair they insisted she use and rolled herself over to the window. Her thumb had been reset, her burns treated. She'd seen enough of that damn hyperbaric chamber to last a lifetime, but she still found herself short of breath even after a trip to the bathroom. Dr. Malcolm had reassured her that the symptoms would fade but, if they persisted, to let him know and they'd take care of it.

She didn't talk except to give information about her condition. A newspaper reporter called, but she hung up on him. She accepted no visitors. The people checking in on her were ghosts, memories of faces that faded in and out of the room without her paying much attention. "A very lucky woman," they all said. Lucky to be alive, lucky to have escaped without any serious injuries... very, very lucky.

Days weren't important. Nights hurt. She stared out the window, watching the blue sky and clouds and wondering why, today of all days, it wasn't raining. Her mood demanded dark rain clouds, torrential downpours, lightning filling the sky. She got up, ignoring the stupid wheelchair and walked to the chair by the window, curling up in a ball and looking out at the blasphemous sunshine outside. She hugged her knees to her chest, eyes flat, heart aching.

"Didn't you want to see me?" Alex asked.

"I couldn't bear it," Rachel said, closing her eyes and fighting her tears. "I'm sorry, I just couldn't."

"Do you want me to go?"

Rachel frowned and slowly looked over her shoulder. Alex was sitting in the doorway, sagging in a wheelchair. She was wearing a hospital gown, her left leg sticking out in front of her, sheathed in plaster. Her face was tortured, a bandage peeking out from under her bangs. Heart pounding, Rachel stepped towards her and breathed, "You're alive?"

Alex wheeled into the room, looking confused. "Yes..."

Rachel hurried over, dropping to her knees in front of the wheelchair. She reached out and flattening her palm against Alex's chest. She sobbed when she felt the steady throb of her heartbeat. "They wouldn't... No one told me what happened. They said there was a dead firefighter and I... didn't want to hear details so I stopped listening." She frowned. "W-who...?"

Alex leaned forward, pressing her forehead against Rachel's. "Murray..."

"Oh," Rachel sobbed, her voice cracking.

"No, babe, Murray is alive. But... it was touch-and-go for a while. His legs were burnt very badly, he got an infection, everything that could go wrong..." She paused and chewed her bottom lip. "He'll... be better, though. Eventually. And with enough physical therapy, he'll be back on duty before too long."

Rachel leaned down, embracing Alex and holding her as tightly as possible. Rachel spoke into Alex's shoulder. "I've been dead since I... since they said..."

"I thought you were mad at me... for bringing that man into your life, for doing this. I spent all this time downstairs, enduring all these surgeries, and all I could think about was how it didn't matter if you were mad at me. And the thing that was killing me was that even *I* thought it was all my fault... and you... I understood if you didn't want to see me again."

"It wasn't your fault," Rachel said. "And I love you so much."

Alex closed her eyes, tears dripping onto Rachel's hospital gown. "You're leaning on my leg."

"Oh, God, I'm so sorry!" Rachel laughed, released her. Wiping her cheeks, she said, "There's a lounge down the hall. I'm sure they'll let us use it if we want."

"Okay," Alex said, stroking Rachel's hair. "Do you wanna bum a ride?"

Rachel laughed. "I would love to."

"Well, then, hop on, pilgrim," Alex said. Rachel gathered her robe around herself and sat on Alex's lap, wrapping an arm around her shoulders. "Is this okay? Is your leg...?"

"My leg is fine." She stroked Rachel's back and then shifted in the seat. "Dear Lord, you're heavy."

"Wuss," Rachel said. She leaned down and nuzzled behind Alex's ear.

"Seriously, how can you weigh this much when your ass is so bony?"

Rachel nipped Alex's ear and said, "Shut up and drive, woman."

*Early the following summer...*

Rachel walked into the cabin and set down her armload of groceries on the kitchen counter. "I'm back!" she called. She pulled off her sunglasses and she leaned over the counter to scanned the living room. "Alex? Are you here?" No reply.

She put away the refrigerated groceries and grabbed two bottles of tea, carrying them with her onto the deck. She smiled when she saw Alex, stretched out on a chaise lounge wearing denim shorts and a bikini top. Her eyes were hidden by the SFD ball cap, but Rachel knew she was asleep.

Taking a moment to admire her lover, she focused on the small black knee brace wrapped around her leg. The cast had been removed months ago, but the brace would be a constant companion due to the damage Laenko's bullet had done. Barring some miracle, she would never again walk without a limp.

Rachel put the bottles down on the table, straddled Alex's lap and carefully lifted the other woman's hat. Sure enough, she was completely unconscious. Rachel smiled and kissed her lips until Alex began to respond. "Morning, sleepy-head."

"Hi," Alex said drowsily, pushing herself up in her seat. "God, how long have I been sleeping?"

"I don't know," Rachel said as she moved to her own seat. "I just got back from the store. Good sleep?"

"Mm," Alex replied and rubbed her eyes. She blinked and looked out at the bay backing up against Rachel's property. "It's just so beautiful out here." Sailboats were still bobbing back and forth, easing towards the open strait from their cozy personal docks. Rachel's own boat waiting lazily next to her dock.

"I love it here," Rachel said.

Alex glanced over and said, "So... it may be awhile before you come back to Shepherd?"

After the fire, Rachel had taken up residence in her family's cabin on Squire's Isle, a small island that was fifty miles and a ferry ride away from Shepherd. Alex had stayed in Shepherd for her rehabilitation but had driven out as soon as possible for a weekend. Since then, they'd been exchanging duties as hostess. "I don't know how long I'll be staying," Rachel said. "Honestly... I wouldn't mind staying here for... quite a while."

Alex nodded and looked down at her foot. "You mean permanently."

Rachel reached over and took Alex's hand. "Tell me something? How goes the job search back in Shepherd?"

"Subtle change of subject?" Alex asked with a rueful smile. "It's not going well. Von Elm offered me a job in arson investigation a while back, but... it would just be like showing up late to every party. Everyone else gets to have all the fun and I'm stuck with the clean-up afterwards." She rested her head on the pillow of the chaise. "But I can't fool myself. I won't be happy with *any* desk job... at least not as happy as I was being a firefighter. But with my leg... I will never be a firefighter again."

"Maybe," Rachel said.

Alex looked over. "Unless you're willing to chop off your leg and donate it to me... and even then there's a serious height consideration..."

Rachel smirked and said, "Nothing as drastic as a transplant. At least... not of a leg. What if you moved out here? The island has one fire department for both of its townships, but even the two combined equals something a whole lot smaller than Shepherd. I'm just thinking..."

Alex tilted her head. "You have that tone..."

"What tone?"

"The tone that says you're testing the waters, holding something back to see how I feel."

Rachel smiled. "You know my tones?"

Alex shrugged and smiled proudly. "I don't know... do I?"

"I went to City Hall and asked about the fire department for the island. Now, you know there are two townships; December Harbor and Sholeh Village."

Alex scoffed. "I'm looking for a job and she's giving me geography lessons."

"Hush," Rachel said, slapping Alex's naked thigh. "Now, both towns are serviced by the same department. The Squire's Isle Fire Department. It's a mostly volunteer organization with usually a handful of officers in charge. Until recently."

"What happened recently?"

"Past couple of years, there have been a lot of job vacancies; retirements, one or two people died in the line of duty, people moving away or changing jobs... the point is, the department has had no current officers on its roster since the fire chief retired last year. The sheriff has been pulling double duty and it's starting to wear a little thin."

"Okay," Alex said, still not comprehending. "I'm just a firefighter. Even if I wanted the chief job, they couldn't give it to me for at least... I don't know, three or four years. And that's at the bare minimum."

"You don't need to be a chief," Rachel said, smiling now. "If you take the lieutenant's test and pass it, you'll be an officer. If you're an officer in this department, you're the high head on the totem pole. You'll basically be the acting chief."

Alex frowned. "Really?"

"Babe... you're a terrific firefighter. You know your stuff. There's a chance we could arrange it so that you don't have to go into fires, so your knee won't be an issue. The sheriff would be so happy to hand over the reins he would probably give you a 'get out of jail free' card for coming to his rescue. And, in a couple of years, you take the captain's test, then the chief's... just to make it official."

"So I would be living on the island?"

"Yes."

Alex bit her lip and looked out at the bay. "Wow," she whispered.

"You don't have to say yes. I'm just... it was an option that was out there and I... took the initiative. If you tell me to butt out, I'll butt out, but..."

"Thank you," Alex said. "You... it means so much to me that you would do this."

Rachel smiled and took Alex's hand. "So you'll think about it?"

"No. It's decided." She smiled and said, "I'll talk to the mayor and the sheriff tomorrow before my ferry."

"You're still leaving tomorrow?"

Alex nodded. "Yeah, babe. I'm still warming the bench back at Shepherd. But don't worry... now I'll be using the time to pack my things and tie up loose ends. Next time I come back here, I'll be looking for a place to stay." She raised her eyebrows and smirked at Rachel. "Any ideas?"

Rachel poked her chin towards the door. "I have a fold-out couch in the living room."

"Can I use it?"

"You could..." Rachel said. "But you won't."

Alex grinned and pulled Rachel to her, moving aside to let her into the chaise. They slid together, side-to-side, kissing softly. "I love you," Alex said, fingertips lightly touching the feathered hair off Rachel's temple.

"I love you, too," Rachel replied, closing her eyes and resting her head on Alex's chest. Alex stroked her hand up and down Rachel's back, feeling the warmth of the other woman.

They'd walked through fire together. Braved a madman in a burning apartment and they had come out of it. Not unscathed, but not broken either. When she exhaled, her breath ruffled Rachel's hair. When Rachel exhaled, Alex could feel the warmth spread across her chest like a wave. She could still hear Heather Riley saying that her fiancé hadn't understood, could never understand, what she went through. Alex knew that no one else on Earth would ever understand her better than Rachel Tom.

She lifted her left arm and turned it, eyeing the scars that were now barely visible below her wrist. The result of Martin Lancaster's first fire, the small embers that had seared her skin and brought Rachel Tom into her life. She hated the man, but owed him the greatest gift she'd ever been given. She kissed the top of Rachel's head and again whispered, "I love you."

Rachel was asleep and didn't reply, but her fingertips tightened slightly against Alex's stomach.

In a while, Rachel would wake up and slap Alex's shoulder for letting her sleep so long. They would go inside, Rachel would cook something and they would retire to the sofa for TV or a movie. A while after that, they would go to bed and eventually sleep. But there was time for that later. For now, the sun was still low in the sky, the sailboats were still waving to and fro on the horizon and there was a beautiful woman tucked against her side, sleeping peacefully.

Later, they could deal with later.

For right now, Alex had everything she wanted or needed within arm's length. She closed her eyes and put her head back, falling asleep with a smile tugging at the corners of her lips.

She was a very lucky woman.

The End