To the fans who hated seeing the end of the Delta Heat series…I was only kidding!
Chapter One
One of the crappiest shifts of firefighter John Coop
Cooper’s life took another nosedive when his lieutenant caught him before he’d even had a chance to drop his turnout gear after their latest run. With sooty sweat stinging his eyes and his suspenders half-up half-down, he sighed as the LT curled his fingers, beckoning him over.
Coop knew exactly what this was about, and despite his fatigue, his mind zipped through all the possible excuses he could muster to escape.
You’re the last one,
Lieutenant Knox Triplett said, his face hard and his hazel gaze narrowing on Coop.
Used to be that Coop cared about pleasing Knox. He’d strove to be first to his gear and into the truck, first in the door of a burning building, and was careful never to fuck up a room-to-room search. He’d cared about being the best firefighter he could be. But lately, he’d just been showing up, going through the motions. Doing what he had to do to get through the shift.
Knox had been patient, his gazes merciful and sympathetic. But it looked as though he’d reached the end of his tether so far as Coop was concerned.
Coop wished he could feel anger or shame. But all he could muster was irritation. He wanted out of the station. The shift was nearly over and he had to dodge this bullet one more time. The last one? You sure about that?
Coop asked, not bothering to look Knox in the eye.
Knox tapped his clipboard. I asked for a hundred percent cooperation with the internal investigation, with the NIOSH assholes. Don’t know what it is with you guys. This should be the easy part. The counselor’s here to help you.
Coop raked a hand through his hair. That’s the point, LT. I don’t need his help. I’m tired of talking about it.
A muscle tensed in the side of the LT’s jaw. Let me make this simple. If you don’t make time to see Russell, I’m putting you on suspension.
Coop cussed under his breath. By Knox’s stern tone, Coop knew the LT wasn’t bluffing. Where is he?
he grumbled.
The conference room. Don’t bother showering. No more stalling.
Finally, his stern expression eased. Just get it over with, Coop. You’re not the only one who lost a friend. We’re here for you.
He reached out and awkwardly patted Coop’s shoulder and then tilted his head toward the corridor. Compassion and firmness. The LT never slacked. He took his job seriously.
Let me drop my gear,
Coop mumbled. He turned back to the truck and took his sweet time stripping off his boots and trousers.
Don’t worry about cleaning it,
Noah, the engine driver, said as he came around the side of the vehicle. I’ve got you covered. No need to piss the LT off any further.
How many people had heard their conversation? Coop didn’t bother looking around to see. He nodded and turned toward the corridor.
Hey,
Noah called after him. Some of the guys are going with Billy to his club tonight. Why not join us?
Noah meant well. All the men did. They’d tiptoed around him, given him time and space to handle his grief. But Coop had turned down every invitation for drinks and even for Saturday football. Think I’ll pass,
he muttered. He fisted his hands at his sides and strode down the corridor.
Farley Russell was seated at the table in the conference room, a pen in hand and a folder opened in front of him. The bristles of his buzz cut shone gold in the fluorescent light. He glanced up when Coop entered the room and gave him a half-smile when he slumped into a chair. We’ll make this quick. Unless you need to talk.
Coop shook his head and tightened his lips.
How you sleeping, Coop?
Just fine.
If waking up in a cold sweat night after night was fine.
Russell gave a soft snort and his lips twisted. Knox says you haven’t been performing up to your previous level. That you seem to be operating on automatic.
Coop shifted on his chair and strummed his fingers on the tabletop. He couldn’t make his impatience any clearer. I haven’t fucked up.
Yet.
Russell made some notes in the folder and then closed it and clasped his hands together, resting them atop the sheaf of notes. Truitt was your friend,
he said carefully and without any emotion.
Something Coop appreciated. He was done with the looks and the soft voices. He grunted. Danny Truitt had been more than just a friend. The two of them had attended high school together, had applied and been accepted to the same firefighter academy class. They’d jockeyed hard to win spots in the same firehouse, which had taken a couple of years, and then they’d spent eight years with the same crew in Firehouse 69.
Their bunks had been side-by-side. Their lockers too. They’d double-dated. Coop had stood as Danny’s best man when he’d married Melody.
And it had been Coop who had hoisted up Danny’s body from the wreckage of the roof that had collapsed when they’d vented it during an apartment fire.
The moment he’d gotten Danny to the ground and pushed off his SCBA mask was forever imprinted on his mind. Danny’s irrepressible grin, even in the worst circumstances, had been forever wiped away.
I’ve read the report. Talked to the other firefighters who worked that fire. You were in the middle of it, a step away from joining Danny in that hole. You can’t blame yourself. You could just as easily have died.
And he should have. Coop’s fingers curled tightly. Danny had a wife and a kid on the way. Other than Danny and his buddies in the firehouse, no one would have missed Coop. No one depended on him.
You’ve been hard to nail into a chair.
Russell’s smile was thin, but his brown eyes were steady, probing. He’d been a firefighter until he’d been sidelined with a back injury. He knew what it was like in the firehouse. The fact he’d had some college gave him a new lease. Now he helped other firefighters in
