“Copy that,” Kellan said, his pulse flaring faster and his feet already in go-mode toward the storage compartment in the engine that held his Halligan bar. Taking one last mental snapshot of the scene, he fell into step with Shae, following Dempsey and Faurier over the scraggly excuse for a lawn. The front door easily succumbed to Dempsey’s well-placed kick, and a blast of heat and smoke rushed out to greet them like the world’s rudest hostess.
“Masks,” Faurier barked, each of them tugging their equipment into place over their faces. “McCullough, you and Walker take floor two. Dempsey and I will shake and bake down here. Let’s make it quick.”
“Copy,” Shae hollered past the hiss of her regulator. Following Faurier and Dempsey into the hazy space of the foyer, she and Kellan cut a quick path toward the set of stairs to their left. He counted his paces, making a fast mental note of how far the exit was in case visibility got any worse. Sweat formed a hot band of moisture over his forehead, and he did his best to blink it back, taking slow, even breaths to make the most of the oxygen from his SCBA. The house seemed less fire-ravaged the farther they ascended, but only just. Whatever had sparked this blaze had dug in hard and deep.
After a few more steps, he and Shae reached the top of the staircase, a dark, narrow hallway splitting off to either the right or the left. “I’ll take Bravo, you take Delta, we’ll meet back here in the middle. Good?” she asked, turning toward the left side of the hall.
“Copy that.” Kellan’s knuckles tightened over his Halligan bar even though his Teflon-reinforced gloves padded much of the contact. Six paces over the floorboards brought him to a door on his left, and he shoved his way over the threshold without pretense.
“Fire department! Call out!”
The only answer was the crackling whoosh of flames trailing up the far wall. Kellan moved farther into the space, and wait—he spun on his boot heels—the room was completely empty. No furniture, no curtains on the single window allowing a few feeble shafts of sunlight past the soot and smoke.
No nothing.
A prickle of unease slid over the back of his neck, but he shoved the feeling aside. This house was on fire, and not a little bit. He didn’t have time for weird coincidences.
Another ten seconds turned up a just-as-empty closet, and Kellan strode back toward the hallway, jamming the door behind him shut so the flames had less of a chance to spread. The radio chatter at his shoulder told him Hawk and Gates were more than halfway to getting the roof vented, and once they did, chances were high Bridges would want to hit this place with enough water to fill an Olympic-sized swimming pool.
“Fire department. Is anybody in here?” Kellan tried again, shouldering his way past the only other doorway at his end of the hall. The room on the other side was way smaller and way more darkly shadowed than the bedroom he had just checked, and despite the limited visibility, he instantly recognized the space in front of him as a bathroom.
He caught sight of the woman curled up in the bathtub a half-second later.
“Whoa!” He dropped to his knees, his Halligan bar jangling to the tile and his pulse sending a steady stream of adrenaline to every last cell in his body. “Ma’am? Can you hear me?” Kellan put a firm shake on the woman’s shoulder, but her head simply lolled, sending her dark hair over her face. Dammit.
Sucking in a breath, he slapped one gloved hand over his radio. “Walker to Command.”
“Command to Walker,” Bridges answered, all business. “Report.”
“I have an unconscious victim on the second floor, Delta side.” He needed to find Shae and get this woman out of here, now.
“McCullough to Command, the rest of floor two is clear.” Shae’s voice filtered through the two-way, calm and controlled. “Walker, fall out to the primary exit. I’ve got your back.”
Relief spilled through him. “Copy, McCullough,” Kellan said, and Bridges’ voice followed.
“Command to McCullough, copy that. Walker, you’re a go. Drake and Copeland are standing by at the primary exit to assist.”
The second the words registered, Kellan’s arms shot out. Turning the victim to her back, he took a cursory look at her, just to make sure she had no obvious injuries he’d make worse with a fireman’s carry…
And then he saw the woman’s face.
“Angel?” His heart ricocheted against his ribs. For a stop-time second, Kellan thought surely his brain was playing some adrenaline-fueled, nasty-bastard trick on his eyes—how the hell could Angel be here, in the bathtub of a burning house, when she was supposed to be with Isabella?
After a single blink, he smashed down on his confusion. This fire was getting meaner by the second. He couldn’t afford to do anything right now other than move.
Move.