The Baby Bond. Linda Goodnight
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puffing like a freight train.”
Nic pointed with his chin. “Scan over there.”
Sam raised the camera. “Bingo.”
The noise came again, a mewling cry. “A kid?”
“Baby.” Sam shifted the viewfinder into Nic’s line of sight. “And he’s kicking like mad.”
Nic wasted no breath on the exultant shout that formed inside him. Handing off the nozzle to his partner, Nic approached the crib and had the crying child in his arms in seconds. His blood pumped harder than the engine outside, consuming way too much air. “Let’s get out of here.”
Sam scanned the rest of the room as they exited, hosing hot spots along the way. A crumpling roar shook the floor beneath them. They both froze. Nic tucked the baby closer, waiting to see if the flooring would give way and send them plummeting down into the inferno.
Sometimes Nic wondered if his afterlife would be like that: A trapdoor sprung open and a long fall down into the flames.
Pray, Mama, he thought, knowing Rosalie Carano prayed for him all the time. He was her stray son, the one who danced on the borderline between faith and failure. Often she told of waking in the night to pray when he was on duty. He hoped she’d awakened tonight.
With the fire below them, eating its way up, it was only a matter of time until the second floor would be fully involved or structurally unsound. If it wasn’t already.
“Move it, Sam. This little dude is struggling.” Everything in him wanted to break protocol and give the baby his air mask. He’d do it, too, if he had to and worry about the consequences later. Nic reached toward his regulator.
A gloved hand stopped him.
“Don’t even think about it, hotshot,” Ridge growled, reading his intention. “You’re no good to him dead.”
Ridge was right. As always. Neither of them knew what might transpire before they could escape. Firefighters had been trapped in far less volatile situations.
Nic gave a short nod and started down the stairs, the infant tight against his chest. Almost as quickly, he jerked to a stop and slung his opposite arm outward to block Sam. “Trouble.”
Big trouble.
Heart jackhammering, Nic spoke into his radio. “Firefighter Carano to Captain of Engine One. Stairs have collapsed. We have an infant, approximately three months old, conscious and breathing, but we have no means of egress. I repeat, Captain, we have no means of egress.”
A moment of silence seemed to stretch on forever. The baby had stopped struggling. Gone quiet.
Pray, Mama. Pray for this kid.
Nic was reaching for his air mask again when the radio crackled. “Firefighter Carano, you have a window on D side, second story. We’ll send up an aerial.”
He dropped his hand.
“10-4.” Now to find the window. Fast. Though the upstairs smoke remained moderate, the darkness was complete. Without the imaging camera, he was as good as blind.
Keeping the baby as low to the ghostly haze as possible, Nic felt his way around the walls through the upper rooms, working toward what he hoped was D side. His partner found the exit first and opened it with a forcible exit tool. Glass shattered, the sound loud and welcome. The baby jerked. Cool night air rushed in.
Nic yearned to reassure the frightened infant. Through the plastic of his visor, he looked down into the wide, tearing eyes. Poor little dude would probably grow up with a terror of Star Wars.
The ladder clattered against the outside. Nic handed the child to Sam and climbed out, grateful for the flood of light as he reached back for the baby. He always appreciated life and light and fresh air a lot more after an entry such as this.
In seconds, he was down the ladder and on the ground. Paramedics whisked the baby out of his arms and started toward the ambulance. Nic followed, ripping away his helmet and mask as he walked.
His legs felt like deadweights inside his turnout boots.
“He gonna be all right?”
The red-haired paramedic, Shannon Phipps, nodded, her busy hands assessing, applying oxygen and otherwise doing her job with rapid-fire efficiency.
“You done good, Carano,” she said.
Nic knew he was expected to shoot back a wisecrack so he did. In truth, all he could think of was the tiny boy in blue sleepers who would never know his mother and father.
“We’ll get him to the hospital,” Shannon said. “But I think he’ll make it. Listen to that cry.”
Nic nodded, watched the paramedics load and slam doors. Heard the whack-whack of a hand on the back indicating the ambulance could pull away.
He jogged to his captain, equipment thudding, and then, as the ambulance started to leave, he stepped in front of the headlights. The driver slammed on his breaks and rolled down his window.
With a frown, the paramedic said, “Carano, I should have known it was you. You maniac, what are you doing?”
“Make room,” he said. “I’m going with you.”
This can’t be real. This can’t be real. Please, God in heaven, this can’t be real.
Cassidy Willis’s mind chanted disjointed prayers and denials as she stumbled down the corridor of Northwood Regional.
Janna and Brad would be waiting for her. They would laugh and yell a very cruel “April Fool.” This was not real. Her sister and brother-in-law could not be dead.
A nurse stopped her. “Miss, are you all right?”
Cassidy nodded numbly.
“Fine.” The word came out as a croak. “I need room twelve-fifteen. Alexander Brown. My nephew.”
Comprehension and a heavy dose of compassion registered behind the nurse’s glasses. She knew baby Alex was an orphan now.
An orphan. Oh no. Could she live through this torment again? She’d already lost her parents. Janna had been her family, her best friend, her sister. They’d had each other when life had been too hard to bear.
Cassidy closed her eyes and swayed. The nurse looped an arm gently through hers. “I’ll walk you down. You must be devastated.”
Devastated. Devastated. Like a recording stuck on repeat, words reverberated and replayed in her head.
All she could do was nod and stumble on, going through the motions. Doing what had to be done.
Whatever that was.
Alex. Baby Alex needed her. He was alone. All alone in a violent world that had stolen his mommy and daddy. A mommy and daddy who had loved him fiercely.
She felt lost. Alone. Just like Alex.
At the door of the room, she paused and sucked in a deep breath, hoping for strength, settling for vague sensory input. Hospital food. The clatter of trays coming off the elevator. Breakfast.
It seemed like hours since the sheriff had appeared at her door. But morning had just arrived, the dawn of a new and terrible day. A day she could not bear to face.
Maybe she was still asleep. Still dreaming. That was it. Bad dreams about death and destruction were all too common to her.
Wake up, Cass. Wake up.
The urging didn’t work. She was still standing outside a thick, brown door inside Northwood Regional Hospital staring into the gentle eyes of a nurse. Wishing she could slide to the floor and die, too, Cassidy faced the fact that this nightmare was the real thing.
“Is Alex…?” How did she ask if he was horribly burned or hooked up to tubes and wires? If he was suffering?
The