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“The floor’s going to go,” Lew shouted.
Flynn felt the give of hot wood under his feet. With a firm grip under Carey’s arm, he started back. Frenchy appeared on Carey’s other side to help support the stumbling man. They made it to the window where Lew guided Carey out onto the sagging back-porch roof.
Inside, the center of the floor sprouted flames. Part of the floor collapsed under the intense heat. Water spewed into the room from a hose at a side window. Flynn scrambled out through the window over the porch, Frenchy on his heels. The porch roof also felt dangerously soft underfoot.
“Go!” Frenchy yelled.
Flynn bolted forward and plunged through a weakened section. His leg and shoulder took the brunt of his landing as he and that section of roofing came to rest on the back porch. Lew appeared at his side, tugging on his arm.
Dazed, Flynn made it to his feet and staggered off the porch. He managed Frenchy’s name.
“We got him,” Lew assured. “Paul’s taking him down the side.”
Flynn yanked off his mask and sucked in fresh air thankfully as Lew led him to the rescue vehicle. The victim lay on her back in the grass. Paramedics, Arlene and Murray, were working over her. Flynn paused to gaze down at her delicate features covered in thick black soot.
“Pretty little thing,” Lew remarked.
Pretty was an understatement. Beneath the soot she appeared fragile, almost porcelain-doll lovely. She reminded him of a fairy-tale princess on the cover of some book.
A very dirty princess.
“Now what was someone like her doing in there, I’d like to know,” Lew grumbled.
An excellent question.
Flynn watched them work on her, willing her to live while wishing there was something more he could do to help.
“I should have got her out sooner.”
“Man, you guys barely got out at all. Count your blessings.”
“I do. Thanks, Lew.”
He let Lew guide him away. Standing suddenly lost its appeal. His legs complied as Lew pressed him down on the ground.
“I’m okay.”
“Let them be the judge of that.”
The new voice jerked his head up. Flynn tried to focus on the lined features of the battalion chief, who stood over him. It took his groggy head a long moment to process the identification, yet there was no mistaking that craggy face. He let his gaze sweep the scene. They’d called a box alarm and the area was flooded with responders and their vehicles.
The wind gusted steadily, sending sparks drifting in multiple directions. Brush near the side of the house had ignited as the big Victorian swelled with smoke and flames. The house was fully engulfed now. He could feel the intense heat clear over here by the engine.
“Anyone else inside?” the chief demanded.
“We cleared most of the house, sir, but I don’t know for sure.”
The man nodded and turned to speak with the lieutenant.
“You all right?” Lew demanded.
“Yeah. Carey?”
“They think his ankle’s broken.”
Flynn grimaced. “What about the victim?” He indicated the woman being loaded onto a stretcher. Long, soot-coated blondish hair spilled over the side.
“Unconscious, but alive. She took in a lot of smoke.”
The battalion chief turned back to him. “She a victim or the arsonist?”
Flynn shrugged and wished he hadn’t as his shoulder twinged. “I’d say victim. She was unconscious on a mattress when I found her.”
He scowled. “You’ll need to talk to the fire investigator.”
“Figured as much,” Flynn agreed.
The chief moved away and Murray and Arlene shouldered Lew aside. “Let’s have a look at you.”
“I’m fine.”
“We’re taking you to go to Community Hospital to get checked out,” Murray told him.
“No need. I’m fine.”
“Lieutenant’s orders,” they chorused.
“Okay, but I’m not lying on any gurney.”
Murray grinned evilly.
“Who’s your sleeping beauty?” Arlene questioned. “She sure isn’t from this part of town. That was an expensive designer evening gown she was wearing.”
Flynn focused on Arlene’s long face. “Evening gown?”
“Yeah, you know, formal dances, that sort of thing?”
“I didn’t know women still wore evening gowns outside of television.”
“You move in the wrong circles, O’Shay. Now if you were rich or famous—”
“He’ll probably be famous.” Murray grinned. “I saw Dick Scellioli snapping pictures when he passed the woman outside. And I think he got a good one of you falling through the roof.”
Flynn groaned. They all knew Scellioli. The freelance photojournalist was making quite a name for himself following police and fire calls, where he’d snap pictures to sell to the highest bidder. He’d shown up at more than one fire scene recently.
“Can you stand?” Arlene asked.
“Of course I can stand.” But it took a little help as it turned out. He swayed unsteadily.
“Come on, hero, let’s ride.”
FLYNN HATED the smell of hospitals, the cold, impersonalness, the noise and the waiting. He wasn’t all that fond of doctors, either, particularly when he was the one being poked, probed and ignored. They spent most of the morning ignoring him while they confirmed that nothing was broken. He had a slight concussion, a number of contusions and minor lacerations, along with several strained muscles.
He wasn’t at all surprised when his sister-in-law, Sally, stuck her head in the cubical as he was struggling to get back into his smoke-stained clothing. As an intern on rotation, Sally was assigned to pediatrics at the moment, but she knew just about everyone in the hospital and someone must have told her he’d been brought in.
“They tell me you’ll live, but you reek of smoke.”
“Gee, I wonder why.”
She grinned unrepentantly and fiddled with the stethoscope around her neck. “Your mother wants you to call.”
“Of course she does.”
“Hey, give me some credit. I kept her from rushing over here, didn’t I?”
“And I appreciate that. Really. How’s Carey? I can’t get anyone to tell me a thing around here.”
“Broken ankle, cuts and bruises, though not as spectacular as yours are going to be and he has a couple of minor burns. He’ll be fine. They’re sending him home as soon as his wife gets here.”
“What about the victim?”
“Sleeping Beauty? Word is she’s still unconscious, and they don’t know why. They’re running blood serums to check for drugs.”
Flynn made a face. And hadn’t he known that name was going to stick? Someone must have overheard Arlene. The crew loved monikers. Poor red-haired Frenchy had never had a chance with a name like Abel French. Flynn just hoped the press hadn’t picked up the Sleeping Beauty reference. He didn’t fancy being dubbed Prince Charming. The teams could be pretty merciless.
“Arlene said she was wearing an expensive evening gown.”
Sally nodded. “That’s what they tell me. A designer original.”
“Think you can get me in to see her?”
Her eyebrows rose. “Why?”
Flynn shrugged. “It just seems like something I should do.”
A knowing expression crossed her face. “I hear she’s a looker.”
“Do not start,” he ordered. Sally gave him a mischievous smile.
“You should know your picture’s all over the news. It’s a great shot. You’re all soot-stained and battered, being held up while you stare down at her. It’s a compelling expression, Flynn. Great framing. He even got the house fire blazing in the background.”
Flynn groaned. “Scellioli.”
Sally’s smile widened. “There’s even video footage of you passing her out the window and going through the roof. Your mother is concerned.”
“Thanks a lot.”
“Hey, I didn’t take the pictures. I just caught them on the monitor as I was heading down here to see you. You need a ride home?”
“Arlene and Murray said they’d swing by if they were free.”
“Okay, but if not let me know. I can call your brother Neil if he isn’t in court today. Or your mom will come pick you up.”
“No!” She’d fuss, as Sally well knew.
“Well, my hubby flew a red-eye out to L.A. last night and Ronan won’t fly back to D.C. until tomorrow. But I imagine Lucan will probably show up sooner or later.”
Given that his brother Lucan was a police detective, Flynn had little doubt of that. He shook his head and wished he hadn’t. His neck and shoulder were stiffening up. The last thing he wanted right now was one of his brothers giving him a hard time.
“I’m injured, Sally. Give me a break.”
She chuckled. “Fine. I’ve got to get back to work anyhow.”
“Okay to go see Carey?”
“Don’t see why not. Just follow the swearing. They were casting his ankle a few minutes ago.”
“Where’d they take the victim?”
“Sleeping Beauty’s been admitted on four. Room 410.”
Flynn nodded. He finished collecting his things and followed her down the hall to the room where Carey was giving an attractive young nurse a hard time. Carey’s wife arrived a few minutes later to calm things down, so Flynn gave her a wink of sympathy and headed for the elevator. He’d check on their victim, then give Murray a call.
The fourth floor bustled with activity. He found the victim in a four-bed ward without bothering anyone. Three of the four beds were filled, but none of the occupants were awake. Beauty was in the last bed, near the window.
She looked more like a porcelain doll than a princess now as she lay against the white hospital sheets. She was so still he would have thought her dead if not for the steady rasp of oxygen and the hum of all the monitors surrounding her.
Her features were as delicate and lovely as he’d remembered. Someone had wiped most of the soot from her face, but it still darkened her hair and clung to the hairline. The hair would be a light golden brown, he judged, but he wondered what color her eyes would be. They were closed, with thick, dark lashes lying against her pale skin. She could be anywhere from sixteen to her late twenties.
The steady pulse of the machines was almost soothing, but he could do without the antiseptic smell that always permeated hospital rooms.
Flynn sank down in the chair at the foot of the bed with a grateful sigh. “Well, we made it, Beauty. I wasn’t so sure for a while there.”
Her eyes moved behind closed lids. For a minute he thought she would open those eyes and look up at him, but she didn’t.
“I’m Flynn O’Shay, by the way. The guy who rescued you. I don’t suppose you want to wake up and tell me who you are?”
Other than more movement behind her eyes, nothing happened.
“Sorry about almost dropping you. Things got a little hairy in there. What were you doing in that empty house, anyhow?”
“Has she regained consciousness, then?”
Flynn looked up to see a hefty older nurse watching him from the edge of the curtain that separated Beauty’s bed from the one with the elderly woman next to it.
“Sorry. No. I thought maybe she’d wake if I talked to her. Her eyes keep flickering, but she hasn’t opened them. I’m Flynn O’Shay.”
“I know. We saw you on the afternoon news telecast. That was quite a fall you took. Glad to see you’re okay. Your sister-in-law said you’d be coming up to check on her. Talking to her is good.”
