Souls' Rescue Part 1

Souls' Rescue.

by Pat Cronin.

Advanced Praise for Souls' Rescue.

Souls' Rescue offers a fresh new voice to lesbian fiction. The author has written a well-crafted story with realistic scenes of firefighting and rescue work. The characters are believable and struggle with lifealtering challenges. But the most harrowing challenge of all is the one that scares them the most-falling in love again. Souls' Rescue is a promising debut for Pat Cronin.

~ Chris Paynter, Author Playing for First and Come Back to Me.

This novel centers on the lives of two strangers whose destinies bring them together amidst the devastation of one thoughtless act. A story very much grounded in human emotions, human frailties and strengths along with the raw vulnerabilities that ultimately make us all seek the comfort of another soul.

~ Verda Foster Goldie Award winning co-editor for Blue Collar Lesbian Erotica Goldie Award finalist author of The Gift.

Firefighting is a necessary, exciting, and always dangerous vocation. Author Pat Cronin comes from a family of firefighters, and it's evident throughout Souls' Rescue. She takes the reader into the gritty, smoke-filled, ferocious heat of precarious rescues, including a flashback to 9-11, and with deft descriptions, puts us right there in the mix. Readers who like action will thoroughly enjoy this story, and those who like romance will connect to the ups and downs of the unlikely pairing that Cronin so skillfully presents. Souls' Rescue will heat your skin and warm your heart.

~ Nann Dunne Author, editor, and publisher of Just About Write, www.JustAboutWrite.com.

Acknowledgments.

I want to first thank my dear friend and editor, Lori L. Lake. She's been my mentor in this writing journey and because of her patience and teaching that I've gotten to this level.

Thanks to J Robin Whitley for her edits and comments.

A great big gigantic thanks to my bestest friend, Verda Foster, for her help on this novel and all it's million incarnations. You can't ask for a better friend.

THANKS TO :.

Chris Paynter, Nann "Nanna" Dunne, my sis Marie, Mary H, Jessie Chandler and Lynn "scooter" Glover for their quick freedback and wonderful comments.

My brother-in-law, James, for letting me kill him and then sue him. Drinks are on me!

My publisher and friend, Cathy LeNoir for taking a chance on me. You rock! Donna P for the awesome cover.

My mom and granny for the endless card games!

And a very special thanks to my wife, Sandra. Ik hou van jou, liefje. Voor altijdt!.

Dedication.

To the memory of my dad, George, and my granddad, Frank. The two most important men in my life.

Chapter One.

THE ATRIUM OF the Winchester Building was busier than usual. Talia Stoddard stood in line at the Starbucks, checking her watch to make sure she would be on time. She had her own office as the a.s.sociate of Claims for the Winchester Insurance Group. Her a.s.sistant, Patrick, usually made a game of trying to get to the office before her. At this rate, he was going to win.

The morning sun beamed through the gla.s.s walls of the atrium and lit the open area with tiny speckles of light. Rainbows floated along the streams of suns.h.i.+ne. Talia wondered if any of the other Monday morning workers ever took time to enjoy the beauty of the sparkling colors.

The line moved and she inched forward. She could hear the first bit of Reba McIntire's "Is There Life Out There." Six months ago she couldn't have imagined herself standing in line at Starbucks and hearing country music. It wouldn't happen back in DC. But Cincinnati was a world away from the nation's capital and she was glad for it.

Her cell phone rang, announcing that her best friend and co-worker Jacob Meier was calling. She waited for her Bluetooth to activate. " 'Morning, Jacob."

"Hi darlin'. Are you here yet?"

"Nope. I'll be up in about ten or fifteen minutes, I guess. Why? Is there something urgent you need?"

"Yes. I'm dying as we speak. I need my cappuccino. Besides, you have to tell me what you think of that new yummy barista."

"I can see him from where I am. Why?"

"Because he's going out with me next week."

Talia smiled. "You are such a wh.o.r.e-dog."

"Yes, and proud of it."

"Of course you are. I'll be in the office in a bit, and you can tell me all about him."

"Good. Now hurry up. I need my caffeine."

"Yes, dear."

Talia got their morning order and headed for the elevators, her high heels clicking against the smooth white tiles that somehow never seemed to smudge. She thought that the Winchester Group must spend a pretty penny to keep the building so s.h.i.+ny and spotless.

The regular, enclosed cars were empty, she waited for the gla.s.s elevator. Even though it took forever to actually take off, it felt more open and a lot less claustrophobic than the others. She could see her reflection and straightened the collar of her new silk blouse. Jacob had insisted she buy some new clothes because he was tired of all the black and navy pants suits she wore.

They had spent all day Sat.u.r.day going to every shop in Cincinnati. She'd spent most of her savings on new s.h.i.+rts and slacks and Jacob came away with the phone numbers of two very helpful young men.

The s.h.i.+rt she wore was Jacob's favorite pick. It was light yellow and even though she wasn't sure it looked good with her dark brown features, Jacob insisted it highlighted her eyes. Her mother would be appalled and for that reason alone, Talia bought the s.h.i.+rt.

The elevator car arrived and she stepped in and pressed 10 with her free hand, glad that no one else was riding with her.

The back of the elevator formed a diamond point, and through each panel of gla.s.s she was treated to a stunning visual of the upward sweep of Cincinnati's twenty floor architectural wonder, the Winchester Building. She wasn't all that fond of skysc.r.a.pers, but this was a building that oozed grace and loveliness. She gazed out into the atrium and took a sip of her cappuccino.

Over the hum of everyday sounds outside the elevator, Talia heard an explosive crash. A woman screamed. A high pitched engine shrieked, and her ears hurt from the sound.

As she whirled toward the elevator doors, she was shocked to see a flash of blue and white careening toward her.

"Oh, my g-"

She didn't have time to say another word or let go of the coffee before a giant metal monster smashed her backwards. Gla.s.s rained down. The sunlight blinked out. Pressure all around sucked away the air until every little gasp she made brought in only dust.

Something hot and wet trickled down the front of her, and the last thought she managed before pa.s.sing out was to wonder if that was coffee or her own blood.

Chapter Two.

KELLY MCCOY SLUNG the air pack over one shoulder and headed for the work bench in the back of the fire house bay. Her feet made echo sounds on the concrete as she pa.s.sed where Ladder 7 and Engine 12 were normally parked. Those crews had responded to a fire call just before her s.h.i.+ft started two hours earlier. She was jealous that they were out fighting fire while she was stuck doing busy work and checking air bottles.

"Yo, Kel." Scott Sanderson, a firefighter on her s.h.i.+ft and Kelly's best friend, came running over. "Which pack you got?"

She glanced at the number on the strap. "Nineteen. Why?"

"s.h.i.+t. I'm working on inventory, and I can't find pack twelve."

Kelly was about to respond when alert tones sounded throughout the bay, echoing off the cinder block walls and calling for Engine 14, Rescue 1, to respond to the Winchester Building at 324 Vine Street.

"d.a.m.n." Kelly put down the air pack and ran for her gear rack, pus.h.i.+ng past Scott to get to her boots, coat and helmet. She was dressed first and leapt into the cab of the rescue unit, grinning at Scott when he climbed in behind her. She was in the forward facing seat, but Scott had to sit in the seat in front of her that faced backward. Knowing riding backward made him car sick, she flashed him a mocking smile.

"I hate you," Scott said.

"No you don't."

"You only dress faster than me because you're shorter."

Kelly reached forward to lightly punch him in the stomach. "I beat you because you're getting old and fat."

"I am not."

Jimmy Mills, their s.h.i.+ft lieutenant, chimed in from the officer's seat on the pa.s.senger side of the truck's cab. "Yeah, you are. You're the oldest one here, Sanderson."

Scott displayed his middle finger for both of them. "You're only a couple months younger than me, Jimmy."

"I'm still younger."

"Bite me."

Jason Burke launched himself into the driver's seat and tore out of the station with the siren wailing.

Kelly felt a sudden tightening in her gut as they rolled up to the Winchester Building. The feeling didn't happened often, but Kelly knew it meant the call would be a bad one.

The building's lower floor entrance had been encased in solid gla.s.s, which now littered the sidewalk. Sharp edges of the window lined the s.p.a.ce where a door once stood. Pieces of the metal hung from the remnants of the frame. The truck had left a gaping hole in an otherwise pristine, gla.s.s encased entrance.

"Get in there," Jimmy hollered. "Looks d.a.m.n bad!"

Kelly grabbed the emergency medical bag and headed into the building, skirting a twisted railing. Gla.s.s crunched beneath her boots. She stepped over briefcases and around display racks and paused for a moment to take in the wide array of destruction. She looked back to the hole in the building wall and quickly took in the back half of a giant delivery truck, its nose buried inside the bank of elevators.

Bodies littered the scene. She heard a grinding motor and smelled exhaust. Kelly was reminded of a television broadcast about the conflicts in the Middle East. The few people on their feet moved about as though dazed, blood dripping from facial cuts, while others sat on the ground nursing injuries. She counted five lying on the ground not moving at all. She met Scott's eye and he shook his head in amazement before hastening toward his first victim.

Kelly put her bag down next to the first person she came upon. The man was sitting with his legs crossed, leaning against a piece of wood that had probably once belonged to the information desk. His black suit, white s.h.i.+rt and black silk tie reminded her of FBI agent attire. "Sir, are you hurt?"

He didn't say anything-just stared ahead with eyes fixed on something behind Kelly. She did a quick a.s.sessment, noting he was breathing and had no obvious injuries. No blood and no reaction when she touched him. She placed a string around his neck with a green tag on the end of it to tell other responders that he had no life-threatening injuries.

She hustled to the next person and repeated her a.s.sessment-a roll of clean gauze to staunch blood from a cut on the arm and another green tag applied.

"What the f.u.c.k are you doing? We don't have time to be f.u.c.king with a small bleeder."

Kelly looked up at Jason Burke. His large frame blocked the outside light. Made more from blubber than bulk, he moved slow and had never been known to be good at his job. He'd driven their engine to the scene and she'd immediately lost track of him. "I'm doing my job. What are you doing?"

"Your job isn't to put band aids on people. Get them tagged and move on."

She got to her feet and glared at him. Burke was a giant pain in her a.s.s and she didn't have time or energy to spare to argue with him. "Bite me."

Kelly maneuvered around him to a young woman lying face-down, far from the wreckage of the truck. From the rag-doll positioning of her body, Kelly thought she must have been hit and thrown the distance. Blood pooled around her head and shoulders. Kelly checked for a pulse and didn't find one. She put a black tag around the woman's wrist that marked her DOA.

Kelly rose to go to the next patient and heard her mic go off. In all the chaos and noise around her, it took a moment for her to hear her lieutenant's voice.

"McCoy. Respond." He sounded irritated.

She turned the volume up and said, "Here."

"Get over to the crash vehicle. Got a confined s.p.a.ce rescue I need you for."

"Copy that." Kelly shouldered her bag and picked her way through the debris. At five-four, she was the smallest firefighter at their station, but a guy at Station 20 beat her out for smallest in the department. He hit just five-two, but at 155 pounds, he outweighed her by nearly thirty pounds. Scott was a big lunk of a guy, and most of the other firefighters and paramedics were too broad-shouldered to wriggle into small s.p.a.ces. Kelly always got called upon instead.

She hurried to cross the mine field of gla.s.s and sharp metal, concerned that there were still so many victims down. But just then another group of paramedics and firefighters came flooding through the entrance, and Kelly let out a sigh of relief.

The truck cab had struck and crushed down part of a brick wall that ran like wainscoting between the elevators. The nose was enveloped by brick and gla.s.s, and the front wheels were off the ground with part of the undercarriage hung up over the wall, which, at a quick glance, looked to be made of drywall and not real brick. Parts of a gla.s.s elevator were mixed in with the myriad of building materials piled all around. It looked to Kelly like the only thing holding the truck at the awkward upward angle was the debris it had dragged through as it crashed.

"What do you need, L-T?"

"Under the truck," Jimmy said, "there's a gap between the front axel and the wood and s.h.i.+t it's sitting on. There's a woman under all that. We heard her when we got the driver out."

"Is he alive?"