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  Carter’s Flame

  by Tiffany Patterson

  Copyright © 2017 by Tiffany Patterson

  All rights reserved. This book or parts thereof may not be reproduced in any form, stored in any retrieval system, or transmitted in any form by any means—electronic, mechanical, photocopy, recording, or otherwise—without prior written permission of the publisher, except as provided by United States of America copyright law. For permission requests, write to the publisher, at [email protected].

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

  A special thank you to There For You ([email protected]) for editing and Ideality Consulting LLC ([email protected]) for proofreading.

  Prologue

  Carter

  “I’m tired of killing people.” I looked up from the fire pit that was burning in the middle of our campsite and took a long pull of the beer I held in my hand.

  “Tired of killing people?” Andy peered at me over the blaze, eyes wide. “How the fuck can you get tired of all of this?” He held his arms wide, glancing around at the trees behind us and the vast ocean that sat in front of him. We were on a beach in Southeast Asia on reprieve for a few days.

  “This,” I waved my hand around in the same manner he had, “will end in less than forty-eight hours. Then it’s back to scoping out our next target, and catching the next terror cell leader because there’s always one more down the line.”

  “We do that shit to protect our country.” Andy pointed at me, hand wrapped around his own beer.

  I tilted my head. “Granted, but what about the wailing mother who lost her child in the firefight? And the brother who witnesses death after death of his family members and grows up to become a terrorist because of his bitterness?”

  “We fucking kill him, too.”

  “See,” I pointed. “Never fucking ends. Shit just keeps going and going. I’ve done this for eight years. Since I was eighteen. It was fun when I first started. I was still pissed, three years after nine-eleven. We’ll get those motherfuckers, I thought.”

  “And we did. Bin Laden’s dead. His cell is on the outs.”

  “And Iraq is a fucking wasteland. Afghanistan is still a mess. Northern Africa is recruiting and growing more dangerous by the day. Shit keeps going.” I shook my head, and stared back into the fire.

  Andy was silent for a few moments before speaking again. “You’re the best 18C anyone in our unit has ever seen. You’ve gotten us outta shit we never thought we’d be able to get out of. What’re you gonna do with all that knowledge once you leave the Army? A fucking desk job? Work for you father?”

  I grunted, my head jerking back, but my eyes remained on the fire. I’d been thinking of it for over a year now — leaving the Army. I enlisted at eighteen and never looked back, basically giving the middle finger to my father, my brothers, and the life I was supposedly born to live. I wanted more than a life of business dealings, but I still wanted to be the best of the best, which was why I applied for the special forces division of the U.S. Army. The training was grueling. Not only was it physically exhausting, but intellectually challenging. I came out on top, however, and had been a Special Forces Engineer Sergeant for the better part of my military career, or as it was mainly referred to by the guys, a 18C. But this wasn’t for me anymore.

  “No,” I shook my head, “definitely not going to work for my father at Townsend.”

  “Sometimes, I still can’t believe you walked away from all of that.” Andy gave a disbelieving chuckle, before taking another swig of his beer. “You need this shit just as much as I do. You get off on the adrenaline of it all. You’d fucking hang yourself if you had to sit behind a desk for eight hours a day.”

  I smirked in agreement. He was accurate on that account. “Exactly why I’m not going into the family business. Aaron’s got that covered anyway,” I stated, referring to my brother who was in serious running for taking over at Townsend Industries once our father retired.

  “Then what the fuck are you gonna do?”

  I slowly allowed my eyes to roll up to meet Andy’s over the fire. “Firefighting.”

  He angled his head, silently asking a question.

  I stretched my arms out in front of me, before planting my elbows on my knees. “Williamsport has one of the best and highly trained fire departments in the U.S. Their rescue squads are top tier.” I peered back up to Andy. “I figure they could use a guy with my skills.”

  He sat back in his beach chair and gazed out over the ocean that was barely visible due to the late hour. “It’s definitely not sitting behind a desk.”

  “That it is not,” I replied.

  “And you wouldn’t be killing anyone, hopefully.”

  We chuckled at that.

  He pondered a few more moments before finally replying, “I could see it.”

  I nodded. So could I. Which was why I’d already sent my application in and had arranged a videoconference interview for the following month when I was scheduled to be back on base in Germany. The application process to become a firefighter could take months, which gave me enough time to get through it all and to officially be discharged from the army.

  My life would be my own again. Don’t get me wrong, I’d thoroughly enjoyed my service in the army. The guys I’d come across reminded me of my own brothers back home, even though most came from entirely different walks of life than I had. I’d heard of the term courage under fire, but they embodied it, and every day I did my damndest to make sure I lived up to and exceeded the standards my commanders set. However, it was time to move on. It can become easy to get too jaded in this type of world. One in which we were constantly looking over our shoulders, seeing good friends who’d become family, blown up or severely injured. I’d carry these experiences with me, but I wanted to serve in another way now.

  I rose from my beach chair, the sound of the ocean behind me loud as the waves crashed the beach. Andy stood as well, holding out his beer.

  “To the newest Williamsport firefighter.”

  It wasn’t a done deal just yet, but it might as well have been. Nothing, and I mean absolutely nothing wasn’t mine for the taking when I made up my mind.

  “Salute.” I held up my bottle, saluting Andy, and then we both poured the remnants of our beers onto the fire, causing it to surge. Neither one of us even took a step back. We’d made friends with the fear of death or injury long ago. Even in the face of a raging fire, I didn’t flinch anymore. I knew at that moment, fighting fires was my next calling.

  ~ Chapter One ~

  Michelle

  “What the hell is taking so long?” I yelled out in my car, resisting the urge to honk my horn at the black Camry in front of me. I considered myself a patient person for the most part, but that morning I’d woken up thirty minutes late, and I still needed to get Diego to school.

  “Mama, if I’m late, Ms. Daniels deducts a point from the behavior chart,” my six year old whined from the backseat.

  I peered up in my rearview mirror to see Diego, frowning with his arms crossed. “I know, sweetie. Mommy is moving as fast as she can.” I used the calmest voice I could muster at that moment.

  “Can’t you tell the other cars I need to get to school?”

  I pushed out a breath. “If only it were that simple.”

  “This week Ms. Daniels says if we get all our points, we’ll get to have an ice cream party. I gotta make it!” My son, much like his mama, loved ice cream.

  “Look, Diego,” I began, holding on with the tightest of grips to my
patience, “I’ll make you a deal … even if Ms. Daniels doesn’t throw you the ice cream party, I will buy you whatever flavor you want. Ice cream date, you and me, this weekend. Deal?”

  His sun-kissed face brightened, a smile spreading, exposing his missing front tooth. “Promise?”

  “Mommies don’t make promises.”

  “They make memories,” he finished, giggling. It’d become my little saying whenever he asked me to make him a promise.

  “Ice cream date, just you and me.” It’s not like anyone else was in the picture to date. That’s how’d it’d been, Diego and I for the better part of six years. His worthless father continued to make sure of that.

  One … two … three … I began counting in my head, to push down the annoyance that rose in me whenever thoughts of Diego’s father sprang up.

  “We’re almost there,” I informed my son as soon as I turned onto the block where his school sat. I looked to the clock on my dashboard, which read 7:53, and it was three minutes fast. That meant I’d gotten there two minutes before the school bell rang.

  “Come on, baby,” I encouraged Diego from out of the backseat, trying to hurry him in. I straightened his school uniform jacket and pants, not wanting him to appear wrinkled. Diego attended an exclusive elementary school that only those with connections got their children into. That was one of the only things his father had ever done for him. Besides be a pain in my ass.

  One … two … three

  “Bye, Mama!” Diego waved before running to meet up with the rest of his class as they waited in a line right outside the front door entrance. I waved back, but instead of hopping back into my car to make it to work on time, I paused, waiting for the bell to ring and watch my son and his classmates march into their school building to begin their days. Diego didn’t even bother looking back, instead whispering something into the ear of another little boy and giggling about it. It made me think back to the year before when I practically had to push him through the doors of his new school and run out just so he wouldn’t cling to me. I sighed. He was growing up so fast.

  I pulled out my cell once I was back in my cream-colored Ford Focus. “Hey, Natoi, I’m stopping to pick up a coffee and some donuts. Want anything?”

  I jotted down my assistant’s order of a hazelnut coffee and a Boston Creme donut before hanging up and pointing my car in the direction of my favorite specialty donut shop around the corner. I stopped in this same shop a few times a week since it was on my way to work after dropping Diego off. I could also blame my regular donut runs and ice cream dates with my son on why my body remained a size ten, but forget that. I wasn’t small by any definition but at five-six, I carried it well.

  I placed the donut box in my passenger seat and the two drinks in my car’s cup holders between the seats, before I pulled out of the shop’s parking lot. It was rush hour so a trip from the donut shop to the building where I worked that should’ve taken only ten minutes, would likely take twenty to twenty-five. If I was lucky, I’d get there at about eight forty-five. The work day was supposed to start at eight thirty, but thanks to my company’s flex-time scheduling, I rarely got in before quarter to nine. As long as I stayed a little late, it was fine.

  I held the steering wheel in my left hand, while bringing my coffee cup to my lips with my right hand. Taking a quick sip to let the caffeine begin doing its job before I stepped in the office, I kept my eyes on the road, while placing the cup back in the center holder. Just as I returned my hand to the steering wheel all hell broke loose.

  The car in front of me was T-boned by another car coming from it’s right. I barely made out the faint sounds of car horns from behind me as I slammed on my brakes but it was too late. I hit the car in front of me, and felt a jolt of something to the right. The steering wheel locked up and I couldn’t do anything to stop my car from moving. My heart squeezed in my chest, the mix of fear and panic stiffening my entire body.

  “Oh God!” I yelled. My head slammed into my driver’s side window and the last thing I remembered was praying to God to let me live so I could see my son grow up.

  ****

  Carter

  “Rescue Four, car accident on the corner of South and Grant Ave …” The dispatcher’s voice sounded through the fire station’s speakers, alerting our squad that our help was needed. I hopped out of the bed where I had been working on a crossword puzzle while being at the station all night, tossed my feet into my boots, and pulled up my fire protective gear. Slinging my suspenders over my shoulders and grabbing my coat out of my locker, I moved to the pole that stretched from the first to the second and third floors, and easily slid down.

  As soon as my boots hit the ground, I yelled out, “Let’s roll.”

  Eric, one of our squad’s lieutenants, looked at me and nodded before running to climb in the driver’ seat of the huge firefighter rig. I piled in the back with four other guys, while the captain took his place in the passenger seat.

  “Everybody in?” Eric yelled.

  “In.”

  “All set.”

  “Let’s go.”

  Rang out, and within milliseconds the captain was pulling the horn, alerting everyone in a two block radius to watch the fuck out.

  “Carter, car accident. At least one trapped in their vehicle. This is going to be a rescue mission. Your lead,” Captain Waverly called back, looking at me.

  “Make and model of the car?”

  He turned back, pressing the button on his walkie and said, “Ford Focus.”

  With that information, I began devising a plan as to how we were going to get the victim out. I couldn’t be sure of anything, however, until we were on the scene.

  “Corey, you checked the jaws?” I questioned, glancing at my squad member sitting directly across from me.

  He nodded. “In perfect condition. Ready to cut through whatever you need.”

  I nodded.

  “Let’s go, Harvard! My fucking grandmother can drive faster than this!” I yelled from the back. I was getting antsy. Hated the feeling of just sitting there while I knew someone needed my help. The guys around me were the same, their faces a reflection of my own. We were doers, not waiters.

  “ETA less than one minute,” Eric called out from the front.

  We all hiked up our equipment, made sure our boots and jackets were secured, and as promised, less than a minute later we were pulling up to the scene. I pushed the double doors of the back of the rig open and jumped out of the back, circling to the front of the truck to get an assessment of the scene with my own two eyes. It was a mess. At least four cars were involved in the accident, one of which was a police cruiser.

  Captain Waverly came over to us. “Police chase gone wrong. Guy was high on heroine. T-boned that Lincoln,” he pointed to the smashed up Lincoln that rested against a telephone pole and then hit the Focus.”

  My eyes shot to the Focus that was upside down on its roof.

  “Victim’s still in side.”

  “Holy fuck,” I grunted. All of Rescue Four moved in the direction of the Focus. Whoever was inside would be lucky to make it out alive. Just as we inched closer there was a spark…and then flames were shooting up from the underside of the vehicle that was now on top.

  “Townsend, kill that fire!” Captain shouted.

  I lifted the fire extinguisher I held and shot it at the flames until they were suppressed.

  “Help!” a muffled begging came from inside the car.

  I was immediately drawn to it.

  Without any discretion or hesitation on my part, I got low next to the broken out passenger side window and lowered myself so I was right next to the car.

  “Help!” a female voice sounded, and it pulled at every instinct in me.

  “Hey, hey,” I called out, unable to see her since her face was turned in the other direction.

  “Hello?” she responded. “Help me!” she yelled, trying to turn her head.

  “Don’t move. Listen to me. Don’t move. We’re go
ing to get you out of here, but you gotta be as still as possible. Can you do that for me?”

  “P-please. My son. He’s in the backseat,” she cried.

  Oh fuck!

  I hadn’t even thought of a child being in this mess.

  “Captain,” I moved back to call out, “she says her son’s in here, too. I’m going to see if I can reach him.” I didn’t pause or stop even when the captain yelled for me to. I belly crawled to get the top half of my body inside the passenger side window.

  “Ma’am, what’s your son’s name?”

  “D-diego,” she responded, her voice so full of agony and fear it was choking her.

  The car was upside down, causing me to have to look up to see the backseat. There was a booster seat, scraps of paper, and a blue baseball cap that looked like it was made for a child, but there was no child.

  “Diego?” I called out and got no response.

  “Carter?” I heard, Don, one of my squad members yell out.

  “Is he okay?” the woman asked.

  “We’re working on it, ma’am,” I told her just to reassure her. I pulled out to see Don standing over me.

  “You find the kid?”

  I shook my head.

  “It’s well after eight o’clock, most schools have been in session for at least a half an hour. Maybe she dropped him off and forgot due to the accident.”

  I nodded at Don’s assessment. It made the most sense. People often get details wrong in the immediate aftermath of something traumatic like a car accident.

  “We working to get her outta here?”

  “Yeah, but Cap’s afraid the jaws might cause sparks and another fire to star… Hey! Where the fuc–”

  His words were cut off as I ducked back into the vehicle to tend to the woman. Something pulled me back to her, whereas ordinarily, I would’ve been helping to strategize.

  “Hey, what’s your name?” I questioned, reaching out to the woman still stuck in the driver’s seat.

  “M-michelle. Is Diego okay?”