Page 12 of Arsonist’s Match (Blaze and Badge #1)

Flash took a step away, raising a hand to her eyes to block the sun’s glare off the glass.

The three- or four-year-old little girl, strapped securely in a car seat, was conscious and crying.

Before trying a door, she squatted to peer under the partially upended truck. One whiff put her on alert—gasoline .

In her peripheral vision, Flash spotted the squad crew hooking chains and straps on the precarious SUV to secure it before extracting the driver. “Hang on, ma’am,” Jackson instructed in a calm, authoritative tone. “We’ll have you out in a jiffy.”

But Flash had an assignment. She had to focus on her task.

“Woods, Flores!” Flash yelled toward the engine. They had unrolled a hose, and Woods was screwing it into an onboard nozzle. “Get over here and hose down this pile up.” She didn’t want to shout the word “gas leak” where the driver could hear her and panic. Shaquille would know it was important.

Shifting back to the driver, Flash tried the door, and it creaked open. “Sir, let’s get you out. What’s your daughter’s name?”

“Ashley,” he said as he stumbled his feet over the side rails. The chunky man gripped the doorframe and stared down at asphalt littered with broken glass and metal.

“Do you think you can stand?” Flash asked, then glanced over with relief to spy Woods and Flores hauling the hose toward the wreck.

“I think so,” he answered. “A little dizzy.”

“Flores,” she called, since his stature matched the victim’s. “Help him over to the ambo. I’ve got to get the little girl.”

“Sure thing.” In a blink, Flores had the driver in hand while Woods positioned the hose.

“Under here,” Flash directed, pointing to the intersection of the two smashed vehicles. “Keep an eye out while I grab the kid.”

Flash had to stretch to reach the backdoor handle. “Stuck!” she exhaled in frustration. At that moment, the spilled gasoline ignited in a whoosh, causing her to jump back and cover her face. A cloud of black, sooty smoke, rank with pungent petroleum odor, curled at her like an enemy’s fist.

“Flores!” Woods yelled.

Flash took up a position behind Shaquille, bracing him and the hose. “Let her rip. ”

He opened the valve, spraying water over the hood of the car and undercarriage of the truck bed. Flash detected screams and voices shouting over the noise from the hose.

“Here, I’ve got that.” Flores slid in to take Flash’s place.

Without regard to the licking flames, determined to hang on despite the steady flow of water laced with fire suppressant, she climbed atop the pile of mangled metal and melting tires into the angled, cluttered truck bed.

Shoving a lawnmower, bicycle, and several plastic five-gallon buckets filled with whatever from her path, Flash checked the status of the back glass.

No sliding window. They used to make these trucks with sliding windows.

“Ashley, can you hear me?”

“Help, Daddy!” came her frantic cries. She was trying to unfasten the buckles on her car seat. Most children could do that by her age.

“Ashley, I’m Flash. I need you to put your head down and cover your face. Can you do that for just a second?”

Big, round, tear-streaked eyes peered over the child’s shoulder, and she nodded.

Flash snatched a metal bar from near her feet and gripped it in both hands. “I’ll count to three. One, two …” Heat blasted through the spray’s misty veil. Woods and Flores were drowning the fire, but she had to get Ashley out now, in case the gas tank decided to blow.

“Three!” Flash shattered the expanse of glass and knocked away jagged shards from the window frame. “I’m coming to get you.”

Before she was through the opening, Ashley bounded into her arms, squeezing tightly. “I got it unbuckled!” she announced. “It’s too hot.”

In relief, Flash chuckled, “It is too hot.” Noticing Waylon had already removed the occupants of the dark blue sedan, Flash held Ashley firmly to her shoulder, maneuvered her long legs around the jumbled contents of the pickup bed, stepped over the tailgate, and trekked across the car’s roof and trunk before hopping safely to the ground.

It was easier and safer than trying to exit around the sizzling remnants of the gas fire her crew members were snuffing out .

“Daddy!” Ashley cried, lunging and reaching her arms toward the man sitting in the back of Ambulance Eight.

Two other ambulances were on scene, assessing and treating the other crash victims. At a glance, it appeared that one had a broken arm, another sat breathing through an oxygen mask while the EMT took her vital signs, and Ashley’s dad might have a concussion.

Nita had secured a collar around his neck while Al Luis stuck a large bandage to his forehead.

Flash carried Ashley all the way, setting her down on the ambulance floor beside her father. “I think somebody needs to give Ashley here an examination, too. She’s a very brave girl, and we want to make sure she wasn’t hurt in the accident.”

Ignoring protocol, the little girl climbed into her father’s lap.

“The, the,” she uttered in a frightened voice, eyes searching all around.

Then she pointed. “That car crashed into us, and we crashed into the other one, and it was loud and scary. It jerked me, and Daddy hit his head on the dash. Then, there was a fire and everything!”

“Ashley, is it?” Nita asked, peering at her with compassionate professionalism.

The child nodded and licked her bottom lip.

“I’m Nita, and this is Al Luis. We’re going to put you on this cool stretcher and check you out.

Then we’re going to all ride in the ambulance to the hospital, with the lights and sirens flashing. It will be exciting.”

“OK,” she said, and allowed Nita to pick her up.

Flash noticed the roar of traffic, horns honking as they crawled by in the open lane. Then Jackson’s voice cut through. “It’s not stable! The concrete’s crumbling as fast as we can crib this thing!”

With her job complete, Flash rushed over to where the SUV teetered on the edge, precariously held in place by straps and chains. “What do you need me to do?” she asked Lieutenant Jackson, the head of the squad crew.

“We’ve got to pull it back onto the bridge and need more manpower. The victims are still inside because it’s too dangerous to extract them until we’ve secured the vehicle.”

“Over here!” called one of the guys. “With a little more muscle, we’ll have it. ”

Flash dashed to his side, grabbed hold of the line, and, together, four of them tugged and pulled on the straps while Lieutenant Jackson pushed on a long pry bar between the crushed side of the SUV and the rebar sticking out from the crumbling concrete railing.

With a crunch, thud, and rocking motion, the demolished car came to a solid rest.

“Whew!” one cried. “Medics!”

“Thanks,” Jackson said with a smile. “You know, you can always take a few classes and ask for a squad position.”

“I like it on engine,” Flash answered cordially. “But thanks for the offer.”

“Cash! Get over here!” bellowed Lieutenant Edwards. He looked and sounded mad. But why? I didn’t do anything wrong, did I?

She jogged up to where he stood beside the engine. Woods and Flores rolled up their hose while Waylon inspected the steaming pile-up.

“Yes, sir?” Flash peered at her new boss in confusion.

His brows narrowed while the corners of his mouth dug deeper than normal. “What were you doing over there with squad? I told you to take care of this car and truck with Adams.”

“I did, sir,” she explained. “I assessed the fire threat, due to the fuel leak, called for the hose, got both the driver and his daughter out of the pickup, and made sure they got to the ambulance safely. By then, Woods and Flores had put out the fire. Lieutenant Jackson called for help with the SUV, so I just—”

“You thought you had to be a hotshot, the big hero who saves everyone, is that it?” he charged.

“If I recall, you don’t work on squad, and Lieutenant Jackson isn’t your commanding officer.

You’re dangerous, Cash—a loose cannon who’s accustomed to doing as she pleases.

Now, Captain O’Riley might let you get away with murder and mayhem when he’s in charge of a scene, but, when I give you an order, I expect you to obey it, not run off half-cocked without permission. Do I make myself clear?”

Flash’s elevated good spirits plummeted into an emotional ravine at the public scolding tightass Edwards just gave her.

Not only were all her fellow firefighters standing around listening, but the ambulance crews, the victims, the police, and nosy bystanders.

For all she knew, reporters would already be here so they could blast about it on the six o’clock news.

Flash bit her tongue, her head bowed—not from guilt, but fury.

What was I supposed to do? Wait for the lady and her family to tumble off the overpass on top of another car because you didn’t assign me to help save them?

“That one’s on me,” Jackson called. Flash glanced up

The tall, brawny, Black squad officer’s enormous boots tromped over to stand beside average-sized Edwards. “I called for another hand. Cash must have been the only one who heard me. I don’t mean to encroach on your authority with your engine crew.”

“Well, see that you don’t, then.”

Flash stiffened—did Edwards just snarl at Lieutenant Jackson? Her unbelievably rude lieutenant pivoted and walked away. She resisted the urge to flip him off—barely. Never needed permission to save a life before , she grumbled to herself.

“Let’s pack up our equipment and get out of here!” Edwards roared.

Exchanging a look with Jackson, Flash felt compelled to apologize. “Sir, I’m so sorry about that. He shouldn’t have been disrespectful to you.”

Jackson clapped a hand on her shoulder. “It’s hard being assigned a command in a new house, especially when everyone loved the guy before you, so, I’d cut him a little slack. Still,” he mused, quirking his mouth into a half-smile, “my offer stands whenever you’re ready for a change.”

Flash watched him go, her heart still pounding—not from the fire, not from the near miss, but from the sting of being treated like a problem when all she wanted was to help.