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Chapter One

Chris

“Love you.” I pulled Saul against my body for a kiss and he came willingly.

I loved that despite him having such strict, holier-than-thou parents, he was a hundred percent on board with my many displays of affection.

I was lucky because all the guys I worked with at the firehouse had no problem with me being gay.

They just cared that I was good at my job and had their backs.

“Be safe,” Saul whispered as I got into my truck to head to work for my shift. Nights sucked, but at least this was my last one then I had four days off.

It had been a quiet first few hours and I was just thinking about investigating the food Saul had sent with me. There was enough for everyone and all the guys loved it when I brought in whatever my clever boyfriend made.

And of course it was then that the alarm sounded.

We scrambled into our gear, the practiced movements now second nature. I shot a longing glance at the cooler bag I'd just unzipped as Captain Miller's voice boomed through the station.

"Structure fire at the old Westlake Apartments. Possible entrapment."

My heart kicked up a notch as I swung into the truck next to Donovan, who was already checking his oxygen tank.

The Westlake was one of those places that should have been condemned years ago.

Six apartments to a block, three up and three down.

Fire safety violations galore, but somehow the landlord kept dodging citations.

It was also why both trucks had been mobilized.

"Yo, Chris, you think that boyfriend of yours could hook us up with those enchiladas again next shift?" Rodriguez asked as we pulled out, sirens wailing. "My wife's been trying to replicate them for weeks."

"I'll see what I can do," I replied, but my mind was already shifting into work mode, the familiar focus settling over me.

The apartments came into view, angry orange flames licking up the east side of the end one. Smoke billowed from several windows on the second floor. My stomach knotted when I spotted a figure at one of those windows, waving frantically.

"We've got a live one," I said, already mentally mapping the fastest route up.

Captain Miller paired us off quickly. "Chris, you and Donovan take the east stairwell. Rodriguez and Martinez, west side. Khalid and I will coordinate with the second truck for exterior attack."

The heat hit us like a wall as we entered the building. Through my mask, I could see the smoke hanging thick in the stairwell, and somewhere above us, I heard screaming. Our SCBA’s had bluetooth so we could talk and hear each other.

Donovan and I pushed forward, our breathing heavy through the masks as we climbed the stairs. The smoke thickened with each step, dark and menacing. At the landing, I felt Donovan tap my shoulder.

"Second door," he shouted over the roar of the flames. "That's where we saw movement."

I nodded, my focus narrowing to the task at hand. The hallway was an obstacle course of fallen ceiling debris and the carpet beneath our boots squished with water from the sprinklers that had finally decided to work, though too late to do much good.

We reached the door, and I pounded my fist against it. "Fire department! We're coming in!"

No answer. I tried the handle—locked. With a nod to Donovan, I positioned myself and kicked hard, the wood splintering around the lock. The apartment was a haze of smoke, but less intense than the hallway. Someone had stuffed towels under the door, buying precious minutes.

"Hello? Fire department!" I called out, moving deeper into the apartment.

A faint cry came from the back bedroom. I followed the sound, Donovan close behind me.

The bedroom door was partially open, and inside, huddled in the corner with a wet towel pressed to her face, was a young woman.

She couldn't have been more than twenty, her eyes wide with terror as she clutched a child to her chest.

My heart dropped. A toddler.

"I've got you," I said, crouching beside the mom. "Can you walk?"

She nodded, but when she tried to stand, her legs buckled. The smoke inhalation was taking its toll.

"I'll carry the kid," Donovan said, reaching for the child. "You take her."

The woman hesitated for a split second before surrendering her child. I scooped her up in a fireman's carry, her body surprisingly light against my shoulders.

"We need to move fast," I said, eyeing the ceiling where the paint was beginning to bubble from the heat.

The journey back was worse, the fire having spread while we were inside. The stairwell was nearly impassable now, flames climbing the walls. I could feel the woman trembling against me, her breathing becoming more labored.

"Stay with me," I urged her. "Almost there."

We burst through the exit door into the night air just as a section of the roof collapsed behind us. The cool air hit like a blessing as paramedics rushed forward to take the woman and child. I watched them place oxygen masks over their faces, and took a huge sigh of relief.

Donovan clapped me on the shoulder. "Nice work in there."

"Chris!" Captain Miller's voice cut through my thoughts. “We've got reports of a possible resident unaccounted for. Apartment 1A, ground floor, east side. Neighbor says they heard a disturbance from there."

My eyes met Donovan's. That was directly below where we'd just been, where the fire had likely started. If someone was still in there...

"I'll go," I said, already moving toward a new tank for a fresh supply.

Captain Miller's voice crackled through again. "Martinez, you go with Chris as you’ve already got a fresh one. Donovan get on the front. Two minutes in and out, that's it. Building's becoming unstable."

I nodded at Martinez as he jogged over, his dark eyes serious behind his mask. We bumped fists—our silent good luck ritual—before heading back toward the inferno.

The ground floor was a hellscape. Flames licked up the walls, and the heat was so intense it felt like my gear might melt off. We crouched low, moving through the smoke-filled corridor toward 1A.

"Fire department! Call out!" Martinez shouted, his voice barely audible over the roar of the fire.

We reached the apartment door, and I pressed my gloved hand against it. Not hot—a good sign. The handle turned easily, and we pushed inside.

The apartment was dark, filled with swirling smoke, but not actively burning yet. "Hello? Anyone here?" I called, sweeping my flashlight across the small living room.

A closed door caught my attention. I signaled to Martinez and moved quickly toward the sound. I tried the handle—locked.

"Fire department! We're here to help!" I pounded on the door, but didn’t hear a reply.

“Stand back,” I shouted as Martinez reached for his Halligan tool to break the door, but I just lifted my boot and the door gave way.

We rushed in and I stopped for a goddam awful too-long second.

A completely naked boy, teenager maybe, was curled up on his side behind the bars of what looked like a large dog crate.

Martinez had the bolt cutters ready and the second the door was open I reached in and pulled the unconscious man out. Then we ran.

The paramedics took over the second we’d cleared the building, and jumped back as half the roof collapsed with a roar.

I watched as they loaded the boy onto a stretcher, his thin body still naked and vulnerable under the harsh lights of the ambulance bay.

The paramedics worked quickly, placing an oxygen mask over his face and starting an IV line.

My stomach churned with a familiar sick feeling—the one I got whenever we found someone who'd been hurt by another human being, not just by fire or accident.

"Jesus Christ," Martinez muttered beside me, his face ashen beneath the soot. "Did you see those burns on his back? Those weren't from tonight."

I nodded grimly. "Cigarette burns. And those restraint marks weren't new either."

Captain Miller approached, his expression grim as he watched the ambulance doors close.

"Police are already on their way. The landlord claims he rented that unit to a single man, middle-aged. No mention of any kid on the lease. It was another resident in the opposite apartment that said they’d heard shouting, sometimes loud cries. "

Miller glanced at me. “And of course it wouldn’t occur to them to call the cops.”

"Whoever did this better pray the cops find him before I do," I said, peeling off my gloves.

Miller gave me a look. "You focus on putting out fires, O’Keefe, not starting them. Leave the justice to the cops."

I nodded, but the image of that cage wouldn't leave my mind. The rest of the night passed in a blur of cleanup and paperwork. By the time my shift ended at 6 am, my body ached with exhaustion, but my mind was still racing.

It was no good. We’d gotten a report to say the boy would be okay, but I wanted to see for myself. I texted Saul.

Rough fire. Gonna call to check how the vic is.

I knew Saul would understand, so I drove to Gailford ER, parked and walked in. Breathing a sigh of relief when I saw Wendy was working. I knew she’d tell me what she knew.

"Hey there, hero," Wendy greeted me, her tired smile not quite reaching her eyes. She'd been on shift almost as long as I had. "I had a feeling I'd see you today."

"That obvious, huh?" I leaned against the nurses' station counter, trying to appear casual despite the tension coiling through me.

Wendy glanced around before lowering her voice.

"The young man from the Westlake fire? He's in ICU.

Smoke inhalation, no burns from this fire, but.

.." She shook her head, lips pressed into a thin line.

"Chris, it's bad. There's evidence of long-term abuse. Multiple healed fractures, malnutrition. He woke briefly and told us his name is Jesse and he’s nineteen, but that’s all he’s saying. "

My jaw clenched. "Any family come forward?"