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Chapter one
Leanna
Thesirensareblaringas the ambulance I’m riding shotgun in barrels toward the waterfront condos that are home to many young executives. With the rapidly rising cost of living, it’s far more economical for them to live on the west side of the Hudson and travel by train to work than it is for them to live in the big city. But as more and more people move to Newark, the more it becomes like a smaller version of New York City.
According to the 9-1-1 dispatcher, a call came through where loud wheezing could be heard on the other end of the line, but they couldn’t make out any definitive words. Erring on the side of caution, both the police and the fire department were called to respond.
I’m trained to handle various life-threatening situations as an advanced emergency management technician, but I’ve only been doing this for two years and have yet to “see it all,” as my family likes to remind me. They say this to keep me grounded in reality and from getting too cocky since I have yet to lose someone on my watch. My father told me that it’s a feat that’s unheard of with the number of calls I’ve been dispatched to and is nothing short of a miracle.
I remember the words my dad spoke to me on my first day as an EMT, “Leanna, my Dear. It’s not a matter of if; it’s a matter of when the day will come when you will lose a patient and realize who is truly in control. I love you, Sweetie, but regardless of how many lives you will save, it’s neveryou. You areHistool, andHewill use you asHesees fit. I can promise that in your line of work, there will come a time—no matter what you do and how hard you try—it won’t be enough to save someone. It won’t be because you lack the skills but because it’s simply notHiswill for you to do so. Please try to remember my words when that day eventually comes. Know that we’ll all be here for you when it does.” He hugged me tightly and left for work, putting his life on the line like most of my family does.
At 24, I’m the youngest in my firefighting family, and that’s by a mere four minutes to my fraternal twin sister, Daphne. She’s a fire engineer and one of my roommates. My three older brothers and brother-in-law are firefighters for the city of Newark, and my dad is one of the fire chiefs for the department. My oldest sister, Callie, is an arson investigator who now works in the private sector instead of for the FDNY. Our sister, Isabella—Callie’s identical twin—died six years ago while she was deployed overseas and fighting an aircraft fire. My family was born and bred to fight fires and save lives, even if it means giving up our own to do it.
My body is thrumming with adrenaline almost to the point of shaking, which happens every time we get a call. At first, my colleagues thought it was the “jitters” and feared I was too nervous to do my job. They quickly learned that once we arrived at the scene, my tremors stopped, and I was ready to do whatever needed to be done.
“Based on the dispatcher’s call, what do you think we will encounter once we get there?” I ask my partner, Trey. He’s been a family friend since I was a little girl, and I half expected him to be a chief by now with all his experience as a firefighter and a paramedic. He told me once that his calling was to be a paramedic and that God said he should leave the firefighting to my family. I laughed then, but now I’m grateful for his decision since he’s not only my partner but my mentor as well.
“It’s hard to say, with wheezing being our only clue to go on. With that limited information, what doyouthink it could be, Lucky?” he asks in response. The guys at the firehouse have been calling me Lucky for the last year, and I wish I could say it was because of my track record in the field. It’s not. I can thank my best friend, Carter, for that term of endearment after he wrapped up and dropped off a box of Lucky Charms as a gag gift and said I reminded him of a leprechaun with my green eyes and fiery red hair.
I try not to think about Carter and what he’s doing right now. As a protection specialist for Shining Knight, he’s probably playing bodyguard to some beautiful actress or famous pop star, shielding them from a bunch of raving fans. Carter loves to rescue the damsel in distress. No doubt, whoever the woman is, she’s probably falling in love with his handsome good looks and lean, muscular physique. Fortunately, I have become immune to his charming personality the more I have gotten to know him, and it’s why we are only friends.Yeah, right. Keep telling yourself that, Leanna.
“Leanna?”
I shake my head to dispel my thoughts and glance over at Trey. “Sorry. Based on the wheezing, it could be any number of things. Possibly anaphylaxis due to a severe allergic reaction? It could also be a symptom of asthma, heart failure, chronic obstructive pulmonary disorder, or pneumonia,” I tell him.
“We have one minute until arrival. Break it down for me as quickly as possible,” Trey says like a teacher giving me a final exam.
“The condos are predominantly owned by up-and-comers in their late 20s and early 30s. Because of that, heart failure or COPD is an unlikely cause but not out of the realm of possibility. Pneumonia isn’t acute and wouldn’t require emergency services unless it is compounding another issue, such as asthma. My educated guess is that it’s anaphylaxis or an overdose of some kind.”
“Excellent, Lucky. I would agree with your assessment. I don’t see any smoke ahead, which rules out a fire, but it could be a gas leak and the wheezing a result of carbon monoxide poisoning,” he counters.
“It’s possible. It happened to my sister Callie two years ago.” He nods. He had been one of the paramedics who had shown up after Callum, now her husband, had pulled her from the apartment and resuscitated her. “But the condos on the river are all ‘green’ and use solar power and energy-efficient appliances. I think the word ‘gas’ is akin to a four-letter word in the residents’ vocabulary.”
He chuckles. I continue to voice my line of thinking when I see the fire engine in front of us cross the last intersection before our destination. “There haven’t been any reports of gunshots, screams, or domestic disturbances, which would indicate the caller is alone and encountered something unexpected and quick. In addition to an allergic reaction or overdose, choking is another possibility.”
“Good job. Have you considered it might be a prank call? Or a diversion tactic to keep us busy while something more nefarious is underway?” Trey asks.
“Why would you think that? The address checks out with the caller ID registered to the cell phone.”
“And what is the man’s name?” he asks.
I pull up the log and reply, “Joseph King.”
Trey glances at me quickly and arches an eyebrow at me questioningly, making him look like a dark-skinned version of Spock fromStar Trek. He waits patiently for me to put two and two together.
“You can’t be serious. Joe King, as injoking? You know, Trey, it’s entirely plausible that is his real name, and his parents thought it would be funny.” I palm my face and try not to laugh, but a snort still escapes me. Joe’s parents might have the same warped sense of humor that plagues my family. Any one of my brothers would name their kid based on a play on words if given the chance. Luckily, Sebastian is the only one of my brothers who’s married and to a wonderful woman who would never let that happen in a million years.
I know prank calls occur since we’ve responded to several of them, but my gut says this is the real deal. “We’re here. Time to go,” I say as I grab my bag and jump down from the passenger side of the vehicle. I see my brother Sebastian, who recently made Captain, and three others get out of the truck parked just forward of the building. Two firefighters are in full turnout gear with oxygen masks in case of a gas leak. I watch as they ascend to the second-floor landing and disappear, going to clear the area to ensure it’s safe for us to enter.
Trey readies the gurney and meets me at the base of the stairs while we wait for the “all clear.” Instead of the words I’m waiting for, I hear, “Hey there, Pollyanna! It’s been too long since I’ve seen my favorite EMT.” Despite my efforts, I can’t help but cringe when Officer Bryce Jordan comes to stand next to me.
“It’s Leanna,” I tell him and then give him a plastic smile. For someone who is supposed to be good at police work, he has never gotten the hint that I’m not interested.
“But you’re always so sweet and chipper, like a little Polly…” he begins to say but is interrupted by a shout from the landing.
“ALL CLEAR!” yells Winslow, the department’s newest probie.
Trey and I both head upstairs and begin to assess the patient, a young man in his late 20s with sandy blond hair, brown eyes with constricted pupils, and flushed skin covered in what looks like a rash.
