Kathryn Shay - The Unknown Twin

Ramirez snorted. “She get swept away by your charm like all the ladies, gringo?”

When he remained silent, Robertson winked at the others. “Don’t tell us you didn’t ask her out. We know you did.”

“Like hell.” They’d never let him hear the end of it if they knew she’d blown him off.

LaSpino called out, “Hey, come look at these.”

Saved by the chef, who had a legendary sweet tooth. Alex crossed to the table and looked down at the cookies Lauren had brought. “Holy hell.”

There had to be twenty dozen of them. He picked one up. “A Maltese cross.” The insignia of firefighting. “It’s beautiful.” Frosted in red and yellow, Lauren had even put a badge number on it. 527. His.

“There’s some boots and helmets, too,” LaSpino murmured. They were also frosted with details—a black line for the sole, yellow reflectors.

“They had to take her forever,” Janey Lopez said.

Another asked, “Why’d she wrap each one in plastic?”

“So they’d stay fresh, moron,” LaSpino told him.

“Didn’t she know we’d chow ’em down right away?”

Still, nobody moved to take one.

“Well, lookee here.” This from Alvarez. “A helmet, frosted in red.”

“It’s probably for me,” joked Will Begay, the captain on the engine. Captains wore colored helmets so they could be found easily in an operation. Everybody knew, just like the badge number, this cookie was for Alex.

Then why the hell had she said no to a freakin’ date? “Women!” he quipped, and stalked out of the kitchen to the bathroom. The guys’ razzing followed him.

Under the shower’s spray, he thought about her. She wasn’t exactly Miss America. Still, she was pretty. As pretty as Dana? Hmm. He hadn’t thought about Dana in those terms for years. But Lauren was definitely as pretty, only in a different way. He could still remember how she’d drunk the tea, how she steeped herself in it. Cherished it. Hell! Just thinking of that had an effect on his body.

And she was softer than Dana. Delicate. But delicate women were probably a lot of trouble. They’d need coddling. You’d have to do things for them. They had never been his type. Out of the shower, he pulled on sweatpants in deference to the woman subbing on their shift and grumbled, “I don’t need any wilting flowers in my life.”

“She looks more like a vibrant little rose to me.”

Damn, he didn’t know anybody else was in here. Will Begay had come out of one of the stalls and was washing his hands at a sink. Rubbing his head with a towel—it was too late for backpedaling—Alex mumbled something unintelligible.

At least Will was trustworthy. The only Native American on Alex’s squad, he seemed more self-possessed than the rest of the guys. He and Alex had been friends for years.

Will leaned against the wall as Alex dried off. “She said no, didn’t she?”

“Yep.”

“You haven’t been shot down in a long time.”

“Nope.”

“Giving up?”

“Uh-huh. Before I invest. I got a feeling she’s high maintenance.”

“She seemed pretty interested in you. I looked out the window, and she was watching you on the court. Acted like she was studying a foreign species, but she was fascinated.”

“Yeah?”

“And the red frosted helmets weren’t for me.”

He snorted.

Begay hesitated, then spoke. “She’s a dead ringer for Dana.”

There was something about his tone….

“So?”

“That’s not why you’re interested, is it?”

“Nope.”

Will pushed away from the wall. “Good.”

Alex asked, “Will? Your wife, Mareeta?”

“Yeah?”

“Is she high maintenance?”

“In my experience, Shields, all women are. You just gotta find one who’s worth it.” He nodded to the bay. “We saved you some food. What time are we training?”

“This afternoon. About four, if there are no calls.”

“On what?”

“Orientation for that new warehouse they just finished over on Twelfth Street.”

The PA blared. “Car accident at Ronstat Street. Truck One and Paramedic One go into service.”

Alex grabbed his stuff. “That’s me,” he said, and raced out of the john.

When he got back, he did some paperwork until four, then called the group together. There were nineteen of them, including the HazMat guys, who were also housed in the Jefferson Avenue firehouse. They’d need this training, too, because the warehouse would contain hazardous material.

When the crowd settled down, Alex explained the purpose of the session and told them they’d be going to the site on their next shift to check out the place before it opened. He gave them stats with questions to go with them. “I’d like you to look at the information I’ve got here. First, the warehouse is three thousand square feet. How long will it take to search it out for victims?”

“Not usually a lot of people in a warehouse.” This from LaSpino.

“No, but a thorough search still needs to be done.”

Somebody suggested a time frame.

“So how long does one SCBA last?”

They got the picture and discussed ways to search effectively and divvy the warehouse into manageable parts to accommodate their air supply.

“Second point—which hoses do we lay?”

Janey tackled this one. “Our usual? The one and three-quarters.”

Alex said, “It’s only forty-five feet long. Can it make it to all the walls?” When everybody shrugged, he said, “Let’s figure it out.” They did the math on a blackboard Alex had set up behind him. That length of hose would stretch to some walls and not others. They discussed alternatives.

In the next hour, Alex covered other points: he talked about what would be housed in the warehouse from the list provided by the owners. They studied it.

“Now let’s analyze the conditions here that you wouldn’t encounter in a bedroom fire. Any suggestions?”

The guys speculated there would be additional oxygen from all the doors that would be open when they attacked with water. They also mentioned decreased visibility.

Alex ended the session with some recommendations of his own: “We need to use the closest access doors. We need to back up with larger lines. And accountability is an absolute.” He waited for this to sink in. “Last thing to talk about is the trusses…”

When they finished training, it was after five. Restless, Alex wanted some fresh air and privacy. He grabbed the paper and headed outside before dinner. Telling himself he was just curious, he sat at the picnic table and flipped to the comics. Lauren’s cartoon, Dee and Me, wasn’t in every day, so it probably wasn’t even here.

It was.

Frame One:

The ocean. Deirdre and Lily stand on the dock. Deirdre wears a chic suit, holds a surfboard. Come on, Lily, let me show you.

Lily is dressed in a dowdy bathing suit, horn-rimmed sunglasses and has zinc oxide on her nose. I can’t swim. You know that.

Frame Two:

Dee is in the water. You said you were taking lessons.

The bubbles indicate Lily’s thoughts. I wish I was more like her.

Frame Three:

Lily stands on the dock looking dejected. She’s at the very end, where waves crash, watching Dee, mumbling Some people have all the fun.

Frame Four:

Other swimmers jostle Lily as they jump into the water.

Lily teeters on the edge of the dock after one particular shove.

Frame Five:

A big, muscle-bound boy skids into view, grabs her from behind before she falls.

A little eek comes from Lily.

Alex reread the cartoon. Hmm. A shy retiring female being rescued. Did this have something to do with her? With him? He glanced up at the building temporarily housing the newspaper. He’d never been a no-means-yes kind of guy, but the comic, coupled with the cookies, made him think trying again for a date was a good idea. He’d just whipped out his cell phone to call her, when she emerged from the building.