LITMIR.BIZ

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them with a crowbar to rip the plywood from the front door. Inside, flames flared in glee at the influx of fresh air. Their color was enough to confirm suspicions that this was another arson.

      Straight ahead lay the staircase but they turned toward the fire first. Remnants of discarded furniture had been left scattered behind some time ago. A battered sofa provided plenty of starter fuel. Flames and smoke sprang from it to creep up the flowered wallpaper at its back. No sign of anyone. Flames gobbled a scattering of old newspapers on the floor.

      They covered the downstairs quickly. All the rooms were empty.

      Smoke rushed upward and so did they. Flynn prayed the wooden stairs weren’t rotted and would hold their weight.

      “It’s really moving,” Carey muttered under his breath.

      “Yeah.”

      They reached the landing and turned to the room directly over the flames. There was little time left to scan for victims. The fire was spreading with wicked speed.

      Flames broke through the floor in the room over the fire, sending them back to the hall. The heat became oppressive as they crossed to the room opposite, Carey going right, Flynn left.

      “Clear,” Carey’s voice repeated in his ear.

      “Clear,” Flynn agreed.

      Flames began licking up that wall as well. They were nearly out of time. Dense smoke swirled to fill the space, growing blacker by the second. The snapping crackle of the blaze was audible even over the sound of their breathing apparatus.

      On the floor in what had obviously been another bedroom, an old mattress piled with rags jutted out from the wall. Perfect. More fuel for the hungry flames. About to turn back, Flynn stumbled over something and went to his knees.

      “Flynn!”

      “I’m okay.”

      He started to rise and stopped. A small, bare human foot protruded from the pile of rags. He stared in shock and a jolt of adrenaline sent him stumbling forward. He touched the appendage to be sure it was real.

      “I’ve got a victim!”

      The rags proved to be a long dress of some floaty material worn by a slender slip of a woman with long hair. Flynn called out the location as he bent to lift her. She didn’t stir, not even when he picked her up. He wondered if she was already dead.

      Carey tapped his arm. “We gotta go!”

      Flynn nodded. Smoke curled around them insidiously, blacking out the room. Carey led the way toward the door and was quickly enveloped. Flynn could no longer see his partner, but he kept moving in the same direction. Even before he bumped into Carey’s broad back, he realized they were too late.

      The radio crackled in his ear. “Flynn, Carey, pull out! Pull out! We have flames going up the stairs,” Lew yelled.

      There was nothing to see but dense smoke.

      “We’re on the second floor, back of the building left side,” Carey responded. “We have an unconscious victim. We’re going to need an escape route through a window.”

      “We’re on it.”

      But, of course, he and Carey wouldn’t be able to see the window even if it hadn’t been boarded over.

      Pushing aside his fight-or-flight reaction, Flynn tried to relax and breathe evenly, wishing he could wipe at the sweat running down his face. Frenchy and Lew would get them out. This being a corner room, there were likely windows at their back and left side.

      Carey bumped his arm. “I’ve got the outside wall. We’ll use it as a guide to the windows. Stay on me.”

      Brushing the back of Carey’s suit with his free hand, Flynn followed his partner step by cautious step as the flames gobbled the structure around them with incredible speed. How much accelerant had the bastard used?

      Without warning, Carey stumbled hard and went down. Flynn barely managed to avoid sprawling on top of him. He staggered to the side nearly dropping the woman as he tried to keep his footing.

      “Carey!”

      “Floorboard gave. My foot’s stuck.”

      “Mayday,” Flynn called. “Carey’s trapped. Corner bedroom near the back.”

      He reached down with his free hand. “Can you pull yourself out hanging on to me?”

      “Yes.” And he groaned when he tried to pull free. “No! I’m wedged tight. Go! Get the victim out!” His friend sucked in a sharp breath. “I think I broke something.”

      Flynn swore. A sliver of flame broke through the wall across from them.

      “Lew? We’re in trouble here!”

      “Stand by. We’re on our way in.”

      Carey tugged at his wedged foot. A wider tongue of flame licked up the wall at their back. They swore as one.

      “Go!”

      He hated that Carey was right. Flynn had to get the woman out. If she weren’t already dead, she soon would be. He headed toward the reassuring sound of axes on wood. The room lightened for a brief second as a plywood cover was ripped free outside.

      Glass shattered. Smoke billowed toward it in a rush to be free. Flynn lumbered toward the opening, half afraid the floor under him would give at any minute. Frenchy filled the window. Flynn handed the woman to him and turned back.

      “Carey!”

      “We’ll get him,” Lew’s voice said in his ear. “You go!”

      But Flynn was already trying to retrace his steps. He couldn’t see a thing and nearly stepped on Carey.

      “I’m free,” Carey told him, panting hard. He accepted Flynn’s help to his feet and swore in obvious pain. A tongue of fire whipped up through the hole where his boot had been.

      “The floor’s going to go,” Lew shouted.

      Flynn felt the give of hot wood under his feet. With a firm grip under Carey’s arm, he started back. Frenchy appeared on Carey’s other side to help support the stumbling man. They made it to the window where Lew guided Carey out onto the sagging back-porch roof.

      Inside, the center of the floor sprouted flames. Part of the floor collapsed under the intense heat. Water spewed into the room from a hose at a side window. Flynn scrambled out through the window over the porch, Frenchy on his heels. The porch roof also felt dangerously soft underfoot.

      “Go!” Frenchy yelled.

      Flynn bolted forward and plunged through a weakened section. His leg and shoulder took the brunt of his landing as he and that section of roofing came to rest on the back porch. Lew appeared at his side, tugging on his arm.

      Dazed, Flynn made it to his feet and staggered off the porch. He managed Frenchy’s name.

      “We got him,” Lew assured. “Paul’s taking him down the side.”

      Flynn yanked off his mask and sucked in fresh air thankfully as Lew led him to the rescue vehicle. The victim lay on her back in the grass. Paramedics, Arlene and Murray, were working over her. Flynn paused to gaze down at her delicate features covered in thick black soot.

      “Pretty little thing,” Lew remarked.

      Pretty was an understatement. Beneath the soot she appeared fragile, almost porcelain-doll lovely. She reminded him of a fairy-tale princess on the cover of some book.

      A very dirty princess.

      “Now what was someone like her doing in there, I’d like to know,” Lew grumbled.

      An excellent question.

      Flynn watched them work on her, willing her to live while wishing there was something more he could do to help.

      “I should

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