The rumbling gradually subsided, and the building around him groaned as it settled. Cal held his breath, praying there’d be no further collapses. When it seemed the structure had stabilized, he gave the guywire a couple of tugs, hoping the firefighter was still up top and uninjured—and the hoisting mechanism was operational. When nothing happened, he tugged again.
After interminable minutes, he reached for his radio. If Adam had been hurt, he’d have to come clean with Command about what he’d done. Williams would be displeased but they’d send someone to get him out. There was no way he could climb up with his injured leg.
His movement caused the harness to tilt and he reflexively used his legs to balance himself. The pain that shot through him caused his body to jerk. He grabbed for the rope to keep from falling backward, and the radio went spiraling down to shatter on the ground.
Cal cursed himself as he waited for the agony to subside, and tried to assess his options. He couldn’t jump down. He was over two stories up, and even with two good legs it would’ve been dangerous. With his right leg in such bad shape, he’d be breaking bones and probably his neck. He couldn’t scale the rope, and there was nothing around him he could swing to, to help him climb up or down.
Without his radio, he was stuck with no way to communicate to the outside world.
Still, he’d have to try to pull himself up the rope somehow. There was no viable alternative. He had a strong upper body—thanks to rigorous workouts to stay in shape, a requirement for his job—but it was a long way up. He tested his strength by reaching up and pulling on the rope. If he got into the elevator shaft, which wasn’t that far above him, he might be able to...
As he suddenly dropped three feet, he held on tight with both hands.
Twirling again from the force of the drop, he didn’t know what to make of it. He was terrified to move. If his testing of the rope had caused the plunge, he didn’t want to chance it again. He was still more than twenty feet above the ground. As he’d already concluded, it was unlikely he’d survive a twenty-foot drop.
When he felt the rope give again, he held on, closed his eyes and thought of Haley, certain he was about to fall to his death.
CAL’S EYES FLEW open when he felt himself rising, slowly but steadily.
Holding the hoisting rope with his right hand, he used his left to keep himself from careening into protruding obstructions as he ascended through the elevator shaft. Soon he could see the night sky above and he was clearing the top of the shaft.
Adam was reaching for him. “Sorry, man. The aftershock caused a piece of siding to get stuck in the flywheel. I had to lower you manually and clear it before I could hoist you...” His rapid-fire speech halted as he steadied the harness and helped Cal balance on the roof. “What happened to your leg?”
“An I-beam.” Cal looked around, saw Scout running toward him, unharmed. With a hand signal, he got him to drop down and hold his position. The last thing he needed right now was an enthusiastic greeting from his dog. He looked at his thigh, too, as he carefully put most of his weight on his left leg. “I was able to get out of its way, or mostly. Otherwise, I’d be even more of a mess.” Taking in the rusty marks on his blood-soaked jeans, he added, “It must’ve been a piece of rebar sticking out that sliced through me. How bad was the aftershock?”
“It could’ve been a lot worse, but it might not be the last. They’ve confirmed that the quake was a 7.6. No wonder we’ve had so much damage. Well, let’s get you down and checked out.” Adam threw his arm around Cal, and Scout followed at Cal’s side.
“We’re in for it,” he said to Cal as he assisted him into the bucket of the articulated lift. “They know what we did. When the aftershock hit, I had to report in. This—” he pointed to Cal’s thigh “—isn’t going to help us. I don’t think you’ll be able to play the sympathy card. Williams is really pissed.”
“Yeah, I bet.”
The boom lowered Cal and Scout to street level. With no other way to get there, Adam helped Cal hobble over to the triage area on one leg. Excruciating pain shot through him each time his right leg moved, let alone if his foot inadvertently touched the ground. They advanced slowly, in stark contrast to other people still rushing around.
“Do you know how the little girl, Kayla, is?” Cal asked, head down, watching for trip hazards on the pavement as they neared the medical area.
“You can find out for yourself,” he responded. “She’s with a doctor right now.”
Cal looked up and saw Kayla sitting on a makeshift examination table. The little girl held hands with an older woman who was crouched down in front of her and was obviously consoling her. Another woman in scrubs was examining her.
Kayla’s clothes were filthy; her hair was matted and dirty and tucked behind her ears. But there was no denying whose daughter she was. In the overhead lights, he could see she was a miniature version of her very beautiful mother.
Cal wondered if they’d had a chance to contact her father yet. He hoped that knowing his daughter had survived would alleviate some of the grief the man would feel when he learned about the death of his wife. And Kayla had lost her mother. It occurred to Cal again that if he’d been the one to die, his little girl, Haley, wouldn’t even know it.
As they approached the doctor, he really looked at her for the first time. He felt an immediate and visceral tightening in his gut. It astonished him, especially under the circumstances. The devastation around them, his severe pain and his view of relationships—yet there it was, no denying it.
She wasn’t classically beautiful. Not like Kayla’s mother. She was tall and lithe. On the slim side. Her face was a little longish, dominated by huge wide-set eyes; he couldn’t discern the color. Her nose was average, her mouth perhaps a bit too wide. But there was something about her that just grabbed him and wouldn’t let go. Then there was the hair. Pulled back in a ponytail, untidy and sweaty as it was, he could tell it was a thick, heavy, straw-colored mass.
The thoughts running through his mind made him suspect he’d hit his head without being aware of it. After Anna, he wasn’t interested in women. His reaction to the doctor annoyed him, and it showed in his demeanor.
“How is she?” Cal asked irritably and without preamble as they reached the triage area. Silver-gray eyes shot up, the doctor’s gaze meeting his.
* * *
JESSICA NARROWED HER eyes as she glared at the man standing before her, shirtless and leaning heavily on the shoulder of a firefighter. His simple question sounded both gruff and belligerent. Her gaze dropped to the well-muscled chest and arms, before sliding lower and seeing the makeshift tourniquet, understanding why he wasn’t wearing a shirt. “Marcia,” she called, keeping her eyes on the man but a steadying hand on the girl. “Can you please get Mr....?” She looked at the man inquiringly.
“Palmer. I’m a cop. Or just Calen. Or Cal.”
“Marcia, please help Officer Palmer sit down and get the weight off that leg and check his vitals until I can see him.”
“I asked how Kayla was,” he repeated, unmoving.
At the sound of her name, the little girl looked up and her crying eased. Her eyes brightened for the first time since Jessica had seen her. “Cal,” she squealed, twisting sideways and raising her skinny arms up for him. He obliged her with a hug. “You’re hurt,” she exclaimed.
“It’s nothing. I’ll be fine,” he said.
“Where’s