Page 27 of Fire Harbor

The rain came down harder, the windows fogging up as Linus chomped on the pickle, contemplating the missing books. It seemed too coincidental that they disappeared while all these women were vanishing without a trace.

“What are you thinking?” Lake asked, beginning to pack up the tote bag and close the Thermos.

“I hope this heavy rain doesn’t wash away evidence at the bridge. I shouldn’t have quit when I did. I should’ve gone on further into that underbrush.”

A gust of wind rattled the windows, causing Lake to shiver. “I should’ve brought my coat.”

“You’re cold,” Linus realized, turning the key in the ignition and dialing up the heat.

“We probably should head back anyway. I’m not sure what time you’ll get off tonight but—”

“I’ll stop by and check on you no matter what time it is. We’ll text.”

“Sure. That’d be nice. But if you stop by, maybe you should just plan to stay.”

He took her hand and brought her closer. “I can do that. I want you to promise me you’ll call or text if anything comes up you can’t handle.”

“Absolutely. I’ll put your number on speed dial, just in case.” She leaned toward him.

Linus met her halfway, their lips brushing against each other. A surge of heat spread through her body, chasing away the chill in the air. The embrace deepened as their tongues danced and their hearts raced.

The warmth of the heater melted away the chill, layer by layer. At that moment, everything else seemed to fade away—the darkening sky, the distant hum of traffic, the threat of Mother Nature’s wrath—leaving only the two of them.

As they pulled apart, Linus rested his forehead against Lake’s, his warm breath joining with hers. “I’m serious, Lake. Don’t hesitate to call if you need anything tonight. You don’t even own a four-wheel drive vehicle.”

She sputtered with laughter before cupping his face. “Linus Canfield, you’re such a romantic. If my lights go out, I’ll call you first thing. Now shut up about four-wheel drive and kiss me like you mean it.”

Chapter Seven

Without a fire station of its own, Pelican Pointe depended on various firehouses throughout the county to assist and respond to their emergencies. With fire trucks and ambulances dispatched from other locations, the response time could be lengthy. But that all changed in 2017 when the town renovated a rundown former packing house and turned it into a hospital. After that, Mayor Murphy petitioned the state for their own firehouse and paramedic team that, for now, was based inside the hospital until they could build a new fire station.

The firehouse, still under construction at the corner of Pacific Street and Landings Bay, had gone over budget twice and was taking longer than originally planned. But Ryder McLachlan’s crew—just as they had done while renovating the state-of-the-art hospital—wanted to get it right. With some last-minute code requirements, the firehouse was slated to open on Saturday, June 15th.

But until then, Linus was attached to the hospital, which had undergone still more additions since opening with a second floor increasing the number of beds.

He’d been lucky enough to get picked for the assignment because of his experience. For six years, he’d been a full-fledged member of the ever-growing trauma team. It meant that the doctors and nurses on staff treated him like any other medical professional. It meant that instead of hanging out at the firehouse in San Sebastian watching television between calls, he hung out during his shift around the impressive ER facility, assisting the emergency department when they were short-handed.

When an urgent situation arose outside the hospital, he could still hop into an ambulance and be on scene within a few minutes. But what Linus loved most about his job was getting to hang out inside the ER. He’d learned so much more from the entire staff than he ever thought possible.

At three that afternoon, Linus walked into the hospital and changed into his dark blue uniform. As he signed the roster near the emergency entrance, he could tell the staff was worried about the storm.

“Losing power is our biggest fear,” Gideon Nighthawk told him.

Linus slapped the surgeon on the back. “Don’t worry. We went through the mock preparedness drill last January during our lull. Those big-ass generators we have are like new. Quentin wanted the best and he got them—three diesel-fueled, three-megawatt generators—that will kick on as soon as there’s an indication of a power dip. They’ll run for seventy-two hours if you need it.”

Quentin, the town doctor, came up beside the two men. “It takes like seven seconds for those generators to pop on. The lights dim briefly but won’t stop working. Same with the medical equipment and life-sustaining devices.”

Gideon still looked worried. “I know, but right now, we have three post-op patients who require those life-sustaining devices. I hope they’re right about how much emergency supplies we have on hand, enough for ninety-six hours.”

“It’s the flooding I’m worried about,” Linus tossed out. “Not for this place, we practically sit up higher than the rest of the town. But others may see a lot of water from high tides.”

“That’s why we should be ready for anything,” Quentin urged. “Thanks for coming in after a twelve-hour shift yesterday. You don’t look like you got much sleep during your break.”

“I didn’t. I had some personal stuff to deal with.”

“It’s the personal stuff that keeps us up all night,” Gideon cracked, distracted as he skimmed the emergency contact list. “I’ve called in our most experienced staff, which leaves Jimmy Diaz on standby. The skilled should get us through the early hours of the first storm wave.”

“Jimmy’s a well-trained EMT, an asset in almost any situation,” Linus volunteered.

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