Kansas City's Bravest. Julie Miller

smoke. “I know I heard something, John. I’m checking it out.”

      The familiar rhythms of her equipment jangled against her back with each step, drowning out the faint, repetitive tapping sound she’d heard. Wearing more than forty pounds of protective gear didn’t slow her down the way it once had. Though smoke was rapidly filling the open areas of the building, the fire itself hadn’t yet reached the main floor. She trailed her hand along the cool wall and hurried down the corridor toward the tier of offices at the south end of the warehouse.

      One choice expletive echoed in her ear. But she heard the relenting sigh in John Murdock’s deep bass voice and knew he was already maneuvering to back her up as she took point on the search and rescue. “Report your twenty every minute.”

      “Roger.” She butted up against a wall and halted, orienting herself before choosing which hallway to follow. “I’m heading left. That’s east, going toward the outer wall.”

      “Copy. Be careful.”

      “You, too.” The gray and black wall of smoke lightened into a misty, translucent haze, rewarding her choice of direction. “Good girl.” She rubbed her gloved hands together at the small victory and moved on. She trusted her instincts now.

      That hadn’t always been the case.

      Four years ago, at the age of twenty-two, she’d been too broke to finish college. Needing a job that required little more than her ability to pass a physical, she’d enrolled in firefighter training. But the work proved hard, the challenges grueling. The sniping put-downs from some of her classmates had sent her home in tears or temper more than once. She’d been all set to fail.

      Just as she’d managed to fail the other big challenges in her life.

      But then Gideon Taylor had stumbled into her life, literally, tripping over the hose she couldn’t quite roll and carry on her own. He’d taken her under his wing and taught her confidence and patience. He’d taught her tricks to compensate for a lack of physical strength. He’d taught her to love the job.

      He’d taught her to love, period.

      Talons of flame shot up through the floorboards at Meghan’s feet, calling her wandering thoughts back to the present. The fire that had started in the warehouse basement was slowly climbing its way up toward the rafters. Gideon would tell her to keep calm. To tune out everything but the fire itself.

      Let the fire talk to you, he’d say. It’ll tell you what to do.

      Meghan tried to listen. The tapping sound had disappeared. She tried harder. She tried to remember everything he’d taught her.

      Gideon.

      She leaned against a wall and clutched her stomach, feeling an almost physical pain at the rush of memories that threatened to consume her.

      She’d found a way to fail, after all.

      “Meghan?” John’s sharp warning reminded her of the time.

      She gathered her wits and pushed away from the wall. “I’m okay.” She scanned her surroundings and reported in. “I’ve gone about twenty paces. I’ve got flames up through the floor spaces, but it hasn’t caught yet.”

      “Have you found the vic?”

      “No victim yet.” A sharp, high-pitched cry turned her attention to the wall above her. “Wait. I’ve got something.”

      It was the sound of fighting to survive against impossible odds. Meghan knew all about that kind of struggle. Staying alive was one of the few things she had managed to accomplish.

      “I’m going up to the second floor,” she reported, keeping John apprised of her location.

      The twin beams of the flashlights mounted on her helmet shimmered in the distortion of overheated air that rose and filled the old building. She quickly eliminated the old freight elevator as a means of transportation to the upper levels. A zigzagging series of ramps and stairways that led up to various loading and storage platforms would lead her back into the heart of the smoke.

      That left the wrought-iron ladder that had been mounted directly into the brick facade. She reached for the rung above her head and gave it a solid tug. Dust and mortar bits snowed down on her helmet. When the downpour stopped, she pulled herself up onto the first rung and felt the give of anchor bolts popping out of the wall above her head. She ducked and held her breath. But the ladder settled and clung fast to its shaky mounts, supporting her weight. For once her trim build would work to her advantage. “I’m climbing.”

      Hand over hand, foot over foot, she ascended the ladder. Though she was only a slender five-foot-five, she trained hard to maintain peak physical conditioning. What she lacked in strength, she made up for in speed and agility. As long as the fire cooperated and stayed below, she’d have no problem locating the victim and clearing the building with time to spare.

      Meghan reached the second floor and swung her legs over onto the platform that ran the length of the dockside wall. Ages ago this building had been used as a storage and distribution facility for large bales of cotton to be shipped on the river. A giant iron hook and rigging attached to a support beam was still in place beside a boarded-up opening.

      These days, though, the warehouse was nothing more than a hangout for teens with too much time on their hands and not enough direction in their lives. Or it served as a makeshift shelter for homeless vagrants looking to escape the dog days of August’s summer heat when the local shelters were full.

      During some of the blackest moments of her life, Meghan had been a teen in trouble and a homeless runaway. She knew that whoever had come up here to escape the fire was scared to begin with. “I’m here to help,” she shouted, taking note of the smoke creeping into the open corridor below her. “Where are you?”

      A plaintive cry answered and she drifted closer to the sound.

      At the end of the platform was a boarded-up office. The door behind the crossed one-by-fours was closed. The window beside the door was boarded over. How could someone have gotten in?

      She already had a suspicious feeling when she knocked.

      The whine became a sharp, piercing bark.

      “Oh, no.”

      The Kansas City Fire Department made every reasonable effort to save pets and livestock involved in a fire. But extreme means of rescue were reserved for people, not strays.

      “John? It’s a dog.” She reported her location and situation. “I’m here. I might as well get him out.”

      She knew her partner wouldn’t appreciate endangering herself on behalf of a stray. But he was an innocent victim of this blaze and she didn’t intend to abandon him yet.

      “Move it, Meghan. We’ve got fire on the main floor. We’ll lay down water at your end to try to suppress it.” He, too, knew it was too late to argue. “I’ll notify Animal Rescue.”

      “You just lucked out, furball.” She spoke through the door to the creature inside, hoping to calm him. “The cavalry’s here.”

      Meghan made a quick scan of her escape route and noted the accuracy of John’s report. The floorboards at the base of the ladder were burning now. And while brick didn’t burn, it could become too hot to touch. And the metal itself would conduct heat and soften, making it impossible for the ladder to sustain its own weight, much less hers and a dog’s. She needed to act fast.

      “How’d you get in there, boy?” The answering cry from the other side cut straight through to Meghan’s heart.

      She squatted and reached beneath the bottom board. But the door had latched and couldn’t be pushed open. “You closed it yourself after you crawled in, didn’t you?” The dog called to her again. “I’ll get you out. Don’t worry.”

      Meghan reached behind her and lifted her ax from its shoulder carrier. She wedged the head between the door frame and the middle board and pulled back, using her own