The Agent
Chapter Epilogue

Three months later

Sam Faurier hadn’t been borna cocky son of a bitch. Not to say he wasn’t a cocky son of a bitch—even his bravado had bravado, and he was never shy about trotting the stuff out. But his swagger had been hand-crafted over time, built in tiny increments and born out of complete necessity.

As the son of Jameson Faurier III (yes, the Jameson Faurier III), attitude was a sink-or-swim survival skill. Sam had learned at the tender age of fifteen that he could either flex his or be stuck in a life he hated. Unlike his brother, he hadn’t chosen Door Number Two, and unlike his mother, he’d been standing up to his father ever since.

Which made for some super fun Christmases. Not that Sam gave a single flying f**k.

He’d rather be a cocky son of a bitch than a cold, controlling a*****e. Anyway, he’d found his real family seven years ago, when he’d joined Remington’s Rescue Squad and landed at Station Seventeen.

Regret level: zero.

“I know you aren’t just standin’ there in front of all that backup gear, lookin’ pretty,” came a familiar drawl from beside Faurier in Station Seventeen’s walk-in storage closet.

He turned toward Lieutenant Gabe Hawkins and let one corner of his mouth drift upward. Good-natured ribbing was as much a part of fire house life as the hoses and helmets, and Faurier’s cocky side never let him pass up an opportunity to go full throttle.

“I am, in fact, standing here in front of all this backup gear, looking exceedingly pretty.” He held up the tablet in his hand, the inspection checklist they completed at the beginning of every shift flashing over the screen. “But I’m also doing the inventory you assigned to me to, because in addition to being pretty, I’m also extremely smart.”

Hawkins shook his head and rolled his eyes heavenward. But he was saved from making a comment by the sound of a soft snort coming from the opposite side of the gear closet.

Hawk’s expression lit with amusement. “Something to say about Faurier’s IQ, de Costa?”

The engine firefighter poked her head around the row of lockers bisecting the space lengthwise, her brown eyes landing first on Sam, then on Hawkins, before she smiled. “Well, since you asked, I was just wondering why, if Faurier here is so brilliant, he isn’t done with his inventory by now.”

She held up her own tablet, her engine inventory obviously complete, her smile growing both larger and sweeter until Hawkins laughed.

“I should have known. Your competitive streak is about as big as Faurier’s ego.”

It was an accurate statement. Lucy de Costa—also affectionately known as DC to everyone in the house—had arrived at Station Seventeen three years ago with both boots first and her ambition blazing. Sam had chalked a lot of that up to the fact that her father was one of Remington Fire Department’s most revered battalion chiefs. But Lucy had more than proven her ability and dedication as a firefighter. Sam might not work with her directly since she was on engine and he was on squad, but they’d done enough time together on A-shift for him to know she could back up her competitive streak as well as he could back up his ego.

The competence porn was hotter than he cared to admit. With her riot of black corkscrew curls, light brown skin, and strong, capable body full of lush curves and lean muscles, Lucy was hotter than he cared to admit.

Especially since she’d shot him down in flames when he’d flirted with her not long after her arrival at Seventeen.

Lucy’s grin didn’t lose any of its steam at Hawkins’s words, and it yanked Sam out of his pants and back to the moment. “Guess I don’t see any point setting the bar anywhere other than the top,” she said, her curls bouncing against her navy blue RFD T-shirt as she lifted her shoulders in a shrug. But before Sam could cook up a charming smile and a tart retort to counter, he was interrupted by the shrill electronic signal of the all-call blaring over the house’s overhead speakers.

“Engine Seventeen, Squad Six, Ambulance Twenty-Two, Battalion Seventeen, structure fire, seventeen hundred block of Bridgeford Drive, requesting immediate response.”

Sam’s pulse machine-gunned through him for a second before he took a breath to lock it down. His boots were in motion, three strides over and done before he even registered the forward momentum toward the squad vehicle.

Funny, Lucy was one step in front of both him and Hawkins, her tablet left in the wake of her own surefooted movements. She veered over to Engine Seventeen as Sam and Hawkins headed to the other side of the engine bay where the squad vehicle stood, each of them gearing up in swift, well-practiced movements. Sam jumped into the operator’s seat—which he’d earned six years ago when fellow squad member Dallas Garrity had retired due to an injury—firing up the vehicle and pulling on his headset in order to hear above the chaos.

“Nice of you gentlemen to join us,” Hawkins drawled over his own headset, aiming a look at the back of the vehicle, where Tyler Gates and Ryan Dempsey had just clambered into position.

“Nothing like starting the day with a bang,” Dempsey said with a grin, and Sam couldn’t have said it better himself.

“Just another day in paradise,” he agreed, already pulling the vehicle out of the engine bay. Although the squad vehicle had a large GPS screen built into the dashboard, he mapped the route in his head, turning toward Hawkins as soon as his mental light bulb flashed. “This fire is in North Point, in warehouse alley.”

It wasn’t the technical name for the place, but they all knew the area in question well enough. North Point was the rougher side of Remington, with the pier and docks hemming in overcrowded neighborhoods and city blocks, most of them in disrepair. Warehouse alley was the name they’d given to the stretch of large industrial buildings lining the area just off the river. The warehouses and other commercial structures had been built decades ago, some now abandoned and others not even close to up to code. The whole section headlined the RFD’s “most dangerous” list, and Faurier’s pulse tapped with equal parts unease and adrenaline.

“Affirmative,” Hawkins said, maneuvering through the dashboard computer program with his brows tugged tight. “Dispatch has nine-one-one calls reporting flames showing. The building looks to be abandoned, although we’re waiting on the city to confirm,” he added, the tension in his shoulders easing by just a fraction as he delivered the news. “Either way, the place seems to be burning pretty good. Be ready to earn your paycheck, y’all.”

“Copy that,” Sam said, Dempsey and Gates echoing the words over the headset. Letting the rush of white noise and the muffled sound of the sirens from both his vehicle and Engine Seventeen, which was right behind him, serve as his favorite soundtrack, Sam sharpened his focus and measured out his breaths. His heartbeat kicked harder as soon as they broke away from the clustered buildings and brownstones of downtown Remington and he caught sight of the looming warehouses lining the docks, a thick column of black smoke chugging into the bright-blue sky. The smoke got thicker the closer they got, and by the time Sam pulled the vehicle onto Bridgeford Drive, a veiled haze clung to the air around them.

Although it wasn’t an easy task, Sam knew better than to gawk at anything outside of the vehicle until he was outside of the vehicle. As such, he didn’t get a full visual on the fire until he’d parked a half a block up and his boots were on the dirt across the street from the building.

Free-standing structure. Four stories. Brick front, half the windows boarded up. Flames shooting from six of the massive windows on the front, or A, side of the building, two on the B side, with floors two and three both showing fast-moving, bright-orange flames.

Sam was no stranger to fires—in fact, he f*****g lived for the rush of knocking them down—but holy shit. This one was a monster.

“Alright, people, listen up,” came a familiar, authoritative voice over the radio strapped to Sam’s turnout gear just below his right shoulder, and damn, Captain Bridges was fast. “City officials have confirmed that this building has been abandoned for eight months. There are no reports of anyone inside, and the adjacent buildings are far enough away for us to keep the fire from jumping. With how fast these flames are moving, it won’t be long before the fourth floor and roof go. We’re going to let this one do its thing, then wash it down when most of it has burned out. Squad, stand down on search and rescue. Engine, prep the lines. Once the roof collapses and the fire loses steam, I want to be ready to hit this thing and put out what’s left.”

“Copy that,” Hawkins said, arching a brow at the disappointment that had to be plastered all over Sam’s face. “Don’t pout, Faurier. We’ll knock down plenty of fires another time.”

It was standard protocol to let some fires burn out on their own, especially in conditions like this, and he knew Captain Bridges had made the call to protect his firefighters. But it was Sam’s job to run into burning buildings to save lives, and he took that shit capital-S seriously. Standing on the sidelines? Christ, it f*****g rankled.

“I know,” Sam grumbled, “But it doesn’t mean I have to like it.”

“You heard the Captain,” Hawkins said to him, Dempsey, and Gates. “Keep your eyes open and be ready to have Engine’s back once they open up the hoses. With the look of this one, they’re gonna need it.”

Sam listened over the radio as their Engine Lieutenant, Ian Gamble, gave orders to the Engine firefighters to prep the hoses and tap nearby hydrants. Staring at the fire itself was tempting—this one was moving fast as hell, the heat blasting off the building making Sam sweat beneath his turnouts despite the early February chill that should’ve been in the air. But Sam knew that what was around the burning building was just as important as the fire itself—hidden propane tanks or other hazards, civilians getting too close for their own good, God the list was endless—so he started a full-scale visual sweep of the scene.

His attention was snagged a third of the way through by Lucy’s voice coming over the radio. “de Costa to Gamble. Something’s wrong with this hydrant.” She gave her location, which was barely around the corner from where Squad Six currently stood, and Sam perked up, dying to be useful.

“I can try to help,” he offered to Hawkins, who nodded and leaned toward his radio.

“Gamble, you need an assist?” he asked, and Gamble’s gruff voice came back with an immediate response.

“Affirmative. Walker’s tapping another hydrant, and McCullough and I are all prepping these lines.”

“Copy you. Faurier can back DC up.”

Captain Bridges clipped out his assent, but not before Sam’s boots were already aimed in Lucy’s direction. He caught sight of her as soon as he turned the corner, and damn, this fire was pumping out some serious heat.

“Hey,” she said, sweat sheening her forehead beneath the brim of her helmet, her expression thoroughly pissed. “The outlet was a little rusty, but not too bad.” She gestured to the wide circle set in the hydrant, where the hose she’d hauled from the engine was perfectly fitted and ready for juice. “But when I open it up, nothing happens.”

Sam took a look at the hydrant and shook his head. “Damn. This thing looks like it was built before either one of us was born. Might’ve been the last time it was inspected, too. Hang on.” Taking the wrench from her, he went through all the motions just to be sure, and yep. Nada. “Looks like the valve is damaged. The hydrant could’ve frozen in that cold snap we had last month.”

It would definitely cause valve failure, especially on a hydrant that was already old to begin with. “Shit,” Lucy said, and Sam nodded.

“There’s no way we can access the water supply with a busted valve in there.”

Lucy radioed back to Gamble, who sounded about as thrilled as she looked. “Copy that,” Gamble said over the line. “Walker’s on another hydrant, so we’ll have to make do. Fall out.”

Lucy turned to reclaim her gear. Sam moved to help her—not that she needed it, but he wanted to do something—but then something flashed in the periphery of his vision, making every part of him freeze except for his pulse.

“Did you see that?” he asked, taking a few involuntary steps toward the warehouse, his gaze laser focused on a second-floor window.

“See what?” Lucy asked.

Something moved behind the dirty, smoke-tinged glass, and Sam’s heart vaulted into his throat.

“There’s someone trapped inside that building.”