Paws off the Boss, Casey Griffin [ereader for textbooks TXT] 📗

Firefighters barreled through the smoke and into the reception area. They herded Piper and Aiden out of the building. The moment the pair stepped outside, it was as if a veil had lifted. The cool air and spattering rain smacked Piper’s wet, half-naked body, and she shivered.

With the clarity of the fresh San Francisco air came the blinding red and blue strobe lights, an overwhelming discord of noises, and the chaos spilling out into the street. Officials shouted orders, sirens wailed, onlookers cried out, and over it all, the dogs barked wildly in the rear courtyard.

It was bewildering. An entirely different kind of fright than the one Piper had just lived through. She reached for Aiden, but helping hands steered them in opposite directions, toward different ambulances. She tried to keep track of him, but the crowd swallowed him whole.

Strong hands reached out to Piper. They helped her onto a stretcher, but it didn’t feel like help. She pushed them away, struggling against their firm grip.

“I’m fine,” she kept saying. “I’m fine.”

Which was true—at least, she thought so—but she didn’t sound like it. Her voice had the refinement and lilt of gravel under a boot. And as the adrenaline faded, new aches and pains introduced themselves in an all-too-intimate way.

For all she knew, she could have been missing both eyebrows, looked like Batman’s Two-Face, and still had the arsonist’s shoe implanted in the center of her chest. If the way she felt was any indication, it was a definite possibility.

Piper’s body didn’t yet understand that it was time to relax. That the fighting, the danger, was over. And all she could think about was getting to Aiden, to see that he, his eyebrows, and every other bit of him was okay.

She glanced up. A female attendant hovered at the head of her stretcher. She helped slide Piper into the back of the ambulance. The embroidered badge on her uniform read “Mollim.”

“Look,” Piper said. “I’m fine. Really.”

“We’re just going to check you over to make sure,” Mollim said. “Just relax. Everything is going to be okay.”

A second attendant hoisted himself into the back and shoved a mask onto Piper’s face. Oxygen hissed at her. Various other attachments followed, monitoring things like blood pressure, temperature, oxygen saturation.

The rapid treatment made her anxious. Maybe there was more wrong with her than she knew. Out of frightened instinct, she batted away their nursing. A hand finally appeared and held hers down.

Now she knew what one of her furry patients went through when she poked and prodded them during practicum. Scared, helpless, anxious. Anymore “help” and she thought she might start biting.

A warm cotton blanket was pulled from a toasty oven somewhere and laid on top of her. It didn’t take long for the oxygen to clear her head a little, and she regained enough sense to relax and let the EMTs do their job.

Mollim, or Willow in the right-side-up, oxygen-rich world, leaned over Piper with a stethoscope. “This might be chilly.” She reached under the blanket and stuck the ice-cold stethoscope against Piper’s chest. “Take a deep breath.” She moved it to another spot. “And again. Good.”

Piper kept breathing until Willow pulled away. “Clear to bases bilaterally, air entry adequate,” she told her partner, who jotted it down on a clipboard.

After a million questions like “Do you feel short of breath?” and “Any difficulty breathing?” Willow finally backed off.

A police officer lingered off to the side. At a brisk nod from the attendant, she moved in with a whole new set of questions. The officer wanted to know about the arsonist, if Piper saw what he looked like, where he went once he left, if it was on foot or by car, and approximately how long it had been since he’d taken off.

Piper could tell her very little about his appearance. It felt like weeks ago now. Once the officer was satisfied with the answers, she tilted her head to the radio clipped to her shoulder and called for the canine unit.

“Someone will come find you shortly to ask more questions,” the cop told her. “Don’t go too far.”

“Thank you.” It wasn’t like Piper had any plans. She turned back to Willow. “What’s the prognosis? Am I going to live?”

“You seem to be in good shape, considering,” she told Piper.

“I told you I’m fine.” She yanked off the oxygen mask.

“You’re very lucky.”

“My boyfriend fought the fire for longer than I did. He probably inhaled more smoke.” She was vaguely aware the B word had slipped out, but she blamed it on the oxygen deprivation.

“It’s not smoke inhalation that’s the worst of it,” Willow said. “It’s heat inhalation.”

“Uh huh.” Piper was only half-listening. She craned her neck, trying to see out of the open ambulance doors and past the shifting bodies on the street. “Is he all right?”

“We can find out about your boyfriend in a second. It’s you I’m worried about right now.”

“But you said I’m fine. Am I free to go?”

“I didn’t say you were fine. I said you were in pretty good shape, considering. It’s always a good idea to get checked out at a hospital.”

Piper thought about Colin and the distressed dogs cooped up in the tiny courtyard and what they must be going through at that moment. The sooner she could get to them, the better. These dogs had come from troubled pasts to begin with; they had a hard enough time trusting and feeling safe. An event like this could lead to post-traumatic stress disorder. Not to mention, she had some apologizing to do for yelling at Colin.

Besides, she thought about the treatment in the emergency room, the diagnostics they would run. Each one meant more dollar signs, more decimal points. After all her dad’s treatments, she knew firsthand how expensive medical care was. She didn’t want to watch her money go down the drain just so a doctor could tell her she was fine.

Nope. She’d had enough of hospitals for a lifetime.

“I’m fine, really. I feel great. Nothing a strong cup of coffee won’t cure.” She chuckled, but it only brought on a coughing fit that shook her body. “And maybe a lozenge.”

Willow frowned. “Well, you know my opinion, but I can’t force you to come with us.”

Relieved, Piper began unhooking herself from the monitoring equipment. “You were awesome. Thank you.”

Sitting up, she swung her legs over the side of the stretcher. Her head spun with the motion. She figured it was prudent not to mention that, or that her thoughts were still disorganized like she’d just woken up after a graduation day bender.

Willow passed her a clipboard and pen. She pointed to an X marked at the bottom of a page that was too blurry and scratchy to read. Or maybe that was just Piper’s eyeballs.

“You need to sign here. This is a release form to refuse further medical care.”

Piper signed in the general area of the X and passed it back.

Willow riffled through some drawers and produced a package of lemon lozenges. “Watch for