The Heat Is On (Boston Five Book 1) by Poppy J. Anderson Page B

not allow Kyle to risk his life like that. He shook his head resolutely. “That’s out of the question, Kyle. The risk is too high.”
    “But—”
    Under normal circumstances, he never pulled rank, but in this case, he felt he had no other option. So he fixed his brother with a stern gaze and nodded at Owen.
    “If the man absolutely needs an IV, I will go in and take care of it. But I’m not going to send any of you in.”
    While Owen nodded and ran to the ambulance to get the necessary supplies, Kyle crossed his arms and stared at his accusingly. “That’s ridiculous, Heath. I’m the paramedic here—”
    “That may be the case, but I’ve been trained for this kind of situation, and I’m experienced in inserting IVs, too.”
    “Just because I’m your little brother, you’re not going to let me do my job?”
    “Wrong.” He flared his nostrils as his radio came to life with a message that the machinery would be there in a few minutes. He quickly replied and then turned to his brother again, who was watching him intently. “I won’t let Owen or any of my men do something like that, because I bear the responsibility for all of you. That has nothing to do with you being my brother.”
    Thankfully, Owen came back and handed him the IV set, before Kyle could further lament the fact that he couldn’t crawl through the rubble himself. It was true that Heath didn’t let his men do anything dangerous if he could do it himself, but in this case, he would never even have thought about letting his little brother, the paramedic, perform the task. All he could think of was the sorrow he would cause his mother if anything went wrong.
    He sent off a few more radio messages, before he bent to crawl into the site of the accident. It wasn’t an easy task, but he managed to get through the mess to the man, whose face was frighteningly gray beneath a thick layer of dust.
    “Sir, my name is Heath. Can you tell me your name?”
    “Mark.”
    “Mark, we’re going to get you out of here as fast as possible. Can you tell me how you feel?”
    “God-awful,” the injured man croaked in a thick voice. “Tell my wife I love her.”
    “You’re going to tell her that yourself,” Heath told him, sounding optimistic. He crawled closer and put two fingers against the man’s carotid to feel his pulse. “I’ll put you on an IV now, and then we’ll get to work getting you out.”
    “How … how are the others?”
    Donning his professional calm, he replied, “We’ll take care of the others once we’ve freed you from all this crap.”
    “Shit … my wife and … and I were fighting this morning. If I die now—”
    “You gotta stop with that nonsense, Mark,” Heath interrupted, simultaneously searching for a vein on the back of his hand. “We’ll have you out of here in no time, and then you can tell your wife you’re sorry.”
    “It was about her mother.” The man uttered a moan. “The old nag wants to move in with us.”
    In spite of everything, Heath had to laugh. He tapped the man’s skin, pulled a little, and stuck the hollow needle into the vein, glad he hit it on his first attempt. It was not an easy feat moving around in the cramped, volatile space, with the stifling air and the striped darkness around them, let alone hitting a vein on the man’s hand in these surroundings.
    “I recommend flowers, all things considered,” Heath said. He performed the routine steps, pressing the IV bag so the liquid would flow evenly, and then placing it carefully on a stable-looking piece of steel scaffolding.
    “Actually, I’m the one who should get the flowers,” the injured man joked, his voice hoarse. “You don’t know my mother-in-law.”
    “I’m sure things will be fine again between you and your wife in no time.” Heath took the man’s pulse again and pulled a blanket closer. He needed to place it over the man’s face and torso, to protect him from the aggressive dust that would surely rise up again once they