“This is Dempsey,” she coughed out into the lethal air, using up more precious oxygen stored in her lungs. “I’m on level two near the southeast stairwell with an unconscious male civilian.”

Crackle, crackle, no response. She should say it was the mayor, but maybe they knew, because Wy had to have made it out with Madison by now. A threat to Chicago’s First Citizen would produce quicker results. Depressing, but reality.

She hit her radio button again. “This is Dempsey. I’ve got the—”

“Dempsey, hold your position,” Venti said. “Crews are on the way.”

“Copy that.”

Alex coughed, the effects of the smoke now a challenge to fully drawn breaths. Her lungs did not like the poisonous concoction. They were certainly not going to like any prolonged exposure to it.

Cooper roused as the air did its job, then tried to yank the mask off again.

“Eli, don’t! Just take a breath.”

His fingers fisted the jaw of the mask and pulled at it weakly. “Can’t . . . breathe.”

“It’s okay. You’re going to be okay. You just need to relax and breathe normally.” She ripped off her glove and curled her hand in his big, surprisingly coarse one. “I’m here. I’m not leaving.”

“Trapped,” he muttered, but more important, his shoulders had softened by degrees, and as his grip tightened on her hand, she could feel him taking steadier breaths. Getting stronger.

He coughed. “Did he call you?”

“What?”

“Did . . . did he call you?”

“Who, Eli?”

He husked out a short, bitter laugh. “I told him if he called you, I’d . . .” He trailed off, hauling another life-affirming lungful of air. “Knew I could get you to say my name.”

Yay, the douchebag returns! But now she had another pesky problem: at least a minute had passed with no sign of backup. Worse for Alex, mental hypoxia and nausea had started to set in. They needed to get out.

Now.

“Mr. Mayor, can you stand?” On legs like swaying reeds, she pulled herself up while still holding his hand, hoping that was enough. Needing his strength as much as her own. Using the wall as support, he righted himself.

“We need to get to the exit.” She hunched under his arm and took his weight. Her blood was filling with poison, her cells turning black, her life force shriveling.

Eight feet. Seven. Only six more feet.

Christ, he was so fucking heavy.

The smoke wrapped around them. Encased her heart and lungs. Death had come calling. She had expected that when the time arrived, she would be more afraid.

Her mind fogged over. Two steps. Two more. Two . . .

Everything went black.

 CHAPTER THREE

Darkness pressed in, a two-ton weight on his chest, forcing his eyes closed, his mouth sealed. They were moving around, the sound distant but close enough to set his heart racing.

Go away.

His lungs were unfillable, the air nonexistent. No space to move, no escape possible. Voices wavered in and out, then one clearer tone filtered through the noise.

“Eli, I’m here. You need to wake up now.”

A hand in his, unexpectedly supple. Surprisingly strong, too.

He didn’t want to wake. Better to stay in the in-between where there were no questions, only the answers he wanted to hear.

Only her.

“Eli . . .”

Even in his dreams, she was difficult. But he liked her that way because it would make the moment he tamed her all the sweeter.

“Wake up, Eli.”

“Dammit, woman.” He roused, opened his eyes, and met the concerned gaze of . . . his ex-wife.

Fuck.

Moments passed as he reckoned with his surroundings. White, sterile walls. A woman in scrubs futzing with equipment. His tuxedo jacket draped over a chair. Slow blinks gave him time to assess and rewind to what secrets he might have been divulging in his semiconscious state.

Finally, he met his ex’s gaze head on. “Mads, how are you?” The words croaked out, in the voice of someone else.

“I’m out one Marc Jacobs cocktail dress and some very expensive Laboutins. And before you ask, you heathen, those are shoes.” She sounded hoarse and pissy, but at least she was alive.

“Shouldn’t you be resting?”

“My room, your room. What’s the difference? Someone has to keep you awake, Mr. Mayor.”

He sat up in the bed of a hospital exam room, memories resurfacing like a head breaking water. Dragging fingers through his hair tossed up a gritty grime. The spoils of war.

“Mr. Cooper,” the nurse said, seeming to appear out of nowhere. She was built like a tank and he was immediately suspicious of her bedside manner. “Can you tell me today’s date?”

He’d suffered enough brain-rattling concussions in his lifetime to already be bored with the questions. No harm in having a little fun. “July third, no, fourth, 1998.” He turned his attention back to his ex. “Seriously, Mads, how are you feeling?”

She shrugged her slender shoulders—she was dressed in scrubs like the nurse—and let him in for just a moment. “You saved my life, Eli. How do you think I feel?”

“Annoyed, because now I can hold this over you.”

Her smile crumbled around the edges. “Exactly, you rotten bastard.”

He dropped his gaze, because she was a tough girl who hated showing weakness. Divorced from her for twelve years, he still cared and would hate to see her hurt in any way.

Tank Nurse consulted her clipboard and started in on the dumb shit again. “Who’s the president of the United States, Mr. Cooper?”

“Is that a trick question, Nurse? Pretty sure I’m the commander-in-chief.”

Madison rolled her eyes indulgently. “Wishing it won’t make it so.”

His probably concussed head was pounding. And stinging. Feeling like they belonged to someone else, his fingers tentatively touched the stitches crisscrossed over his brow.

The night’s events came back to him in chunks. The evacuation once the fire alarm sounded. The realization that Madison had not made the exit with the group. Her frantic call to tell him she was locked in a restroom on the second floor. The CFD showing up . . .

Alexandra.

Alexandra saving his life.

“How’s Dempsey doing?”

“Oh, fine!” She made a face. “She’s part of the most famous firefighting family in Chicago. The country. No doubt she’s already lining up her interviews. Should she go with Katie or Diane? Will Oprah make herself available for America’s Favorite Firefighter?”

“Don’t be catty, Mads.”

On a weary sigh, she slumped in her chair. “Five months ago, she almost sank your mayoralty. In fact, that incident made it clear how much the unions hate you. But what happened tonight is a godsend. Not that I’d ever wish a building to be burned down with hundreds of lives placed in danger, but this . . . this is going to win you the election. We can—”

“Let’s not get ahead of ourselves.” Eli didn’t have time for a strategy session. Talking to Alexandra was paramount. He had no idea what he was going to say, but he had a feeling she had her speech all worked out.

Still think females shouldn’t be in the fire department, Mr. Mayor?

Still think women are a distraction in life-threatening situations?

Still think my lady hormones are a liability?

Yes, yes, and hell, yes. Just because she happened to save his life did not change that.

“I need to see her.”

“Sure. Give me a few minutes to wake the news crews up. No doubt they’ll be cage matching it to film your visit—”

“No.” He rubbed his forehead. That bathroom door had been a worthy opponent. “No cameras. I need to see her without all that noise.”