He opened his eyes. They were bloodshot, rimmed with a deep, oceanic sadness.

“Negative, ma’am,” he whispered. “She needs the contact. If I put her down, the fire comes back. I’m staying right here.”

I smiled, an ache forming in my throat. “Your shift is only two hours, Sarge.”

“My shift ends when she doesn’t need me anymore,” he said, adjusting his shoulders against the hard plastic.

I let him stay. It broke the volunteer time limits, but it was saving the baby’s life — and, I suspected, saving his too.

Chapter 3 — Liability

Hours passed. Four. Six. Eight.