Burning for Autumn (Police and Fire: Operation Alpha) (On Call Book 1)

by Freya Barker

  “Bullshit. I’m not used to you being Mr. Negativity.”

  “Can you blame me? Look at this fucking office.” I wave an arm at the disorganized stacks of paperwork the secretary adds to religiously on a daily basis. “I’m getting buried under administrative and procedural shit, and I’m about to drown.”

  “Well snap out of it. You’ve been a miserable son of a bitch for months. Since when do you let life dictate you? Take fucking control.”

  There aren’t many people who have the guts to talk to me like that, even less I’d accept it from. Lucky for Tony, he’s in the last group. “How do you suggest I do that?”

  “By finding your own replacement and introducing him or her in front of the entire council at next month’s committee meeting. You’d have to make sure this person is beyond reproach, has a stellar policing record, is an accomplished leader, and knows how to play the political game.”

  My snort is loud. Even if such a person existed, chances they’d want to relocate to Durango to handle its relatively small police department would be slim. I’m still chuckling when I notice Tony’s not laughing.

  “Fuck me. You know someone?”

  “Possibly.” He smirks, getting up. “Get your cranky ass up. Time to get out of here, grab a bite, I’ll tell you all about it.”

  A few familiar faces greet us as I follow Tony inside The Irish. He picks a booth near the bathrooms, I’m assuming for privacy.

  “So? Care to enlighten me?” I prompt after we’ve placed our order for a couple of beers and burgers.

  “You know I spent six years with the Denver PD before signing on here, right?” I nod my confirmation. “Joe Benedetti was my commander in the Major Crimes Division. We’ve stayed in touch over the years.”

  The waitress interrupts with our beers. Tony waits until she leaves before he explains how his former commander has indicated he might be in the market for a smaller department and a smaller community to raise his kids in.

  “Okay, so he’s an experienced leader, and I assume he has a solid record, but does he have the stomach to deal with the politics of the job?”

  This time it’s Tony’s turn to snort. “We’re talking about thirteen years as division commander in the Denver PD. Trust me, he knows how to play the game.”

  From the corner of my eye, I catch a glimpse of a wild mop of red hair passing by, but when I turn for a better look—all I see is the door to the ladies’ room swing shut.

  Shortly after, the waitress appears with our burgers and hungry as a horse, I dig in. I’m feeling a fuckload better with a full stomach and a plan. Tony is going to talk to his former commander to see if he’s interested enough to come down to Durango for a weekend, so he and I can meet.

  “I’m heading out. I’ve got to hit the gym,” Tony announces, getting up and pulling out his wallet.

  “On me.” I wave him off, and with a chin lift he tucks his wallet away and heads out.

  I’m not ready yet. Feeling a lot lighter than I have in a long time, I head over to the bar to see if I remember how to socialize. I chat with a few guys from the firehouse and have just ordered my third beer when a sexy, almost hoarse voice sounds behind me.

  “Is this seat taken?”

  Chapter 2

  Autumn

  “Be my guest.”

  The dark brooding man I’d been watching for the better part of an hour has a voice like silk. Deep, dark, smooth, and totally in character with his appearance. Nothing like my raspy smoker’s voice—even without the habit—sounding more like the morning after a rough night on the town.

  Evan Biel never showed.

  I’d gone home, walked into my house, and was struck by the utter silence suddenly threatening to drown me. So instead of the quiet night at home I’d decided on, I rushed into the bedroom. Stripping out of my ‘work’ clothes, I pulled on a pair of yoga pants and an oversized T-shirt, and shoving my feet into a pair of flip-flops, hauled right back out of there. It’s all about the comfort. The pub Evan had suggested sounded like a place that could handle my sloppy attire. It’s not like I was going on a date, where there’d be certain expectations on my wardrobe.

  I liked The Irish the moment I walked in. A little dark, a lot worn, but with that laid-back atmosphere you only find in a real pub. Anyone could come in and feel at home, and I can see why folks would come here to wind down after a stressful day. The food wasn’t exactly gourmet fare, but nothing says comfort like a heaping plate of fish and chips.

  I first noticed the two men sitting in the far corner when I got up to use the facilities. Law enforcement was the vibe I was getting. Good-looking guys, both of them, although the quiet one—the one who seemed to be doing the listening while the other talked—held my attention. Not sure why, maybe just the reserved silent intensity that rolled off him. It would be interesting to see if he could be riled up.

  I don’t usually walk up to a stranger in a bar, and even if I did, I’d probably make sure I was wearing something a little less sloppy. But I came here for a little social interaction, which I haven’t seen because my new firefighter friend left me hanging. I’d been eyeing this guy since he sat down at the bar after his friend left. So when I saw him order another beer, I put my big girl panties on.

  “Can I get you another beer?” I offer, even as I’m looking at his mostly full pint.

  “I’m good, thanks.”

  I catch him doing a quick scan of me before turning back to his glass. Yikes.

  He’s a little older than I initially thought. I’d pegged him for mid-thirties, but I may have been off by a decade. His hair is dark, but with a hint of silver, and the striking angular face, with high cheekbones and square jaw, sported a web of fine lines around the eyes. Those were remarkable. I’d expected dark brown, but his are a very light hazel.

  “Could I have another Guinness?” I lift my empty glass to the bartender.

  “On me,” my handsome neighbor says when the glass is set in front of me.

  “Oh, no,” I protest. No way in hell I’ll let him buy my beer. “I don’t let strange men pay for my drinks, thank you very much.”

  His head slowly turns to me and he looks me over again, from the bottom of my flip-flopped feet up. They come to rest on the bright red frame of my glasses. “I thought red was a fashion faux pas for a redhead.” Automatically I reach up and push them back up my nose.

  “I wouldn’t know what constitutes a fashion faux pas if it bit me in the ass,” I counter, resisting the urge to smooth the wrinkles I know cover my shirt.

  “You don’t say.”

  The dry, drawn-out comment delivered with a poker face should probably upset me, but it has me barking out a laugh instead.

  “Hey, comfort is the name of my game.” There it is, a little twitch at the corner of his stern mouth, hinting at a smile that promises to be a stunner. “Autumn. My name, it’s Autumn,” I clarify when he looks at me funny at first.

  “Hello, Autumn—who sits next to strangers, but buys her own drinks, and lives for comfort—the name’s Keith.” He holds out his hand, and I’m pleased to note the shake is strong, not holding much back because I’m some weak female.

  “That’s not the name I would’ve picked for you,” comes flying from my mouth before I can check it. His eyebrow rises sharply.

  “No? Why not?” I hear the sharp undertone telling me I’ve unearthed a wee chip on his shoulder, but I ignore it.

  “Don’t get me wrong, I like it. It’s a handsome, strong name, which by definition suits you perfectly. I don’t know, I could be wrong, but you strike me as law enforcement. More a rough-and-tumble kinda guy, and Keith almost seems too sedate and proper.”

  This time I get a full on grin. “Rough-and-tumble?” he echoes, that dang eyebrow still somewhere up in his hairline, but at least I have him smiling. Sort of.

  “Just calling them as I see them.” I shrug, taking a deep swig of my beer. I note he neither confirms nor denies my assumptions around his career.
>
  In my peripheral vision, I see him turn his upper body completely toward me, leaning his elbow on the bar.

  “What is it you were looking for tonight, Autumn?” he inquires softly, his voice dropping even lower and his words ripe with innuendo.

  Despite the tingle running over my skin, and the flutter in my belly, I’m disappointed in his blatant come-on. I swing around sharply. “Oh, I don’t know, a friendly face? Some lighthearted banter? A bit of normal interaction to get me out of an empty house at the end of an extraordinary crappy day?”

  I’m already off my stool, and heading for the door, when it occurs to me my reaction is way out of proportion. I don’t even know why his assumption I was looking for a quick hookup hit a chord with me. It’s not like I’ve never done exactly that before. In fact, I’d been the one to sit next to him and strike up the conversation that, at closer scrutiny, might well have suggested as some kinda come-on.

  The truth is, I’ve discovered a long time ago those quick meaningless fucks never make you feel better in the long run. I should know—I tried often enough.

  I would’ve been happy just shooting the shit with this guy—he intrigues me—and I’m disappointed he just sees me as a walking, talking vagina.

  Shit. Great way to make new friends, moron.

  I may be an idiot but I’m not a coward, so instead of barreling out the door, I turn on my heel, square my shoulders, and walk right back to him.

  “Didn’t mean to take out my crappy day on you,” I apologize, holding out my hand, which he cautiously takes. “New in town, the last thing I wanna do is piss off the locals. I’d be grateful if you’d just forget this entire unfortunate encounter. Y’all have a good night now.”

  This time I calmly turn and head for the door, only mildly disappointed when he doesn’t say a word in response.

  Keith

  Unfortunate encounter, my ass.

  My eyes follow the slight sway of her hips under the shapeless shirt covering her ass. Her whole getup screams don’t come close. I resist going after her, because frankly, I’m having a hell of a time reading that woman.

  I noticed the fiery red hair when she’d slipped by me earlier, and her voice sounded sinful. When I finally got a good look at her, it was her body language—as well as her appearance—that threw me off. The whole package was confusing as hell.

  Then she opened her mouth and out came this acerbic wit in that husky voice, and I noticed the ridiculous glasses that somehow looked cute on her, all of which piqued my interest. Fuck, I thought she’d been flirting. In fact, I’m pretty damn sure she was, but she turned on me so fast, my damn head was spinning. Two seconds later, she’s back apologizing.

  Now I’ve had a long and frustrating day—and may not be at my sharpest, especially after a couple of beers—but I’m smart enough to know when to hold off for another day.

  There will definitely be another day.

  I got enough to know her name’s Autumn, she’s a Southern girl–just new in town—lives in a house, hasn’t made a lot of friends, if any, and is brutally honest. She also has balls, a spunky attitude, and some physical attributes that make for a sexy package, but she likes to hide her light under a bushel. She’s not one to go unnoticed, and since I’m still the fucking interim chief of police, and a heck of a detective if I say so myself, I’m sure it won’t be difficult to find her.

  I slide off my stool and turn to the bartender, Jay. “Settle my tab?”

  “You taking care of the lady’s too?” He leans against the bar with a knowing smirk on his face, clearly having witnessed her rather dramatic exit.

  “Sure. Why the fuck not.” I pull out my wallet and drop enough bills on the counter to hopefully cover both our bills.

  I’m still grinning when I slip behind the wheel of my truck. She’d been pretty adamant about paying for her own beer, and I’m sure she’ll be back to The Irish when she discovers forgetting to pay at all. If I were to take a wild guess, she’s gonna be pissed to discover I ended up taking care of her whole tab.

  “Blackfoot,” I answer when my phone rings, just as I pull away from the curb.

  “Boss, you home yet?” Mike Bolter, the station’s desk sergeant, wants to know.

  “Not yet. What’s up?”

  “What started as a trailer fire at the park on Animas Drive, just turned into a two-alarm. You may wanna go have a look. It looks like it might jump the railroad tracks, an electrical pole went up like tinder and the box is sparking.”

  “You talking about Durango Fountain? That place behind the rafting outfit?”

  “Yup. Conley’s at the scene. Sent him out when the call first came through.”

  “I’m on my way. Send two more units to help with possible evacuation of the surrounding buildings. If the fire chief calls, tell him I’ll be there in less than ten.”

  Pole fires are a bitch, especially when the lines start burning. They become unpredictable projectiles, and it’s safest to clear the immediate surrounding area. Considering fires also make for cheap entertainment, there’s sure to be a crowd watching.

  Flashing lights are visible through the trees and an occasional flame shoots up over their tops. The acrid stench of smoke filters into the cab of the truck. An ambulance rushes past me, heading in the opposite direction, when I turn off Main by the rafting outfitter.

  I park my truck behind the patrol unit and make my way over to where I see Officer Conley trying to move back the gathering crowd. Farther down are the smoking remnants of one trailer, a second one burning, along with a row of brush separating the trailers from the tracks behind. A single electric pole between the damaged trailers and a double-wide on the other side is engulfed in flames.

  “Talk to me,” I order Conley as I walk up to him.

  “Fire chief just told me he wants this whole cul-de-sac evacuated. The wait is for La Plata Electric to cut off the juice.”

  “Any injuries?”

  “They pulled a middle-aged man from the first trailer. That’s all I know.”

  “Okay. Two more units are en route, you need more to get this area cleared, radio Bolter.”

  “Will do, Boss.”

  I roll my eyes at the unwanted title my guys were quick to bestow on me, and head over to where I see the fire chief standing by one of his rigs. Not a lot of love lost between Curtis Buxton and me, but on the whole we manage to stay civil. He was a friend of Tom McMahan, and wasn’t happy I broke the so-called code of honor when I instigated the investigation into our former chief, even though he’d publicly denounced the man shortly after his arrest. Still, he runs a tight ship at the DFD and his men respect him.

  “Need that crowd gone, Blackfoot.”

  “Extra units should be here any minute. We’ll get it done. What have we got?”

  “Other than the one victim my men pulled from that first trailer, and that it’s clear the fire started there before spreading out, I’ve got nothing concrete yet, just suspicions. We’ve gotta get this under control before I call an investigator in. Likely won’t be until sometime tomorrow.”

  “Fair enough. The victim gonna live?” He gives me a dirty look. I know he’s not a doctor or a medic, but he’s got enough experience to be able to tell me whether the guy even has a fighting chance. He may not have said it in so many words, but it’s clear to me he believes it may be a case of arson, which would make this the third such case in the past couple of weeks. This is the first one leaving a victim, making me even more eager to get a handle on this.

  “Talk to Biel. He’s over by Engine 11.”

  I catch him on a break. He’s sitting on a step on the side of the large truck, tossing back a bottle of water.

  “How’s it going, Evan?” I ask, clapping him on the shoulder.

  “Just peachy. Never mind I should’ve been celebrating the end of a twenty-four hour shift, not pulling a damn drunk from a burning trailer.”

  “Guy was drunk?”

  “The alcohol was strong enough to no
tice over the thick smoke.”

  “He gonna make it?”

  “Probably,” Biel acknowledges. He pours the remainder of the water over his head.

  “Talking?”

  “Nothing coherent. If you’re looking to question him, I suggest you wait until tomorrow. Let him sleep it off.”

  Chapter 3

  Autumn

  It’s ridiculous.

  I’ve been here two months, and I haven’t unpacked half my boxes. If I wait any longer, I might as well not bother—it’ll be almost time to move back.

  I wonder if that’s been my issue; if that’s why I haven’t tried harder to find another posse. I miss my girls: Quinn, Tory, and Sophie. Instead I find myself hanging out on the couch holding conversations with my cats. I’m starting to live up to the ‘cat lady’ epitaph my friends tease me with.

  Last night’s attempt to ‘mingle with the natives’ can’t exactly be called a success, but it was a start. Today I’m tackling those boxes, come hell or high water. Not that I really have a choice, they’re stacked in the spare bedroom where Sophie and Roman are supposed to sleep.

  I spend the next few hours unpacking, and with each box I empty, I feel a bit lighter and my house starts looking a little more like a home.

  Gizmo and Jack—my pretty tortoiseshell and the playful tabby who goes wherever she does—are checking out the last empty box, while their less nosy siblings are snoozing on the couch. Ziggy, a calico girl and the most asocial one of the bunch, is perched high on the backrest. The other two, Boots and Panda, are barely distinguishable, curled together in a black and white ball of fur on the seat.

  Five cats. Christ, what was I thinking? If anything screams lonely spinster, it’s a house full of cats.

  Armed with a bucket of cleaning supplies, I tackle the bedroom and attached bathroom. Finding this place was a stroke of luck. The owners were sent overseas for work and had put their furnished place up for a one-year lease. It’s technically half of a duplex. An older gentleman, Mr. Bartnik, whom I’ve seen all of a handful of times, lives next door. The nice mature area and two-bed and bathroom suite, had made this an easy decision. I wanted the space so my friends could come and stay. The rent was steep, but I can afford it—the one-year contract pays well.