Walk Through the Fire (Finley Creek Book 10)

by Calle J. Brookes

  Turner stopped at the information desk and found the room number he was looking for. Carl was upstairs with his grandson, who’d been injured in the storm. The boy was scheduled for the first surgery to repair nerves in his broken arm in the morning.

  Carl was helping Turner where he could, but his first priority was Jason. Turner wouldn’t have it any other way. Carl was all Jason had.

  Turner stuck his head in the door. “Hey, can I come in?”

  Jason was watching television, looking listless. And scared. Turner had been looking for his grandfather, but he decided to take a few minutes with the kid he’d known for years.

  “Where’s your grandpa?”

  “He went to the lobby to make a phone call.”

  “How are you feeling? How is Jimmy?” Carl had shared the teenagers’ story and how the smaller boy was facing an uphill battle right now.

  Jason shrugged. “I’m ok, I guess. Jimmy hasn’t really woken up yet. The doctors say he’ll be ok. If he doesn’t get an infection.”

  “The doctors here are great, you know.”

  “I guess.”

  Turner spent a few minutes with him, trying to get him to smile. But the boy’s entire world had changed when he’d realized the world could stop in an instant.

  Just like Turner, Jason had been hit with his own mortality, thanks to the storm.

  Hell, if he was having trouble processing that fact, why wouldn’t a thirteen-year-old boy? Turner wished he had the answers. For Jason and himself.

  Carl returned a few minutes after Jason had drifted off to sleep.

  He paused when he saw Turner. “I didn’t realize you were here. I see he’s sleeping again.”

  “He’s doing ok?”

  Carl hesitated, and then shook his head. “His friend lost his leg yesterday morning. Jason’s still trying to process.”

  Turner swore. “I’m sorry, Carl. If there is anything I can do to help…”

  “The offer’s appreciated. What are you doing here today?”

  Turner outlined the issue as quickly as he could.

  “There are a few on the council I can see being behind this,” Carl said quietly when Turner finished. “But I can see them being smart enough not to get caught. There have been rumors off and on for years. Richard never put much stock in them. I disagreed. I wanted to let you develop your own opinion.”

  “This seems almost coordinated. As if someone knew exactly what to do when all of our systems were down citywide.”

  Turner had gone over everything with the chief and he agreed.

  It was almost as though they had more than one person involved. That made sense, considering how the supplies were being moved. And from reports of the enforcers that had been out there.

  Turner was just trying to make sense of it, while handling everything else that kept coming his direction.

  “We’re going to have to keep digging,” he said. “Just let me know if you hear or think of anything that might help us find the answers.”

  Turner patted the older man on the shoulder. The hell Carl Buchanan had been through was written all over his face. Carl had been playing the politician game in Finley Creek since before Turner had been born. And he did it well.

  Carl was the epitome of the self-made man. He’d never attended college, and he’d told Turner before that he’d quit school just after his eighth-grade year and made his way on his own. His stepfather hadn’t wanted a fourteen-year-old boy around after his own son had been born with Carl’s mother. Resources had been scarce. Carl had been as big as a man then—and his stepfather had expected him to act like one.

  His mother hadn’t done much to fix the situation. Carl had gone off on his own and built himself a life to be proud of. He didn’t have much family left, just Jason. Carl had lost his wife, his daughter, and his son over the past twenty years. Jason was all that was left.

  It was that boy who meant the world to the deputy mayor. Carl’s phone rang, and a look of irritation passed over Carl’s face.

  “Go, Carl. I’ll sit with Jason while you’re on the phone.”

  Carl had many small businesses throughout the state.

  With the storm damage, it was a wonder he wasn’t busy twenty-four-seven.

  He’d agreed to be the part-time deputy mayor when Turner had asked him, stepping down from his position on the city council. It wasn’t a decision Turner had regretted.

  He only needed Carl about twenty hours each week—it varied—but in the days since the storm, Carl’s advice had been invaluable.

  Even though most of it had come from the hospital.

  Carl was spending every minute at the hospital with Jason—and Jason’s friend.

  He didn’t need to be worried about the city.

  Carl had enough on his plate.

  “Thanks, Turner. I—”

  “Look like hell. I’ll stay here. You head home for a bit—take a shower, grab some breakfast. Jason and I will watch TV when he wakes—not Storm Bombers, even though that’s everyone’s favorite right now—and talk about the ladies. I hear they have really hot nurses in this wing.” He winked at the nurse who had just stepped into the room in time to hear his comment. Izzie just snickered in return. “I can confirm that personally, as of this very moment. Hey, Super Iz.”

  “Hey Mayor-Man,” Izzie said quietly as she checked one of the machines next to Jason’s bed and unplugged it to slip it out of the room.

  Carl almost slumped. “I think I’ll do that. Thanks, Turner. It’s appreciated.”

  “I know. Which makes it no problem at all. You’d do it for me. I’ll stay around here until you get back. We’ll hit the meeting together. I won’t let him wake alone, ok?”

  Turner waited until the man was gone before turning toward the nurse who’d returned. “You doing ok?”

  “I’m fine.” She shot him a wicked look out of those ridiculously powerful brown eyes of hers. “But I don’t think it’s me you’re really asking about.”

  “Of course, it is. You stole my heart, you little heart-thief.” It was true, in a way. Izzie reminded him of his cousin Powell in attitude. Vulnerable hedgehog. It made him want to protect her, all the while razzing her as much as he possibly could.

  Kid sister. If he had one, she probably would have been a lot like Izzie. Or Powell.

  “Sure, I did.” She finished pulling a second piece of equipment from behind the sleeping teenager. “She’s upstairs. And not too happy this morning.”

  “Why?”

  “Her physicians aren’t letting her out of here as fast as she wants. I think she’s bored. And worried. She always overworks herself when she’s worried. Annie doesn’t sit well. She’s always got to be taking care of something. Lifelong habit.”

  Turner made his mind up in that instant. “I’ll head up there in just a bit. See if I can take her mind off what happened.”

  He wanted nothing more than to do just that.

  Turner was still determined to make everything better for her that he could.

  19

  “Now, honey. It’ll all be ok.” Dennis Lee patted the woman on the back awkwardly. Except for his daughters, he’d never been much good at comforting women. And that had been tough at first, too. They’d been so small. But he’d gotten better at it.

  Big, dark eyes stared up at him.

  They were going to bury her nephew Raymond soon. More than a week after the storm.

  Dennis Lee had never cared for the fool that much, but he’d come in useful when he or Jenny had needed something done—off the books, so to speak.

  Still, there were others out there who would be just as useful. And half as dumb.

  Her nephew had been dumb as a stump, and a sick pervert, too.

  Jenny had always made excuses for Raymond. Mostly about how he was so disadvantaged.

  Hell, Raymond hadn’t known what disadvantaged was. Jenny and that fool husband of hers had pampered that boy from the time he was in grade school.

  When
Dennis Lee had been in grade school, he’d gotten strapped by his daddy if he didn’t come home with enough money to buy dinner for the family. By the time he should have gone into middle school, he was on his own, taking care of himself.

  Disadvantaged, Dennis Lee’s old wrinkled ass.

  There was nothing disadvantaged about how Jenny had raised her nephew. But he knew better than to say something like that to her.

  He liked Jenny.

  Liked having her in his bed, for one thing. For a fifty-eight-year-old woman, she had a nicely toned body and parts that hadn’t sagged too badly over the decades. She looked ten years younger than what she was. He felt damned good when he slept with her.

  The woman had a razor-sharp brain behind those gorgeous eyes of hers.

  “Will it?” She looked at him. “I don’t know if I can keep up the pretenses, Denny.”

  Dennis Lee fought a rush of irritation. Jenny’s section of the city was a nice, shiny part of his business plan for the next three years. He couldn’t afford her getting squirrelly. His hand tightened around her pale throat. “You have to.”

  She almost whimpered. Then she nodded her consent.

  Hell, she didn’t mean it. She was just losing control of herself. She’d lost one of her babies in that damned twister. It was no wonder she was rattled. Raymond may have been a stupid fucking ass, but he’d been the kid Jenny had raised. The hand he had around her throat loosened. He slipped it around her waist and pulled her closer.

  Jenny sure did like to snuggle. It was one of the things he loved about her. Dennis Lee wasn’t much of a cuddler himself, but with her…it was hard to resist.

  “It’ll be ok, baby. I promise. And when we’re done, think of all the money we’ll have. You can give that boy of yours everything you’ve ever wanted to give him.” Dennis Lee held open his arms and gathered her into his arms. “Come on, now, get it out. Just let it go, baby. Then we’ll go to this damned meeting of the mayor’s and decide what we’re going to be doin’ next. We’ll make this work for us, honey. I promise.”

  He sat in the armchair and just held her on his lap while she cried.

  20

  Annie was sleeping. Turner stood next to the door and looked at her for a moment. She was hooked up to an IV and a monitor of some sort, but she looked ten times better than she had the last time he had seen her. Just as beautiful. Probably more so now that he knew how courageous the woman was.

  He wanted to touch her, but figured that was a bit weird. They were basically strangers to each other, after all.

  “You can’t go in,” a feminine voice said quietly behind him. “Not unless she’s awake. Hospital regs, pal.”

  Turner turned, seeing familiar red hair and a gorgeous face with big, whiskey-brown eyes. “Hey, Jillian the Villy-un. You look tired.”

  “I am. We’ve been pulling shift-and-a-halves in my department. We’re down a few nurses. Annie, and another who lost a leg in the storm. And one was killed at home with his son. That’s just our department.”

  “I’m sorry.” Turner winced. He’d never be able to count how many times he’d said those words over the last week or so. He studied her quickly.

  “Me, too.”

  “Death toll is still rising. We lost another to bacteria this morning. Eighty-three years old.”

  “I heard.”

  She was busy, and he was wasting time here. Turner knew it. He could be better utilized out there with the people of his city. He looked at the woman in the bed again.

  It wasn’t finished between them. He’d be coming back to see her the first chance he got.

  “Take care of yourself, Jilly. You’re no good to anyone if you wear yourself down.”

  “The same could be said to you. Now, go home. First, stop off and get you something to eat. You look like you’ve run yourself ragged. Don’t make me call Mel.”

  “Yes, ma’am. I’ll do that.” With one more look at Annie, Turner left.

  He had things to do.

  But he would be back.

  21

  Carl pulled in a breath and bit back the irritation at the compiling list of problems he had to face. Soon, but not now. He needed to be with Jason. The two hours he’d taken this morning for a shower and breakfast hadn’t been enough.

  Exhaustion was threatening to take hold.

  Carl pushed it away. He’d been tired before. He would be again.

  They didn’t have time for this posturing. Not with everything that had happened. What Turner was asking for wasn’t that unreasonable. They’d discussed it over the lunch they’d grabbed at the hospital cafeteria. It was a damned good plan, with more heart and guts than anything, but it would work. Carl would bet a million on it. Hell, he’d front a million dollars himself if that’s what the boy asked of him now.

  Turner was doing what had to be done for the city. How could anyone argue that? Especially those around them that were getting a bird’s-eye view of what the mayor was doing.

  Idiots. Half the lot of them were idiots.

  Carl stood and cleared his throat.

  The twenty-two people in the room—a mix of the mayor’s staff, city councilmen and women, and assistants, plus a handful of reporters—looked at him.

  “Deputy Mayor Buchanan, you have the floor.”

  Carl cleared his throat again, searching for the words he needed. When he decided to just go with his gut, his eyes landed on the one person in the room who he knew supported him completely.

  Jennifer nodded; her support was clear in her big, dark eyes.

  She was there for him, and Carl knew that. Knew how much she meant to him.

  He could have lost her. It had been sheer luck the house she was showing the day of the storm had a storm shelter. Otherwise, he could have lost her.

  The rest of the room quieted.

  Carl looked around again. The mayor was at the center of the table, directly across from Carl. Jennifer was directly on Carl’s left.

  That blustery idiot Dennis Lee was on her left. It was his opinion that always burned through Carl. The man was no more than a crook. No doubt the storm would mean an increase in old Dennis Lee’s pocket change. Men like him always benefitted from others’ misfortunes. “What are we doing here?”

  He paused and looked at each face one by one. “We were all hurt by this. We’re lucky the mayor is alive, as well as the young woman with him. Have any of us in this room not been touched by the storm?”

  Carl reached into his pocket and pulled out his wallet. He pulled a snapshot free. It was Jason’s school picture. “He almost died. He’s facing weeks of surgery and recovery. I should probably be there with him right now. We don’t know…don’t know if his best friend Jimmy will survive.” He pulled out a second photo and handed it to Jennifer. “That’s him there. The little carrot-top with the braces. He wants to be a firefighter. That won’t happen now. He’s lost his leg from mid-thigh down. And we’re sitting here arguing what distributor of bottled water to go with.

  “Let’s think here, people. We have people without any water at all. They aren’t going to wait for the company that’s cheaper but takes two extra days to get it here. It’s not about the money. FEMA is handling things, yes, but what are we doing? There’s a limit to federal aid. We all know that. This is our city. FEMA won’t be able to meet our needs forever.

  “Stop the arguing. Quit thinking of our pocketbooks. Our city is hurting. We’ll find the money somewhere. We need to stop. Quit rushing the decisions. Help guide our people so shysters and con men don’t step into the gaps.” He manfully avoided looking at Dennis Lee. If there were any hucksters among the group, Dennis Lee would be at the top of the pile.

  “We need to ensure everyone is registered with FEMA that needs to be. And other charities that are rising to the fold. We all know the scammers will be coming with hands outstretched.”

  Like Dennis Lee Arnold.

  The man was as crooked as they came and had been since their years together in elementa
ry school.

  Carl had to look away.

  The man disgusted him.

  “We need to find a way to make real progress here,” someone down the table said. Carl didn’t look at them.

  What else could he say?

  Fifty-seven thousand people were dependent on the ones in the room to make sure Finley Creek pulled through this disaster. Somehow.

  He didn’t have much faith in the people surrounding him. Jennifer and Turner were about the only exceptions to that.

  22

  Dr. Nikkie Jean Netorre was on a mission. She had had over a week off after the storm, and no one could find a single reason why she’d lost consciousness in the middle of the storm. She didn’t have a concussion. Her blood pressure hadn’t just dropped.

  She half-suspected she’d been unconscious before the storm had hit. She just didn’t know why. She’d asked Layla Kaur, her obstetrician, to run one more additional blood test. To look for sedatives. Something wasn’t adding up.

  Nikkie Jean was going to keep that little thought to herself for a while. Until she knew for sure.

  She was starting to remember things that weren’t making any sense.

  Like a car. She kept dreaming about Wallace Henedy’s car.

  It had had charcoal gray interior. And had smelled like strong perfume. Nikkie Jean had always avoided perfumes—too strong scents had always made her ill.

  She’d woken screaming the night before. About a car and getting out of it.

  Now that she had had that blood draw done, she was going to spend the rest of the day with Annie. Her friend was itching to get out of that bed.

  Nikkie Jean understood. Annie had a life out there, specifically three little men, who she needed to get back to.

  Annie was in the bed when she walked in. The physician in Nikkie Jean immediately gave her friend a once-over. “Ok, how do the wounds look?”

  “I haven’t exactly looked,” Annie said, tossing the television remote on the table. “I want out of here, Nik. Make it happen.”