Firestorm: An Everyday Heroes World Novel (The Everyday Heroes World)

by Ellie Masters

  Grant taps his chin. “That’s actually very helpful.”

  “How’s that?”

  “We don’t need your passwords. Do you know what email address you used for your account?”

  “Maybe. I use several.”

  “Well, that’s good news. I can get a warrant for an attempted murder investigation.”

  “A murder investigation?” His words turn my blood cold. “What do you mean?”

  Grant lifts his hand and begins ticking off his fingers. “There’s the house fire, the forest fire, and the plane crash.”

  “What plane crash?” Cage leans forward and my stomach clenches. Asher’s brothers don’t know about that.

  Fortunately, Grant explains. His account of the accident is surprisingly accurate, leading me to wonder how much investigating he’s done.

  “You think someone wants me dead?”

  “I’m investigating all angles right now, but that does seem to be the case.”

  “But I’m a nobody.”

  “You’re an heiress to a hundred million dollar fortune. At first, I thought maybe someone was targeting your father, and that may still be the case. My assumption is they didn’t expect anyone to survive that crash. Since you did, all Thornton assets passed to you. Are you aware of anyone who would benefit from your death?”

  “No one.” I shake my head and return to my finger twisting. “I really am nobody.”

  “I think there’s more.” Grant scratches at his chin. “Tell me how you came to be on the trail.”

  I start to explain, but he holds up his hand. “One moment, back up please. Where were you before coming here?”

  I tell him about camping in Colorado and hitchhiking to Napa.

  “Do you remember your route?”

  “Kind of, but to be honest I wasn’t paying attention.”

  He takes out his phone and pulls up a map. “Do you mind taking your best guess?”

  I take his phone and stare at the map, exploding and zooming in on the screen as I need to. Grant gets up from the couch and sits on the coffee table as I lean forward and show him my best guess.

  “I’d like to have you sit with a sketch artist. It might help if we have a solid description of the man who attacked you.”

  “I can try, but I don’t know if it’ll be any help.”

  “You’d be surprised what a trained sketch artist can do. I’ll get it set up and arrange for it sometime next week. Does that sound good?”

  “Sure.”

  We talk for a little longer. He thanks me for my time and excuses himself.

  As he opens the door, I call out. “Detective Malone…”

  He turns and gives me a smile. “You can call me Grant.”

  “Um, okay. You asked if there was anything weird last night.”

  “Yes?”

  “I remember feeling like someone was watching me, like a presence. It was really strong. So strong that I made a circuit of the house, checking the locks, looking in the closets.” I give a soft laugh. “I even checked under the beds. I don’t know if that means anything, or if it was just me being nervous in a new house.”

  “That actually helps. I’ll be in touch.” He heads outside and Brody and Cage follow, leaving me alone with my thoughts.

  Grant’s theory about someone trying to hurt me doesn’t feel right. My father was well liked. My mother was loved by practically everyone. The terms of the trust are rather specific. Everything went to me and my brother. There are no other heirs. With my brother’s death, I’m the sole heir.

  Grant’s theory doesn’t hold up. Something else is going on.

  While Brody and Cage are outside with Grant, Abbie drives up in her little, red corvette. She takes one look at my state of dress and shakes her head.

  “Girl, you and I are going shopping.”

  I think about Gracie offering to do the same and hold back a groan. I’m not up for a shopping trip, but somehow she gets me to not only go, but allow her to foot the bill. Until Prescott gets my cards reissued, I have no access to my money.

  We spend the afternoon riding with the top down in her corvette. I relax beneath the sun and let the wind whip at my hair. We ride in silence as I take everything in, processing Grant’s theories. And then we talk. Nothing of substance at first, but then I tell her everything, spilling my life’s story as we drive through Napa Valley. Instead of fancy designer stores, Abbie takes me to the superstore Asher mentioned.

  We spend two hours inside where I pick up an entirely new wardrobe for the second time in less than a week. Unlike the clothes Gracie and I bought, these are practical. I load up on comfortable jeans, tee-shirts, shorts and lightweight sweaters. I forget about shoes until Abbie reminds me. I grab a pair of boots in addition to sneakers while I’m at it.

  If I’m going to stay at La Rouge, I plan on helping out. No longer a helpless socialite, I’m ready for hard work and know exactly how I can help the La Rouge brothers out.

  The four of us spend the rest of the day together at La Rouge. Abbie and I join forces in the kitchen, kicking her boys out, and whip up a feast of burgers and hotdogs. I’m pretty helpless in the kitchen. Not a required skill for a socialite, but I’m eager to learn and Abbie is an excellent teacher.

  After dinner is put away, I ask Cage if I can help him in the barn mucking out the stalls.

  The day passes, then another. The San Rios fires dominate the news. It’s a challenging fire season in California, and the San Rios fire looks to be the worst fire in recent history. I don’t begin to worry until the fourth day when we get the news one of the fire crews was overrun by the fire.

  Brody and Cage tell me not to worry, but that’s impossible, especially with the strain in their expressions. They’re putting on a brave face for my benefit, but they’re worried about their brother.

  26

  Asher

  Fire snaps all arounds us, crackling as it chews through dry tinder. Summer, and the long drought, have not been kind to the land. Everything is dry, ripe kindling to feed a voracious fire, and we’ve got the beast of all fires marching over the mountains.

  Hundreds of acres have fallen and we’re dead set on saving what we can. This bitch of a forest fire, however, mocks our efforts to put her out. She roars with fury all around us and spits at our pathetic attempts to contain and control her voracious appetite.

  Every county in the state lends support. We even have several hotshot groups from out of state involved in the effort.

  My friend, Grady is somewhere in this mess with his team. As for me, my helitack crew rappels in and out of trouble spots, where we help to hold the line.

  This fire is officially large enough to be called a true firestorm, meaning it draws in enough fresh air that it’s develop its own weather system.

  We’re in the middle of a vortex and losing ground. Grady’s out there with his team, cutting the line, fighting the fire with grit and determination.

  We’ve been fighting this fire for four days and ease into the fourth night. It’s been over a day since I last spoke to Grady. Two since I spoke to Evelyn.

  Grady sounds much like me. He’s tired and running on fumes. Evelyn is supportive, but worried for my safety.

  Right now, my team and I stare down a ridge. In the darkness, flames are all we see. Small breaks in the smoke give us glimpses of the night sky. Stars shine down on us, oblivious to the battle we wage. Shifting winds place us all in danger. We’ve already had one team overrun, but so far, no lives lost.

  A tree explodes somewhere down the ridge, splintering from the inside out as the sap inside of it superheats. There’s a flash of orange which marks the spot. A terrible roar rumbles in the air, fire chewing through vegetation, sucking in oxygen, drawing in more fuel to sustain its burn.

  Smokey takes a call over the radio. His expression flattens, turns grim. “Another team has been overrun.”

  It’s what we all fear, getting caught in the middle of the flames. Our kits include fire blankets
designed to protect a man caught in the open. They give us five minutes to survive. Three-hundred seconds of harrowing fear while we pray the fire rolls through and past.

  Life is measured in a matter of heartbeats. We all train with the blankets, using warehouses to simulate fire. I hate those drills. The intense heat and suffocating breath is a slow, painful way to die.

  I send a prayer for the team caught in the fire.

  “Who’s down there?” I turn to Smokey, certain he knows which team is overrun.

  Smokey gives a slow shake of his head. “Men from Fire Station 13.”

  Our entire team stops what we’re doing. Fire Station 13 serves our town. Grady is on that team.

  I look down the ridge and into the inferno. My best friend is down there and there’s shit I can do.

  I’ve never felt so helpless.

  The radio crackles, HQ asking everyone to report in. Smokey answers the call giving our position and stats.

  An explosion rips through the air. Not the sound of a tree being ripped apart from the inside out, but what sounds like a bomb going off. I know what that sound is from. It’s the sound of a gas tank exploding and we’re not that far from it.

  We all exchange looks. The same thought goes through our minds. Grady and his team are hunkered down somewhere down there.

  How much time do they have? Not long.

  “Over there!” Dice points down in the valley. “Gasoline explosion. Our boys are down there.”

  We gather together. Tarzan and Highball stand beside me. Dirt, soot, and sweat cover our faces, turning them black. We’re thirty-four hours into what should’ve been a twenty-four-hour shift. We would stop, but we can’t. If we don’t hold the line, this fire destroys everything.

  In the middle of the firestorm, a tendril of black smoke marks the spot of Grady and his team. They’re completely surrounded by a raging inferno.

  “Smokey, we have a location.” I point toward the fire, trying to distinguish landmarks in the darkness which will help.

  No one questions the next step. We need to get to those men.

  The wind howls all around us, drawn in toward the flames. Adrenaline flows through me as does the sickest feeling. There’s nothing we can do to get to those men except to wait for a break in the fire.

  “If they survive.” Smokey’s never one to mince words, “They’ll need to cut their way out.” He draws his finger across the landscape. “We’ll head there. Try to meet up with them. If they make it out.”

  We all know the likelihood is slim. I pray the fire blows through quickly, and keep count in my head.

  Five-minutes.

  Three-hundred seconds.

  That’s all the time Grady and his team have to survive.

  “Come, we’re heading out.” Smokey gathers us together. He calls in to HQ, telling them what we plan. After he gets the go-ahead, we head down into the blaze.

  The stifling heat only grows more oppressive as we near the leading edge of the fire. Smokey leads us off to the left, along a line he thinks Grady’s team will follow. We’ve got a long hike ahead of us.

  The minutes stretch and we pass the five-minute mark. Smokey calls in, but there’s no word from Grady’s team. Either their coms are down or the entire team is dead.

  Hour after hour, we work the line. Backbreaking work that makes our muscles ache and steals our breath. Hours during which I think about Grady, wondering if he and his team survived, and hours to think what would’ve happened if that had been me.

  I’m not ready to say goodbye. Not after finding Evelyn. It’s a sobering thought. When it was just me risking my life, I didn’t worry about death. Now, there’s someone I want to come home to.

  What has she been doing these past four days? Did Grant stop by like he promised? Did he follow up on that receipt like he said he would?

  Are Brody and Cage taking good care of my girl? There’s at least one question I know the answer to. My brothers won’t leave Evelyn’s side.

  Dawn is upon us before we know it. We’re eager to find Grady and his team, but we’re hampered by vegetation. We cut in fire prevention lines as we go. The work never stops.

  No radio calls come in from Grady’s team. Not that radio silence means shit. They could’ve lost their coms in the fire.

  It’s frustrating work, no matter how hard we work, hot spots flare around us, delaying us as we stop to put them out. Smokey keeps shouting at us to ‘keep the line’ and we do the best we can. We’re coming up on forty-hours with no sleep. Adrenaline can push a man only so far.

  It feels as if we’ve stepped into hell with fire and brimstone all around us. The smoke is so thick we practically push it aside as we advance. Orange flames lick their way up the bark of trees and red embers fade and flare on the ground. It looks like the fire is breathing.

  Out of habit, I take a swig of water from my hydration pack. There’s not much left. We need to resupply, but that will pull us off finding Grady and his team.

  Smokey holds up a fist and we pause. He taps his ear, telling us he heard something and we pause to listen. All I hear is the crackling of fire and the roar of the wind. But then I hear it. “Balls to the wall, boys.” The deep voices of men respond.

  Smokey calls out into the smoke. We pause and hear a response. My heart lifts because I know that voice.

  “Grady-fucking-Malone are you alive?”

  “Ace? Holy mother of God. It’s fucking Ace La Rouge.”

  Our teams find our way to each other, calling out through the dense smoke. There’s seven of them and six of us.

  Grady emerges out of the smoke. When he sees me, his face spreads into a huge grin.

  “Goddamn nice to see you,” I say.

  “It’s good to be seen.” We clasp each other and thump each other’s backs. This is repeated all around until Smokey’s clear voice rings out.

  “HQ, we found them.”

  I don’t know how long Grady’s team has been on the mountain, but they look strung out and exhausted. Their eyes are haunted from the firestorm which nearly took all their lives. But I see relief, resilience, and that dogged determination to stare death in the face and survive.

  Nobody speaks about what could’ve happened. There’s no place for that kind of shit in our line of work.

  “Okay ladies,” Smokey says, “we’ve got some dirt to put behind us. Base camp is sending a truck up to the fire road, but it’s still gonna be a hike.”

  We hump well over two clicks. HQ guides us to a fire road where we meet up with our transportation and cram into the open bed. We bump and jostle our way down to base camp while the fire rages on the ridge behind us.

  New men will hold the line.

  For us, the day is done, but not the fight.

  It takes ten more days before I get to head home. Two weeks since I left Evelyn. I’m both excited and nervous to see her again. I’ve been out of touch, with no idea how things are going.

  27

  Evelyn

  To fill my time, and avoid thinking about Asher and the danger he’s in, I revert to my comfort zone.

  Oddly, it’s a mix of old and new.

  Some of my favorite memories growing up revolve around the horse camps I attended as a girl. There’s something wildly freeing about being on the back of a powerful animal yet completely in control.

  Mostly in control.

  There’s a fine balance between the will of the horse and that of its rider.

  I spend the first four days of Asher’s absence working with Cage in the barn, taking care of the horses, mucking out their stalls, and spoiling Asher’s stallion rotten with treats of carrots, sugar cubes, and apple cores. He’s an amazing animal with a summer coat of the sleekest midnight black. And he’s tall, much taller than the horses I’m used to riding.

  Mornings, we spend in the small fenced pasture behind the barn. Cage reminds me not to let Knight join the mares in the main pasture, and watches over me. I must pass some kind of test, because after the
fourth day, Cage leaves me to tend to the horses alone while he and Brody meet with La Rouge Vineyard’s foreman to discuss the upcoming harvest and what to do with the burned acreage.

  I’ve yet to see the damage and have been itching to explore for days. I spend most of my time outdoors, because the house feels like a cage. The call of the outdoors is too strong to ignore, and the new me isn’t one to let that go unanswered.

  I’m getting a little stir crazy. It’s time to get out.

  Knight gives me a look when I take him out of his stall and tie him up beside the tack room. It’s easy to figure out which saddle is his. It’s the one that’s most worn. He stamps his rear foot when I cinch down the saddle, but quiets to the soft cooing of my voice.

  I’m comfortable around horses and can tell he’s a bit high-strung. That’s fine by me. I won’t push him and let him know I’m no threat. I’m also not so stupid that I take him for a long ride the first time out. We’re still in the ‘getting acquainted stage’ where we’re building mutual trust.

  Knight and I get to know each other better in a small fenced ring. We begin the morning with him wearing his saddle and me encouraging him to trot in a circle around me. I spoil him rotten, more with verbal praise than the sugar cubes he can’t seem to get enough of. He knows where I hide them and nibbles at the pockets of my jeans.

  By noon the fifth day, I mount him for the first time. His eyes roll and he stamps nervously, but I coo to him and rub at the soft spot he loves behind his ears. That first day, all we do is trot in circles inside that small enclosure. He tries to buck me off, but I hang on and keep up my soft cooing, reassuring him that I won’t hurt him.

  The next day, I take him to the smaller field. He almost throws me again, but I continue in soft, reassuring tones telling him how amazing and wonderful and awesome he is. He eats it up and I’m confident he’ll let me ride him without him unseating me.

  Today is the perfect time to put our new friendship to the test.