She needed to call Marlene and have a girl’s night out and maybe run a couple of things by her in her professional capacity as a private investigator.
The tattoo on her upper arm throbbed and she frowned, nibbling on her lip. A tattoo she hadn’t remembered getting. Holes in her memory that didn’t make sense. And when she asked her mother, she always changed the subject.
“Tell me how you’re getting along at the museum. Isn’t the director just to die for?” Her mother would say.
Isobel had no comment. If she knew the man had tried to manhandle her, she had a feeling the woman would hand her over on a platter if it meant getting something the coven wanted.
Hours later, buried under a stack of papers and still no closer to finding the answers she sought, Isobel rubbed her temples and contemplated her next step. It was common for her and Denver to be the last ones in the building. Almost none of the techs stayed this late. And definitely not the director. The only person left wandering these halls would most likely be Jerry, the ancient, lone security guard.
Rising from her workspace, she smoothed her skirt and made her way up the stairs toward the main floor. She needed to stop by her office to answer a couple of emails she’d been putting off, and pop into Denver’s office and grab the key to the secured archives in his desk drawer. There was one niggling point she needed to clarify before the exhibit went live but she would need to reference a couple of restricted museum documents to do so and he had the key.
Well, so did Shipton, but she wasn’t about to ask him.
Her heels clacked on the concrete floor of the long hallway reserved for staff. When she exited onto the main museum floor, she paused, thinking she heard voices.
Nothing.
This was her favorite time of day. Whereas the archival space in the basement smelled of dust and old bindings, the upper floors had the slightly musty scent of old fabric and the delicate but pleasant air freshener pumped into the hallways for the guest’s benefit.
Sound echoed in the museum after dark and unlike the popular movie, it was more often than not still as a tomb. She slipped her shoes off and padded her way in stocking feet until she came to the Hall of Dinosaurs.
Taking a moment, she popped her heels back on and stepped onto the carpet. She walked through the dinosaur exhibit, once again marveling at the construction of bone and wire. Denver must have been proud to work on such a project.
Seconds later, she passed the entrance to the rock and gem hall. A dark cave showcasing both natural and faceted rocks and gems, the exhibit was one of the most popular of the museum.
Isobel swiped her badge, entering another staff only hallway, and strode to her office. She sat down at her computer, opened her email, and winced. A week’s worth of unopened mail stared at her like a bomb waiting to go off.
Had it really been a week? She was going to have to find a way to merge her work email onto her phone.
Reply after reply and soon she was getting down to the bottom of what seemed like a never ending ordeal when she came across an email from Denver.
Curious, she clicked on the link.
In the cave there lived a dragon. And all the gold was his to pilfer.
“What are you talking about?” She whispered to herself. But if she knew Denver, she also knew he must have not had much time to punch something out to her. Had he been in his office when the Director came to see him?
Was he talking about Shipton? Maybe he knew he was a dragon. There had to be more info in his office.
Only one way to find out. She put the email into archive and backed out of her computer to the password screen. Just because the door to her office remained locked didn’t mean it offered her any security. Not really.
She rose from her desk, letting the door to her office close and lock behind her and walked across the hallway to Denver’s inner sanctum.
Instead of a traditional lock, he’d installed a keypad. Thankfully he’d shared the code with her, and a few buttons later she was inside.
There on the desk were the notes on the Mythsterious Exhibit. She slid them back into the file folder and frowned. They appeared as if they were in the midst of being gone through. Denver had written notes in the drawings and diagrams–most of which she’d seen the guys working with downstairs.
At first nothing seemed out of place, but as she shut the door, an object on the floor caught her attention and she paused.
It was a phone.
Denver’s phone.
“Oh Goddess.” She knelt down to pick it up and that was when she saw the blood. A single drop, it had dried on the edge of the carpet. Easy to miss on the oriental style rug unless you were right on top of it.
“Denver. What happened?”
She clutched the phone, grateful for once that they had they both used android. He was forever borrowing her charger because he forgot his at home. Pulse hammering beneath her skin, she stood, knees weak as the possibilities of that that single drop of blood meant.
And her boss would never go anywhere without his phone. He was as tied to his device as she was.
Before she could overthink it, she reached for the box of mints he kept in his desk and a tissue. The blood was dried, but for her purposes, all she required was a drop of water from the bottle on his desk.
She dumped the mints into the trash, wax paper and all. It was the tin she needed and nothing more.
Splashing a capful of water on the spot, she dabbed at it with the tissue, a bloom of red flowering out across the paper. Securing it in the tin, she put everything else back to rights and slid the box into her pocket. It was time to go. She hadn’t ever not felt safe here, but something inside her told her to run.
Isobel gathered the file and phone, wishing she had more time to go through the files on Denver’s computer, she backed out of the office. She locked the door, her mind working overtime as she made her way back downstairs, unaware of the eyes following her progress through the darkened halls.
Chapter Two
“Ma’am.” Roark turned to the frantic but exhausted woman weaving on her feet at the edge of the lawn. “I need you to think. Is there anyone else inside?” The first team had come out with the resident but they were losing time.
The blaze was still going strong, with the blitz nozzle helping to contain the fire to the house of origin. Neighbors congregated in their yards at a safe distance, chattering amongst themselves, horrified that something so awful could happen in their quiet suburban setting.
“My son, Aaron.” The woman sobbed. “You have to save my son. And Randy.”
“Who is Randy?” Martin, the rookie stepped up, a hose laid out at his feet. The idiot still had his suspenders half hanging from his bunker pants and Roark had to resist the urge to roll his eyes. He was lucky they hadn’t ended up around his knees by now.
The woman wiped tears from her eyes. “His dog. I mean, our dog. You have to find them. Please, hurry.”
“Your husband, ma’am. Is he home?”
She shook her head, lips trembling. “He’s out of town on a business trip. God, he’s going to freak…” Patting down her pockets, her face fell as she realized her phone was more than likely still in the house.
“We got this.” Stephen and Jones lowered their masks and ambled toward the blaze. Armed with their irons and more fire rescues than any men in the company, they made a good team. Despite the forty pound weight of the turnout gear and boots, the men moved with the appropriate sense of urgency. If there was someone in the house, they would find them.
Now it was Roark’s turn to stomp out the blaze from the outside. If he could get his partner’s head out of his ass. When the announcement had come down about hazing practices being outlawed, he’d been glad, having no fond memories of his own newbie days. But right at this second, he was ready to kick the new kid’s ass from here to next week. Not focusing on the job was incredibly disrespectful to the rest of the company and it put people’s lives in danger.
“G
et ready. Aim the nozzle.” Roark directed Martin, but instead of paying attention to the hose, he had broken protocol and had rushed to the side of the upset mother.
“We’ll get them out. Don’t worry.”
Oh fuck.
The hose, now taut with water from the ladder truck, had taken on a life of its own. The spray fanned out, taking everyone by surprise. Nearly hitting a handful of onlookers, the nozzle whipped up, connecting with Roark’s ribs, once, twice and again, dowsing him with water as the powerful spray went wild. The frantic rookie rushed back to his post, desperate to secure the hose.
“Remember your training,” Roark growled, his cat evident in his voice as he dropped on the concrete trying to catch his breath. The RIT recovery team took one look at him sprawled on the ground and swooped in to offer medical aid.
“What happened?” Barked Sanderson, one of the medics from a neighboring station they worked with on jobs from time to time.
“Hose.”
Drenched and sore, he let Sanderson do his work. “Cap is going to ream that kid.”
His partner, Joyce, raised an eyebrow. “I’m surprised you don’t set a plunger to his ass, Roark. Isn’t that the second time this week he’s gone off in the weeds?”
It was, but he wasn’t about to discuss it. Not now. His eyes straining to see if the others had emerged from the house, he was relieved when both Stephen and Jones appeared, one carrying the boy, the other a weary looking black lab puppy.
“Aaron! Randy!” The mother burst into a run, almost colliding with the spent firemen.
The medics went into action, getting oxygen ready for the boy and the small dog, covering their faces with oxygen masks in the effort to clear their lungs from the damaging smoke.
Relieved both of the firefighters were back on safe ground, he was equally glad for Sanderson and Joyce to have someone else to paw at.
He took one look at the angry face of his captain and knew without a doubt the ride home was going to be less than fun, and judging by the look on Martin’s face as he lay wet and plastered to the concrete over the now lifeless hose, he knew it, too.
“Damn it, kid. You do another rookie move like that with the nozzle on that hose and I’m benching your sorry ass. And stay with your partner. Or did I not hear Roark give you that order earlier before you even left the station?”
Roark winced.
“Sorry, Cap.”
“Don’t sorry me. Tell it to Roark over there. He stuck his neck out to train you and be your partner. And he’s the one who’s going to be bruised as fuck tomorrow.” Captain Romero growled, the bear shifter in his eyes shining golden in his anger.
The man had a point. At two hundred and fifty gallons a minute and up to three hundred pounds a square inch, Roark was already feeling it. The water pressure was enough to do some serious damage and if you didn’t keep your head in the game, people could die. Correction. People had died. And not all of them from fires.
Rule number one. You don’t stray from your partner. Ever. Rule number two. Stay focused. Rule number three. You have two tanks during a job. When you’re done you hit the medics to rehydrate so you don’t get stupid. Martin had broken two out of three in the course of twenty minutes, putting the whole company in jeopardy.
Both were dehydrated as expected, with Martin dazed and Roark in a shit ton of pain. His bucket pants and the rest of his turnout gear were soaked to the skin and all he could think about was catching a hot shower, some pain pills, and crawling into his bunk. He could go home but that would require more movement than he was strictly comfortable with right at that moment. Thank God his was one of the stations that had recently gotten a remodel with sleeping quarters.
There was a chance he’d fractured a rib. It wouldn’t be the first time, nor would it be the last. But he didn’t want to get prodded and poked at the hospital when a few hours in bed and a couple of burgers were all that was required.
Mark it up to his hardy constitution.
Good thing he was a cat shifter. If he’d been human, like some of the guys, they might be talking about something much worse than a couple of bruises.
“God, Roark. I’m sorry man.”
“It’s fine.” He leaned back and made himself relax, knowing full well that the ride home was going to suck. Even worse, he was going to have to listen to the kid beat himself up.
“No, it’s not.” Tension lined the younger man’s face and Roark recognized the mark of self-loathing that drifted over Martin’s features. He should know. He’d seen it enough in the mirror.
“Look,” he said, angling his face toward the rest of the crew. “Most of the guys are shifters. That means we take a beating and keep coming back for more. You’re not.”
“I’m not good enough.”
Roark snorted. About five years before this could have been the same exact conversation he himself had with the captain. He met the older man’s eyes over Martin’s head and he gave a brisk nod. Human or shifter, guys were all the same. They all wanted instant perfection but that wasn’t how it worked. You had to earn your stripes, and most of the time you got there with skinned knees and scorch marks. But, you had to follow the rules or somebody could get hurt.
“Made it this far, didn’t you?”
“I could have killed you.” Came the bitter response. Martin stared out into traffic, his jaw clenched tight. Roark cleared his throat.
Here it was. Make or break time.
“You didn’t.” Roark kept his voice even and met the kid’s tortured gaze with his own. “A million things can go wrong on a job. Fire is a fickle bitch and she’s always looking for ways to trip you up. Your job is to keep your head and keep the nozzle of that damned hose in check. And stay with me. Just like I stay with you.”
“How? The thing was out of control.”
Roark clucked his tongue against the roof of his mouth and prayed for patience. Most of the time rookies didn’t have the good sense God gave an earthworm.
“You work out. Practice every damned day. Make that fucking hose do what you want. Not what it wants. Got it?”
Martin the newbie blinked like a deer in lights.
“And never promise anything like you did with that woman. We are not God. People don’t always make it out. We try our best but…”
Martin nodded, understanding clicking into place behind his gaze.
Maybe there was hope for him yet.
Roark closed his eyes and put his head back, each bump in the road making him wince. Rookies. Five years ago, he’d started with his company every bit as clueless as Martin. He’d been angry with a chip on his shoulder the size of the pumper they were currently riding in.
Hell, the Captain had handed him his ass for a hat every day for a good six months before he’d been fit to be a part of the team. He could have quit. Just like everything else in his life. The small town he’d come from. The shit jobs that led him here. All of it. But one guy took a chance and took him on as partner.
Things were supposed to have been different. And they would have been if those damned witches had left Isobel alone. It took having a death wish to find out he didn’t want to die. That he wanted to fight the thing that had taken his mate and beat it back with every fiber of his being.
Fire. That living, breathing animal that feasted on life and left a burning husk of nothing in its wake.
And the Captain who’d rode his ass until the punk kid who’d showed up was reformed into one of the new recruit trainers. Go fucking figure. Captain always did have a warped sense of humor. Or maybe it was penance for all the shit he’d given him over the years. Either way, he wasn’t going to let the man down.
He opened his eyes as the truck stopped for traffic and let his gaze travel out the window. A crew was busy hanging signs on the front of the Remington Museum. His heart gave a twinge and thought of the book hidden in his turnout gear. Isobel’s book. Try as he might to put it all behind him, the raw feeling of losing her never went away.
; Roark just couldn’t shake the feeling that she was still out there.
“Looks like a new show.” The Captain replied, gesturing with his chin.
“Have you been? To the museum, I mean.”
He felt like an idiot for asking. It was his own wound and he was pouring the salt in like the pro he was.
“Yeah.” Cap responded. “Took the wife and kids last summer. Great dinosaur exhibit.”
“Huh.”
He peered at the fluttering signage, trying to get a visual on what the theme for this new show would be but they started to move. Soon the museum was out of sight as they were swallowed by the noon day traffic.
Roark sighed and closed his eyes once again, seeing Isobel’s face in his mind’s eye. She’d always wanted to work in a museum. He would go. It would help get one more step in the right direction and force him to move on with his life. And he had a feeling she would approve.
A smile tugging at the corners of his lips, he let himself drift off to the hum of the engine. He would go and put her ghost to rest. One last time.
Chapter Three
“Izzy! No!”
His voice came through to the dark place where she was hiding, but she couldn’t move. Her body was broken but something inside of her responded, opening her eyes. Searing pain and a single moment of clarity before the flames surrounding her became her world. And then she was flying.
Her lungs seized as the panic of the night terror set in. Isobel focused on the memory of Marlene’s instructions for battling her nightmares with lucid dreaming.
Count one. Take a breath.
Two. Let it out.
Three. Again. Take a breath. You are in control.
Four. Let the breath out. Slowly.
Five. Repeat. Disconnect from the dream. It cannot hurt you.
Her heart twisted as she took in the wreckage of the scene and the boy who called out her name as he lay strapped to a gurney.
Bound In Fire: Phoenix Shifter Paranormal Page 4