Walk Through the Fire

by Calle J. Brookes

  Finley Creek would pull through. They had faced catastrophes before.

  There had been another tornado outbreak in the area in 1953. Before that, there had been one in 1911. And he believed one in the late 1860s.

  They would rebuild. They would recover.

  And so would Jason and Jennifer.

  Carl was going to see to that.

  He dropped Jennifer off at her son’s office, then waited until she was inside. Reggie was a good boy; he’d see to his mother tonight. Carl turned back toward the hospital. Jason was waiting.

  24

  Elliot had no answers for Turner. Even though it had been a week since the storm.

  Turner took a moment to meet with the chief outside his temporary office. Elliot had half the top dogs of his TSP post working out of four construction trailers at the back edge of where the TSP had once stood.

  Turner had city offices working out of an old laundromat that had been empty for ten years—but was one of the few buildings in the area to have remained undamaged. Only about two hundred feet separated him from where Elliot was working.

  They were using injured deputy officers as communications runners. It was more reliable than the cell services and internet providers that were struggling to stay up. Towers had been damaged everywhere, and the second storm that had come in—minus tornado, thank God—had done even further damage to the towers two days ago. They were still dealing with flooding issues.

  Not to mention that a serial killer was preying on women down one county south. His cousin Clay was the one responsible for hunting that killer, on top of everything else the sheriff of such a small county was juggling.

  The people of Finley Creek weren’t just on edge. They were panicking.

  Turner stepped into Elliot’s makeshift office and closed the door behind him.

  “What do we know?”

  “It’s getting worse.” Elliot waved him to a chair.

  “How so?”

  “We’ve been getting reports of a shakedown racket going around. Claiming they are working on behalf of the city. We had one man resist—and that resulted in him getting worked over to the point he may need a kidney transplant.”

  “Where’s MacNamara?” The guy was the second in charge of the major crimes unit. Elliot had pulled Daniel McKellen from heading Major Crimes to act as his second in command, heading the loaner TSP officers and deputies who had been sent to help increase TSP presence on the streets. They’d had looters out there within hours. Extra TSP manpower by the morning after. Now the TSP was constantly two steps behind. It was frustrating. And not exactly inspiring confidence in the Finley Creek government right now. Turner had been fielding questions about the TSP left and right, too. “He have anything new?”

  Elliot hesitated. “I haven’t heard from him in forty-eight hours, Turner. He went toward the coast, following leads. And I haven’t had contact since.”

  Turner swore. He’d known both of the young officers who’d been murdered. He didn’t want the same thing to happen to Jake MacNamara. “But maybe it’s because of the storm.”

  Elliot nodded, but the concern was in his eyes. “Jake’s not reckless. He knows his game. I’m just waiting until I hear something from him. Once Gunnar Erickson is cleared for duty, he’s going to track him down—if needed. But that will be a day or two. Gunnar was caught in the storm and got his cage rattled pretty badly.”

  “Should we alert the public? Have them report in?”

  “Not a press conference,” Elliot said after thinking for a moment. “No sense causing city-wide panic—or inviting in the national guard. I’ve been holding Marcus off on that using family favors, but it won’t last long.”

  “We need to get the information out, though.”

  “I have deputies out trying to get those who suffered damage, or injuries, or are without utilities, listed. And I have crews out with snow shovels donated by Lucas Tech shoveling debris off our side roads manually. The knowledge that someone is preying on them right now—it’ll make people far too trigger happy. We’ve already had fifteen instances of fighting on the streets right now.”

  “Snow shovels?” He’d met the head of Lucas Tech before. His cousin Houghton was close friends with the man, and they were bringing another branch of their company to the area. Turner had offered his expertise during some of the meetings—pre-mayoral appointment.

  It didn’t surprise him to hear the Lucas Tech name mentioned—Lucas was the governor’s brother-in-law, after all. And with the proposed Boethe Street commercial center, Lucas Tech needed a friendly presence there. No wonder Lucas was volunteering to help.

  Even if Davis Lucas was a nice guy, Turner could see how the donation could benefit the man’s company.

  Everything had an angle. Especially in politics.

  “They are best for scooping debris quickly. Luc had more than a thousand flown down here yesterday.”

  “I’ll make a point of thanking him during my next conference update.”

  Elliot pulled out a printed map. He’d used pink highlighter to mark locations. “Here’s where we’ve gotten reports of our opportunists from residents and organizations. Three priests separately reported in this area here. People are going to the churches for relief aid. Rumors are spreading.”

  Turner looked at the map. Elliot had penciled a barrier around where the storm’s path had taken. It separated the west and east halves of towns like a canyon. And it ran right up Boethe Street.

  Clean up Boethe Street had taken on a whole new meaning.

  “We sure?”

  “As sure as we can be. The street signs have been obliterated. We’re going off the old 911 address map the best we can. It’s the same one I’ve been giving out to the Red Cross teams. I don’t have a clue if it’s up to date, but it’s all we have now.” Elliot had taken the position at around the same time that Turner had stepped into the mayoral position. Neither of them had been in their appointments a great deal of time. But they were going to do what they had to do for their city.

  It was one reason why Turner liked the other man so much.

  Elliot could be counted on when the storm was bearing down on a man. And that was what mattered. Especially now.

  One thing was clear—Turner was getting a huge surge of insight into the people who ran his city along with him.

  Some insight had been good—far too much had been bad.

  There were a lot on the council who had their best interests at heart—instead of the people of Finley Creek county. It was both eye-opening and disheartening.

  “It’s the barrier between Jennifer Henedy and Dennis Lee Arnold’s constituents here.” Turner tried to keep the distaste out of his tone. Of the ten people on his city council, those two were the ones he didn’t exactly care for personally. Most everyone else seemed like genuine businessmen and women who wanted what was best for Finley Creek. But Jennifer Henedy and Dennis Lee Arnold didn’t come across like that to him.

  Far from it.

  They were both out for what they could get. Even if they did mask it with warm, cuddly personalities, Turner had always had problems trusting the two of them.

  “It might be time for us to have a word with both of them,” Elliot said, bluntly. “Ask them what they know.”

  “I want to be there when you ask.”

  25

  Annie had to get out of the room. She’d been there for a week already. Annie couldn’t explain it, but the desire to get out of room 403 was about to drive her insane. Fortunately, she had the perfect accomplice.

  “Get me out of this room. And down to the daycare.” She shot Nikkie Jean a look. “I know you can make it happen. You have the magic.”

  Nikkie Jean hesitated. “You need to be here, on IV antibiotics, Ann.”

  “I get that.” And she did. She understood exactly why those antibiotics had been ordered. But that didn’t matter. She needed to get out of 403. At least for a little while.

  But her boys were downstairs
right now. In the daycare. Nikkie Jean and Jillian had been watching them for the morning hours. Annie’s sister was on her way to get them in a few hours. Annie was going to spend that time with her sons.

  “They are my children, Nik. I need to spend as much time with them as I possibly can.” It wasn’t a request.

  Both of them knew that.

  “Give me five minutes with Tish. And the instant I think you are wimping out on me, you’re right back up here.”

  Allen Jacobson and Rafe had been in not even an hour ago. They’d changed her antibiotics. And her pain medication.

  Annie wouldn’t admit it, but she knew the two would combine to knock her on her butt.

  But she had to see the boys.

  Nikkie Jean, miracle worker that she was, returned with a wheelchair. “I got you one hour in the daycare. They are going to put the boys in a private room down there so you can visit uninterrupted. It was the best I could do. Then you are back up here, on the IV juice, without protest, Miss Stubborn-butt.”

  “That’s more than I could have hoped for. You are a wonderful woman, Nikkie Jean Netorre.” She shot her friend a grin. One Nikkie Jean echoed. “Let’s go see my babies.”

  “Yes ma’am. I only live to serve.”

  26

  Carl almost crashed into the two women in the hallway outside Jason’s private room, two hours after the meeting with the city council. He’d spent most of that time worrying about Jason and digging through his private copies of records that had dated back two decades.

  He’d found nothing that Turner would be able to use to solve this latest problem. Found some rabbit holes to go down, but nothing that blared up at him.

  He barely caught his breath before the women came to an abrupt stop.

  The woman in the hospital gown gasped. “Oh, we’re so sorry!”

  “I’m always forgetting to check the mirrors,” the woman pushing the wheelchair said. “Are you ok…Mr. Buchanan?”

  He recognized her, then. Dr. Nikkie Jean Netorre. He almost winced. Jennifer had had a lot to say about the daughter of her old friend. It had taken him a moment or two to put the two together.

  Carl had been the one to court Jordan Carrington and his medical group to Texas in the first place. It had been a sound business move. Carl had been invested in the private Finley Creek University and its hospital for the last forty years, ever since the hospital had been in dire need of funding and had briefly opened up to investors.

  Carl had just built on those investments, eventually taking over a small medical supply company that had been located across the parking lot. Before a decade had passed, he had secured himself a position on the hospital board, followed by an appointment to the city council. He’d taken the deputy mayoral position when Turner Barratt had approached him about helping out after they’d lost Richard.

  Jordan Carrington was going to be one hell of a business asset. Carl needed that now.

  He was ready to retire from his business endeavors. His grandson needed more of his attention right now. Jason had a long road ahead of him. Corrective surgeries on his arm and hand would take years to complete. Physical therapy was a given. Carl needed to be there for him, not running around doing business in all parts of the countryside.

  He was going to retire from being the deputy mayor, too. As soon as this new problem was solved for Turner. It didn’t feel right leaving him in the lurch.

  “Dr. Netorre, no harm done. No bumps and bruises.” Carl straightened his tie and smiled at the two young women. The patient looked familiar, but he couldn’t place her. He’d seen her before, somewhere. “You ladies ok?”

  “I was just taking Annie around, getting her some fresh air before I left. Annie, you remember Mr. Buchanan?”

  “Of course. From the hospital board, and our deputy mayor.” The woman in the wheelchair smiled quietly at him. That’s when he placed her.

  She was one of the nurses from the ER, he believed. He’d seen her a time or two around the hospital. “How are you feeling, Miss…”

  “Gaines. I work in the ER. I’m usually the one wearing the scrubs, and not the gown.”

  “Of course. Were you one of ours that were injured in the storm?” The hospital had had a handful of injuries, but only one death. Jennifer’s nephew Raymond had been caught outside when the storm hit.

  “In a matter of speaking.” She shot a rueful look at her friend, before looking back at him. “It’s probably not a secret for much longer. I was in city hall with the mayor when it was hit.”

  Of course. The mystery woman. The reporters had been speculating on her identity since the day it became known that Turner was trapped with a young, pretty woman.

  No one knew who she was. But Turner was being touted as a hero. He’d saved her life.

  It hadn’t hurt the younger man’s image one bit. Carl suspected it was just the opposite. A strong, handsome hero facing down a storm with a beautiful woman in his arms. This girl would look perfect, standing next to tall, broad-shouldered, classically handsome Turner Barratt.

  His daughter had looked like her, with big, blue eyes and warm brown hair. A sweet face with freckles that made her look younger. In fact, she greatly favored Kami, especially from the side.

  Grief for his daughter Kami hit him. The ache of loss was just as strong now as it had been twenty-six years ago when she’d died from heart complications. She’d been afraid of the side effects of her medication. Kami had always had extreme fears.

  The reporters were going to love knowing it was this young woman who had been with Turner. The image of a strong leader was more than needed right now. The city needed a hero.

  Carl knew enough about the human condition to know that.

  It was a matter of survival.

  Turner was good hero material.

  “I’m glad to see you’re recovering, Ms. Gaines. And I’m sorry for what happened to you.”

  “I’m very fortunate I was with the mayor at the time. He heeded the warning and got us closer to the basement before the storm hit.”

  No doubt. If they had been in Turner’s third floor office at the time, it would most likely have been fatal. Thank God it hadn’t been.

  But he had no clue why this young nurse had been meeting with the mayor in the first place. “The business you had with Turner? Has he been able to resolve it for you? I would be happy to help, if needed. Take a bit of his load off his plate. He’s working himself to death right now.”

  She hesitated. Such a pretty girl. Who’d been alone with Turner after hours.

  That in itself was odd. Turner was rabidly obsessed with keeping Carl in the loop. He shouldn’t have been in his office with a pretty woman.

  Not on city business, anyway.

  It was probably something more than that. Hell, if Carl was thirty years younger and in Turner’s position, he would have been attracted to this woman. Would have called her to his office and had some private time with her, himself.

  It was just their misfortune to have been in the building when the storm hit.

  Carl was proud of Turner. He’d been after him for months to get out of the office a bit and enjoy his life while he could. Turner needed a wife and kids of his own. He’d be good at being a family man. It was time Turner stepped into the real world, where life wasn’t so neatly kept in the little boxes he believed.

  Turner was a bit on the naïve, idealistic side. Carl just hoped he kept that once the recovery was done.

  The idealists in the world were who gave the rest of the people out there hope.

  27

  She owed a big thank you to Jillian’s youngest sister, Syd. Syd was helping Josie with the boys and had agreed to until Annie was out of the hospital.

  No doubt her sisters Mel and Jillian were to thank, too.

  They’d arranged it—along with some help from Sneaky Nikkie Jean, no doubt—while she’d been in the daycare.

  Mel had promised to help take care of everything.

  Mel was t
he most detail-oriented person Annie had ever met and would think about things like childcare. Mel had taken it on herself to make sure everyone she knew that had been directly impacted by the storm was personally taken care of to the best of Mel’s ability.

  Well, to the best of Mel’s minions’ abilities. She had at least a dozen personal assistants that Annie knew about. It was almost like Mel collected them.

  Annie just knew she’d never be able to repay Mel or Syd.

  Her boys were her entire world. They were safe with Josie and Syd—in a way they wouldn’t have been with Annie’s mother.

  Josie came in a very close second. Josie was six years younger than Annie—Annie had been protecting Josie since the moment Josie had shown up on their door at six years old, battered and bruised from the car accident that had killed her parents. She’d been so alone and frightened. Her parents had been wonderful, kind people.

  Unlike the family she’d ended up with. But Annie had tried to take care of her. To protect her. The need to protect her hadn’t gone away.

  That was why Josie had to get out now. As soon as possible.

  Josie was moving out. Before Josie ended up giving up her own dreams to help Annie raise the boys. Self-sacrificing for family was one thing—putting aside one’s own future to do it was another. Annie wouldn’t let her sister give up her dreams.

  Her sister deserved more of a future than someone else’s needs. Annie was determined Josie was going to have that.

  Annie had never been brave enough to have her own dreams. She’d been too focused on surviving; on making certain Izzie and Josie did, as well.

  She would survive this, too.

  Nine days away from the boys had been far too much. Nine days after she’d been impaled by a metal bar, she let Jillian push the wheelchair toward the exit. “I can walk, you know.”

  “Yada, yada, yada, you know policy. Until you get out the doors today, you are in the chair. When you come back to work, then you get to push other lucky people.”