Walk Through the Fire

by Calle J. Brookes

  The detective’s attention sharpened on him. Reggie fought the urge to question him even more. “You’ll have to speak with the detectives in charge.”

  “Who would that be?” Reggie asked, holding onto his temper. His impatience. He wasn’t an idiot. Something had happened here. And his father was apparently right in the middle of it. The detective shouted to someone nearby.

  A tall man with dark hair, five-to-ten years older than Reggie, walked over. “Callum?”

  “Says he’s Henedy’s son.”

  Reggie held out his hand to the other man. “Wallace Henedy the third. I go by Reggie. I’m trying to find my father.”

  “Dan McKellen. Please come this way. We need to ask you a few questions.”

  Reggie wasn’t going anywhere just yet. “Can you just tell me what happened? My mother just called me and said to get here. That my father had shot—”

  McKellen held up a hand. “Mr. Henedy, please come with me. We need to have a talk.”

  Reggie followed, determined he was going to get the answers.

  Or find his father. Whatever happened first.

  35

  Annie hurried to her feet when a physician stepped into the room. “Dr. Patel? How is she?”

  “Next of kin?” he asked, but it was just a formality. Everyone knew that Annie was about all who Izzie had. Everyone who knew them, anyway.

  Annie nodded. “How is she?”

  “She’s doing ok, Annie. Not great. The bullet nicked her lung, and we had to repair the damage. But she should be able to keep the lung intact. The other two bullets—”

  Dr. Patel patted her shoulder. Nikkie Jean’s hand tightened on Annie’s.

  “The other two weren’t as problematic. One passed through her arm and missed anything important. It’ll be sore for a few weeks, but it was a small-caliber bullet. The worst bullet passed through fatty tissue in her other arm. It entered her again, but was slowed down considerably; it lodged in her liver. We removed the damaged portion and closed off the bleeding. At this point, we’re optimistic. It wasn’t a large part of the liver, so the damage was relatively minimal. We’re watching for complications from the asthma. Izzie is young, strong, and relatively healthy. She should be ok, Ann.”

  Annie sank into the chair next to where Nikkie Jean’s wheelchair was parked. The mayor was there. His hand came down on her shoulder. She wouldn’t admit it to anyone, but it helped steady her a bit.

  “She’ll be ok.” Nikkie Jean said, sniffling. “She’s too mean not to be. We...we...all know that.”

  Annie just cried.

  Nothing in the world was making sense right now. Nothing.

  She wanted someone to put their arms around her again and just hold the world at bay. As if she’d said it aloud, the mayor’s arms went around her again. Annie just let him hold her, half-convincing herself he could make things ok.

  Turner wasn’t going anywhere. Annie was still practically inconsolable. And why wouldn’t she be? How much more could this woman take?

  She was being evicted—unless the storm had destroyed her home—she’d been impaled and trapped by a tornado, and now some madman had shot her best friend and nearly killed her.

  A lesser person would have done more than just cry.

  The chairs were hard plastic, with no arms to impede him. He slipped his arm behind her back. “Come here, honey. It’ll all be ok.”

  “You’ve said that to me before.”

  “And I was right, wasn’t I?” He kept his words low, private. Just between them.

  Her little friend was wrapped around Caine Alvaro, crying just as hard.

  He looked at Caine over the two women’s heads. How the man felt was right there for Turner to see. Caine loved her. The hell the two had gone through today was right there for everyone to see.

  Turner had never loved a woman that much. He’d never had the opportunity. Caine was lucky he was going to have the chance to continue loving Nikkie Jean.

  Turner kept rocking slightly. Annie’s hands were around his neck, and she held him tightly. Turner just rocked.

  He didn’t know what else to do. But thank God Izzie was going to be ok. Now they had to make sense of what Wallace Henedy had done.

  36

  Her neighbor waved the letter beneath Annie’s nose, glaring at her. “I thought you said you were going to do something about this!”

  It seemed like Harley Borlin had been glaring at her since she’d been sixteen and he’d been twenty, and she’d had Jake make it clear to him she wasn’t interested in anything Harley had to offer. Before that, he’d been in her face all the time. Harley thought he was actually charming.

  Their relationship hadn’t exactly gotten better over time. “I’ve been a bit busy, Harley.”

  “Yeah, doing what?”

  “I was in the hospital. I was hurt in the storm. I just got out five days ago.” It was Izzie’s day to run the Boethe Street Community center, but Annie had taken all of Izzie’s days that she could while Izzie was recuperating. “Tornado, remember? I was hurt. Badly. I almost died. A bit too busy to worry about something that’s weeks down the road.”

  Just her luck Harley had found her at the receptionist desk fifteen minutes before she’d be able to leave.

  “What’s going on that can’t wait?” Harley had always made her leery, and she was basically alone with him.

  Except for three tweenagers and her sons. Annie sent a look toward where her older two played with the center’s toys. Syrus was snuggled in a playpen near the desk.

  “We’re losing our homes, or have you forgotten?”

  “I haven’t forgotten. Has someone been in touch with the attorney while I was in the hospital? I’ve not had the time to speak to anyone about the neighborhood.”

  Seventeen houses in a four-block radius had been completely destroyed. Her house was three blocks down from those. Harley lived next to the house on the left of hers. He was the main reason she’d asked Jake to install an extra deadbolt on both her house doors. Harley was just a jerk, through and through.

  She’d learned years ago—she and Izzie both had—that the best way to handle Harley was to keep their eyes on him at all times. And not let him know how much they were intimidated by him. He was the typical playground bully—he enjoyed making people squirm. “Has anything new been learned since before the storm?”

  “Well…no. But we were hoping you talked to the mayor since then. Since you know all those fancy people from the Barratt.”

  “I never got much of a chance. The storm hit just as I was on my way there.”

  “Well, don’t you think you should? I ain’t got anywhere else to go.”

  “I don’t exactly have a million properties, either. I’ll call the attorney again in the morning, Harley. It’s all I can do.”

  “Well, I suppose it’s better than nothin’.” He leaned closer, resting his elbows on the counter. He gave her what he no doubt thought was a charming leer. “I could go with you. You know. Just in case. Make sure Barratt doesn’t take advantage of you or nothing.”

  “I think I can handle it.” Syrus fussed nearby, twisting his hand in his special blanket that went with him everywhere. “I need to take care of my children now, Harley. I’ll let the committee know at the next meeting what I’ve found out.”

  “You do that. I’m serious about that dinner. You grew into a fine-looking woman, Annie. I’d like to get to know you better. Put bygones behind us. Get to know each other better. I get lonely sometimes; you have to, too. We can take care of each other.”

  He had to be crazy to think she’d ever think of him that way. “I have three young children, Harley. I’m not dating anyone unless they are willing to make the boys a permanent part of their lives. You’re not exactly great stepfather material.”

  His face showed his opinion on that. Annie was glad the counter was between them. “Nothing wrong with dinner or a good time now and then. Don’t have to be so high and mighty about it.”
<
br />   Annie didn’t have any clue what to say now. “I’m not high and mighty, Harley. I’m just not interested. I don’t have time for a man in my life right now. Unless it’s these three right here.”

  37

  Dennis Lee bit back a curse as he looked at the runner who had given him the information. The kid wasn’t at fault; far from it. At not quite nineteen, he was a definite go-getter. “I admire your initiative, Landen. Thanks for telling me.”

  “You’re welcome, sir.”

  “Now, I want you to take this to Officer Collin Eugent.”

  As soon as the boy was gone, Dennis Lee thought about what information Landen had brokered.

  Those damned Henedys were going to cause him untold problems. Reggie had undercut four of his bids to the city.

  Bids Dennis Lee needed accepted.

  Henedy Construction had been his primary funnel for going on two years now. If the city chose Henedy’s company over Dennis Lee’s, it could potentially cause too many questions to be asked.

  Especially with Jenny not being as careful as she should have been lately.

  But this…Jenny was going to be too distracted by this latest problem. Damn Wallace Henedy. The man was nothing but trouble, and a fool to boot.

  But what concerned Dennis Lee the most was just exactly how much of Dennis Lee’s business Wallace Henedy might be aware of.

  If the man decided to start making bargains to get favors now, that could prove problematic for Dennis Lee.

  He needed to do some thinking. But first, he needed information.

  That meant some phone calls.

  First, he had to do one thing. There was a lady out there he needed to check on.

  Jenny had to be near hysterical now. This was the last thing that poor girl needed. He’d have to help fix this, because if there was one truth right now for Dennis Lee—he needed Jenny more than he had any other woman before.

  And Dennis Lee always got what he needed. No matter what the cost.

  38

  She had to split her time between the boys and the hospital with Izzie. Somehow, she managed. Izzie was still in guarded condition, but they were about to upgrade her to stable. Annie suspected Cage and Allen were just being cautious. Even if it irritated Izzie.

  Not that Izzie could do much about it right now. She was in and out from pain meds most of the day. Annie used that time to try to track down the attorney the Boethe Street committee had hired with the limited funds they’d been able to collect.

  She was starting to think the attorney needed to be disbarred. He wasn’t exactly competent.

  Annie had no idea what she was supposed to do about this, or how she had ended up the de facto spokeswoman for the neighborhood.

  She wasn’t even certain if she wanted to fight it any longer.

  As long as she had a place for the boys to live, she would be ok.

  It was her neighbors’ fates that concerned her more. The stress of fighting was starting to get to all of them.

  Izzie shifted in the bed. Annie put aside her notepad and watched the other woman for a while. No doubt Izzie would be hurting for a while—even with the pain meds.

  Damn Wallace Henedy for what he’d done.

  There was no explanation for why he’d done any of it. None.

  Someone knocked on the door quietly. She looked up.

  Nikkie Jean stood in the doorway, wearing scrubs decorated with dancing beagles. “Hey.”

  “Hey. I see the jailers have let you out.” Caine and his twin had ganged up on her, making her take the past week off. “How are you feeling?”

  “Better. The bruises have faded. I felt the baby move—I think. Caine brought home a Doppler from storage last night. He wanted to let the kids hear the heartbeat. We finally told them.”

  “And?”

  “Dalton thinks it’s a doggie in my belly.” She shot a grin at Annie, but her worry was still there as her gaze went to Izzie. “Keller is thrilled. Everett is hesitant. Just as we suspected. Caine thinks he’ll be ok with time. He associated his mother’s leaving and death with Dalton’s birth.”

  “I get it. You guys will make it work, I’m sure of it.” They were meant to be a family. Nikkie Jean had taken to motherhood like a natural. Even in the short time since the tornado. Caine’s three children adored her, and even though they weren’t married and hadn’t set a date yet—Nikkie Jean refused until Izzie was ok, and able to be one of her two friends-of-honor, as she’d said it—the kids were already calling her Mom.

  Annie knew just how special that could be.

  And how terrifying that responsibility could be.

  “I hope so. The last thing I want to do is fail the kids.”

  “You won’t. Just love them. Trust me, I have twenty-three months and four days’ experience talking here. Love them and know that your job is to teach them how to survive as adults. To let them know how much you love them, and that you will always be there for them.”

  “I’m not sure how to do that. I haven’t exactly had great experiences with parents myself. Nor great examples to emulate.” There was no bitterness in Nikkie Jean’s tone. Just quiet acceptance.

  “No, but you’re the kindest person I know, Nik. That matters. Kindness, understanding, an openness, and forgiveness. Heart. Don’t ever forget that…” a quiet voice said from the hospital bed.

  Annie hurried to her side. She’d been in and out for days. And not always lucid. “Iz—”

  “Hey, Ann.” Izzie blinked up at her. “You look terrible.”

  “Gee, thanks.”

  Izzie looked around. “403.”

  “Yep. It’s starting to get a reputation.” Every time someone Annie knew from the hospital was hurt or ill, they were ending up in room 403. The Cursed Nurse’s room. Annie suspected Wanda was putting them there on purpose.

  Wanda liked to perpetuate the myth of the Cursed Nurse—a young woman who had supposedly been murdered in the room when the building had first been constructed—over a hundred years ago. Annie wasn’t a believer in ghosts—far from it.

  But she’d spent enough time in this room as a patient now not to be so sure.

  Sometimes it felt like someone was in there with you at night.

  “I’m really starting to believe this room is cursed…” Izzie said a few more things, but she was tiring. Before long, she was out again.

  But this was the first day she’d been able to have some sort of lucid conversation.

  Annie looked at Nikkie Jean as hope finally started to overtake the fear. “I think she’s going to be ok.”

  39

  Turner checked the address once more. The contact for the neighborhood rep he’d been given for the Boethe Street area revealed a small 1920s bungalow, with peeling green paint and a neat row of flowers leading up the walk. There was still plywood covering the windows three weeks past the storm, but it was obvious the house was occupied. There were children’s yard toys neatly placed on one end of the porch. A family lived here. From the toys, he suspected it was a young family, at that. Probably without many resources, or they wouldn’t be on Boethe Street.

  He winced. He didn’t have a clue how to make what he was about to say easier. For anyone.

  The city council wasn’t budging. They’d already gotten approval from the state to push the eminent domain ruling through the court. And the offers he had been told to deliver weren’t that much more than they’d been before. Ten percent wasn’t much. Not when the original offers were so ridiculously low to begin with.

  It hadn’t exactly been a priority for the council. Not now.

  Nothing Turner could do was going to save this little house. Or the four houses on each side to it.

  It was one little block of houses. That was it. Five. He’d been able to save twenty-three of the thirty-two that were originally slated for demolition. More than half. But that wasn’t going to matter to the five that were going. Most of the block had suffered damage in the storm, as well. Four of those original h
ouses had been completely demolished in the storm, just to make everything worse.

  The condemnations stood.

  There was nothing Turner could do to change things.

  Housing values were so low now, even worse in this area because of the storm, that the city council was now clinging to their offers stronger than ever. Turner’s words hadn’t made even a bit of difference.

  He stepped up on the porch and knocked. His driver and car were reflected in the glass of the door window. They looked ridiculously out of place.

  Turner pulled at the neck of his shirt. What was he supposed to say to these people? “Sorry. The house you’ve worked your whole life to pay for? The city is taking it to make room for apartments and retailers and office buildings. You know, to replace the ones the storm some of you were hurt in damaged? You’re more than welcome to have first dibs on the apartments. And don’t worry, we’re prepared to offer you a twelve percent discount on rent, as well.”

  The door swung open. A young girl stood in the door, around the age of eighteen or twenty or so. Pretty, with curly brown hair and green eyes and freckles everywhere. She eyed him from behind plastic-rimmed glasses. Then she turned and called over her shoulder. “Ann! I think this one’s for you.”

  Turner straightened when the girl stepped aside. And then he saw her. Another woman was there. A smaller one. With lighter brown hair and big, blue eyes.

  She had a toddler asleep on her shoulder. Two other young boys peered around a kitchen island at him.

  Shock had him dropping his hand to his side. “Annie.”

  “Mayor Barratt.” She passed the child in her arms to the younger girl. “Can you take him to his bed? I…”

  “I’ve got it. I’ll finish the boys’ lunch before I go. You…try to get some rest. Don’t overdo it.”