The Protector

by Dee Henderson

  Cole gave a rueful smile. “You’re welcome to it.”

  The man worked too many hours. She had found him already at the station when she arrived at a quarter to seven this morning. Unlike the guys on shift, Cole was in the office five days a week. On top of that, he was on call for suspicious fires around the county and had a full court docket to manage as arson cases moved through the courts.

  He pinched more cheese. She wasn’t sure if he’d had lunch. “There are extra raspberries in the refrigerator.”

  “Really? I’ll accept. Do we have any ice cream?”

  “French vanilla. I bought it this afternoon.”

  “Bless you.” He opened the cupboard to retrieve a bowl.

  “Jack.” It was seven-thirty that evening, after dinner and kitchen cleanup were complete before Cassie was able to search out Jack to raise the subject she had been wrestling with ever since Cole’s comment.

  “Over here.”

  She pushed her hands deeper into her pockets and picked her way carefully across the parking lot, trying to avoid the puddles that were actually disguised potholes. The rain had come down in a steady drizzle for most of the afternoon, then had finally stopped, but the mess remained. Several car accidents today were attributed to the weather.

  Jack was in the county garage. The building next to the fire station was used to store some of the more infrequently used equipment, including a flat bottom boat and a scaffolding system for construction sites. The large doors were rolled up and the overhead lights glared. He was stretched out under the belly of what the guys affectionately called the Blue Beast.

  The old pumper engine had been retired when the Quint—a combine engine and truck—had been bought three years before. The Blue Beast was kept serviced so it could be used when access to a scene was constrained. The narrow wheel bed of the old engine made it the only pumper that could get to certain locations or at major fires where it became necessary to stage water from either the lake or a retention pond.

  She could see Jack’s boots and not much else of him. “Can I talk to you for a minute?”

  “Sure.”

  “Face to face.”

  What sounded like a wrench struck concrete. “Just a minute,” he muttered through gritted teeth.

  “Rap your knuckles?”

  “About broke my thumb.”

  When he rolled out from under the engine two minutes later, his face was still grim and he was shaking his hand to take out the sting.

  Now wasn’t a good time. “We can talk later.”

  He sat up and tossed two wrenches into the toolbox. “Now is fine.” His expression lightened. “Did I mention it was a great dinner?”

  “Several times.” She perched cautiously on the metal bins used to store salt blocks.

  “Cole was wrong about the cobbler. It’s not good. It’s fabulous.”

  “I’m glad you liked it.” She smiled but it faded rather quickly.

  He moved to sit on the running board of the pumper, his curious look turning serious, his mood changing to match hers. “What can I do for you?”

  “I’d like to ride along when there’s a dispatch to a car accident and help out. Cole said I should talk to you about it.”

  She searched his face for an indication of his thoughts. She didn’t know what she expected but it wasn’t the remote expression that appeared. “I’m not asking to go back on full duty, just roll out and be there if you need an extra hand.”

  “I’m afraid the answer is no.”

  “I’d like to know why.”

  His gaze was calm and resigned. “It won’t change the decision,” he said quietly. She heard in his answer the caution that it might be better if she would accept that.

  She hesitated. She didn’t want to push him into a corner, but she needed to know. “Do you think I’d be a liability because of my weaker arm?” He was ruling her out and yet there had to be something she could offer that would be acceptable. “Could I do care and comfort?” Under current department policies, even Luke as a volunteer chaplain was trained in emergency medical response and could provide that kind of help at the scene of an accident.

  He turned his attention to wiping grease from his palm.

  “Jack?”

  “I’m sorry, Cassie.”

  The rejection hurt. “I need to know why.”

  He looked at her with sadness and regret, and he gave it to her straight. “You’re partially deaf.”

  She’d asked; the answer cut. Her hearing had been compromised, especially on her right side, but it was not as bad as his answer suggested.

  “I can’t have you working near traffic when that very traffic would mean you may not hear a shouted warning. You have a problem hearing me across the equipment bay when a vehicle is running; you struggle to follow a conversation at dinner when several separate conversations are going on. Too many firefighters and cops have been hit or almost hit by traffic when working a crash scene. I can’t let you ride along.”

  It was a calm, quiet explanation, a definite one.

  She got to her feet, feeling lost. Being around the fire station, hearing the dispatches, seeing the rollouts, going through the refresher training classes…she had let herself think she was really coming back in a limited but real way. She’d been seeing what she wanted to be the truth but not the actual truth. She’d started to hope.

  “Cassie, I meant it when I said I was sorry.”

  She paused, not turning back because she was afraid the tears threatening might show. She’d been judged and found wanting, not because he wanted to do it, but because it was reality. “You made the right decision. You’ve got a crew to think of beyond me.”

  The paperwork was a haven. She had retreated to it, closing herself into Cole’s office, focusing on the numbers. The concentration required allowed her to set aside the emotional turmoil she felt.

  She’d seen Cole as she hung up her jacket after coming back in. He hadn’t said anything, just squeezed her shoulder. Cole was right. Jack was right. And they’d been forced to intervene and stop her from following down a path that would be a danger not only to herself, but to the other firefighters.

  The numbers blurred.

  Lord, it hurts.

  She set down her pen and pushed back the report. The black three-ring binder she used to collect past drafts slid off the table, hit the arm of the extra chair, and fell open when it crashed on the floor. She looked at the scattered papers. It looked like she felt, cracked open and tumbled out. Stuffing her dreams back together was impossible.

  She wiped at the tears. I let myself hope, and instead of open doors they just slammed shut. Lord, just get me through this day and out of here. I need some place safe to cry.

  She began gathering together the pages. She wondered if she could slip down to the woman’s dorm without being intercepted. She didn’t want to talk to Jack because she simply wasn’t sure yet what to say. Understanding his decision and being able to accept it were different emotions.

  Her reason for being here had not changed.

  There was still a man out there starting fires.

  She would help find him, and she would get on with her life in whatever way that meant. The bookstore business was taking off. She and Linda were struggling to keep up with filling the incoming orders shipping all across the country. Maybe she would implement the plans she had talked over with Linda—hire one more clerk and go forward with plans to expand the business.

  Maybe she’d move. The thought had lingered since Jack’s comment. Maybe she would do it. She didn’t enjoy making changes, but since she had been reacting to those forced by circumstances, maybe she would add one by choice.

  She struggled to find something that felt encouraging to hold on to.

  She sighed. For the next few weeks she was in limbo. Having agreed to help Cole, she could not easily pull back from that decision. She went back to work on the budget, although the confidence that she could help out Cole and make a difference wa
s gone. It had simply become paperwork to struggle through.

  The math worked, but the numbers didn’t, a reality she had observed in her own business. The budget could support either a paramedic or a firefighter but not both. By 10 P.M. Cassie had figured out there was no way to get creative to make the numbers work. Disappointing both Cole and Jack on the same day…she wished she had never thought to hope about a new future possibly working with the department.

  Cole couldn’t afford to hire her, not to be doing this kind of work on an on-going basis. She understood now why he had placed her on the administrative staff. It was the only way to pay her and justify, by her seniority, hiring her for a few weeks. Cole didn’t have the money to pay her into next year. If this arsonist was still out there after January 1, for financial reasons it would be impractical for this arrangement to continue.

  The phone rang shortly after ten. It was Cole’s public versus private line. She’d been answering phone calls and handling messages for him for the last week. She hesitated to answer it at this time of night. Someone would have paged Cole if it were urgent. Remembering Cole’s growl about the voice-mail system’s habit of cutting off long messages with its set cutoff time, she reached for the phone. “Hello?”

  “I was trying to reach Cole. Is this his assistant or did I dial the wrong number?” The voice was raspy and deep and at first she thought it was being done intentionally, and then she realized why it was also familiar. She sounded much like that during the early days in the hospital. The man was recovering from an injury to his vocal chords.

  “This is Cassie. I’m working for Cole, borrowing his office at the moment. Can I take a message for him?”

  “Please. Leave him a note that it’s Chad returning his call.”

  Chad. Her pen slowed as she wrote the note, finally placing him and feeling guilty that she hadn’t immediately done so. He’d been hurt in the paint factory fire last year. Ben had been by to see Cole early that day to talk about when his nephew Chad could come back from disability, if there would be an opening in the arson group available.

  “I’ll get him the message,” she promised.

  “Ask him also to check for an incoming fax.”

  She tucked the phone against her shoulder and reached for the phone book. “Do you have the fax number or can I get that for you?”

  “I have it. You are working late.”

  “Paperwork,” she replied ruefully.

  Dispatch tones sounded and jolted her. “I’ve got to go; we’ve got a dispatch. I’ll be sure he gets the message.” She pushed back the chair, still scrawling the note as she stood. She said good-bye and dropped the phone. She rushed through the district offices back into the bays.

  Men were suiting up. More tones sounded as additional units were called up. Around her was a controlled rush. The ladder truck, two engines, a rescue squad—dispatch was acting based on a confirmed structure fire, not a report of smoke.

  She slid on the pants, stepped into the boots, and reached for her fire coat. She tried to hurry. The men around her were already swinging up into vehicles. The ladder truck kicked on lights to warn traffic on the street they were about to roll out.

  The new fire coat fought her as she tried to secure the buttons; she abandoned trying. She’d do it on the way. She grabbed her helmet and gloves.

  Nate had Engine 81 running. She moved around to the passenger side.

  Jack was there, standing on the running board, one hand on the dash, leaning down to have a hurried conversation with the communications dispatcher. She met his gaze.

  The rescue squad to her right moved out.

  Jack extended a hand and offered her a hand up.

  She stepped up and slid to the back bench next to Bruce.

  Jack slid inside and slammed the door. One final sweeping glance around the cab and he nodded to Nate. Sirens and lights came on. Engine 81 rolled out.

  Nineteen

  Jack had known the address, but he hoped the dispatcher had been wrong on the street number. As they pulled down the street it was clear there had been no mistake. The fire station closed in the consolidation was burning. Flames showed in the burst windows of the dorm wing and smoke spewed from the back of the building where the ventilation system began. The training tower behind the structure glowed like a spire torch.

  “This is adding insult to injury.”

  Jack agreed with Bruce’s shouted observation. Jack was willing to bet this would turn out to be their popcorn arsonist. What wood there was within the concrete structure was limited, and yet it was feeding flames well beyond what the normal load would trigger. The smoke was black to the point of ebony and was rolling down suggesting an incomplete burn. The flames had flickers of blue and green indicative of a fire too hot for simply a wood source.

  More than just their company had been dispatched. Company 21 had arrived first, thus would have command and control responsibility. Jack reported in to the scene commander via radio and got their assignment.

  “We’ve got the tower along with Ladder Truck 81,” Jack called over to Nate. The tower was in danger of collapse, and by virtue of its height it was spreading embers over the surrounding area. It was going to be a difficult fire to fight as it presented a severe containment problem, but at least they wouldn’t have to worry about fighting it from the inside with a roof ready to come down.

  Jack looked back at Cassie. Her expression was focused ahead on the scene. He’d hurt her with his decision earlier. It would have been easier to ask Cole to make the decision, but doing so would have abdicated his own responsibility as the lieutenant in charge.

  He had to admire how Cassie had accepted and dealt with it. She’d wanted his explanation, and even though she did not agree with it, she had not gone over his head to Frank to try and see if it could be changed.

  Nate paused the engine long enough for Bruce to step down and pull the five-inch supply line. Nate then rolled the engine forward to join Truck 81, using the vehicle movement to lay hose behind them.

  Jack tightened his gloves and swung down to the ground. The lieutenant of Truck 81 already had the aerial ladder moving. The hose line on that ladder would be able to tackle the height of the fire. Jack picked up the radio and linked up with his fellow lieutenant. The truck crew could manage the structure; it looked like the best place for their resources would be fighting to keep the building from collapsing. “We’ll take the east face first,” Jack shouted over to Nate, who was bringing down the three-inch hose.

  Jack caught Cassie’s arm and leaned in close to make sure he was heard. “Stay close to Cole.” He was convinced this was one of the arsonist’s fires. Cassie was going to be looking for the guy. He did not want her wandering around on her own.

  She nodded.

  He searched her face, worried about how she was going to proceed. She wanted to be fighting the fire; restricted from that, she would want to do anything she could to find the man responsible. And he was comfortable with her doing neither.

  “Trust me.”

  He squeezed her arm, then released it. He had no choice.

  He turned to face the fire. The rain earlier in the day was a saving grace as embers landing on roofs of nearby buildings were quenched in the moisture. This was manageable, but it was going to be a vicious firefight.

  Was he here?

  Cassie kept her back to the fire as she walked around the scene, for it was a personal assault that a fire station had been torched. It would save so much time if she could just find the man. It would release her from the weight of the obligation she faced. It would end the threat to Jack. Cassie stayed within the circuit of the responding units. The fire lit the area and cast flickering shadows.

  The roar of the fire and the rush of water mingled with the sound of the men and women fighting it. The smoke had a sharp smell of varnish within it.

  She started when someone grabbed her arm. Cole. She hadn’t heard him, his grim expression told her that. “Stay with me.”


  Subdued, she joined him.

  “Have you seen anyone at all you consider suspicious?”

  “No.”

  Cole read his watch in the light from his flashlight. “Thirty minutes since the initial dispatch. If he’s still watching he’s moved back. I want us to systematically canvass a two-block area.”

  She’d been thinking about it as she walked, trying to find the place where someone would be able to stand in the shadows and have a line of sight to the scene. “What about the high school football field bleachers? That would be a good place to watch from.” It was a block away from the fire, but at night with a hot fire raging…that would be a very good vantage point.

  “Good suggestion. We’ll start in that direction.”

  “Cole, did you call me and I didn’t hear you?”

  He didn’t speak until she turned to look at him. “I did. And if you get upset about the fact it happened, I’m going to get upset with you. No one holds being hard of hearing against you. We will accommodate you, not the other way around. And if that means getting your attention before we ask you something, we’ll do it.”

  “I should have never put you in this place when I said I wanted to come back. Jack’s right. I can’t do the job.”

  “If there was a way Jack and I could remove the obstacles to your being on active duty, we would make it happen. We just haven’t been able to find it. And I seem to remember I opened this conversation five months ago asking you to come work for me. I’m not losing years of valuable training by setting you on a bench if I can convince you to get back in this game. I can’t put you back on active duty, but you are well qualified to join my investigation team.”

  “As much as I have enjoyed doing your paperwork, you can’t afford me.”

  “You haven’t seen the budget swap Frank and I would make if you ever did say yes. It’s a serious offer, Cassie. You know the job. I’d be honored to have you working for me full time.”

  She knew he meant it, and there was some reassurance in that. “I’ll think about it.”