“Firefighting isn’t for amateurs. Didn’t you hear me calling your name?”
“All I heard was the fire crackling.”
“You need to listen more carefully around a fire. I don’t recommend you charging into brushfires.”
“I wouldn’t approach a fire ordinarily. I would’ve called it in and waited, but you were out there. You were my responsibility.”
“Stay in the vehicle next time. Stay away from fires.”
“You don’t have to tell me twice.” She shivered. “I’ve had my fill of fires for the year. Give me a domestic violence call or a fender bender any day.”
Chief Pratt returned with two replacement fire extinguishers. “Might as well have the tools of the trade while you’re here.”
Wyatt accepted the red canisters. “Good thinking. Thanks.” With an arsonist running around, it paid to be ready.
The brushfire seemed suspicious. He stared down the embankment toward the blackened brush. If a cigarette butt or the like had started the blaze, it had to be a helluva throw to get it down there. Most fires near a road started at the road and fanned outward. This one started deep in the shoulder, in what looked like an arc, possibly from poured gasoline.
Which indicated a purposeful start.
Reading further into that line of reasoning, the arsonist knew he was here, knew he’d be traveling nearby, and knew he’d see the smoke. If that was so, he feared for the community. Vigilance had stopped this fire, but the firebug would want more glory.
He’d set another fire soon.
And Wyatt would have him.
Chapter 8
“I’m changing your name from Cinderella to Calamity Jane,” Officer Tom Harlow said to Laurie Ann back at the station. “Every time you come in here, you’re a hot mess.”
“Just doing my job.” Laurie Ann slid into her chair with a heavy heart. Didn’t the jerk ever tire of giving her a hard time?
“Looks like you were trying to impress the arson investigator. Lucky the pair of you didn’t get burned.”
How did he know what happened? Sure, she’d called in the fire, but the flaming tarp wasn’t common knowledge. Not even her uncle knew about the burnt tarp. Was Harlow connected to the fires?
The thought chilled her.
Harlow had access to her files. He knew where she would be when she was on-duty. Was he the arsonist Wyatt North was tracking?
Her cell phone buzzed in her pocket. She checked the text message. Since when do you fight fires? You okay?
Warmed by her friend Donna’s concern, she texted back, I’m fine. Catch up with you later. Pocketing the phone, she noticed Harlow staring at her. “What?”
“That’s him, isn’t it?” he asked.
What was he talking about? “My messages are my own business.” Ignoring the dark look he gave her, she began to write up the brushfire incident. The sooner she completed her reports, the more details she remembered. She’d accessed the electronic form and filled in her name when the chief called her into his office.
His florid face worried her. His complexion was not normally so vivid. Not a good sign.
She rose, wondering why she’d been summoned. Routinely, he acknowledged her presence and left her alone to do her work. “Sir?”
“Close the door behind you, Dinterman.”
Despite her bravado, her confidence wavered at his harsh tone.
Tyler only closed his door to ream out screwups. Her thoughts scattered as she tried to think how she’d earned his displeasure. She’d been on time every day this week. Turned in all her reports. Handled the incidents she’d responded to. Even taken this special assignment without complaint.
When she turned back to face him, his face seemed even redder. Whatever upset him didn’t bode well for her. He didn’t invite her to sit down, and truthfully, she preferred standing in case she needed to beat a speedy retreat. Nerves prompted her to speak, to say anything to dispel the tension, but she waited.
Her father had taught her plenty about intimidation. He’d known it would be tough for a girl on any force, but especially this force in redneck central.
“I had such high hopes for you,” the chief began, his voice boning knife sharp. “But you’re gonna cost me my job. You let me down, Dinterman.”
The sound of his labored breathing filled her ears. What was he talking about? The chief had won his last election by a considerable margin. How was his job on the line?
“I don’t understand,” she said.
“I told you this was a high profile assignment. I trusted you to do the job, and the first day in the field you put the arson investigator in harm’s way.”
Was he talking about the brushfire? “Wyatt North is fine. We stopped on the way back into town to put out a fire on the roadside. The fire department arrived and quenched the fire. We drove back into town, unharmed.”
“That’s not how I heard it. His clothes were singed, and both of you were given oxygen at the scene. Amaretto at EMS gave me a full report. You put him in danger.”
His accusations put her on the defensive. She’d done nothing wrong. “We investigated a plume of smoke. It could have been a homeowner burning leaves, but that’s not what we found. I had no idea he would jump out of the car to fight the small fire. I helped him, and we’re both fine. No harm, no foul.”
This last bit she said in a rush, feeling guilty about the tarp. Her ignorance had put North in jeopardy. She’d take those fire safety classes a lot more seriously from now on. But North had reacted in time to save them both. He hadn’t acted like a man in trouble. He’d taken charge.
He was a hero.
Why was the chief so spun up about the situation? She’d survived a knife fight, dodged bullets, and flipped a squad car in a high-speed chase. She’d proven she could handle danger, and she could certainly manage a man from Atlanta.
Chief Tyler pounded his desk with a closed fist. “You were told to handle this guy with kid gloves. You lost control of the situation.”
Though the noise jarred her, she held firm. “I did my job, sir, and so did he. North was a firefighter before he became an arson investigator. He’s trained to fight fires. His conduct did not jeopardize his safety.”
“He’s not as competent as you think. Two years ago, he and another firefighter were injured in a blaze. North recovered; his buddy died. Ever since then, he’s been tracking the serial arsonist who started that fire. He recently took time off from the job because of stress. This is his first case in the field since he came back on the job. I was told to coddle him. His superiors need him to be all right. He’s connected.”
Tyler’s terse delivery of North’s troubles socked her with a one-two punch. He’d been hurt. His buddy had died. He’d lost it by becoming too focused. So sad. He seemed like a nice guy. But she understood his sorrow and his quest for justice. If she’d lost someone on the job, she’d take it personally, too.
Tyler’s last sentence stirred her curiosity. “What do you mean connected? To the mob?”
“Worse. To the president.”
She blinked. “Of the United States?”
The chief leaned forward and pierced her with his I-mean-business gaze. “He’s the First Lady’s nephew. And she’s very fond of him. As soon as you made the 911 call, word passed all the way up to her and back down to me. I don’t like to be threatened by the folks in DC. I love my job. If you don’t keep North out of trouble, neither one of us will have a job.”
She couldn’t wrap her head around the information chain. “I don’t understand. How did the First Lady even know? The event happened less than an hour ago. I’m fine. He’s fine. I don’t see what’s the big deal.”
“I keep telling you, he’s big time. These people at the top have systems set up to rapidly detect information on key personnel. Listen up. Wyatt North is considered essential personnel to our government.”
“Why don’t they have Secret Service or other people down here keeping tabs on him?”
&n
bsp; “This was supposed to be an easy assignment where he could relax and go boating. If we don’t keep him out of hot water, they will come down on us hard. You wanted to move in different circles? This is as big a circle as you’ll ever get. I’d pull you off the case and give it to Harlow in a heartbeat, except I have no confidence in him. You need to step up your game, Dinterman. If not, we can forget having jobs in Georgia again, or anywhere in the United States.”
Laurie Ann worked her back teeth apart. She didn’t like the pressure she was feeling, but she wanted her job. Oh, did she want it. She didn’t agree that North was fragile, but she’d keep him under scrutiny from now on. Nothing would happen to Wyatt North on her watch.
“I understand, sir. I’ll wrap him in a bubble.”
“You’d better. Where is he now?”
“He drove to the post office to express mail his samples. From there he was headed back to the hotel to sketch the site and further study the case files I provided. I believe he said he wanted to grab takeout from the Chinese restaurant by the highway and turn in early.”
“Good. Check to make sure that’s what he does. Keep an eye on him over the weekend. Take him out in your father’s boat. Anything you can do to keep him entertained and out of trouble will go a long way toward our job security. We don’t want this fragile VIP to break down in our town. Expedite his investigation. If he wants to talk to people over the weekend, make it happen. The sooner he leaves town the better.”
While the idea of keeping close tabs on North appealed to her on several levels, there was one point that bugged her. Wyatt appeared to be a man of action. “Has anyone told North he’s fragile?”
“Hell, no. And you better not be the one to break the news. Take care of it. Do whatever it takes to make him happy and move him on down the road.”
Laurie Ann walked out of the chief’s office in a daze. She understood her overarching mission was to assist the arson investigator, but the chief was asking her to do more. He’d been very specific about making the Atlanta man happy.
Whatever it took.
Because she was attracted to him, her thoughts veered off on a wild tangent.
Keep him happy.
Whatever it takes.
Not a hardship.
Not at all.
Chapter 9
Laurie Ann flipped through the dresses in her tiny closet. Too high school. Too summery. Too floral. The moss green one might work. But when she held it up to her, the hemline was shorter than she remembered. Not happening. She shoved the dress back into the recesses of her closet.
Why was this so hard? She’d invited Wyatt to the church picnic today to keep him in sight. They weren’t dating. He had a job to do. So did she, but she kept getting distracted with inappropriate thoughts about him.
Focus, Laurie Ann. She needed to wear comfortable clothes in case she needed to move fast to protect him. Pants, then. Those new jeans Donna had talked her into buying last month came to mind. She hadn’t worn them yet, but this would be the perfect time to break them in. And maybe that light pink top. Donna had said it brought out the color in her cheeks.
Decision made, she showered and dressed, quite pleased with how energized she felt in her new clothes. She dug around in a bathroom drawer and found a dust-coated bag of cosmetics. Makeup wasn’t her forte, but she knew how to use it. How much would be appropriate for a picnic? Too much would make her look trampy. Too little and why bother?
She settled on a light coat of mascara and a soft pink lip gloss. Carrying her gun would be over the top, so she locked it in the glove compartment of her vehicle. Taking the squad car would give her more options, but folks would wonder why she drove it to a church picnic. The Mustang was a better choice.
She grabbed the potato salad and took off. On the drive to his hotel, her thoughts turned to the scrap metal investigation. Neither Harlow nor the chief had mentioned how that was going. It had been a few weeks since the last round of thefts, which meant a few weeks of the thieves sitting on their loot. Big pieces would be broken up so that compressors, fins and the like could be sold separately.
Thieves didn’t realize the like-new appearance of stolen property was an instant tell. Rarely was it as rusty or beat up as a true scrapped product. She was tempted to call her contact at the scrap yard to pass the time of day, but she’d be poaching on Harlow’s assignment.
Not a good choice.
Chief Tyler expected her to stay focused on Wyatt North. His alleged mental instability didn’t track with her personal perception of him. Sure, he was wound tight, but what was wrong with that? Being alert and aware were good traits. They’d kept her alive more than once.
A dirty white van pulling a flatbed trailer passed by in the opposite direction. She automatically looked in her rearview mirror, and the trailer contained household items. A washer and dryer. A fridge. A bed frame. A push mower. Gardening tools.
There were smaller items in the trailer, but that was all she identified on the first glance. Every one of those items was metal. She replayed the image in her mind. No mattress. She was certain of it. People moving their possessions would have a bed to sleep in.
Instinct nudged her to turn around and follow the trailer. Oh, she wanted to. And if she was in her squad car, she would pull them over. But she wasn’t in her squad car. She was in her Mustang, out of uniform, and on her way to pick up a VIP.
Her job was on the line.
And she was pretty darn sure her thieves listened to the police radio. She called dispatch on her cell phone. “This may be something,” she began. After she reported the information, she hung up, hoping her tip would lead to a break in the scrap metal case. Whoever was behind the thefts had stayed a step ahead of them so far.
Was it someone she knew and trusted?
As she passed Marshview Realty, she saw her friends Megan and Roxie working. Megan was a newlywed, and Roxie was engaged. Both Noreen Bagwell and Rudell Striker’s cars were still at Sheryl’s Diner. Their big romance was supposed to be top secret, but anyone who saw the two city council members together knew they were dating.
The people she knew weren’t thieves. They were respectable and trustworthy.
More than that, she realized glumly, they were in love.
Good for them.
She waved at Mrs. Muriel and Mr. Joffrey. They rolled down the sidewalk to the grocery store in matching motorized wheelchairs.
Tick tock went her internal clock.
Everyone was pairing up.
Everyone but her.
But she was cautious for good reason. How many domestic violence calls had she responded to over the years? Too many to count.
If she ever fell in love, she’d take it slow and make sure she wasn’t dating a dope-smoking drunk who beat women and was seriously crazy.
At the hotel, she greeted the day clerk. “Kadesh, how’s the family? Your daughter still spelling circles around the other kids?”
“Hey, Laurie Ann. Callie is heading to the state tournament.”
“Sweet.”
She bypassed the elevator and hit the stairs. North’s room was on the second floor. He didn’t answer her first knock, so she knocked harder. With each second that ticked by, her nerves pinged. Was he even in his room? Had she lost track of him?
The chief would kill her.
She called Wyatt. Inside his room, a phone began to ring. She didn’t know whether to be relieved or alarmed.
“Hullo.” Sleep roughened his deep voice.
“North, I’m at your door. Lunch, remember?”
“Lunch.” He paused to yawn. “What time is it?”
“High noon. I’m right on time.”
He swore. “Oh, excuse me. I didn’t mean to say that out loud. Give me a second.”
The phone clicked in her ear. She heard rustling inside the room. A few minutes later, he opened the door, and her heart did a funny leap. He’d donned a light pink shirt the same color as hers.
But more impressive th
an the shirt and the man was the way his eyes warmed at the sight of her. He looked at her like she was breakfast—and lunch.
“We match,” she ventured, hoping to slow the racing of her heart.
His face twitched. “Is that a problem? One of my sisters has this thing about matching clothes. If it bothers you, I can change.”
“You’re fine. I don’t have a problem with your shirt.”
“Where are my manners?” North asked, stepping away from the doorway. “Come in.”
She noticed his tanned feet were bare. They were nice feet with nails blunt cut and slender toes. “I’ll wait out here until you’re ready.”
“I promise to be on good behavior.” He reached for her hand and tugged her gently inside.
The curtains were drawn. The bedside lamp was on. The bed was messy, clothes everywhere, and papers strewn about the room. He moved a briefcase from the chair. “Sit. I’ll be a minute more. I had a late night.”
“Looks like it was quite the event,” she said dryly.
He grinned and reached for a shoe. “Can’t help it. I’m a slob, from start to finish. No matter how much positive reinforcement my parents provided, I developed the habit of spreading my stuff around.”
No one would question a man lived in this room. Maybe that was the point. “Sounds like a nesting instinct.”
“I’m not a girl.”
“I noticed.” Her cheeks heated, and she regretted being so forthright.
“My sisters have nesting instincts. Not me.”
Oh, dear. She’d insulted him. “I apologize. I was thinking that in a large family, spreading your stuff around was a way to stake out your territory.”
His eyes sparked as he stuffed his bare feet in shoes. “Instead of peeing on the furniture?”
She groaned. “I’m going to shut up now.”
“I’m liking this side of you, Dinterman. You crack me up.”
She rose to leave. As long as she cracked him up, that was okay.
Her job was to make sure he didn’t crack up.
Hot Water Page 4