by Vella Day
He turned to Rich. “I’ll be right back.”
Walking toward her, Max couldn’t help but notice how her jacket was several sizes too big. For a split second, he was tempted to drag her to breakfast just to make sure she had a good meal, but she’d accuse him of pity, and he of all people knew about that emotion.
When he neared, she planted her hands on her hips as if she was pissed that Bernard hadn’t allowed her to cross the yellow crime scene tape. There was a reason for it being there. Not only might the soles of her nursing shoes suffer some damage walking over the occasional hot ember, crime scenes were off limits to civilians. If they weren’t, there’d be no need for the tape.
“Jamie? Nice to hear I’m your boyfriend. I guess you’ve forgiven me for my attempt to push my values on you.” He hoped she took his comment as a quasi-apology. When her serious expression didn’t change, he smiled to help put her at ease.
She pressed her lips together. “I’m sorry about lying. I had to make sure I could speak with you.”
Her desperate tone sobered him. “I’m listening.”
“I want to know about Jonathan Rambler.” Her gaze bored into him as if she were trying to extract all of the information in his head.
The name wasn’t familiar. “And he would be?”
Her eyes widened, and he thought he caught a glimpse of hope. “He was the homeless man who often sits on the steps in front of this building. Larry said he was the one burned in the fire.”
Larry? He could be the vagrant from across the street Max had seen this morning. “Is Jonathan a friend of yours?” He hoped he wasn’t someone more important.
After finding an old mattress, some cans, and a heap of old clothes stashed in the building, the burned victim appeared to be homeless. Given her caregiver nature, Max wouldn’t be surprised if she’d become friends with the man on her way to and from work.
“Yes.”
“Then you know he lived in this abandoned warehouse?” Max was fishing for confirmation, but she didn’t have to know that.
“I suspected.” Her slight hesitation implied she’d never been a guest inside Jonathan’s humble abode.
Max saw no harm in telling her what she wanted to know. All she had to do was go to the hospital and find out for herself. “I’m still investigating, so I’m not at liberty to divulge all the details, but from what I can tell, your friend, Jonathan, was asleep when the building caught fire. By the time the flames reached his side, a piece of burning wall fell and landed on him.”
She clamped a hand over her mouth and squeezed her eyes shut. Empathy seemed to ooze out of her and he fought the urge to comfort her.
She straightened her small shoulders, appearing to get her emotions under control. “Did he say anything? Like why he didn’t get out of the building?”
People often burned in their beds—especially if they were drunk—but now wasn’t the time to give her a lecture about alcohol abuse. “No. He was in shock when the fireman brought him out.”
She planted a hand over her heart. “Did they intubate him?”
“I didn’t stay long enough to see, but given the amount of smoke, I imagine they would.”
Jamie bit down on her bottom lip, looking quite young. “I need to see him. He might be stable now.” She tilted her head a little before turning to walk away.
From her clenched hands, she was barely keeping it together. “Jamie?”
She stopped and slowly rotated around. “Yes?”
“Are you going to be okay? I’m really sorry about your friend.”
“I will be.”
Max had to warn her. “I’m not saying it was arson, but if someone was pissed enough to burn down the warehouse they won’t take kindly to you asking too many questions, you know.”
She strode back to him, her eyes wide once more. “I just want to help.”
“I know you do. And you can. If you speak with Jonathan, and he tells you something about the fire, can you let me know?”
Jamie cast her gaze downward. “Sure. I won’t get in the way. I promise.”
She turned and headed back to the road. He felt sorry for her. She had two shocks in one day. Not only might her friend die, the clinic break-in would have rattled the strongest person. If the perpetrators had waited another minute until she was farther from work, they might have caught her. Steel hardened his body at the frightening thought. He wanted to reach out to her, but he wouldn’t yet. Not until he was sure it wouldn’t cause a bigger chasm between them.
Tired and frustrated, Max strode back to the fire, more determined than ever to find clues that would locate the perpetrator.
Chapter Four
As Jamie made her way back to the sidewalk, her head swam. The best explanation for why Jonathan hadn’t roused would be if he’d been drunk. But when she’d left each night and passed him, she’d never seen him with any kind of alcohol. Larry, however, was a different story. It was possible the two had shared a bottle. Regardless of Jonathan’s condition, her heart ached for her friend.
Too confused to think straight, she headed over to tell Larry what she’d learned, and to ask if Jonathan had been drinking. When she stopped to cross the street, she searched for Larry. Damn. He was gone. Again. Seemed anytime there was trouble, the guy vanished.
Talk about vanishing—that was what she needed to do. Her boss was an understanding lady, who no doubt had seen, or at least smelled, the terrible fire three blocks away. After Jamie had practically staved off the break-in at the clinic last night, she bet Yolanda would grant her an hour to visit Jonathan.
Jamie stepped inside the clinic and wrinkled her nose at the pervasive scent of smoke. For the sake of the patients, she hoped the air filters would do their job soon. Given half the seats were already occupied, it was going to be a busy day. Some of the people were regulars, but others were new to her. She visually scanned the condition of those present to make sure Admitting hadn’t missed someone in serious need of aid. No one appeared to be in dire pain, so Jamie headed into the back to look for her supervisor.
Yolanda Withers was in the hallway checking an X-ray. While Jamie didn’t want to ask for the favor, she had no idea how long Jonathan might last. If she’d been in a bad fire and woke up in a hospital, the depression would surely add to her anxiety. From the few things Jonathan had told her about his war experience, being in a small room brought out his PTSD. At least, he’d be blissfully unaware while he was intubated.
“Yolanda?”
Jamie’s boss whipped around and placed a hand over her heart. “Oh, Jamie. Are you okay?” Her gaze ran from head to toe and back again. “By the time I got the call about the attempted robbery, the policeman said you’d left the clinic.”
“Yes, I’m fine. Really.” In the last six months, those words had become her mantra.
“I’m so glad you’re here. I thought you’d take the day off.”
She’d considered it. “I’d rather be busy.”
“I understand. Layla called in sick. Some upper respiratory infection seems to be going around.”
That still left Nathan, Amanda, and Sasha to see the patients. Guilt and need collided. “I hate to do this, but I’d like an hour to visit someone.”
Her boss set down the X-ray and sucked in a big breath. “Can it wait until the first wave passes?” The clinic had an ebb and flow to it. The mornings, and around five, were their busiest times.
Jamie wanted to give in, but she might never see Jonathan again. “There was a man burned in the warehouse fire. He’s in critical condition.” She didn’t know that for sure, but from Max’s description of the injuries, she suspected that was true. “He was a good friend.” Even if she couldn’t speak with him, seeing him would give her some peace of mind.
Yolanda bit down on her lip and glanced around. “I’m so sorry about your friend. Of course. Check on him, but do hurry. Today is shaping up to be crazy.”
It might have been her anxiety kicking in, but Jamie gave her bo
ss a quick hug. “Thank you. I’ll be fast.”
Jamie charged down the hall and hurried out the front door. It was only a ten-minute drive each way, which would give her plenty of time to visit. She climbed into her car and before she headed in the opposite direction, Jamie gazed at the fallen warehouse once more. Max Gruden was an intense man, driven to find answers. She prayed he’d find the culprit who set the fire.
A few minutes later, Jamie entered the Lucy Ambrose Center for Excellence (LACE) hospital parking lot, and a heavy weight settled in her bones.
It’s okay. Benny’s not here. The pharmaceutical tech was behind bars, where he needed to be.
After gulping down her now lukewarm coffee to settle her nerves, and taking a big bite out of her ham and cheese croisant, she slipped out of her car. Every day since leaving LACE, she’d thanked the health gods that Amber had convinced her to quit her job. Walking those haunted halls for those three months after the shooting had dragged Jamie down and caused endless suffering. She’d finally admitted that the bad memories would forever reside there.
Stealing herself from further bad thoughts, she entered. At the information desk, she forced a smile for Janice Greenwald, a woman who’d always offered a friendly wave.
“Hey, how are you doing? I’ve missed you,” Janice said.
“Good. I miss a lot of people here, too.” That wasn’t a lie. Feeling good was another story. As much as she’d like to catch up with Janice, Jamie didn’t have the time to chat. “I’m here to visit Jonathan Rambler.”
Janice pecked at the keyboard then looked up. “I don’t have anyone here by that name.”
Duh. If Max didn’t know Jonathan’s name, neither would the paramedic who brought him in. She doubted her friend carried ID. “He was the John Doe from the warehouse fire last night.”
“Let me check.” More keys clicked, followed by a smile from Janice. “Ah, yes. He’s in ICU, room three.”
“Not in the burn unit?”
“Apparently, there wasn’t room.”
That wasn’t good. Keeping her gaze on her destination, and not on anyone she passed, Jamie jogged to the bank of elevators and waited forever for one to arrive. When she reached her floor, her friend, Becky Andrews, who manned the nurse’s station, was chatting on the phone.
She held up a finger and disconnected a few seconds later. “Jamie!” She walked around the counter and gave her a hug. “What are you doing here?”
Jamie told her about her friend. “Can I see him?”
“I’m sorry, but only family is allowed.”
Jamie should have called ahead and asked about his condition, but she’d hoped she could have peeked in. “How is he?” She saw no need to say the homeless man might not have a family—other than Charlotte.
“Stable. He’s intubated for smoke inhalation, but the doctor is hopeful that we can take him off the machine soon.”
“And his burns?”
“Shoulder and neck. I didn’t treat him though.”
Poor man. If he lived, the rehabilitation would be extensive, and the skin grafts painful. Her heart nearly broke in two.
“Do you know when he’ll be moved to the burn unit?” He’d get better care there.
“Again, we’re hoping for a vacancy later today.”
“Thanks.” It was probably for the best that Jamie not see him all bandaged and helpless.
When she returned to the clinic, the waiting room was packed. In a way, that was a good thing. Running around helping one patient after another would keep her mind from thinking about Jonathan.
She wasn’t the only one working hard today. Yolanda seemed more stressed than usual. Not only was one of the nurses sick, but the second doctor, Shane McDermott, was on vacation. Several of the doctors from LACE volunteered a few hours a week, but they usually came on the weekends or in the evenings.
Jamie took her time with each patient, but she didn’t chat as she often did. About the time she was ready to go home, another wave of people arrived, so she didn’t feel right leaving.
Jamie caught Yolanda in between patients. “Do you want me to stay late? I owe you an hour.”
“No, Jamie. You go home. I’m locking up tonight.”
“Not to sound paranoid, but what if those men return? You shouldn’t be here by yourself.”
Yolanda smiled. “Don’t worry. I’ve hired security to walk the nurses to their cars and stay around while I lock up. The cop I spoke with said the RHPD would be driving by on a regular basis until nine.”
“That’s wonderful, and thank you for the added security.”
Even though Yolanda suggested Jamie leave at five, she stayed until seven to help out. When she finally got out of there, even though it was still light, the guard insisted on walking her to her car.
Because she hadn’t slept well last night, on the drive home, Jamie had to shake her head repeatedly to keep awake. While she had enjoyed being with Zoey at her house, Jamie looked forward to sleeping in her own bed.
Tomorrow before work, she’d call to see if the doctor had removed Jonathan’s tube, and if he’d moved from the ICU. If he had, it meant leaving extra early for a visit. She couldn’t in all good conscience leave Yolanda stranded again, especially if Layla called in sick.
Sometime tomorrow, she had to remember to contact RHPD and ask if they find the location of Jonathan’s daughter, Charlotte. Wouldn’t she want to see her dad one more time? Jamie would give anything if she could have spoken with her father before that drunk driver took his life.
Chapter Five
The sun had just dipped below the horizon by the time Max arrived home. It was no wonder he was hungry and exhausted. He and Rich had surveyed every frigging inch of that building, noting the burn patterns, and testing for chemicals. While they couldn’t be positive without lab corroboration, it looked like the arsonist had used butane to start the fire—the same kind of hydrocarbon based fuel the Blood Rights gang used. Besides Jonathan’s mattress and an odd assortment of clothing, the forensic team had unearthed all sorts of electronic equipment. Between the gear and the accelerant, he should get some answers.
The warehouse owner, Ed Hanson, had shown up and, when he found out about someone being injured in his building, he’d freaked. From his sincere reaction, the owner didn’t seem like a likely suspect.
He also mentioned again how he’d planned to tear down the building soon, but that his small amount of insurance wouldn’t do more than aid in clearing up the rubble.
After Ed left the scene, Max asked Trent to look into Ed Hanson’s insurance claim to see if it was the paltry sum he’d claimed. Max also asked Trent to check with Thad about whether he’d heard any gang rumblings about the fire.
Max needed a shower bad and headed into his bathroom. As he stood under the steaming water and let the warmth soothe the ache in his thigh and knees, he wondered if Jamie had found out anything from Jonathan Rambler.
Max had called the hospital to check on the man’s status, but after ten minutes on hold, he’d given up. Tomorrow before work, he’d stop by LACE, though given the man’s condition, Max wouldn’t be surprised if he was still intubated. Smoke inhalation could be deadly.
He rubbed his face to banish the image of the homeless man’s haunted eyes that seemed to have been reaching out to him, pleading for help. There was something about Jonathan Rambler that made him want to help the guy. Hell, maybe it was the full moon exerting some extra lunar force on him, or else the memory of his own family’s death by fire had come back to haunt him. He blinked back the remembrance, shut off the water, and stepped out to dry.
The evidence told him Jonathan might have awoken only when the burning board fell on him, so Max doubted the guy saw or knew anything. Still, Max had to check.
A flickering memory of his wife reappeared. She was pointing to something high on a shelf. It had been too long since he’d had to retrieve something for anyone, lift a heavy suitcase, or unscrew the lid off a jar because it was on too tig
ht. He missed doing that for someone. Then the memory disappeared, and try as he might, he couldn’t bring it back. Every family photo had burned in the fire, and the wonderful times they’d shared were disappearing one by one as the years rolled on.
Move on, man.
He had. Sort of. The only thing he could never put behind him was that if he hadn’t been a cop, his family would still be alive. That guilt would never wash away.
Max stepped into his bedroom and dressed. He forced his mind back to the crime scene to make sure he hadn’t missed some clue today. As he sorted through the facts again, something about Jamie showing up didn’t sit right with him. Was it all about helping her friend? Or did she know more than she was saying? If she’d heard scuttlebutt from the locals about wanting the eyesore gone, why not tell him? Had she thought the attempted clinic break-in was related to the warehouse fire, and she feared some kind of retribution? There could be a connection, but hell, if he knew what it was.
Max strode toward the kitchen for some food. With renewed energy from the shower, he yanked open the refrigerator. Empty. Crap. Guess he’d forgotten to shop. He shouldn’t be surprised. Ever since his recent promotion, his life had been hell, and the coming month didn’t promise a respite either. He sure as hell wasn’t looking forward to sorting out the issues left to him. The amount of liquor licenses alone that had never been renewed was daunting.
With keys in hand, Max jumped in his car. He ate at Italiano’s almost every night because he liked to go back to the office after dinner and work. No reason not to grab a bite there now. It was a place where he could think, in part because the staff knew to take his order and leave him alone.