“Ahem,” Graham coughed.
Victoria looked up to find him staring…at her chest of all things.
“You got…ah…your…”
She glanced down to find her left breast escaping from her tank top. “Oh, shit.” Face already warm from the exertion of their workout, she must’ve turned ten shades redder.
Oh, sure. Now he looks at my chest.
“Got it, thanks.” She pulled the tank top up quickly.
Graham laughed, all awkwardness gone from his tone. “Yeah, you’re going to want to save that for your big date,” he teased. “So, who is this guy, anyway?”
“Just some guy I know,” she said, hopping up. “Race you to your car?”
He sighed. “It doesn’t always have to be a race to the finish, you know?”
“That’s what she said, Graham-ma.”
He didn’t laugh at her joke, and for once she didn’t much care. She had more important things on her mind than trying to make him laugh.
She’d probably have to enlist the help of a third cousin. Or maybe hire a male escort. But she’d figure something out. Whatever she did, one thing was certain. She wasn’t walking into that wedding alone.
Chapter 3
The 3 AM wake-up call was probably good practice for the odd hours he’d keep if he ever made it onto vice. At least, that’s what Jason told himself on the drive to the warehouse fire. He’d take any consolation he could get when he’d only had three hours of sleep.
The drive gave him just enough time to down an energy drink, and by the time he arrived at the warehouse, the blaze was mostly under control.
He pulled up and the beam of his headlights illuminated the steam rising from the ashes as firefighters hosed down the charred, black remains of the old, abandoned Beckett’s Warehouse.
He turned the car off and headed toward the chief’s SUV, parked in front of an ambulance on standby.
“Chief Bines?”
A middle-aged man with broad shoulders and a sits-at-a-desk-all-day paunch straightened from his lean against the SUV, and Jason held out a hand.
“Meadows,” the chief said, taking Jason’s hand in a firm grip. “The new arson investigator, right?”
“That’s right,” Jason said. “Good to see you again, Chief Bines.”
“Didn’t think we’d be meeting again so soon. You just completed your training, didn’t you?”
“Yes, that’s right.”
“Hell of an initiation.”
“Indeed.”
“I tell you what. I envy your department. Must be nice to have enough personnel to have an officer away at training for weeks at a time.” Bines crossed his arms over his chest and appeared to look down his nose at Jason, despite being a few inches shorter. “Heard you even have some new hires over there.”
It was the classic tit-for-tat attitude that plagued police and fire chiefs the world over. Police got new squad cars? Where’s the new ladder truck for fire? Firefighters get a gym membership and release time to work out? Where’s the gym membership for cops?
Jason wasn’t interested in a rundown of Chief Bines’ mental tally sheet. He knew the guy thought the fire department always got the short end of the stick.
“Yeah, we’ve hired a couple people, but then we’ve had some retirements, too.”
Bines grunted, but let the subject drop.
Jason scanned the scene, his eyes unable to distinguish much in the dark. But the smell, the smell was something else. “Smells like burnt rubber.”
“Yeah, we think there might’ve been a lot of semi-truck tires in the warehouse.”
“Anybody inside?”
“EMTs pulled one guy out. He was yelling from a second story window. Homeless, I’m guessing.”
“Yeah, we’ve chased squatters from this building from time to time. But usually in the winter. Wonder what he was doing in there this time of year.”
Bines shrugged. “Who knows? Making a home for himself, I guess.”
The two looked on as some of the firefighters began reeling hoses in. It was too dark to get pictures worth anything, and he wouldn’t be able to get in and sift through the ashes until everything had cooled. There was nothing he could do for now except ask questions.
“Any idea how the fire started?”
Chief Bines grunted. “I’m guessing our homeless guy wanted to have an indoor fire.”
“In the summer?”
“It’s only June. Still gets cool at night out here by the lake.”
“Yeah, but if you’re homeless and squatting in an abandoned building, that’s a lot of effort—to pull together materials and risk being found—just to take the chill out of the air.”
Bines shrugged again. It seemed his mind was made up about the vagrant’s contribution to the fire. “I don’t think there was any electricity going into the building, so that rules out electrical fire.”
The chief was probably right. It was logical to assume the bum started the fire. Maybe he was trying to cook something over an open flame. Or maybe he was just mentally ill and playing with fire. Who knew? But Jason wasn’t willing to jump to conclusions too soon. He would do a careful, thorough, by-the-book investigation. He’d show McCann he was more than capable—and good enough for vice.
And that meant considering all of the possibilities. Not zeroing in on the obvious like the chief had. “Did he say anything when he was rescued?”
“Don’t know. I got here after the ambulance left.” Bines checked his watch. “I doubt you’ll get near the patient until the docs are done with him, but the EMTs are probably back from the hospital by now. You could catch the paramedics at the firehouse and ask them.”
“I think I’ll do that and come back here in a couple hours.”
Bines nodded. “Ask to speak with Vic Russo or Bob Kearney. They were the ones here.”
“Will do. Thank you, sir.”
*
He put the unmarked car in park and tried to empty another drop from his energy drink. He hated to pollute his system with the stuff, but he needed a pick-me-up bad.
The cool night air hit his face and helped keep him alert as he walked into the firehouse through one of the open garage bay doors. The ambulance was back, just like Chief Bines predicted it would be.
Jason made his way to the kitchen and found a shorthaired woman in a paramedic’s uniform sitting at the kitchen island, staring at an uneaten sandwich. A TV droned in the adjoining room, a news station playing for the two firefighters dozing on the sofa. The noise from the other room somehow accentuated the silence of the kitchen and the woman’s complete stillness.
Something about her far-off look made Jason pause before speaking. Her head was tilted, revealing an elegantly long neck. Her dark blond hair was streaked with light-blond highlights in a trendy, edgy style, and while the cut was youthful, her expression was anything but.
He cleared his throat and she glanced up, large brown eyes lifting to his face.
“I’m sorry to trouble you, but I’m looking for Bob Kearney. Or…” What was the other guy’s name again? Vince Russo? No, that wasn’t it. “Vic?”
“Toria,” she said, sliding from her stool.
“Uh, no. Russo, I think.”
A laugh came from low in her throat, surprising him with the relief it brought. He hadn’t liked the sad look he’d seen on her face when he’d first come in.
“No. I meant, it’s Victoria,” she said, holding out her hand. “Victoria Russo.”
This Victoria Russo had a voice made for radio. The kind of husky timbre that kept listeners glued to the speakers, sitting in the parking lot when they should be going into work, just to listen a little longer.
“Victoria,” he repeated, shaking her hand and appreciating her firm, confident grip. “Jason Meadows. The new arson investigator.”
“Nice to meet you. You working on the warehouse fire?”
“Yes, and I was wondering if I could ask you a few questions.” He pulled a pen fro
m the breast pocket of his navy blue police polo.
“Sure.”
He reached for the small notepad he kept in his cargo pant pocket. “Are you sure this is a good time to talk?”
“Yeah, it’s fine. Why?”
He glanced at the uneaten sandwich on the table. “You seemed…lost in thought when I arrived.”
She sighed and sat back down on her stool. “I’m fine. It’s just the post fatality funk.”
She couldn’t be older than mid-twenties, but she spoke with the nonchalance of a veteran paramedic. One who’d seen her fair share of dead bodies.
“The guy from the warehouse fire? He didn’t make it?”
“Unfortunately, no.” She slid her plate toward him. “Want a sandwich?”
“No, thanks. Can’t eat in the middle of the night.”
“Really? Why not?”
“Never sits well.”
“That’s too bad. I hate to see this go to waste. I make the best roast beef and cheese on rye. Not quite as good as Al’s Deli, but almost.” She hopped off her stool and pulled some plastic wrap from a nearby drawer.
“Um…” Jason searched for a segue back to his questions. “So, back to the fire tonight. When you pulled the victim from the warehouse, did he say anything?”
“Yeah, he said a lot of things. Bit out of his mind, I’m guessing.” She paused in her measurement of the plastic wrap, glancing up at him. “You know, it’s never as good the next day. You sure you don’t want to eat it?”
“I’m sure, but thank you.”
She shrugged and went back to her task, her mind clearly not on his question.
He bit back the urge to say, Pay attention, woman. The homeless guy—what did the homeless guy say? Instead, he asked, “Did he say anything about how the fire started?”
“He did, yes.” She folded the plastic wrap around the sandwich and then looked up, her expression puzzled. “Do you think it will keep better if I take the tomatoes off? You know, because they make it all soggy.”
Oh, for the love of God, woman. Stick with me here! She was easily the most likeable, annoying person he’d ever met. “I don’t know, but it sounds like a good idea.”
She unwrapped the sandwich and started picking out the tomato slices.
He dropped onto a stool across the island from her. Obviously, he was going to be here a while. “So, what did he say? About how it started.”
“He said the devil had come to get him. He said he always knew he’d have to pay for his sins.” She looked up, her brown eyes reflecting the trauma she’d just dealt with and making his impatience with her melt away.
The sandwich was a big deal, because if she didn’t have something to obsess over, she’d have to think about the man who’d just died.
He got it. He’d been there.
“He talked about demons and God’s righteous fury. He said I should repent for my sins before the devil came for me too.” She sighed. “It was the smoke inhalation that killed him. Cardiac arrest in the rig. DOA by the time we got to the hospital. Didn’t have a single burn on his body.”
“I’m sorry.” He didn’t know what else to say.
“Me too.” Slowly, she rewrapped the beef and cheese on rye. “Can still smell the smoke on my uniform,” she said, murmuring under her breath.
“Did you see or hear anything that gave you any idea how the fire might’ve started?”
She shook her head. “No, I’m sorry.” Her gaze met his, her big brown eyes drawing him in. “I don’t think he did it though. He thought it was the work of demons. Doesn’t seem like the kind of thing someone would say if they’d started the blaze.”
“I agree,” Jason said.
“But then, there’s a good chance he was mentally ill, so who knows? Maybe he did start it.”
“Another good point.” He made a few notes in his notebook while she put the sandwich in the refrigerator. When she sat back down at the island, he said, “Did you find any ID on him? Maybe I could find his family, see what they know about his mental health status.”
“You could check with the hospital to see if they were able to ID him, but he didn’t have anything on him that we could find.”
“And any possessions he might’ve had in the warehouse—”
“Went up in flames.”
“Exactly.” Jason scratched a few more notes on his pad—things he wanted to be sure to ask the hospital staff. He studied the questions, trying to think of anything else he should ask. When he looked up from his work, Victoria had returned to her silent brooding.
“Thanks for taking the time to talk with me,” he said. “I’m sure you’re wiped.”
She glanced up, smiling politely. “It was no trouble.”
He stood, pocketed his pen and notepad, and tipped his head. “Well, it was nice to meet you…Toria.”
She laughed and he realized he’d done that on purpose. Teased her, hoping to shake her out of her somber mood.
“Toria. That’s a new one.” She cocked her head to one side. “I think I kind of like it.” She nodded her head, a wide smile spreading across her face. “Yeah, it fits.”
Jason stumbled back a step on his way out. He hadn’t been prepared for that. Hadn’t been prepared for what a genuine smile could do.
It transformed a generally unremarkable face into something utterly…
Extraordinary.
*
“I ah…” Jason backed away from Victoria, a strange expression on his face.
Graham strolled into the kitchen from the TV room—looking like he’d just woken up—and did a double take when he noticed Jason.
He smiled, his eyes widening. “Hey. Is this the guy?”
Jason turned toward Graham, and Victoria gave Graham a cease-and-desist signal by slicing a finger across her throat. She did not need Graham embarrassing her in front of this man.
Misinterpreting Graham’s question—thank God—Jason held out a hand. “Jason Meadows. The new arson investigator.”
Graham shook Jason’s hand. “Graham McAndrew. I’m sure we’ve crossed paths before, but it’s good to meet you.”
“Yeah, you too.”
Police and fire were frequently on the same calls. Victoria was fairly certain she’d seen Jason around too, although they’d never formally introduced themselves until tonight. Evanston was a large Chicago suburb with probably about a hundred fifty police officers and about a hundred firefighters. She knew several cops by name, but with the varied shifts and assigned areas worked by cops, she was sometimes lucky just to recognize the faces of the officers on scene.
“What’s the news on tonight’s structure fire?” Graham asked, looking back and forth between Jason and Victoria. “I heard over the radio that there was a least one fatality.”
“Yes,” Victoria answered. “He appears to be the only victim. After we left for the hospital, the backup ambulances stayed on scene. Haven’t heard any radio traffic that anyone else was found.”
“Well, that’s good.”
“I just came from the scene,” Jason said. “The warehouse is a total loss.”
“Figures there’d be a big fire like that when I’m on-call backup instead of on shift.” Graham shook his head sadly. “I never get the big ones.”
Victoria chuckled. “That’s what she said.”
Jason let out a surprised half-laugh while Graham eyed her with all the amusement of a nun. And not a funny nun like the one with the hilarious Broadway show. More like an old-fashion, rap-your-hand-with-a-ruler-if-you-get-out-of-line nun. “Ha. Ha. Very funny.”
“Ouch,” Victoria said. “Did she say that too? I’m sorry, Graham. Some women are just cruel.”
Jason laughed outright this time.
“Don’t encourage her,” Graham said, crossing his arms over his chest. “She’ll keep the that’s-what-she-said jokes going all day if you let her think she’s funny.”
“Aw, lighten up, man.” Jason glanced at Victoria, his blue eyes sympathetic. “
She’s had a shitty night, and sometimes you just need to laugh. Right, Toria?”
She smiled—couldn’t help herself. “Right.”
“Toria?” Graham looked back and forth between Victoria and Jason, as if trying to figure something out. “How long have you known—”
“Graham, let’s not keep Jason any longer. I’m sure he’d also like to talk to Bob before the sun comes up.”
“Bob?” Jason asked.
“Yes, Bob Kearney. The other paramedic.”
“Oh, right. Right.” Jason rubbed his hands over his face, and then through his hair. “I do not function well without sleep.” He pulled the notepad and pen back out. “Where would I find this Bob?”
Graham pointed to the couch in the common room, where a bald head was just visible over the top of the sofa back. “Last I saw him, he was just about to fall asleep.”
Jason nodded and turned toward the common room, letting out a cough that barely disguised his next words. “That’s what she said.”
Victoria laughed, and without turning back Jason raised his arm and gave a triumphant fist pump on his way out, making her laugh even harder.
She watched his retreating form, enjoying the way his navy cargo pants hugged his waist. He was a bulky guy. Not very tall, but broad-shouldered and unmistakably powerful. She watched from a distance as he sat on the coffee table in front of Bob and nudged the guy awake. The hairline of Jason’s light brown hair was already beginning to recede but in a way that totally worked for him. If he went bald, he’d be Bruce Willis bald for sure.
“You about done?” Graham asked, taking a seat at the stool Jason had recently vacated.
“About done what?”
“Ogling Officer Meadows over there.”
“Oh, stop,” she whispered. Not that they’d be overheard. Jason was already deep in conversation with Bob. “I wasn’t ogling.”
“He’s the guy, isn’t he? He’s the guy you’re taking to the wedding.” It was almost insulting—the excitement in Graham’s eyes. He was genuinely happy to think of her with someone else. Did he know that she’d loved him since before forever? Was he relieved to think he was free of her attentions?
“I don’t know why you won’t let this wedding thing drop.”
Burn for You Page 3