Blogger Bundle Volume I: Dear Author Selects Unusual Heroines

by Jo Leigh, Kathleen O'Reilly, Kay David

  She’d grasped Jake’s hand in her thin papery one and said, “That CPR course you had the Red Cross teach us saved my life. You’re a good firefighter, Jake Scarlatta.”

  He didn’t feel like a good firefighter. He felt like the worst kind of traitor. All day long, he’d berated himself for betraying the woman he loved in the only way she’d asked him not to. All she’d wanted was for him to trust her. And he didn’t. He could still see those brandy-colored eyes muddy with pain and disappointment. When he wasn’t thinking about how he hurt her, he pondered her words. Could someone on his crew be sabotaging her? It was almost unthinkable.

  But he had to think about it and he needed help doing that.

  Ben’s door was ajar; Jake knocked lightly. “Come in,” Ben said, then waved Jake to sit down. He mumbled into the phone, “I’ve got company now. I can’t talk anymore.” He scowled. “I’ll make you pay for that one, Mrs. Cordaro, when I get home.” He glanced at his watch. “I’ll be leaving soon. Try to behave yourself until I get there.”

  After he hung up he grinned at Jake sheepishly. He looked like a young suitor. “My wife thinks we’re sixteen again.”

  Jake was amused by Ben’s affectionate gruffness. And jealous. His heart clenched as he remembered how he’d wanted that kind of bond with Chelsea.

  “What’s wrong?” Ben asked, studying him carefully.

  “Is it the thing with Chelsea?”

  “Yeah.”

  Ben grimaced. “Francey’s all up in arms.”

  “I need to talk to you about this, Ben.”

  Sober, Ben rose, closed the door and took a chair across from Jake. “Shoot.”

  “First, let me say I abided by protocol in handling this.”

  “I never thought otherwise.”

  “You might.”

  “Why?”

  Briefly Jake described the stove, air pack and Midi water incidents.

  “I’ve got no problem with how you handled them,” Ben told him. “It’s what I would have done.” He watched Jake. “What else is going on here, Jake?”

  “Two things. The first is that Chelsea swears she wasn’t negligent in any of these cases.”

  “You found her asleep.”

  “She says she was drugged.”

  “What?”

  Jake outlined Chelsea’s claims.

  “That’s unbelievable.”

  “At first I thought it was crazy. But the thing is, she’s got a point. She’s an exceptional firefighter. Having so many things happen, so close together, is suspicious.”

  “You said two things. What’s the other?”

  Jake held Ben’s gaze unflinchingly. “I’m in love with her.”

  At first Ben didn’t react. Then he nodded. “Well, that’s a handful.”

  “Because of what happened with Danny,” Jake said raggedly, “I know this doesn’t look good for me. I think I handled everything objectively, but who knows?” He stood and began pacing. “But more’s at stake here than just that. My group’s integrity is in question.”

  Ben said, “I think we should call Reed in on this. Tell him Chelsea’s suspicions, and yours. Then we’ll decide where to go with it.”

  “All right.”

  Thoughtful, Ben added, “We don’t have to tell him about your feelings for Chelsea.”

  “No, I’d like him to know everything.” Jake ran a hand through his hair. “I’m sick of this secrecy.”

  “Maybe you’ll feel differently when you see this.” Scooping a paper off his desk, Ben handed it to him. “The results of the captaincy exam.”

  Jake scanned the memo. “I came in first.”

  “Yes. And, off the record, Ed Knight is retiring in January. So there’s an opening in your own station house.”

  “Wow.”

  “Does this change what you want to do now?”

  Shaking his head, Jake said, “No.”

  “Then let’s take this one step at a time.”

  An hour later Reed Macauley scanned his notes, every inch the professional. “This is incredible.”

  “I think now that she might be right, Reed,” Jake said.

  “Me, too. For several reasons. First off, it’s too much of a coincidence that these mistakes would happen all at once.” He frowned at the papers. “And the opportunities that each of the men had to execute each incident are certainly here.

  “Mostly, though, it’s the guys’ personal situations that worry me. Don and Mick’s marital problems, Peter’s experience with his ex-partner and Joey’s long-standing anger over Francey give them reason to want women out of the department—in their place, so to speak.”

  Ben shook his head. “I can’t believe it’s Joey.”

  Jake stood again. “I can’t believe it’s any of them. I’ve worked with these guys for years. They’re like brothers to me. I’ve eaten, slept and played with them. It’s so hard to believe….”

  “Is it easier to believe Chelsea’s incompetent? And foolish?” Reed asked.

  Jake thought, No, but that’s how she probably sees it. For the first time he realized the import of his disbelief. Oh, he knew he’d betrayed her. But he hadn’t realized just how badly. And there, facing Ben and Reed, Jake knew in his heart it couldn’t be fixed.

  Grimly he remembered her words that first weekend together. I couldn’t bear to go through what I did with Billy again.

  You won’t, he’d said. I promise.

  But she was.

  Because of him.

  THOUGH HE WAS exhausted, Jake didn’t go home. Instead, he drove to the firehouse. Both the Quint and the Midi were out on a call. He strode into the deserted bay, feeling like the walls were closing in on him. His chest was tight with loss. He hadn’t handled this right, hadn’t tried to understand her side of it.

  He headed for the locker room. He didn’t know why until he got there. Sitting down in front of the row of lockers that were his group’s, he looked at the name tags. Whitmore. Scarlatta. Murphy. Huff. Santori. Diaz. Staring at them, he saw images of each of them with her—Huff cooking turkey meatballs for her, Joey’s sheepish thanks for the apple pie, Diaz and his silly prank with the bedspread, Murphy’s stand, ’Cause if we do have a say, I vote to forget it.

  Feeling more conflicted than he ever had with Danny, Jake sighed deeply, and his gaze dropped to the floor. In between the vinyl and the wall, below Murphy’s and Diaz’s lockers, he noticed something. He leaned over and tried to pry it out of the crack. When it wouldn’t budge, he reached into his jeans pocket, pulled out the pocketknife Derek had given him for Father’s Day and used it to flick the item out.

  His heart hammered in his chest. The little blue pill nestled obscenely in his palm. He turned it over with the knife and recognized the over-the-counter sleeping pill trademark. He closed his eyes.

  Oh, my God.

  Fear, along with profound regret lodged in him like a dead weight. Zombielike, he stood and walked to the kitchen. Slowly he pulled open the drawer, took out a plastic bag and, à la NYPD Blue, placed the evidence in it. He zipped it tight, all the while assaulted by a damning litany. You didn’t believe her. You didn’t believe her. You didn’t believe her.

  The phone jarred him out of his daze. “Quint Twelve. Lieutenant Scarlatta speaking.”

  “Oh, good, Jake, you are on. This is Andrea Murphy. Can I speak to Mick?”

  “Mick? Andrea, we’re off for three days.”

  “Oh.” She coughed. “When you answered, I thought….”

  “Andie, why don’t you know that?”

  Silence. Then sniffles. “Oh, Jake, Mick and I have been separated for weeks now.”

  “What?”

  “I moved out…for a lot of reasons.” She began to cry in earnest.

  “Listen, where are you? I’ll come over.”

  “I’m at work. But you could come to Mercy House. It’s quiet here tonight.”

  “I’ll be right there.”

  HE LIT CANDLES to breach the darkness. It was so quiet h
ere now. He almost couldn’t stand it. Maybe some light would help. He poured another shot of whiskey from the bottle that Hyde had told him to buy on the way home. In the dim light, the quart looked half empty. Had he drunk that much? It didn’t matter. He sipped the booze as he watched the flames flicker.

  It was done.

  It was for the best.

  Adamantly he blocked out the pain in Whitmore’s face. It was for the best. Now she’d take her rightful place….

  The doorbell rang. Who could that be? Maybe it was…He rose quickly, bounded for the door like a boy at Christmas, hoping…He yanked it open.

  “Jake. Hello.”

  “Hi, Mick.”

  Mick squared his shoulders, summoned Jekyll and squelched Hyde. “Come on in, buddy.”

  With heavy steps Jake walked into the room, then stopped abruptly. “What are you doing, Mick?”

  “Havin’ a little drink.”

  “Candles?”

  Jesus, he’d forgotten. He crossed to the votive offerings and doused them. Then he flicked on a light. “Ah, sometimes I get carried away when Andie’s workin’. Feel maudlin. You know how it is.”

  “Yes, Mick, I do.”

  Mick went cold inside, like he did when he was afraid he’d revealed a glimpse of his dark side.

  “Want a drink?”

  “No, thanks. But I’ll sit.” Jake dropped into a chair. Mick wished he’d stop looking at him like that.

  “Feelin’ bad about Whitmore?” Mick asked. The best defense…

  “Yeah, I am.”

  “Shit, who’d’ve thought?”

  “I never would’ve, Mick.”

  “You know, though, it’s for the best. I liked her enough, Jakey, but women…You really think they can cut it in our job?”

  “Don’t you?”

  “Nah.” He took another belt. “This women’s lib stuff…”

  He got up and poured more whiskey. He’d lost track of how much he’d had. At the counter, he kept his back to Jake.

  After a long silence Jake asked, “Is that why you did it, Mick? To protect her?”

  He whirled around, grasping the edge of the counter for balance. “Did what?”

  Jake pulled a plastic bag out of his pants pocket. Mick stared at it. Jake said, “I spent an hour with Andrea tonight. She’s worried about your behavior lately, your black moods, your isolation. She’s especially worried since she took your daughter and moved out.”

  Mick’s throat closed up, but he raised his chin like a little boy caught shoplifting. “So now you know.”

  “Yeah, now I know, Mick,” Jake said softly.

  CHELSEA JOLTED UPRIGHT in bed. Both Blaze and Hotstuff were snoozing at the foot of the mattress, and she focused on them for grounding. Some kind of ringing had awakened her. She looked at the phone. It was silent. Then she recognized the sound as the doorbell. She glanced at the clock. One in the morning.

  Terror tripped her pulse. No, it couldn’t be Billy. She’d heard only last week that he’d left town for a while.

  Whoever it was persisted. She crept out of bed, not bothering with a robe to cover her baby-doll pajamas; she had no intention of opening the three locks on the door. She’d just see who it was.

  Downstairs, she looked through the peephole.

  Jake.

  She leaned her forehead against the door. After the confrontation with Talbot, Chelsea had come home and shut herself off, like she had when she was a child, a teenager, and needed to make sense of her world. She’d locked herself inside her house and not answered any calls. During those desolate hours, she’d made decisions; many had to do with the man outside the door.

  As if he sensed her presence, he knocked hard on the wood. “Chelsea, it’s me, Jake. Let me in.”

  Rattled by the events of the day, she couldn’t block the refrain. Let me in. Trust me. I promise….

  “I know you’re there,” he said. “I’m not going away.”

  Slowly she undid the locks and opened the door. He stood before her in jeans and a black T-shirt. He looked haggard, pale.

  But his eyes did her in. They were tormented. “I’m not going away,” he repeated. “We have to talk.”

  She guessed it didn’t matter when they talked. What she had to say would always cut like glass slivers into tender flesh. Without a word she stepped aside and Jake strode in and over to the couch, a man with a purpose. Jamming his hands in his pockets, he swallowed hard and stared at her. “I have two things to tell you. First, officially, you were sabotaged.”

  A quick right to her jaw couldn’t have stunned her more. “What?”

  “You were sabotaged. I have a full confession from Mick.”

  “What?”

  He reached out and squeezed her arm. “Yes, it was Mick, honey.”

  Mick? Mick? Oh, no, no, not him. Like previews from a movie, images flashed before her—Mick welcoming her the first day, Mick telling her stupid jokes, Mick overwrought when she was almost killed.

  It was too much to bear. She backed up until her legs hit the couch, and she sank onto it.

  Jake squatted before her and grasped her hands as he told her the details. She almost couldn’t take them in—a childhood with parents who sparred regularly over his mother’s role in the family, an obsessive need to be the man of the house in his adult life, a wife who wanted a measure of independence. Jake thought Mick did it to protect her. Andrea had told Jake that Mick had been treated for a mental disorder, but they’d kept it from the fire department for fear he’d lose his job.

  Tears trickled down Chelsea’s cheeks, as he finished the dismal story. She said only, “Poor Mick.”

  Jake wiped away her tears with his thumb and smiled sadly. “You’re something else.”

  He took a seat across from her on the footstool without letting go of her hands. “The department will provide medical and psychological help, but he’s finished as a firefighter.”

  She nodded, still numb, as if she’d spent hours in a cold lake. Jake went on. “There’ll be an official apology to you from the RFD. Chief Talbot wants to meet with you as soon as you’re up to it. He said to tell you you can have as much time off as you need.” Jake cleared his throat. “He’s upset about how the department has treated you.”

  Chelsea shook her head. “I’m not going back to the department.”

  Jake’s jaw tensed. “Why?”

  “I’ll never belong there, Jake. This is the second station where I didn’t fit. I’ll always be an outsider. I’m done with this. I don’t want to be a firefighter anymore.”

  His gaze seemed to bore into her soul. “What about me? Are you done with me, too?”

  She stood then, unable to weather his penetrating gaze. She crossed to the window and looked out. Night closed in on her, and she found it hard to breathe. Wrapping her arms around her waist, she said, “Yes, I am.”

  “Because I didn’t believe you.”

  “Yes. When you stood there and told me you didn’t know what to believe, it felt like the guys at Engine Four turning on me all over again. I’m not sure I can ever forget that. Ever trust you again.”

  “I know it hurt. I wish I could take it back.” He came up behind her and rubbed her arms gently. “Can’t we work this out?” His voice was a low, tortured whisper.

  “No.” She turned. “Look, not one single person knows what’s happened between us. You can come out of this unscathed.”

  “I want to come out of this with you.”

  “That’s not going to happen.”

  Jake stared at her. “After what we’ve shared, do you think I’m going to simply accept this decision?”

  She raised her chin. “Yes. I expect you to honor my wishes.”

  He could feel his face flush. “I want you to marry me. We’ll work everything out,” he repeated.

  “You made that promise to me before. You couldn’t keep it.”

  Reaching over, he cupped her cheek. “Chels, I can’t believe you mean this.”

&n
bsp; “I mean it.”

  “What if I won’t accept it?”

  “You have no choice. I want nothing to do with the fire department ever again. That includes you, Jake.”

  “So, we’re a package deal? Get rid of me and the fire department in one fell swoop?”

  “I can’t separate the two.”

  “Well, I guess that shows me how important I am to you.”

  Her face paled. “It’s for the best.”

  Looking hard at the woman he loved, he stepped back. Anger boiled within him. It felt good, for it knocked out some of the pain. He clenched his hands. He could beg. Try to convince her to change her mind. He could defend himself, tell her he’d been caught off guard, that she should have shared her suspicions with him before. He could explain he’d been overwrought by Mrs. Lowe’s condition. He could remind her that the whole incident brought back so many ghosts of Danny.

  But he said none of those things. It would be too much like asking somebody to love you more than they did. To love you enough. The pain blindsided him, making him speechless. He watched as she reached up and grasped the chain around her neck. Slowly she removed it and placed the medal in his hand.

  He thought he might die.

  But he swallowed hard and, with the edges of the medal digging into his closed fist, he leaned over and kissed her forehead. In a voice like granite he said, “I love you enough to work it out, Chels. I’m sorry you don’t feel the same way.”

  Then he turned and walked out of her house, quietly shutting the door for the last time.

  A WEEK LATER, Chelsea pulled her Camaro into the Quint/Midi Twelve parking lot. She sat unmoving for a moment, then drew a deep breath. So many homes she’d had and lost. This was just another one. In the rearview mirror, she saw Beth’s Accord and Delaney’s Miata draw up behind her. Shaking her head, Chelsea got out of the car. “What’s this—reinforcements?”