Fan the Flames (18 page)

Despite her attempt at reassurance, Jack's cries didn't subside as he was strapped to a board and taken out of the SUV. Rory leaned over him so she was in his line of sight. Once he spotted her, his tears abated. Holding his hand, she trotted along next to them as they headed for the back of the ambulance.

“See you later, Jack.” Giving his fingers a final squeeze, she pulled her hand free as the EMTs loaded him into the ambulance. At his renewed wails, she flinched.

“He'll be fine.” Ian draped an arm across her shoulders and gave her a sideways hug.

“How do parents do it?” she muttered, watching as the ambulance pulled away from them. “When he cried, I just wanted him to stop. I would've given him a pony if that would've made him quit. If I ever have kids, I'll be bankrupt in six months.”

With a laugh and a final squeeze, he dropped his arm. She looked around, finally seeing more of the scene than a little boy's scared face. “Were the other people in the car okay?”

“One guy.” The humor slipped out of his expression. “He was trapped in that car like it was a smashed tuna can.”

She winced at the visual, glancing at the car's remains. “It looks like you took a chainsaw to it.”

“Pretty much.” He grimaced. “We had to use the hydraulic tools to cut him out.”

“Not good?” she guessed, reading his grim expression.

“Not good. He was alive when we got him out and on the helicopter, but barely.”

A little startled, she asked, “Flight picked him up? How'd I miss that?”

“You were occupied.” He glanced past her. “The first wrecker's here. Let's get this cleaned up so State can open the highway.”

Although she knew the call wasn't over, her body thought it was. She helped with cleanup, feeling like she was walking through sludge. Every muscle felt weighted. Her brain was a mess of scattered thoughts and fuzziness, so she was relieved when Al barked orders at her. As long as she was told exactly what to do, she could continue to function.

By the time they climbed into the trucks, she was swaying with exhaustion.

“Tired?” Soup asked kindly.

“Yeah.” Resting her head against the back of the seat, she allowed her eyes to close. “How do you guys manage to make it through an entire shift?”

“An iron will,” Soup answered solemnly. Opening one eye, she gave him a look before closing it again. “And coffee. Lots and lots of coffee.”

“You get used to it,” Ian said. “Plus, you haven't gotten much sleep the past few nights—longer than that, even.”

“Yeah?” Something about Soup's too-interested tone had her eyes snapping open. “Why wasn't she sleeping? And how do you
know
she wasn't sleeping, Beauty?”

“Stop.” Despite his hard tone, Ian sounded more resigned than angry. “Of all the gossipy old women in this department, you are the worst.”

“Just because we like to stay well informed”—Ian snorted, but Soup continued, ignoring the interruption—“doesn't make us gossipy old women.”

The three of them rode silently for a moment before Soup spoke again, “So…are you two sleeping together, then?”

All tiredness forgotten, Rory sat straight, grateful that the darkness hid her vividly red cheeks.

“Soup!” Ian snapped. “Enough.”

“Better to tell me the whole story.” Soup was obviously not deterred. “That way, I can correct any vicious, untrue rumors I hear floating around the station.”

“What are you—a tabloid reporter?” Ian demanded. “I'm not telling you sh—ah, anything.”

“Not that there's anything to tell yet,” Rory blurted, and then regretted opening her mouth when Soup's voracious gaze focused on her.

Ian spoke before the other man could. “Say another word, and I'll let the lieutenant know that you volunteered to clean that tender compartment holding the moldy hoses. On your day off.”

Eyeing Ian, Soup appeared to ponder his sincerity for a moment before closing his mouth and settling back against the seat.

“Smart man,” Ian muttered.

They'd barely gotten back to the station when the radios blared again. There was a chorus of groans before the dispatcher's voice relayed the call. Even through the radio static, Libby's squeaky voice was unmistakable.

“Caller is reporting that his backyard storage shed was on fire. He believes he put it out, but he would like confirmation that it is completely extinguished. This is behind four-two-two Bison Drive. Simpson Fire, please acknowledge.”

“Fire copies the call.” Al released the radio button. “You three,” he pointed at Ian, Rory, and Soup, “are in Engine One. We'll follow you in the rescue.” He pulled out his cell phone and tapped the screen. “Chief, I think you'll want to meet us at this call…”

His voice faded as they separated, heading to their assigned trucks.

“No tender?” Rory asked, climbing into her usual spot in the middle seat.

“No,” Ian answered as he started the engine. “Bison Drive is in town, part of the Esko Hill development. They have hydrants.”

“A luxury.”

He grinned. “Definitely. You know what else is a luxury?”

“What?”

“This time, LT's behind me.” The engine truck shot forward out of the station.

Rory and Soup both groaned.

When they arrived, it appeared that the homeowner had indeed gotten the fire under control, but Al had them dump some water on the charred remains of the shed anyway. For Rory, it was a good, low-key training exercise to introduce her to how the trucks and hoses and valves and everything worked.

Once the blackened skeleton of the small structure had been well drenched, she helped pull anything that might be salvageable out of the wreckage. As she dropped the head of a shovel into the pile, she glanced over to where Winston Early was in a three-man huddle with Al and Rob Coughlin.

“Why are the sheriff and the chief here?” she asked Ian quietly. “I know I'm new, but it seems like a pretty minor incident to me.”

Ian glanced over at the men and then stepped closer to Rory. In a low voice, he said, “This is the eighth or ninth small structure in Simpson to catch fire this winter, not to mention last summer's wildland fire. We can blame Lou's cabin fire on her stalker, but the rest of these have got to be related.”

She turned her head to look at him and was a little startled to find him so close. “Someone's setting fires intentionally?”

“Yeah. It's happening more frequently lately. I can't help but wonder if the next target's going to be someone's house.”

Shaking her head, she walked back to the remains of the shed to continue digging. “Sleepy Simpson is turning into a hotbed of crime lately.”

Ian had followed her. “Yeah.” He rubbed his forehead, leaving a black smear of soot, and then repositioned his helmet. The smudge just emphasized his perfect face, making him look like a model posing as a firefighter. The hard line of his cheekbones and jaw contrasted in the best way with his full, gorgeous lips. The sheen of sweat on his skin caught the light. Despite his almost beautiful features, he looked like what he was—a hard-working, tough, and brave man. He continued speaking, and Rory realized she'd been struck dumb by the sight of him—yet again. “Maybe we should move to sleepy Liverton to get away from the dangerous city,” he added.

Tearing her gaze away from Ian, Rory snorted a laugh before returning to her salvage mission.

Ian wasn't happy she'd decided to return to her bunker, but he had a night shift, and she had to sleep so she could open the shop in the morning. As much as she didn't want to face the back room again, she'd already lost two days of business. Although she enjoyed firefighting, it wasn't a paying job like it was for Ian, and volunteer work didn't pay for chicken feed. Since she had to sleep alone in one of their houses, she'd picked her hidden, reinforced refuge over Ian's fishbowl.

Although it was a relief to return to her bedroom, the oasis of pink didn't relax her as it usually did. Instead, it had a slightly foreign feel, as if two nights—or days—on closet floors had altered her somehow. All the repaired fences and locks in the world wouldn't be enough to keep out worried thoughts featuring Billy and Rave. Even though they hadn't caught any images of the burglars, the deer cameras were still in place and activated—just in case. Closing her eyes, Rory ordered her brain to stop being ridiculous and sleep. It took longer than she expected, but she eventually managed.

A blaring alarm woke her. She sat up abruptly and fumbled for the light switch, disoriented. It took her a few seconds before she realized that what she'd thought was an alarm was actually just the landline phone. The number was the same as the one in her shop, so whoever was calling was most likely a customer. Glancing at the clock, she saw it was almost eleven.

She contemplated letting the phone ring, but the loud trill was jumping up and down on her last nerve, so she answered it. “What?”

“Rory.”

“Ian, you'd better have a really good reason for waking me, and it can't have anything to do with your concern for my well-being.”

“I'm in jail.”

She blinked. “That'll do.”

“The sheriff arrested me for Willard Gray's murder.”

“The headless guy?” Residual sleep must've been slowing down her brain, because Rory was having a difficult time comprehending. “Well, that's just stupid.”

He gave one of his humorless barks of laughter. “Tell the sheriff that. Would you do me a favor and let the chief know that I can't make my shift tonight? And ask Squirrel to get a hold of Tack Sampson. He's the Riders' lawyer, and I've dealt with him before. I know I'm not Billy's favorite person right now, but I'm still family, and the Riders take care of their own. My phone's on the table by my bed. I left the side door of the house unlocked, since I figured you'd need to get in there. See if Carrie can check on Julius, too.”

“Whoa.” She held up a hand in a “stop” motion, even though Ian couldn't see her. “Back up a step. Can I bail you out? I have some money stashed.”

“It's a murder charge, so I'll be held until the arraignment tomorrow, and then they'll set bail.”

“Okay.” Rory was out of bed and doing her best to dress one-handed. “Then side door, phone on the nightstand, call Chief, Squirrel, and Carrie. Did I miss anything?”

“No.” His voice had warmed slightly. “Did I ever tell you how much I like your crisis-management skills?”

“Time's up, Walsh,” she heard a male voice say in the background.

“You're such a sweet-talker,” she said flatly, although her heart was pounding as she absorbed the information—Ian was in jail for murder.

His chuckle was more authentic this time. “Thank you, Ror.”

“I'd say anytime, but I don't want to be getting calls from jail on a regular basis.”

He laughed again. “Bye.”

“Talk to you soon,” she said, making her words more of a promise than the typical sign-off.

* * *

She kept the “Closed” sign in the shop window and left Jack to guard his chickens, since she wasn't sure where exactly the day would take her. As soon as she had locked her gate behind her and was back in her truck, she pulled out her cell phone. Once she made the turn onto the county road, her reception improved, and she was able to make calls. While her pickup fishtailed around the turn, she was already dialing the chief.

“Early.”

“Chief, it's Rory.”

“Hi, Rory.” His good-natured voice warmed even more. “I've been hearing great things about you from—”

“Great,” she interrupted, really not caring about commendations at the moment. “Ian's in jail.”

There was a pause on the other end. It extended long enough for Rory to check her cell-phone screen to make sure the call hadn't been dropped. It hadn't.

“Why?” Chief Early finally asked.

“Willard Gray's murder.” She took another turn too fast, grateful that the weather had been relatively dry the past few days. The last thing she needed was a fresh layer of snow and ice covering the road. When the chief didn't reply immediately, she clarified, “The headless guy Lou found in the reservoir.”

“I know who Willard Gray is—was—but why do they think Ian killed him?” Early sounded completely baffled.

“Something Ian lost was found by the body, but it's completely crazy to think he could be the killer.” A tiny, niggling doubt reminded her that he'd killed before, more than once, but she pushed it away. She told herself that she was in a glass house now that she'd killed someone, as well. Her gut told her that Ian wasn't responsible for Willard Gray's murder, and she'd learned a long time ago to trust her instincts.

“Of course it is,” the chief said, after the tiniest of pauses. “He's a good man.”

“He wanted me to tell you that they're holding him until his arraignment, which will probably be tomorrow, so he'll miss at least tonight's shift.”

“That's Ian for you.” Chief Early gave a short laugh. “He's arrested for murder, and his main concern is that someone's available to take his shift. Next time you talk to him, let him know I'm here for him if he needs anything.”

“I will. Thanks.” Before the chief even managed to get out his response, Rory ended the call and was dialing Squirrel. He'd texted her a chicken photo earlier, so she didn't need to get his number from Ian's phone.

“Yeah?” he answered. His phone manners were about as good as hers were.

“Squirrel, it's Rory.”

“Rory, hey. What's wrong?”

“Ian's been arrested.”

There was a long silence, followed by an even longer string of profanity. Rory stayed silent and waited him out. Despite her preoccupation with Ian's situation, she was impressed with Squirrel's creativity. “This is about that headless dude, isn't it?”

“Yes. Do you have the number for the club's lawyer? It's Tack…somebody.”

“Tack Sampson? I do, but it won't do any good. Billy said he's out of the country.”

Her molars were grinding together, and she forced herself to loosen her jaw before she broke a tooth. “Is there another lawyer who can take his case? His arraignment's probably going to be tomorrow.”

“There's Archie Innis.” His tone was doubtful.

That actually made her laugh. “He hasn't been sober for probably twenty years. I won't even sell a gun to him when he comes into the shop, because he's either obviously drunk or high. Who're the Riders using while Tack's gone?”

“We haven't needed a lawyer.”

“Yet.” Forget breaking a tooth—she was grinding them hard enough that her whole jaw was about to snap. “Why am I getting the impression that Billy's leaving Ian to hang?”

“Because he is.” Squirrel sounded tired. “Billy's been out of control lately, especially since Rave…” He cleared his throat. “Anyway. I can't produce Tack, but is there anything else I can do to help?”

“Not that I can think of right now.”

“Well, call anytime if you think of something. And, Rory?”

“Yeah?”

“Keep me in the loop, okay? Even though Billy's acting like a psycho right now, Ian's still my brother.”

“I will.”

After ending the call, she tapped the cell phone against her thigh, trying to think of who to contact next. Her brain was spinning, and she tried to organize her thoughts in a logical fashion. The priority was to find Ian a good lawyer. Tack Sampson was unavailable and, after Billy's recent actions, she wouldn't trust the club's lawyer to defend Ian well, anyway. Archie wasn't even a possibility.
Rory
would do a better job representing Ian than Archie would.

Scrolling through her contacts while keeping one eye on the road, she found Soup's name and hit send.

“Rory!” he greeted enthusiastically. “We were just talking about you.”

“Hey, Soup. Ian's been arrested for Willard Gray's murder.”

After a short silence, he said in a serious voice, “What do you need?”

“The name of a good lawyer, if you have one?”

“I don't, sorry. He's a member of the Liverton Riders, though. I'm sure they have someone with a law degree on speed-dial.”

“Tried that.” Her teeth clenched at the reminder. “They're not interested in helping.”

He gave a whistle. “That's low. He's done a lot for that club.”

“Yeah. Are you at the station?”

“Yep.”

“Would you mind asking around if anyone knows a good lawyer?”

“Sure.”

Rory expected him to hang up, ask the other firefighters, and then call her back. Instead, without moving the phone away from his mouth, he bellowed, “Yo! Any of you know a good lawyer? Beauty's in jail because they think he killed Lou's headless floater.”

In the background, there were muffled exclamations and several conversations going on at once, but Rory couldn't make out what anyone was saying, except for an occasional “Yeah?” or “Not helpful, Tucker,” or “Really?” As she pulled into Ian's driveway, Soup began talking again.

“So, Lou's a lawyer.”

“Seriously?” Hope rose in Rory, but then doubt squashed it. “She works at The Coffee Spot.”

“Yep, but she's still a lawyer. Passed the bar exam and everything, according to Callum. Even if she can't defend him herself, she's going to know a shit-ton of other lawyers who might be able to help.”

“That's great, Soup.” The relief of at least having possibilities washed over her, and she let her head rest against the back of the seat for a moment. “Where's Lou now, do you know?”

“I don't, but Callum will. He probably has her schedule all mapped out in a flowchart. Hey!” he yelled, making Rory wince and pull the phone away from her ear. “No throwing tools, Cal. That's just ugly.”

“Could you ask him?” Her tone was embarrassingly close to begging. It was strange how her pride took a backseat when it came to helping Ian.

“Callum!” he bellowed again. “Where's Lou?” He paused, and Rory could hear a muffled male voice speaking in the background. “She's headed to her shift at The Coffee Spot, which starts at noon. See, I told you he'd know.”

“Thanks, Soup.”

“Keep us updated, okay? Whatever he needs, we've got his back.”

“I will.”

After ending the call, she got out of the truck and hurried to the side door. As Ian had promised, it was unlocked. Although that normally would've driven her up a wall, it just gave her a mild twinge now, since most of her brain and nerves were occupied with Ian's situation.

His phone was on the stand next to his bed, and she grabbed it. Carrie answered immediately.

“Ian?” she said anxiously. “Squirrel said you were arrested! What's going on?”

“This is Rory,” she said, feeling a little awkward. “He's in jail. Ian asked me to call you to see if you could check in on Julius until he gets out. I forgot to ask when I was talking to Squirrel.”

“Of course,” Carrie said warmly. “And it's nice to finally speak to you in person, although the circumstances aren't the best. Do you know what's going on? Squirrel won't tell me anything except that Ian was arrested for murdering that guy found in the reservoir. I haven't ever seen Squirrel this mad, and I've been married to him for ten years.”

“I just know that Ian's been arrested. I'm trying to find a lawyer for him.”

“What about Tack?” Carrie asked. “He comes off as a greasy used-car salesman, but I guess he's a piranha in court. He's gotten Zup and Nickel off a few times, and Rave was a frequent customer of his until…um. Anyway, he'd be sure to get Ian out of those trumped-up charges.”

Rory was beginning to hate the sound of Tack Sampson's name. “He's out of the country.”

“But I just saw him at the grocery store yesterday,” Carrie said. “That international trip must've started today. I'd bet anything his sudden departure isn't a coincidence. No wonder Squirrel is raving mad. Billy's shoving Ian under the bus, isn't he?”

“Yeah, I think so.” In fact, she was pretty positive about it. “Lou's a lawyer. I'm going to go talk with her now to see if she has any contacts who might be able to help Ian.”

“Good idea. I'm going to have a come-to-Jesus talk with Squirrel, and he
will
tell me everything he knows about this.” Carrie's voice was grim, and Rory almost felt sorry for the gentle, chicken-loving Squirrel. “If I uncover anything useful, I'll call you. Should I use Ian's number?”

“No, I'm calling you from my phone right now.” Rory tapped the number from Ian's cell screen into hers and hit send.

“There it is,” Carrie confirmed.

“I'll let you know if I learn anything, too.”

“Thanks,” the other woman said gratefully. “Ian's always been such a sweetie. It broke my heart when Billy used to have him act as an enforcer. Ian just didn't have the meanness he needed to do that kind of shit.”

“He really is a good person.” As she spoke, the image of him gently holding boy-Jack's arm to take his pulse flashed through her mind. Rory's voice broke in the middle of the last word, and she cleared her throat. If she started getting soft and weepy now, she wouldn't be any use to Ian. “Thanks, Carrie. I'll talk to you later.”