Winter's Fire (Welcome to Covendale #7) (7 page)

“I didn’t—” He thought back to yesterday, remembering the uncomfortable conversation as she copied the stack of files, and wanting to get out of the room quickly. He’d still been reeling from the shock of seeing her again. So he’d returned them to the cabinet as she copied them. In the right places. “Yes, I did,” he said. “They must be in there.”

“Well, they aren’t,” she said. “And they copied badly, so I don’t even know who signed off on them. It could’ve been anyone.”

He stared at her. “You don’t think I…”

Before he could spit the rest of it out, the station alarm sounded.

Reacting instinctively, Adam moved for the door at a fast clip. It was probably something minor—around here, real disasters were few and far between. His hand was on the knob when the dispatcher’s voice came over the loudspeaker.

“
Engine one, rescue four, respond. Single car accident, possible engine fire, corner of Crescent and Jefferson.
Engine one, rescue four, respond corner of Crescent and Jefferson.
”

Hearing “possible engine fire” shifted him into high gear. If there was someone still in the car, the engine could explode—or the occupant could burn to death. “Stay here,” he shouted as he yanked the door open, sprinting for the pole to the engine bay.

Right now, missing paperwork was the last thing on his mind.

Chapter 7

As usual, Dom drove like a maniac, but Adam didn’t mind so much today. At least Rescue Four was in decent shape—and this call might actually be an emergency. “You hear anything else on this one?” Adam half-shouted over the rumble of the diesel engine.

“Not much.” Dom took a corner hard enough to lift Adam’s side a few inches from the ground. “Single occupant. Some kind of truck.”

“Well, that’s about half the vehicles in this town.”

“Yeah. Really narrows it down.”

Adam grabbed the CB handset and paused. “Corner of Crescent and Jefferson,” he said. “Isn’t that right at the bottom of Kings Hill?”

“Think so,” Dom said. “Why?”

He shrugged. “Just trying to guess what happened. It’s a little early in the day for the DUI crowd.” Kings Hill was a steep, curving road that led down from the high ridge bordering Covendale to the east. The place was a magnet for crashes in the winter—but it was late summer, and it hadn’t rained for days. “Brake failure, you think?”

Dom glanced at the CB in his hand. “You know dispatch doesn’t know shit,” he said. “And we’ll be on scene in less than one. Why bother?”

“I don’t know, man. I just…have a bad feeling about this one.” He replaced the handset slowly, for some reason thinking of Winter—the woman, not the season. But she’d been right there with him when the alarm sounded, and he’d told her to stay put. This call didn’t have anything to do with her.

Still, he couldn’t shake the feeling.

Dom slowed a fraction as he turned onto Crescent. Not far ahead, a sheriff’s department car with lights flashing was parked lengthwise on the road, and three road flares burned a bright row alongside it. “Man, they always beat us,” Dom said. “Who’s that, Nick Donovan?”

“Looks like.” The sheriff’s department and the FD worked closely in a town this size, so most of them knew each other. The big deputy was visible just beyond the car, bent over something outside the line of sight. That meant the victim was likely still in the vehicle. Adam’s gut clenched as he glanced at Dom, whose features were as tense as he felt. “This is a bad one.”

Dom raced the last few feet and slammed the brakes hard, throwing the truck into park. “Let’s move,” he said as he flung the door open. “Better grab the jump kit.”

“Got it.”

Adam opened his own door and hopped out, snagging the bulky pack of emergency supplies from beneath the passenger seat on the way. Engine One screamed down the road toward them as he raced after Dom, who’d already rounded the squad car.

Suddenly, Dom stopped short and blurted, “Jesus!”

Adam went cold. He forced himself to keep moving, to haul one strap of the jump kit over his shoulder and out of the way as he darted past the hood of the cruiser. When he caught sight of the smoldering wreckage rammed against a massive tree, his first thought was that maybe the vic would make it, because he’d seen worse. At least it was still recognizably a vehicle.

Then he actually recognized the vehicle. A rust-red El Camino. Only one like it in town.

Dom faced him, shaken and pale. “Isn’t that…”

“Oh, God,” he said hoarsely. “Ben!”

He pushed past to where Nick Donovan stood beside the car with one arm reaching through the shattered driver’s side window. A few small flames danced around the edges of the ruined hood—not engaged yet, but it could flare out any moment, catch the oil pan or a gas line and burn like a mother. “Hose’ll be down in a second, but I’ll have them bring the foam,” he said. “Can you get him out?”

The deputy moved slowly. He stepped back from the vehicle and maneuvered his arm clear of the window, still blocking the view with his body. His hand was smeared with blood. “Adam,” he said in careful tones. “You know the victim?”

“That’s Ben Schaeffer’s car.” Something in the deputy’s delivery gutted him, but his mind refused to acknowledge it. “He worked Valley Ridge. Just retired. We have to get him out of there.”

Nick managed to look grim and sympathetic at the same time. “I’m sorry, Adam,” he said in that same careful tone. “He’s gone.”

“No.” Sudden fury surged through him, and he dropped the jump pack on the ground and shoved the deputy aside. “Goddamn it, get him out of there!”

He knew it was hopeless, even as he seized the handle of the crumpled door and yanked at it. The figure inside the car was utterly motionless—drenched in blood, face covered with cuts, head bent at an impossible angle. Still, he pulled and wrenched at the door, ignoring the fragments of metal and glass that tore at his gloves and punched through to slice him, until at last the door moved with a tortured squeal.

Adam shoved through the gap, yanked a glove off. “Come on, Ben,” he muttered, reaching for the man’s throat, his fingers seeking a pulse he knew he wouldn’t find. The skin was cold, the flesh rigid. “I told you we’re not going to put you in the ground just yet. Your time’s not up. Ben…give me something here, damn it!”

A hand on his shoulder made him flinch. “Move back, bro.” Dom’s voice was choked and low, barely recognizable. “Come on, you’re bleeding. Let Aldridge and Fletcher take care of him, okay?”

Shivering, Adam shifted slowly out of the wreckage. Everything in him wanted to scream, tear things apart, collapse the world around him the way he’d fallen apart inside. But he couldn’t afford to lose it. He had a job to do here. “Get that fire out,” he said, managing a semblance of his normal voice. “Tell Luke to forget the hose for now, use the foam first. I won’t let him burn in there.”

 Dom frowned. “Adam…”

“Do it!”

He watched Dom take off, and then turned to the deputy. “You talk to the sheriff?”

“He’s en route,” Nick said. “Ten minutes out.”

“Good. I want a full investigation.” Adam glanced at the wreck and shook his head. “This shouldn’t have happened, and I want to know how it did.”

“I’ll tell Sheriff Tanner,” Nick said. “Adam, maybe you should—hey!” The deputy broke off suddenly and stared down the road, past the flares and emergency vehicles. “What the hell’s Karl Jessup doing out here?”

Adam snarled an oath. He knew what was going on before he caught sight of the unmistakable orange pickup pulling up beside Rescue Four. Of course she hadn’t listened when he told her to stay at the station. “It’s not Karl,” he said. “I’ll take care of this.”

Jaw set, he strode across the scene to have it out with Winter.

* * * *

Winter climbed out of the truck slowly, trying to separate the scene in front of her from the long-ago one that had been seared into her memory—flashing lights, shouting people, the heavy smell of burning. But this was day, not night. Covendale, not Greenway. And her sister wasn’t trapped inside the house at a second-story window, screaming as she burned.

That was then, this was now. And she was going to do her job.

She’d just closed the door when she noticed a figure striding toward her in full turnout gear. Adam—she recognized his shape, the strong line of his jaw. He probably wouldn’t be happy she’d come to the call. But she’d just explain that she was here to observe, to make sure the fire department had the right procedures in place. Witnessing an accident cleanup would go a long way toward bringing this investigation to a close, something they both wanted.

He reached her and stopped short. Before she could get a word out, he said, “I told you to stay at the station.”

The fury in his voice chilled her. “I’m just here to—”

“I don’t give a damn why you’re here. Get back in that truck and leave.”

“I will not.” The first stirrings of her own anger fueled her resolve. He was overreacting again—whatever had him so upset, it wasn’t business. “I know you have a job here, but so do I,” she said. “I’m investigating your department’s accident cleanups, and I’m here to observe.”

“Accident cleanup.” His voice tightened around the words. “You’re…observing an accident cleanup.”

“Yes,” she said with far less certainty, watching his fists clench hard at his sides. She’d just noticed he was only wearing one glove. His bare hand was cut and bleeding, smudged with black, either grease or soot. More blood on his sleeves…probably not his, she realized with a horrible start. But she swallowed and pressed on. “If I observe your procedures, we can get this investigation closed faster.”

His blue eyes darkened, narrowed. “Procedures,” he spat. “Figures. Is that all you care about, Winter?”

“It’s my job. I have to—”

“This is
not
your job!” he shouted, forcing her to recoil. “That’s Ben Schaeffer over there, and you’re not
investigating
him.”

“Ben?” she whispered as startled tears welled in her eyes. “Oh, no. How is he?”

“Dead.”

No.
She shook her head, as if it would keep that horrible, flat word from penetrating. The sweet old man she’d met just last night, Teddy’s friend…he couldn’t be dead. She was meeting him at the diner tonight. He wanted to talk about the investigation. This wasn’t right.

She shivered and stared at the blood on Adam’s sleeves. Ben’s blood. “Dead?” she echoed in hollow tones. “I didn’t know…”

“Well, now you do. And you’re not going to reduce my friend’s death to a pile of numbers for the insurance company.” He glared at her, folding his arms across his stomach as if he were trying to hide the blood. To deny its existence. “You take that frozen heart of yours, and go do your job somewhere else.”

She blinked once and turned away fast, heading almost blindly for the truck. If it wasn’t bright orange, she wouldn’t be able to see it. She didn’t look back. Didn’t care whether Adam was standing there watching her, or walking away unaffected by his own cruel words.

She refused to let him see her frozen heart breaking.

Chapter 8

Pete’s Diner turned out to be Winter’s kind of place—clean, low lighting, and mostly deserted. Exactly what she needed right now.

She’d gotten directions from Sandy at the bed and breakfast, and come here a little before ten, the time she was supposed to meet Ben Schaeffer. Somehow it felt right being here, even if Ben couldn’t make the appointment. She was still hurt and stunned over the horrible accident.

Adam too, but she’d decided not to waste her time thinking about him.

It was the end of another long and fruitless day, and she was still no closer to closing the investigation. She’d gone back to the station after getting her emotions under control. Spent some time going through the file cabinets again, found no sign of the missing documents. Eventually she’d started the individual interviews.

That hadn’t gone so well. She’d only gotten through four of them, each one worse than the last. Luke Aldridge was a sweet young man, but fairly clueless. Vermont Ward, a close friend of Ethan Goddard’s, had leered at her the entire time and said nothing of use. Dominic Shepherd was downright hostile, and Chief Mike Smallwood brief and distracted—Ben had been a close friend of the chief’s, as well.

Adam had taken the rest of the day off, apparently at the chief’s insistence. As bad as she felt for his loss, that had worked out well for her. She didn’t think she could be impartial with him.

Right now she intended to relax, if she could. She’d brought her files and interview notes to the diner, ordered a salad and a barbecue burger with onion rings, and was currently working on a thick, heavenly chocolate milkshake while she read through what she’d written about Vermont Ward.

“Don’t you ever stop working?”

The deep, familiar voice startled her, and she nearly spilled her shake. She refused to even look at him. Part of her questioned why he was here, whether he’d come looking for her, but she chalked it up to this being the only diner in a small town. The coincidence wasn’t that far-fetched. “I’m busy, Mr. Rhodes,” she said. “Good day.”

“You mean good evening.”

The half-teasing note in his voice infuriated her. She glared at him and said, “I mean good
bye.
”

“Yeah, I bet you do.” He gave a sharp sigh and rubbed the back of his neck. “Would it help if I said that I’m a complete idiot, and I’m sorry?”

She wanted to tell him no, it wouldn’t help. She wanted to say
go to hell
. But what came out was, “Sorry for what?”

“For being such a bastard to you,” he said. “Honestly, you caught me at the worst possible time. I was devastated, furious…not at you. But that’s still no excuse.” He sighed again and fixed on a point beyond her. “You didn’t know what happened, and I didn’t bother telling you. So I’m sorry for that, too.”

Her anger was melting away, despite her desperate attempt to hold onto the feeling. It was so much easier to be angry at him than to face the rest of what she felt—a tangle of powerful attraction, hopeless longing, and practical cynicism. But she just couldn’t bring herself to hurt him any more than he already was. “All right,” she said. “And I’m sorry for showing up there.”