Tracking Tahlula (Police and Fire: Operation Alpha) (On Call Book 3)

by Freya Barker

  “Did you say you needed new hanging baskets?” I ask her when we walk past a large colorful display.

  “Yes! I almost forgot.” She immediately bends down to check out the empty ones stacked on the floor in front.

  “Wouldn’t it be easier to buy the ones that already have flowers in them?”

  Her head snaps around and her eyes pierce me. “That’s for people who don’t know what they’re doing.”

  The pride is strong in Ma. “Gotcha.” I don’t bother pointing out it’s cheaper to buy them ready, in hopes it’ll get us out of here sooner, and obediently load up the bare baskets she hands me.

  Four hundred ninety-three dollars? Jesus.

  I must’ve made a sound when the cashier looks at me funny. Ma’s already digging through her purse for her wallet, and for once, I’m grateful she seems to be slowing down a little so I can beat her to the punch.

  The result is a snippy mother, who is relentlessly voicing her annoyance while I load the stuff in the truck bed, during the ride home, and while unloading at her place. My forty-three years have taught me the best thing to do is shut up and let her burn herself out.

  The loud grumble coming from my empty stomach seems to trigger Ma’s maternal instinct making for an instant turnaround.

  “Chicken salad sandwich, okay?”

  “Sounds great, Ma.”

  By three o’clock the sun is beating down on my shirtless shoulders and sweat is stinging my eyes.

  “You should’ve worn sunscreen, like I told ya,” Ma mutters for the umpteenth time since I pulled off my T-shirt. “You’re gonna feel that.”

  She’s probably right, judging by the tight feel of my skin, but I’d never admit it. My coloring comes with naturally pale skin, which—despite the years of sun exposure—will still burn easily in the early days of spring.

  Before I’m forced to cave and put my shirt back on—which Ma wouldn’t let me live down—the scanner I have a habit of keeping close when my crew is on shift crackles to life.

  “Report of a small wildfire just south of the 204 by Junction Creek Campground, along the trail.”

  I don’t even listen to the rest of the call as I yank my shirt over my head, stuff scanner and phone in my pockets, and bend over Ma to kiss her cheek.

  “It’s your day off!” she protests, but I’m already sprinting to the gate.

  “Gotta go, Ma. I’ll be back tomorrow to finish it off,” I yell over my shoulder.

  Our neighborhood—my house is a five-minute walk from my mother’s—is much closer to the reported fire than Fire Station Three is, but that’s not what has me flooring my truck up the mountain. The location given in that alert is right around Tahlula’s place.

  Once again I find myself driving up County Road 204. Never mind the woman already has a man in her life—I’m apparently destined to chase after the unattainable—but what if she’s up there by herself like the first time I went there?

  I can see the trail of smoke from a distance. It doesn’t look too bad, but with the dry heat of the past weeks, and the occasional gust of wind coming down the mountain, a small fire can quickly burn out of control.

  The only thing I have in my truck is my axe and the twelve-liter backpack fire extinguisher I carry at all times. Not nearly sufficient to battle a wildfire, even a small one, but better than nothing.

  I’m relieved when I come up to the turnoff into her driveway with the column of smoke still up ahead, just south of the campground. It’s still early in the season, and up here especially the bugs are still out in force, so there shouldn’t be too many campers yet.

  When I’m about level with the smoke, I pull off on the shoulder, knowing my crewmembers will recognize my truck by the DFPD sticker on its gate. I quickly grab the axe, pull my pack from the back, and hoist it over my shoulder, before jogging into the bush in the direction of the dark plume.

  I hear her voice before I see her.

  Tahlula

  “Luke! Get back here, boy!”

  I start coughing when I inadvertently inhale some smoke. Goddamn dog. So much for getting some fresh air to clear my head.

  I spent all morning on the phone with Jaimie and Lena’s sister, Sue. There’s been no sign or sound of my agent. The two emails from her I finally opened last week explained nothing. The first one mentioned an update on my work in progress, as per the publisher’s request, and the second was a repeat of the message she left on my phone: to get in touch with her urgently.

  The only positive news was Sue finally got someone at the Denver PD to listen to her. As of this morning, Lena’s officially listed as missing, and warrants are being written up to pull her latest cell phone, bank, and credit card statements.

  Both Sue and Jaimie are doing their best to keep business running as smoothly as they can, without alerting any of the agency’s clients and contacts, but the uncertainty around Lena is clearly taking its toll. On me too. I’ve always been a bit of a loner, with the characters in my books for friends. But over the years I’ve grown to trust and care for the often-blunt agent, to a point where I consider her my friend.

  After hanging up with her sister, I strapped on my fanny pack, tucked in a bottle of water, some trail mix, and my phone, and took off on the path along the creek with Luke at my heels.

  I’d smelled smoke, but I’d thought it came from the campground above. It wasn’t until Luke started barking and ran ahead, I realized the smoke was getting thicker.

  When I could feel the heat from the fire on the other side of the creek, I called 9-1-1 and made a report. By the time I’d finished giving my location, Luke had disappeared.

  Keeping a close eye on the occasional glimpse of flames through the trees on the other side of the narrow band of water, I walked up and down the trail, occasionally whistling on my fingers and calling his name.

  This last time, I finally get a response, a faint bark, but on the other side of the creek. The side where I can see the fire has already grown larger.

  I yell again—louder this time—but I don’t hear a responding bark. Without letting myself think too hard, I sink on my ass and slide down the embankment into the water. Luckily, it only comes up to my knees as I wade across. The other side is not nearly as steep but still I’m having a hard time climbing up. I shake off a brief moment of panic as I look back at the much higher bank I just came down, and instead focus on finding a decent foothold.

  “What the fuck are you doing?”

  Startled at the deep voice barking behind me, I miss the root my hand was aiming for and slip down, landing on my ass in the creek. Snapping my head around, I see him almost lose his footing as he makes his way down; our local fire department’s Evan Biel.

  It’s not until he unceremoniously hauls me up under my armpits I realize how cold the spring runoff is. “My dog is out there somewhere,” I protest when he firmly pushes me away from the fire and up the other side.

  “He’ll be fine,” Evan grumbles. “Animals tend to run away from fire, not toward it.” I’m shocked to feel a large hand palm my ass as he gives me a hoist up the embankment, while adding under his breath, “Unlike some humans.”

  Before I have a chance to react, I feel a strong hand grab my wrist from above and yank me the rest of the way up. The hands steadying me belong to a fireman who almost looks too slight to be able to heave me up the way he just did. His features belie his Asian heritage, as does his name, barked from behind me.

  “Fucking hands off, Sumo!”

  A grin spreads over the guy’s face as he carefully sets me aside and reaches over the edge, grasping Evan’s hand to help him up. “Saw your truck up on the side of the road. What the hell are you doing here?”

  “Heard the call. I was close.”

  “Sure…”

  “Ladies, can we shelve the chitchat and get that goddamn fire under control?” What looks to be the rest of the crew walks up, led by an older guy who looks pissed. “Jesus F. Christ, Cheddar, what the fuck did you think you
were gonna do with that squirt gun strapped to your back? Don’t you have better things to do with your day off? Start by getting her outta here.” He tilts his head in my direction without even looking at me. “No fucking place for civilians.”

  “Listen; my dog—” I start, more than a little pissed at the man’s attitude.

  “Is not my concern,” the man snaps, finally turning his eyes on me. “Now if you’ll excuse me, ma’am, we have work to do.”

  “Come on,” Evan says from behind me. “I’ll drive you home.” I feel a firm hand in the small of my back propelling me forward.

  “But what about Luke? My dog?”

  “Guys!” he yells over his shoulder, not slowing his pace. “Keep an eye out for a gray pit bull, name’s Luke.” To me he says at normal volume, “He’ll show up back home. Heck, he may already be waiting for ya there.”

  I don’t bother protesting when he opens the door to his truck, parked on the side of the road. The sooner I get home, the better. I’m more than a little worried about Luke, but Evan may be right, it’s always possible the dog went straight home.

  Sadly, when we pull up to the house, there’s no sign of my boy. Instead of heading inside, I walk around to the small clearing in the back and shove my fingers in my mouth, letting out a piercing whistle.

  “Holy shit, woman. You about busted my eardrums.” I turn to find Evan a few feet behind me removing his hands from his ears. He gestures at the house. “Glad to see your husband took care of the gutters.”

  “Husband?” I realize as I say it, the last time he saw me Trunk had been here doing his big brother routine. “I don’t have one of those. You mean my brother. And yes, he cleaned the gutters and moved the woodpile. Complaining loudly, I might add, making those the longest freaking two hours of my life before he finally took off.”

  “Your brother,” he echoes. A grin I’m not sure what to do with peeks out from his beard, and I try not to notice how handsome those laugh lines around his stark-blue eyes are.

  “That’s right, Trunk is my brother. His real name is Titus, but everyone calls him Trunk. He’s also not at all as fierce as he makes himself out to be. The man is a child psychologist, for fuck’s sake.” Realizing I’m starting to ramble, I snap my mouth shut and turn back around to scan the tree line for signs of Luke.

  “You live here by yourself?”

  “Not alone. I’ve got Luke.” I’m instantly annoyed at his tone, much like the one my brother used when he’d learned I’d found a house up in the mountains, outside of town. Although happy I moved closer to him, he would’ve preferred I found a nice place close to downtown, preferably within a two-block radius of the police station.

  He doesn’t respond, but I can feel his eyes burning my back.

  I wait a couple of minutes for a sign of my dog, but when it doesn’t come, I turn to the house. I’m eager to get out of these wet clothes that stink of smoke.

  “I stock beer for my brother and other than that I have water, but you’re welcome to either. I’m gonna change.”

  I don’t bother waiting for him while I unlock my door and leave it open as I march straight through to the bathroom. There I strip down, leaving the soggy clothes in a pile on the floor. I’m getting ready to step in the shower when I hear the opening and closing of my fridge door.

  I turn on the water with a smile on my face.

  4

  Evan

  “Why did he call you Cheddar?”

  “Who?”

  “The grumpy guy. The older one.”

  I grin. I’ll have to tell Cap that.

  Her offer of a drink surprised me a little. I’d been mostly pissed from the moment I saw her try to climb up the other side of the creek. The woman is pregnant for fuck’s sake; she needs to take better care of herself. At the time, I still thought she had a man in her life, but that didn’t stop me from enjoying the sight of her in the drenched T-shirt, or from tearing a proprietary strip off Sumo when he put his hands on her.

  Now I know the angry black man is her brother and she lives here with only her dog for companionship.

  I took her up on her invitation and fetched a beer from her well-stocked fridge, grabbing the opportunity to take a quick look around the open concept space. Living room, kitchen, dining, and what looks to be an office, all take up the large main body of the single-level house. A short hallway runs off each side of the main room to what I assume are bed and bathrooms.

  I like the feel of her living space, with good quality, albeit, well-used furniture and evidence of life scattered throughout. A stack of papers on the barn wood dining table, a used coffee mug and bowl beside the couch in front of the TV, a sweater casually thrown over an armrest, dog toys scattered over the floor, and a sink full of yesterday’s dishes. Not a mess, but comfortably lived in.

  The only place that looks pristine is the small desk under one of the back windows on the other side of the kitchen island, and the massive bookshelf butted up against the wall beside it. Filled, from top to bottom, with books in neat even rows. On the large computer screen the name T. Hanna bounces around.

  Not wanting to get caught snooping, I take my beer out on the front porch and sit on the steps, wondering if Hanna is her middle or last name.

  That’s where she finds me ten minutes later.

  “I like cooking,” I explain, turning to her. She has her hip perched against the porch railing, and tips the water bottle to her lips, keeping her eyes on me. “I end up doing a lot of it at the fire station, and the guys like to make fun of the fact I have a tendency to add cheese to most of my meals.”

  “Cheese is delicious,” she mumbles, her lips brushing the neck of the bottle as they form the words. It takes me a moment to realize I’m staring and tear my gaze away.

  “Exactly. Anyway, that and the red hair got me Cheddar.” I notice a frown between her eyebrows so I quickly add, “We all have tags. The grumpy guy? That’s Cap, he’s our crew captain and you met Sumo.”

  “I was wondering about that,” she says with a rueful smile. “I’m guessing because of his heritage? I’m afraid I’m a little sensitive to joking about appearances or color.”

  I twist sideways so I’m facing her straight on. “Kyle’s last name is Matsumoto, and although he’s one of the smaller guys, he can take out every last one of us on the wrestling mat. Hence, the name Sumo. We also have Hog, who grew up on a pig farm. Roadkill, whose mother is from India, got his name because he drives the big rig. Blue is the only woman on the team, she earned hers because she rarely smiles.”

  My guess is she feels a mite chastised when her eyes flit over my head and she tips her bottle back for another sip. My gaze drops to her exposed neck, feeling a drop of sweat starting to slide down the center of my back as I follow the movement of her throat swallowing the water.

  “Luke!”

  When she calls out and slams her bottle down on the railing, I swing my head around and see her dog come trotting up the driveway. Before I can get to my feet, she’s already down the steps, jogging toward him.

  “Is he okay?” I ask, walking up to join them.

  “I think so. His fur is singed here and there.” Her hands run over the dog, who eyes me with what I suspect is mistrust.

  I notice saliva dripping from his mouth. “Does he normally drool?”

  She immediately crouches down and probes his muzzle, causing him to whimper. She carefully pulls back his lip “Shit.”

  “Do you have a water hose?” Even from this distance I can see the poor dog’s lip and gums are red and swollen.

  “On the left side of porch, next to the outdoor tap.”

  “Bring him closer to the house and get him to lay down on his side.”

  I don’t wait for an answer and by the time I have the water turned on and carry the hose over, she has her dog lying on his side at the bottom of the porch steps. His head comes up when I approach them, but he doesn’t growl, and when I crouch down beside them he lies back down.


  “Pull up his lip.”

  I let the stream of cold water run through the dog’s mouth to cool it down. When my phone rings, I use my free hand to fish it from my pocket.

  “Hey, Cap, what’s up?”

  “We’ve got a problem here. Did ya find that dog?”

  “He just showed up at the owner’s house, about half a mile south of where you are. Why? What’s going on?”

  “Sumo says you know the woman?”

  I hand the hose to Tahlula and walk away for some privacy. “Just met last week. Why are you asking me these questions?”

  There’s a brief pause on the other side, and then I hear him blow out a breath. “We’ve got the fire down, but…fuck, man…we found a DRT. Not a whole lot left from what I can tell, but the coroner’s on his way.”

  “You’re serious?”

  Tahlula’s striking eyes flash up to my face, now watching me closely.

  “As a heartbeat. Cops just arrived. They’re going to want to talk to the woman, and I’m guessing to you too. Thought I’d give you a heads-up.”

  Cap may not be the most personable guy, but he looks out for his crew. It wasn’t that long ago I wasn’t exactly on friendly terms with local law enforcement. We’d had a string of fires that turned out to be arson, and somehow I’d ended up on top of the suspect list. In hindsight, I can see where the connection had been made—I happened to be one of the first responders at each fire—and the target had been Autumn, who I was friendly with. The only problem was I had dick-all to do with it.

  Since then I’m back to drinking the occasional beer with the boys in blue, but you don’t just brush an experience like that off.

  That’s why Cap called. He’d been injured in one of those fires and he and I spent a lot of time talking. He knows how it cut to have people I’d known for years, who I’d worked side by side with, suddenly look at me with suspicion. Before that happened, I never questioned loyalty, but trust is easily damaged and a fuck of a lot harder to rebuild. That’s what this call is about.