“Good morning.” Ken steps out of the house, a coffee mug in hand. “Don’t tell me. The POS is dead?”
I snarl at him, but have to agree. It is a piece of shit.
“Don’t nag. I’m going truck shopping this week.”
The back door opens again and a sleepy looking Stephanie steps out, her cat in her arms. She’s nearly run down by the most hyper lab on the planet who comes flying out the door after her.
“Onyx!” Beth spreads her arms and the dog comes running to her as if she hadn’t seen her in forever. Beth bends down and gives her a big hug and a good petting. She looks adorable in my oversized t-shirt and the shorts she pulled back on from yesterday.
Her feet are bare, still raw from all the blisters from her hiking boots. I glance down at them and wince. Damn. They have to hurt.
Ken punches me in the arm and I glare at him. “What?” I bring my attention back to him when I realize he’s caught me staring.
“You can ride with me,” Ken says again.
“Great. Thanks. Wait.” I raise an eyebrow. “I thought you were off today.”
“Not anymore. Jack’s got the shits and I’m pulling a twelve to help cover.”
I grimaced. “Him too. Heard it was going around.” My stomach rumbles about that time, likely in sympathy to Jack.
He gives me a look. “You okay?”
I don’t have to ask what he means. He’s not talking about my digestive system. Beth texted Stephanie last night to let her know she was staying with me and to give her a heads up as to what had happened. We didn’t expect our names to be in the news, since we escaped the park before any news hounds sniffed their way to the story, but you never know … our names and faces could be flashed on the early news this morning if someone has a leaky mouth.
I look from Beth to Steph and back to Ken. “Yeah. I’m good.”
He gives me a ‘right, we’ll talk later’ lift of the chin, just as Stephanie curls herself up to his side.
“Be safe today,” Stephanie says and wraps her free arm around him. I smile when he grabs the cat and hands the puffy white thing to Beth. Then he kisses his fiancé like it could be the last time he ever sees her.
Something close to a shiver crawls up my spine. In our line of work, it very well could be the last.
Today’s a Sunday and it could go one of two ways. It could be super quiet and I do busy work or we could end up racing from one hungover tourist crash to another or doing a ton of band-aid calls for minor tourist injuries.
Of course, there’s always the risk that tragedy could strike. We lost Travis in a building collapse just a couple months ago. It could have been Ken or me — any one of us — who’d gone in first. Instead, it was us who’d recovered the body of our friend.
Damn.
I can’t be thinking this way. Can’t go borrowing trouble by worrying about shit I can’t control. I look at Beth and realize she’s looking at me. Our eyes meet, but we don’t step toward each other. That weird, awkward, cold distance is like a concrete wall between us again.
I overhear the lovebirds whispering their goodbyes and I love yous, both touched and disgusted at the same time. I still can’t believe my best bud is this pussy whipped. The dude who had a string of women at his beck and call. He gave all that up … showgirls, models … for Stephanie. Then I look at the way she looks at him and can kinda, sorta, almost understand why.
I look over at Beth and — holy shit — she’s looking at me like that too. Her eyes are soft and there’s the tiniest hint of a smile on her face as she strokes the white cat on its head.
Fuck.
I pretend I don’t notice and turn away, stowing my bag in Ken’s truck. I’m not giving up my showgirls and models. No way in hell.
“We better go,” I tell Ken, needing to get the fuck out of here. Shit. I messed things up with Beth by crying, having the nightmare, being vulnerable. Hell, being too available.
Fuck Buddy Rule #7 — Spread out the meetings. It’s meant to be an occasional thing so emotions don’t have a chance to take root.
Of course, Beth and I have already broken Fuck Buddy Rules #1, #3 and #8 — we’ve spent the night together; gone on an actual date; and communicated in ways other than texting.
And shit … she just gave me the When To End A Fuck Buddy Relationship look. THE look. The ‘I’m falling for you’ look.
Damn. Damn. Damn.
I’ve got to reel this back in, or cut the line altogether, even though I feel a little stab at the thought. I don’t want this … a relationship. Relationships screw up everything. They tie you down. They are too much work.
There’s so much I want to do with my life; my bucket list is really long. I can’t do that with a nag nipping at my heels.
I’ve got to stop this.
Now.
Ken is going to kill me.
“What the hell was that?” Ken asks as I pull out of his driveway.
“Huh?” I really have absolutely no clue.
“That head nod to Beth when we left. The frown. The ‘hurry up, let’s go’ shit.”
“Just didn’t want to be late, that’s all.”
“Right,” he scoffed. “Like when have you once cared about punctuality?”
He’s got me there.
“Just got a little creeped out is all,” I confess and stare out at the passing traffic.
“Creeped out by what?”
I lift a shoulder, trying to put it in words. “I don’t know. Everything. Last night. This morning. The future. The past. Just all kinds of shit, man. Don’t worry, I’ll be alright.”
Ken’s fingers stop tapping the steering wheel and he relaxes a little bit into his seat. “Sorry, didn’t mean to jump your shit. I can’t even begin to imagine what last night was like.”
The memory of the smell slaps the hell out of my medulla oblongata and I have to fight the urge to gag.
“Yeah. It was bad. So damn unexpected. And the way those women were displayed was so … careful. Ritualistic. The only good thing about it is that now, hopefully, many of their families can find some sort of closure and they can be buried properly near people who loved them.”
“And maybe they’ll find the bastard who did it.”
I think about the complexity of how those women were placed in that cave. “Bastards,” I correct him. “I think it has to be bastards, plural. I can’t see how one guy could do all that on his own. Not impossible, but…” I trail off.
“What should have been impossible was them being found. I mean, what are the odds that a kid would fall from a cliff on the same day a fireman trained in rescue would be right there with climbing gear in his bag? I’m betting you beat lottery odds on that one.”
I snort. “Lucky me.”
Ken glances over at me before taking the last turn to the station. “No, lucky them. That kid was … shit.”
I glance up. “What?”
“News crews at the station. Two. No three of them.”
Sinking in my seat, I say, “Terrific. Can you go around back? I need to know what our official statement is going to be before I face them.”
Ken grins. “Just like you, pretty boy, thinking this is all about you.”
Then he grows serious and I know he’s remembering the way he was accosted by the news and other types of crazy tabloid magazine type people after everything had gone down with Stephanie last year.
They’ve been offered big money to tell their story and Stephanie is still considering going on Sixty Minutes or maybe Barbara Walters. She thinks it would be good PR for the HEAL center and also be a platform for her drive to create new legislation that would enable victims of revenge porn to have their photos and videos uploaded by people like ex-boyfriends removed from online sites.
Ken flips on his signal and does a u-turn. A few minutes later, we’re in the back of the station. I heave a huge sigh of relief, grateful that there wasn’t a microphone in sight.
So far, so good.
We
’ve been lucky to have a quiet Sunday morning. Seems the Saturday night drinkers are sleeping it off or still drinking. We’ve done rig checks and re-stocked supplies. Cleaned toilets. Anything to pass the time.
I remember how stunned I was when I first started training to be a firefighter to learn that between calls, the firemen didn’t just sit around waiting for the next alarm like they did on TV.
Someone once said that a fireman had to have knowledge of something like twenty-five different skills to make it in this line of work — kind of jacks of all trades. We have to know about plumbing, maintenance, landscaping, painting, but also things like psychology and public education, not to mention the hours we put in on training and even physical fitness.
And damn, that’s true. If something breaks, we fix it. If someone’s down, we help them. We teach. We treat. We protect. We do what needs doing.
So now, I’m sitting down to do some pre-fire planning on a new casino opening in a few weeks. It’s important that we familiarize ourselves with as many buildings as possible so we know where the hell to go in case there is an emergency.
I’m examining the building evacuation procedures when Captain Frank sticks his head in the conference room door.
“Gage, come to my office for a second.”
I’m surprised he’s here. I didn’t see him on the roster for today. I grab a bottle of water and follow him to his office. I have a feeling I know exactly what this is about.
He motions me to close the door and take a seat. “Coffee?” he asks, but I hold up my water. I’ve had enough caffeine already.
The Cap pours a cup and sits behind his desk while I force my right leg to stop bouncing up and down. The Cap is strict as hell, but also fair. We’re lucky to have him.
“Got a call this morning that our station might have some visitors today—“
“Sorry about that, Cap—“
“Don’t sorry me, son. Shit happens and it looks like you were the lucky one to get to step in it this time.”
I laugh … a little. Yep. It was some shit alright. I give him the short version of the hike, saving the kid and finding the bodies, most of which he already knows. News spreads fast in the city of sin, it seems.
“Turns out your name was leaked to the press, Gage. Your girlfriend too.”
I ignore the ‘girlfriend’ part and say, “Yeah, I kind of figured that by the welcome wagon set up outside. I’m avoiding them until I know what my official statement will be.”
“Good thinking. We’ll work on that. In the meantime, if you get trapped by a camera, say something along the lines of how sad you are for the loved ones and you hope they find the person that did it. Don’t give the number of bodies found. We’re not sure how the feds are going to play it.”
“Feds?”
“Yes. The victims were found in a national park, so yes, it falls under federal jurisdiction.”
I knew that. I’ve got to clear my head. I’m still not thinking right.
“That’s one of the reasons I came in today. Wanted to check on you and see where your head’s at.”
Damn. Can he see right through me? “I’m good.” He stares at me. “Really. Not great, but not horrible either. I’m glad to be here working.”
He nods. “If anything changes, let me know. Sometimes there’s some post-traumatic stress to these types of things. Nightmares. Guilt. Blame. Stuff like that.”
I swallow and he stares at me harder.
“The federal agents are going to want to talk to you today or tomorrow at the latest,” he continues. “Also, I got a call from Captain Vander. You know him?”
I flip through my mental rolodex. “I’ve heard of him, of course, but the only guys I talked to was a SAR named Brent and a detective…” I fish the card out of my wallet. “Mike Hardiman and then a coroner. Murphy, I think his name is.”
Captain Frank takes another sip of his coffee and leans back in his chair. His lips lift up a little at each corner — his version of a smile. “Well, Vander wants me to thank you. He said you did a great job up there. Not only in protecting the crime scene, but in getting that kid secured for transport before the shit hit the fan. He just wanted you to know that he and his men appreciated it.”
That felt good.
“Just glad I was there to help. Miracle I had climbing gear with me.”
“You did a fine job, son. In fact, I got another phone call. This one from the family of that boy, Daniel. They said they wanted to personally thank you for what you did, but they’re traveling back to their hometown near…” Frank looks down at a piece of paper “… Salt Lake City for his surgeries. He’s getting some pins in his ankle, but they say he’ll be okay after a while. They wanted to send you a thank you something or other so I gave them the station’s address.”
I smile and, damn it, feel a little frog creeping up my throat. “I’m glad he’s going to be okay. That ankle looked nasty.”
“Gage. You did good. All the way around good.”
The damn frog was getting bigger and I tried to cough it up so I could speak. But the bell starts clanging and I jump up. What a cliché — saved by the bell.
Chapter 8 — Beth
Splash!
A wave of water cascades over me, waking me up from a mid-morning nap. I didn’t mean to fall asleep in the pool, but I couldn’t seem to keep my eyes open. Onyx, of course, is my alarm clock once again.
“You mangy mutt,” I chide her gently as she swims around my raft and tries to climb on. “No!” Too late, I hear the air begin to hiss from the plastic and seconds later I’m lower in the water. This is the fifth … no, sixth time I’ve had to patch my float. I really need to find a dog-proof raft.
I roll into the water, sinking to the bottom, watching Onyx’s black body swim above me. She tries to dive to me and gets about a foot underwater before floating back up. Silly pup. One day I’ll get her to the bottom.
She begins to bark; the sound is soft as it vibrates through the water and down to me. Where she was swimming in circles above, she’s now heading toward the side of the pool. I follow her direction and see the shadow of a shape on the edge.
Not Stephanie. A man?
I push up from the bottom, gasping for breath as my head pops above the surface. I quickly wipe the water from my eyes and look around.
Nothing.
No one is there.
Just Onyx, still barking, now out of the pool and running, full force toward the — oh please no — open gate in the fence.
I call her name, but she ignores me. I call her again, but she’s out of the fence before I can pull myself from the pool.
“Onyx!” I’m screaming at her now and running as fast as my blistered, bare feet will carry me. I can no longer see our precious dog. I can’t even hear her anymore. I’m not sure which way to search.
Stephanie bursts through the front door as I reach the front of the house. “There!” she yells, pointing across the street. I see the dog, just a flash of black before she’s bounding around a neighboring house.
“Shit!”
I’m running, dripping water, my bikini top threatening to pop above my boobs. I don’t care, I’d streak naked after that dog. I love her. She’s my buddy. My alarm clock.
A horn sounds.
Brakes scream.
A yip from Onyx fills the air.
Please no. Please no. Please no.
We race around the house and to the next street over. No! Onyx is lying in the road. The driver of a car is out and hovering over her. He looks up, his eyes huge and sees us running in his direction.
“I’m so sorry. He came out of nowhere.”
Then we’re there and Stephanie is on her knees, kneeling behind the hurt dog.
I’m sobbing, praying, bargaining with the universe to please let the sweetest soul on this planet be okay.
She’s whining. Oh thank God … her eyes are open. She looks terrified and in pain, but hopefully not mortally so. There’s no blood and she’s t
rying to get onto her feet. She falls back down, whimpering pitifully.
“I’ll get my car,” I tell Stephanie and start running back to our house.
“Get my purse and phone,” she yells behind me and I scream an okay, then I dash across the street, my heart hammering in my chest and my feet on fire.
Bursting into the house, I pull a sun dress over my suit and snatch up purses, phones, keys and a few towels I’d been too lazy to fold. I find a pair of flip flops and thrust them on my feet. I remember to lock the front door and then set the alarm before slamming out of the back. I’m in my Jeep and roaring up our driveway in less than three minutes flat.
Poor Onyx. Poor baby dog. Please please please be okay.
I round the corner of the street she’s on and am thrilled to see the man is still there. He can maybe help us lift her into the seat.
Screeching to a halt, I’m out of the Jeep, towels in hand. “Is she okay?”
Stephanie’s crying, but she’s otherwise calm and in control. “Broken leg for sure. No signs of internal bleeding. Her head seems to be okay.”
“I’m so sorry,” the man is saying again. “I swerved to miss the man, and then felt a thud. I didn’t even see the dog.”
Startled, I look up at him. “A man?” I’m folding a towel to stabilize Onyx’s leg and try to focus while a dozen thoughts race through my mind.
There was someone by the pool.
That someone had left the fence open.
A man.
But why was he there?
What did he want?
I shiver as a thousand reasons come to mind.
“Could you describe him if you needed to?” I ask him, as together, the three of us lift Onyx and lay her on a towel.
“The clothes, maybe. I didn’t see a face.”
I try to pay attention to Stephanie’s instructions as she takes control and organizes us getting Onyx loaded.
“Can I get your phone number?” I ask him as Stephanie jumps in the back with the dog. “In case we have questions about the man?”
He pulls out a business card and says, “Yes, of course. Anything I can do to help.”
I take the card and thank him for being so kind. Then I rush to the driver’s seat and break every speed limit getting Onyx to the emergency vet.
Ashes - Book 2 (New Adult Romantic Suspense) Page 4
