He took a breath, and looking down at the coffin he went on. “I thought I’d learned all I needed to know in the academy, but Calvin taught me different. Over the course of that first year, he showed me what it really meant to be a firefighter. How there are some days that are full of adventure, fighting fires and saving people, and some that are so blasted boring you want to gouge your eyes out with a spoon. Those are the days, he told me, that every firefighter prays for. And when I asked him why, he said it was because on those days, it meant everybody was safe.
“Calvin became more than my teacher. He became my friend. He became my brother. He invited me into his life as an uncle to his daughter, whom I have come to love as though she really were my niece. I got to know the man behind the mentor, and I realized that he was a perfect example of the kind of man I wanted to be. Okay, maybe not perfect,” he said with a little laugh. Some of the audience also chuckled lightly. “Cal made his mistakes like any of us. There were times I didn’t like him all that much, especially when he’d poke his nose into my personal life with his usual line, ‘Ain’t none of my business kid, but…’ I told Kara’s mother the other day how I used to hate it when he said that to me, and how it took losing him to finally realize how much those words actually meant to me. Because now that I think about it, as angry as I was every time he prefaced a conversation with those words, he almost always ended up being right. Guess he knew better than I did.”
Sighing, Chris glanced at the picture of Calvin. “I’m going miss him so much. I feel like I’ve lost a member of my family. He was a member of my family, and I’m never going to forget him.”
***
Though she had smiled and nodded encouragingly during his speech at the service, Martie now seemed to be avoiding him. Every time Chris tried to approach her, she made an excuse to whomever she as talking and moved away. Frankly he was starting to get frustrated—he wanted to see her, to smell her, to touch her. Chasing his maybe-girlfriend around Calvin’s house was not the way he’d imagined spending his afternoon.
“Excuse me, Chris?”
He stopped and turned to find Scott Temple standing behind him. He knew the Gracechurch police detective only as the twin brother of Simon, but from what he’d heard about him he was a stand-up guy. Curious, he asked, “Yeah, Scott—what’s up?”
Scott cleared his throat. “Uh, is there somewhere we could speak in private? I’ve something I’d like to share with you, but it’s probably best kept just between us.”
Chris tried not to frown as he nodded, leading Scott through the throng of friends and family who had gathered to share their memories of Calvin. Because it really was the only free space at the moment, he led him out onto the front porch.
Turning to face the younger man, he said, “So what can I do for you?”
Scott ran a hand through his light brown hair. “Look, normally I wouldn’t tell somebody something like this, but my brother and cousin both respect you a great deal—Simon especially since you asked him to serve at the new firehouse with you.”
“I plan to offer Blake a position as well,” Chris returned. “It’s just with the planning of the funeral I haven’t had much time to work on the personnel issue at 343.”
“I’m sure Blake will be more than happy to accept,” Scott told him, then sighed. “Listen, the reason I wanted to talk to you is because someone at the Montana Bureau of Fire Safety ran a background check on you—a Lt. Liotta. I only know about it ‘cause I got a phone call from a friend in Information Services who remembered seeing your name in the paper. He thought the request was strange and said maybe I should make you aware of it. Like I said, normally I wouldn’t say anything, because I’m technically violating procedure by telling you, but—”
Chris held up a hand. He didn’t want to hear anymore. “Thank you, Scott. I appreciate what you’ve done for me. I owe you one.”
Without giving the man a chance to reply, he stalked into the house. He could feel his whole frame shaking with anger and he wanted very badly to ask Martie what the hell was going on. But Calvin’s service was neither the time nor the place, which meant if he didn’t want to cause a scene when next he laid eyes on her, he needed to leave—now. But first he had to say goodbye to Karalyn and Tonja and the rest of Cal’s family.
Making vague excuses about needing to take care of something and ignoring their concern, he quickly kissed each of the women on the cheek and shook Richard’s hand, then made his way out. He must have radiated an aura of “Don’t fuck with me” as he went, because every person in his path quickly cleared out of the way. Outside he jerked open the buttons of his dress jacket and yanked the door to his car open, heaving the jacket across the car to the passenger seat as he threw himself behind the wheel.
Ironically, the person he had wanted so much to see was now the last person he had any desire to speak to—and wouldn’t she just be the one person who ran outside as the Explorer’s tires threw gravel, kicking up a cloud of dust as he peeled down the drive.
***
She’d checked at his apartment, sorry that the first time she knocked on his door was because he had run away from her. And Martie was sure that’s precisely why Chris had left Calvin’s in such a hurry. Couldn’t really blame him, she knew, as she’d been avoiding him most of the afternoon. What she’d done had made her feel terrible—it was really hard to make nice and pretend everything was peachy-keen when you’d basically betrayed someone’s trust.
But what about what she’d learned—that he’d been quite the little pyromaniac in his teens? Stereotypical delinquency she could have handled—she wouldn’t have cared if he’d toilet papered his principal’s house or even boosted a sweet car and gone for a joyride. But starting fires? The old lighting dog poop-in-a-paper-bag trick, which he’d been accused of by numerous residents in Wolf Point, was nothing compared to his setting someone’s house on fire and endangering three lives. How was she supposed to get past that?
Given how deeply connected he was to Calvin Maynard’s family, Chris’s abrupt departure could only mean that he’d heard something he didn’t want to hear. Someone had found out about the background check and told him about it, even though requests for background information were supposed to be privileged. She supposed it didn’t matter, as she’d have felt compelled to tell him herself at some point. But Martie would rather have sat him down and explained why as well as giving him a chance to explain himself, discussing the situation as rational adults.
Clearly that wasn’t going to happen.
When it became clear he wasn’t home, she drove over to the fire station and explained to the guys on shift that she really needed to talk to him, that he was neither home nor answering his cell. One of the men suggested she try the new firehouse, which was located in New Town. He might be there helping the construction crew get closer to finishing the place, something he often did on his days off to pass the time.
Thanking them, she headed across town with her heart beating a staccato rhythm against her ribcage. Though she knew he was probably pissed at her, she wanted very much to see Chris. She’d been surprised by how much she missed him the last few days, how much her heart ached not being able to see him. So she’d called him each night before going to bed.
Then yesterday Graham had called her into his office. He’d read her report, her interviews, and though she wasn’t sure what it could be, he must have picked up on something in her interview with Chris or her report on the evidence gathering, because he asked her why she’d spent so much time with him. Wanted to know why the man who was for all intents and purposes in command of the shift had chosen to stay behind with her, leaving his men essentially leaderless. Martie had felt compelled to confess that she and Chris had connected on a personal level and that he’d stayed out of concern for her after the accident on the steps.
Graham had stated his opinion that a man who ignored his responsibilities wasn’t the kind of man she should get involved with, and suggested she discover mo
re about him before investing herself further in what could prove to be a volatile relationship. Unnerved by the discussion, she’d gone back to her office with her thoughts in turmoil. She hadn’t wanted to doubt her decision to be with Chris, but Graham had gotten under her skin. Then Tony had called, just to chat he claimed, and he’d picked up on her confusion in her voice. He had needled her until she’d told him everything (except the part about having slept with Chris, because that was personal information she wasn’t about to share with her brother), and unfortunately he’d agreed with Graham. Maybe it was best to find out a little more about Chris before she got too deeply involved with the guy.
Little did he know that it was too late for that.
Annoyed with his and Graham’s overprotective meddling but frankly curious to see what she’d find out, Martie called Information Services at the Gracechurch Police Department and requested his background information. As an adult he’d come up clean save for a couple of speeding tickets, but the sealed juvenile record noted on his file had made her even more curious. How did a man with a juvenile record get accepted into the Montana Fire Academy?
Her conscience warned her that she should stop there. After all, he’d committed no serious offense as an adult, and if the BFS had approved his application to the fire academy then who was she to judge? Unfortunately she was too tenacious an investigator for her own good, and knowing that the not knowing would eat away at her, she’d begged a favor of Janet Stafford, a criminal court judge with whom she was friendly. When asked her reason for requesting access to a sealed juvenile record, she told Janet that while he wasn’t officially a suspect, Chris was definitely a person of interest in her investigation as to the cause of the Breckon Apartments fire. A look at his previous criminal record might well give her insight she currently lacked. It was either a blessing or a curse that Janet’s son happened to be a firefighter—she had a great deal of respect for them, and admitted to finding it disturbing that one firefighter could possibly have anything to do with the death of another.
So she’d signed the warrant to unseal Chris’s juvenile record. Martie tried hard to ignore the bile that rose when she realized she’d committed a serious breach of ethics in virtually lying to Janet, not to mention that she was betraying a man she’d claimed to want a relationship with. But God help her, she had to know what was in those records.
Ten
The first words Chris could think of to say when he saw Martie walk into the partially completed office of Firehouse 343 were “What the fuck do you want?”
He knew that his harsh reaction was because he didn’t want to think about how beautiful she looked, how much he had missed her. He was supposed to be angry.
And he was. She’d run a background check on him without even having the decency to tell him herself. And why, for goodness’ sake? If she’d wanted to know something about him, surely she knew that all she had to do was ask. He’d already alluded to a “misspent youth”—and while he wasn’t proud of his delinquency, he wouldn’t have hidden it from her had she asked him about it.
But no. Instead of just asking him questions about his past, she had snuck behind his back and had him investigated. So much for wanting to him to be hers—Martie must not want him that damn much, not if she’d run a background check on him.
Out of the corner of his eye he watched her bristle at his angry tone. Well, what the hell did you expect? he asked silently. He’d just snapped at her, his tone harsher than he’d ever spoken to her before. But then what did she expect? Surely she knew by now that he knew what she’d done.
“I think we need to talk,” she replied stiffly.
“This is still a hardhat area,” he said without looking at her, instead positioning his nail gun and squeezing the trigger, sending another of the sharp industrial-grade nails into the drywall he was in the process of hanging. “You can’t be in here without one, and we haven’t got any to spare.”
Martie groaned loudly and stomped off. He heard the front door open again and shook his head. Given what he’d heard tell of Italian women—and his own experience with her irascibility—he’d expected her to argue. Instead she’d just walked out on him, so it was with a sigh that he shook his head and tried to dismiss her from his thoughts. An argument was certainly on the horizon, but he was glad to have avoided it for the present—he had work to do.
His use of the nail gun, or so he told himself, was the only reason he didn’t initially hear her return. He didn’t even know she’d come back until she cleared her throat, saying loudly, “Is this good enough? Or should I make a run to the hardware store to satisfy you?”
In spite of his anger, Chris instantly imagined a number of different ways she could satisfy him, and not one had a damn thing to do with her wearing a hard hat. Fighting to control his lust, when he turned his head to glance at her he noted that she was wearing her red BFS helmet.
“I guess it will have to do, since apparently you’re not going to go away,” he fired back. Turning back to the wall, he sent three more nails into it before setting the power tool aside and jerking his gloves off.
“I don’t even know why I should bother talking to you,” he added as he turned slowly to face her fully.
“Then maybe you could listen for a moment,” she countered.
“Right now I don’t think you have anything to say that I want to hear.”
Martie scowled and marched closer. “Too bad, because I’ve got plenty to say.”
“Oh really?” Chris asked snidely. “About what? Is it about how you went behind my back and had me investigated? For no fucking reason, I might add.”
“I was told that I should take a closer look at you before I got involved with you, Chris,” she snapped in return. “I listened to the advice.”
He scoffed as he pushed past her and stalked over to a cooler that was sitting on a folding table, reaching inside to pull out a can of beer. Popping the top, he took a swig and listened for a moment to the sounds of the construction crew working out in the garage. Turning again, he propped himself against the table by a hip, crossing his arms over his chest as he said, “If you do this to all your boyfriends, it’s no wonder you’ve been through the wringer more than once. Haven’t met a guy yet that liked it when the woman he cares about sneaks behind his back and has him investigated, when all she had to do was ask him questions.”
Chris tried not to care when her face pinched at the barb about her dating history. Right now he really wasn’t in the mood to give a damn whether or not her feelings were hurt.
Martie fisted her hands on her hips. “And would you really have answered my questions? If I had asked you if you’d ever committed a crime, would you have been honest with me?”
“Yes.”
She blinked rapidly. Chris took another long draw from the beer and swallowed. “Surprised? Well you shouldn’t be. Why the fuck would you expect me not to answer you honestly, Martie? I’ve got no reason to lie, and I’ve got nothing to hide.”
“I shouldn’t have to ask you if you’ve got a criminal record,” she countered. “A fireman shouldn’t have one.”
He snorted. “Nobody’s perfect, Martie. I know plenty of firefighters who screwed around and got in trouble when they were kids. I’ve met cops with juvie records.”
She shifted her stance, cocking a hip and crossing her arms as she retorted, “Are any of those cops or firefighters guilty of arson? Did any of them set a house on fire with three people inside?”
“They weren’t in any real danger,” he said.
Martie’s eyes grew large. “’Weren’t in any real danger’?” she said rhetorically. “Are you kidding me? Their house burned down, Chris!”
“I’m aware of that. I’m the one who set it on fire, remember?” he snapped angrily.
Martie lifted a hand and ran it over her face as she paced away from him. “I don’t get it. I just don’t get how you can be so fucking blasé about it. You committed a felony.”
“I
paid my penance for that,” Chris reminded her.
“You were damn lucky you were only charged as a juvenile,” she said, then turned back to him. “You could have—and probably should have—been charged as an adult.”
“I’m aware of that too,” he told her, and chugging the last few swallows of the beer, he crushed the can and flung it aside. “And technically speaking, the house didn’t burn down—only one wall had to be replaced. That and some furniture.”
Shaking her head, Martie threw her hands up in the air. “There you go again. Making light of the fact that you committed a crime.”
He shrugged. “I was sixteen. Kids that age do some really stupid shit, and I happened to be one of them. Consider me a statistic,” he said, deciding on nonchalance as his conversational tactic. Acting like he didn’t give a damn seemed to make her angrier, and that was fine with him as long as she said what she had to say and left.
It had absolutely nothing to do with the fact that the angry flush of her cheeks and heaving of her breasts had sent his groin on a mission of betrayal—Martie was the epitome of “beautiful when angry.”
Resisting the urge to adjust his privates into a more comfortable position (not that such was likely possible, as hard as he was), he crossed his arms again and said, “Anything else?”
She frowned. “So you have nothing to say? No argument in your own defense?” she asked.
“Why should I bother?” Chris retorted. “You’ve already made up your mind about me. I’m no good for you because of one dumbfuck thing I did twenty fuckin’ years ago. Apparently it don’t matter to you that I’ve done nothing but good since I ended my two years as a guest of the state. It doesn’t matter that I have a college degree, or that I passed the state firefighter’s exam in the top ten percent of my class… Or that I have served this city—shedding blood and sweat and all but giving up on having a life of my own for ten thousand people I don’t even fucking know—for nearly half my life.”
Fire Born (Firehouse 343) Page 14
