Edge of the Heat (Westwood Harbor Corruption)

by Ladew, Lisa

  Everything was good for two months, then she came home early one day and found him in her bed with a hooker. A hooker whose face was swollen and red, like he’d been hitting her while screwing her. As Emma left, this time for good and forever, she thought to herself that she really didn’t know anything about Norman’s past. She’d never met his parents or siblings or even any aunts or uncles. None had come to the wedding - he’d said his siblings were busy and on the East Coast, and his mom and dad were sick and not able to travel. But he’d never shared even a story from his childhood. For the first time she wondered if she wasn’t the only one in the marriage with issues.

  Norman contested the divorce but the judge granted it anyway. Norman followed Emma for almost a year, trying to convince her to take him back. She had almost filed a restraining order against him many times, but that would have gotten him fired. She didn’t want that on her conscience.

  Finally, he backed off. And the rest Craig knew. When she tried to date after about a year, Norman ran the men off. Finally she had just given up. She buried her dreams in overtime.

  She did, however decide it was time to get healthy. She went to therapy and read books on how to recover from a childhood like she had. She made a lot of progress, and still went to see her doctor occasionally to look for new ways to break through the pain of her past.

  Craig had to understand - she wasn’t asking for pity. Just baring her soul so maybe he could understand why she did what she did just a little bit.

  Then she explained about the vision she had, in which she had seen what she thought was her future husband, and he loved her. The joy from the vision overshadowed every hurt she’d ever felt. This was the man who would be the anti-Norman. He would love her always and be who he said he was and take care of her, and they would have a large family together. That was what she thought anyway. And the man in the vision had dark hair and dark skin.

  So even though she had grown to love Craig, she pushed it aside and kicked him out of her life. She was still chasing the vision with desperation. That’s what made her go to Reece’s apartment. That’s what made her ask out Dennis. That’s what made her tell Craig no when she really wanted to tell him yes.

  And now, now she realized her folly. She was done with the vision. Whether she ever met the man or not, the man she wanted was Craig. Life is for living as it happens, and she realized that now.

  Emma re-read the letter and almost tore it up. She felt shame burn her cheeks at how messed up she was. Craig really would not want her now. But no. She straightened her spine and hardened her resolve. This was her and she had promised herself a long time ago she wouldn’t hide who she really was anymore. If he could read this and forgive her and possible see her again, then he was a better man than she deserved. But she would work to deserve his love.

  She sealed the letter, put a stamp on it, and mailed it to his address.

  Chapter 17.

  Craig pulled out the thick fire hose and started checking it for kinks. It was a slow day, and he needed to do something to keep his mind off Emma. He had gotten her letter 2 days ago. He hadn’t read it at first, but the weight of it called to him. He couldn’t imagine what she could say that would excuse her behavior that night. But he got curious. Obviously she was going to try.

  After reading the letter he really didn’t know what to do. He had liked Emma so much - maybe he had even been approaching that edge between like and love. She was everything he had ever wanted in a woman, and so much like his sweet Lucy, the woman he had thought he was going to marry. But then she rejected him twice. And now the letter. Her past hurt his heart, tore at his soul. But he had personally seen that although she might have been scarred by it, she wasn’t destroyed by it. She had learned to love and care and find joy again. His admiration for her deepened. But he did still feel hurt by her rejection, and a little concerned that maybe she wasn’t as healed as she thought she was.

  Most of his being wanted to run to her and kiss away every indignity she had ever suffered. The rest of him was scared. Scared that she might see this man in someone else and push him away again.

  He didn’t want to think about it anymore, he just wanted some peace in his aching brain. So he hauled out another fire hose and went over it even more closely.

  Behind him, a large white sedan pulled into the driveway.

  He walked over, waving it away, “Hey, you can’t park there - you’ll block in the firetruck.”

  Norman Foster got out of the car in plain clothes, badge in hand, large gun on hip.

  “This will just take a second,” he said, his face a rock.

  Craig stopped short, frenzied thoughts filling his head. Norman had no idea that Craig knew who he was did he? No he couldn’t, and Craig wanted to keep it that way. This couldn’t be good news though, for whoever Norman wanted to see.

  “Craig Masterson work here?”

  Craig sucked in his breath, but cut it off short. What kind of a fuck-up was this?”

  “That’s me.”

  An angry sneer crossed Norman’s face for a second. He looked Craig up and down, probably trying to figure out who would win in a fight. Craig put his money squarely on himself, knowing he outweighed Norman by a good 30 pounds of muscle. Norman fought dirty, though.

  “That’s you huh? What are you boy, stupid?”

  Craig blinked at the insult. Boy? Stupid? What was going on here? Was he about to get a good dose of Norman’s scare tactics firsthand?

  Norman shook his head disgustedly at Craig’s lack of an answer. “You must be stupid, seeing as how you are sniffing up my tree.”

  Holy shit, is my cover blown?

  “Your fucking tongue broken?”

  Craig wiped his hands on a shop towel and considered his possible answers. None seemed safe so he kept quiet.

  “You really are a stupid idiot. Well let me just lay it all on the line right here.”

  Norman sauntered forward and jabbed a finger into Craig’s chest. “You stay away from Emma Hill. She don’t belong to you.”

  Emma! This is about Emma! He’s still doing this!

  “You stay out of her house.” Jab. “You stay out of her car.” Jab. “You stay out of her life.” Jab. “She’s mine.”

  Craig finally had enough of the jabbing. He grabbed Norman’s finger off his chest and yanked it backwards, hoping to tear some tendons.

  Norman’s eyes widened and his face contorted. He bent backwards with his finger, trying to alleviate the pain.

  With his other hand, Craig whipped his phone out of his pocket, swiped the screen with his thumb, and face timed Hawk, holding the phone at arm’s length, facing him so Norman couldn’t see.

  “Emma’s not yours.” Craig growled, giving one final heave backwards against Norman and then he let go.

  Norman’s hand dropped to his gun and he popped the snap on the holster, pulling the gun out an inch.

  Hawk picked up right away. “Go.”

  “There’s a cop here threatening me, I’m going to show him to you.”

  A finger covered Hawk’s lens.

  Craig pointed the phone at Norman. “You going to shoot me Officer? What did you say your name was again? I don’t have anything in my hands but my phone and I’m not attacking you, but you are pulling your gun out?”

  Norman looked at the phone and back at Craig. A calm mask dropped over his features.

  “Of course not,” I was just going to take my holster off. Sometimes I find it intimidates people.” His hands found the buckle at his waist, working it. He walked back to his car and tossed the holster and gun in the open window.

  “I think this might be a misunderstanding. Why don’t you hang up the phone and we can talk about it.”

  “OK.” Craig mimed swiping the screen and put the phone down on the length of hose curled up in the firetruck, then he crossed his arms and widened his stance and waited to hear what other gems were going to come out of Norman’s mouth. He felt almost giddy over the encounter. Nor
man Foster was getting sloppy.

  “Look, Craig? We got off on the wrong foot here. I don’t want to be your enemy. I don’t have many enemies. Anymore. All I’m saying is I don’t think you are good for Emma, and if you know what is good for both of you, you will leave her alone. She has a lot of issues, you know? I’m just trying to keep her safe.”

  “I think I can keep her safe,” Craig responded.

  Norman’s eyes narrowed. “Well, I guess you could try, but she has a lot of issues, you know. Her addiction, and how she pays for the blow.”

  Craig’s mind spun. He knew Norman was both lying and baiting him, but he still couldn’t believe the lies coming out of this man’s mouth.

  “Her addiction?”

  “You never noticed? You’ve never seen her head for the bathroom too often? Or just excuse herself? She does cocaine man.”

  Craig felt his temperature rising at the words coming out of this monster’s mouth. His hands itched to punch some part of Norman’s body. But he needed to know what Norman was going to say next. And he also needed to stay out of jail tonight. He looked down, hoping Norman would interpret this as yes or maybe.

  “She’s asked me for help and I’m trying to help her, but she just keeps getting back on the stuff. At least the whoring hasn’t been as bad lately. When she runs out of money, she fucks the dealers as payment.”

  Craig suddenly knew that Norman had been the one who called that prick who tried to rape Emma. He posed as Jerry and told some stories, and Emma almost paid the price.

  Craig couldn’t take it for one more second. He roared and rushed Norman. Norman sidestepped him easily and laughed. He had been baiting Craig, waiting for this reaction. Craig stopped short, checked his rage with effort, and danced back towards Norman, looking for an entrance. Norman stood there, and dropped his guard. Craig knew if he touched Norman he was going to jail tonight, but he didn’t care. He just wanted to get his hands on Norman long enough to let him know how it felt to be on the receiving end of a fist.

  He leaned forward, about to take him down, when someone yelled. “Craig don’t do it man!”

  Frankie was in the bay. Craig hadn’t heard him enter but he was here, running towards them.

  Chapter 18.

  7 days, that’s a week. 7 days. 7 days. 7 days. Emma chanted inside her head. It had been 7 days since she had sent the letter to Craig, and she hadn’t heard from him. She saw him on a call twice in those 7 days, but both times they had been too busy to talk, and both times he hadn’t gotten close enough to her for a glance or a smile, seemingly on purpose. She was getting desperate. So desperate in fact, that she had just volunteered to work the Crystal Creek Wildfire in order to get her mind off things. Wildfires were back-breaking work with no room for error, and they could go on for weeks. She knew from experience that if she made it home anytime in the next few days or weeks to sleep, she would drop into bed so exhausted she wouldn’t even dream.

  She was driving the big red tanker truck out to the first firebreak - almost an hour drive from Westwood Harbor, but it took closer to two hours in this monster. The water alone that she was hauling probably weighed 14,000 pounds. As the road got smaller and more like a switchback, her thoughts of Craig were pushed to the back of her mind as she wrestled with the big truck. She was glad to see them go.

  She’d been able to see the smoke for the entire drive, and smell it for 30 miles, but now the road on both sides of her was blackened and still smoking. She was close.

  She found her unit and unloaded, putting on her gear. It was early morning, and the air was still breathable - the fire still low and light. The bulk of the fire would be here in 8 hours or less, and they were going to try to widen this firebreak and save some homes in a small subdivision on the other side of the road.

  Emma got her orders and headed out with her partners. They burned brush, dug out roots and small trees, and followed the bulldozers, picking up what they missed. By 3 p.m. Emma was exhausted. By 8 p.m. she was falling down on her feet. So far so good though, the fire had come to the edge but hadn’t hopped the firebreak yet. They just hoped it was wide enough.

  A nighttime crew came in to relieve them. Emma was relieved to head home for the night; they would need the tanker truck full again in the morning. She drove slowly, eyes heavy, mind still. She watched the underbrush on the south side of her truck, looking for where the fire ended. Found it - she noted the mile marker and tried to call it in but had no response. She stopped the truck, both to rest and to try to reach the scene commander again. Sometimes the radio worked better when the truck was still.

  She had driven about three miles. She turned off the engine and looked at the stars. Man it was gorgeous out here. It seemed she could see the entire milky way.

  “CCF, FF 238,” she called, still looking up at the stars. Nothing. That’s OK, she could wait another couple of minutes. If she didn’t hear anything by then she would try dispatch.

  Emma held her breath, and stretched her head towards the woods. Was that a scream she heard?

  The fire was close, but she couldn’t see any burning where she was. She wondered if there was a house back there. She got out with her flashlight to investigate.

  There, that was definitely a scream. She got her gear on, wondering if she would find a human, or if that was an animal terrified enough to sound like a person.

  “CCF 24, FF 238,” she called for the scene commander on the radio again. No answer still.

  Damnit, was she in a dip?

  She switched frequencies, hoping to get central dispatch. “PAP-65, FF 238,” she called.

  “Standing by,” came the reply.

  “I am in Vehicle 42, approximately a tenth of a mile west of mile marker 436, and I am hearing screaming in the woods on the south side. I am heading in to investigate. I am unable to contact CCF 24.”

  “Do you have a partner FF 238?”

  “Negative.”

  “10-4, will contact Scene Commander for you. Stand by.”

  Emma put the handset down and walked into the woods, carrying a pickaxe. She knew it was possible that she would be told to stand down until someone could reach her on the next transmission, so she made sure she wasn’t there to hear it. Lives could be in danger. She had to help if she could.

  She didn’t hear any more noises, but tried to head in the general direction where it had been coming from. She was counting her paces, and had walked for about 1/3 of a mile due south, tying strips of orange tape to trees every 20 feet, so she could be followed. There wasn’t a lot of underbrush here, so going was easy. The smoke smell was stronger though, and she saw a glow up ahead. There. Another rough scream. Damn, she was about 80% sure that was an animal. If she were 100% sure she might have turned back. Not because animals weren’t worth saving, but because if she got in trouble, other firefighters would be sent in to save her, and that was dangerous at night. Dangerous all the time, but worse at night. If a person got hurt because she was saving a wild boar she would never forgive herself.

  Until she was sure though, she had to keep going. “Hello?” she called. “Anyone there?”

  Nothing.

  Then something. “Help!”

  Faint, but definitely human. Oh man, that voice sounded tortured. She picked up her pace.

  “Hello, I can hear you, where are you?” she called out.

  Silence. Damn.

  Ahead she saw what looked like a small building. The fire looked close. Within 100 feet of it she could tell it was a hunter’s shack. Rough walls painted camouflage, only about the size of a large bathroom. The door was standing open. She approached carefully and shined her flashlight in, but there was nothing.

  “Hello, where are you?” She called again to the south.

  Faintly, she heard a cough. She started off in the direction of it. More southwest than due south. She tied a piece of orange tape and then another only 5 feet away to show her change in direction.

  The fire was getting closer, the smoke was
getting stronger, and the woods were getting hotter. She picked up her pace, hoping to get to the person before the fire swallowed him or her.

  Another hunter’s shack, this one smaller. She swept it with her flashlight. There, on the bare ground, a man. She could see the wet glint of exposed bone in his thigh from here. “I’m here, I’ll get you out of here, what happened?” she said in one breath, falling to her knees and grabbing her bag.

  He was unconscious. But she had found him! She said a short prayer of thanks and positioned her flashlight so she could see and opened her bag. She had a small aid kit with her. It wasn’t standard wildfire gear, but she always packed and carried one on any special operation. No splints but plenty of bandages. She ran outside and gathered up some sticks she could use to splint his leg, dropping the two smoldering ones she found. Damn! The fire was right there. She could hear the crackle and whoosh of it. Her heart thumped hard in her chest and her forehead went icy cold, despite the sweat on her brow. She had to get this man out of here within 10 minutes or less or they were toast.

  With the sticks and two ace bandages she had him splinted up in less than 2 minutes. She was glad to cover the bone. It ran through her mind that she hadn’t even checked to see if he was still alive. Her eyes went to his face and her fingers to his neck. He opened his eyes and locked on to hers. “Water,” he whispered. She unholstered the bottle from her belt and held it to his lips. He drank greedily.

  “I’m going to get you out of here. It’s going to hurt when I move you, but we have to go fast. The fire is close.”

  He searched her eyes, then nodded.

  She swept the flashlight over him and estimated his height at 6 feet and his weight at 250 pounds. Damn. She was only about 150 pounds.

  “I have to build a travois. It’s a kind of sled. It will take me 5 minutes. Stay here. Can you hold the bottle?”