Never Forget The Past (The Men 0f Fire Beach Book 4)

by Lorana Hoopes

  Never Forget the Past

  A Clean Romantic Suspense

  Lorana Hoopes

  Copyright © 2018 by Lorana Hoopes

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  Created with Vellum

  To my wonderful readers who inspire me to write everyday.

  To Shari who helped me make this the novel it needed to be.

  To my writing students who read my first chapter and inspired me to keep going.

  Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  It’s not quite the end!

  22. Not ready to say Goodbye yet?

  23. A Free Story For You

  24. The Billionaire’s Impromptu Bet Preview

  The Story Doesn’t End!

  Discussion Questions

  About The Author

  Chapter 1

  She loved to watch things burn. Fire meant renewal. It allowed the old and useless items to be destroyed so new and worthwhile things could take their places. It was also cleansing. Sins could be erased in fire. The hot, searing heat held perfection and no mercy. No one could escape the fire’s wrath. Which was why it had to be done.

  Some people believed that God doled out judgement, but the truth was that God was often too merciful. Too full of grace. He forgave people who didn’t deserve it. Therein lay the need for His angels. People who could witness the depravity of man or woman and take the necessary steps to cleanse the world. People like her.

  She let the match burn to her fingertips, enjoying the heat that pulsed through her hand. Some angels preferred fancier ways to fulfill their duties. The news was littered with stories of shootings, drownings, some even used drugs, but she had always enjoyed the simplest way. A little gasoline and a match. All it took was an open window, a splash of gas, one strike, and the fire would lick the gas up in giant gulps. Flames would race each other to the top of the house and snake their way along the walls. She never had to be inside this way, but she always made sure they were. And she always struck at night when the blanket of deep sleep would keep them from escaping. So far, no one had escaped.

  The match, a charred remnant of wood now, floated to the ground. When it landed, she placed the toe of her shoe over it and twisted, burying it into the dirt. She only ever left one. To leave any more would be tempting fate. Even the one she left was always a way back from the scene, but it was her homage, her thanks for being bestowed with this honor. Not everyone could do what she did, and she willingly bore the weight of her title.

  As the flames licked higher, she stepped back into the comforting dark of the forest. The limbs of the trees reached out for her like arms of a mother, and the leaves hid her form so she could watch undisturbed. Watching was her favorite part. She thrived on the fear that graced each face that saw the fire, the terror that colored each voice as they yelled out orders or cried. Even the nervous bustling activity brought a smile to her face. But the best part by far was when the coroner arrived, and the body left the house in its black bag.

  A finality existed just in the word black - its heavy feeling on the tongue and its abundance of thick blended consonants - but even more in the form of it. Zipped from head to toe, no more light poked into the bag. No more grace. Only darkness. A shiver of delight ran down her spine at the thought. Yes, that was her favorite part.

  She settled against the tree and waited. It had been a long time, but finally, she was back.

  Chapter 2

  Captain Makenna Drake ran a slender hand through her chin-length brown hair as she stared at the charred remains of a house - her crime scene - and sighed. It had been so quiet the last few years. Why did this have to start again now?

  “Do you think it’s the same guy?” Tad asked from behind her shoulder.

  She glanced up at her lieutenant, the only other cop still on the force who had worked the murder case five years ago. He’d been young then, fresh out of the academy and eager to learn even though he had spent more time typing reports and fetching coffee than he had processing evidence. He was older now, but his face still boasted his youth. It was not yet marred with the wrinkles the stress of this job brought, but it would be if he stayed a cop much longer.

  It happened to them all, she supposed. Death would come across their paths and leave his mark - a graying of the hair here, a few wrinkles there, the inability to process emotions or maintain healthy relationships sprinkled in for good measure. She had seen it before with her first captain. Fierce and stoic, he had been a force to reckon with - hard to please and even harder to earn praise from. But he’d been unhappy. After two divorces and little contact with the children who had written him out of their lives years ago, drinking had become his companion. First, a little nip here and there when an especially tough case crossed their desks - the death of a child, physical abuse, or the like. But then she’d noticed it more often - the frequent trips to his office, the darker mood, the sallow complexion.

  And so she had transferred to a smaller department. Convinced that the crime of the bigger city had been his downfall, she’d chosen a smaller town with a lower crime rate, but she found the same markers here. Sure, it took longer, but the aging still happened. Her superiors both looked a decade older than they were. The captain had recently filed for divorce and the sergeant's relationship was hanging on by a thread, but she would be different. She’d promised herself she would find time to date, that she would leave her work at work and fully engage at home, but she hadn’t.

  And then one day, she’d seen the toll in her own mirror - the bags under her eyes where there had previously been none and the coarse gray hairs that contrasted with her dark hair - both in color and in manageability.

  Tad’s hair held no traces of that gray yet, and his eyes glistened with curiosity and wonder - something she had lost long ago. But he hadn’t been entrenched in the previous case the way she had. And life had returned to normal after the last death - traffic stops and bar brawls, but nothing serious. She wondered if he would still look so young when this was over, or if, like her, his face would bear the brunt of the weight of cases like this.

  “I don’t know if it’s the same guy,” she said, returning her gaze to the blackened structure. “The MO is the same. House fire at night, open or broken window where the fire starts, but all the victims last time were women.”

  “Except for Matt Fisher,” he said.

  Right, Matt Fisher. The final victim. The man everyone thought was dead. Everyone except Makenna who knew better. Everyone except Makenna who sent him away when he came to her after the attempt on his life. “Yes, except for him.” She forced her face to remain impassive. Tad didn’t know what she had done, and she wasn’t sure she was ready to tell him yet. “But if our killer changed his victim MO with Matt, why the long break?”

  Confusion clouded Tad’s face, dimming the brightness of his eyes momentarily, and he shook hi
s head. “Something must have triggered him.”

  “Yes, but what?” Makenna hated that this guy was killing again. She hated the fear that would blanket the small town as it had five years ago. She hated the fact that she hadn’t caught the guy last time. Even more, she hated the fact that she had told Matt Fisher to leave, had let his family believe he was dead, for nothing. She’d thought she was saving him, had thought the killer was after him, but now he was striking again even though Matt Fisher was long gone. How much of Matt Fisher’s life had she destroyed with her wrong choice?

  She supposed it could be a copycat. The fires always started at night when the victims were asleep. They always started inside an open window, and the only accelerant they could ever determine was gasoline. Sometimes the window was broken, but they never found fingerprints or what he used to break it which meant he took the item with him and probably wore gloves. It wasn’t much to go on, but it was possible someone had read about the old cases and decided to try his hand. It certainly wouldn’t be hard to copy.

  Makenna didn’t think so though. Woodville was a smaller town - not tiny but small enough that violent crimes were few and far between. Most of her time was spent ticketing speeders or the occasional red light runners. Besides those murders five years ago, the only other big case they’d had was when Tommy Granger went missing for a few hours and his parents believed he’d been kidnapped. Turned out, he had fallen asleep in the dog house with their new puppy and just didn’t hear all the shouts.

  So, the chances of a copycat choosing their town again just didn’t sit right with her. It made much more sense that something had appeased the killer last time and something had triggered him again this time. Of course, the only thing that could have appeased him last time was the death of Matt Fisher, but then why start killing again? As far as Makenna knew, she was the only one who knew Matt was alive, who knew where he was. Had there been more to it last time? Something she had missed?

  “What are we going to do, Captain?” Tad asked.

  Makenna took another deep breath and uttered the words she’d both hoped and dreaded to say. “I guess I’m going to bring someone back from the dead.”

  * * *

  Billy “Bubba” Campbell glanced around his apartment as he locked up. Though he enjoyed his alone time, he wished he had someone to share the evenings with, but his job as a firefighter kept him busy. And then there was the issue with his past. No one in Fire Beach knew his real past, and though he had fully embraced his current life, that reality made it hard to let people in - really in - enough to form a relationship with. Besides, what if it happened again? He couldn’t stand any woman he cared about getting hurt again. No, it was better this way. He would just be content with good friends and the good Lord.

  Speaking of good friends, he better hurry up. Tonight, Detective Jordan Graves, was throwing a party for Tia Sweetchild, the author who had ended up in their town after a car accident the opening night of Jordan’s restaurant. They had all worked to save her, and though she’d had a long recovery, she’d done it with the help of her now-boyfriend, Dr. Brody Cavanaugh. Bubba still marveled at how the members of the different departments had bonded.

  The rest of the crew was already at the restaurant when Bubba entered, but thankfully, his friend and fellow firefighter Luca had saved him a seat. Luca was a Southerner like Bubba, but Bubba had quickly learned after meeting Luca that there were two types of Southerners. There were southerners from Texas like he was - people who said ya’ll, loved okra, and called every drink a coke. And then there were the people from the deep south, like Luca who was from Georgia. The differences were few, but they came out occasionally, usually around food. Bubba still remembered the time Luca had called him a Yankee for not knowing what a ham hock was. Weird that they now both lived up North in Illinois.

  He slid into the seat next to Luca just as Jordan tapped his water glass with a spoon. Though he would never have opted for the title, Jordan had become their representative, their glue. His commanding presence was a large part of that - he had a natural ability to draw the attention when he walked into a room. Couple that with his occupation as a cop as well as the co-owner of the restaurant, and he was in the forefront quite often.

  The conversation quieted, allowing him to speak. “Thank you all for coming. As you know, we have a resident celebrity in our midst.” He smiled at Tia, and she dropped her eyes as a soft pink color crawled up her cheeks. “And she has finally finished her masterpiece. Tia get up here and show off your beautiful book.” Tia had been an author before her accident, but after it, she had taken some time to work in the restaurant while she healed. Somehow, she had managed to write a book at the same time.

  Tia shook her head as she pushed back her chair. Bubba didn’t know all of Tia’s story, but he’d heard a little through the grapevine and he’d been there when she had first been rescued with the Jaws of Life. It would be hard to tell she had ever been in a serious accident except for the large red scar that still arced across her forehead.

  She grabbed a bag and walked to the front of the table. “Thank you all for wanting to celebrate this with me. This wasn’t an easy book to write, but your support helped me get past all the hard parts. Now, I’ve loved a lot of books I’ve written, but I think this might be my best.”

  “Hear, hear,” Brody, her boyfriend and ICU doctor, said lifting his glass and flashing her a large smile. “What?” he asked as he looked around the table. “I already read it, so I know that it’s good. She got the doctor spot on.”

  Tia shook her head and smiled at him. “Anyway, I think it is because of all of you that it turned out so well, and that’s why I’m pleased to present to you…” she paused before pulling the book out of the bag, “The Key to Remember.”

  Bubba joined in the cheers and clapping as Tia passed the book around the table. He hadn’t read it yet, but if it chronicled her narrow escape from the men who had been after her when she lost her memory, he had no doubt it would be interesting. When the book reached his hands, he flipped through the pages before turning to Luca Sanders. “Hey, this might even be a book you could read, Luca.”

  “Only if it’s on audiobook,” Luca shot back. “I can’t sit still long enough to read a paper book. Sorry, Tia.”

  “You probably couldn’t focus long enough to listen to an audiobook either,” Bubba said with a deep chuckle. “Unless maybe it was a Dr. Seuss book.”

  “Hey, there is nothing wrong with Dr. Seuss,” Luca said, punching Bubba in the arm. “I still remember Green Eggs and Ham. Of course, maybe that’s because our teacher actually made us eat green eggs.” A grimace contorted his face and Bubba laughed out loud.

  “Excuse me?”

  The conversation stilled at the unfamiliar voice, and Bubba’s blood ran cold. It couldn’t be. She’d promised not to come find him unless the murders started again. He turned toward the doorway where a petite woman stood. She was thinner and her hair held a few more silver strands, but Bubba would have wagered a year’s wage that the woman was Makenna Drake.

  “I’m sorry to interrupt, but do any of you know where I can find Matt Fisher?” Her eyes scanned the room, and Bubba knew when they reached him, she would recognize him. He hadn’t changed that much in five years. They hadn’t thought a change of appearance would be necessary. Moving him a few hours away and giving him a whole new name and past had seemed like enough, especially since Makenna hadn’t known the name he’d chosen. She had set him up with a hacker she knew who could arrange a new identity complete with documents. She’d agreed to know the town he moved to in case she needed to find him again, but she hadn’t wanted any more knowledge in case the killer ever realized they had faked Matt’s death and went after Makenna for information.

  Confused glances shot around the room and Jordan stood to address her. “I’m sorry, ma’am, there’s no Matt Fisher here.”

  “Actually, there is.” Bubba took a deep breath and let it out in a sigh. Time seemed to freez
e as every eye turned his direction, and he pushed back his chair and stood. “I’m Matt Fisher.”

  “What? What are you talking about, Bubba? Who is this woman?” The questions fired at him from all across the table and Bubba held up his hands to quiet them down.

  “I’ll answer all your questions, but let me start with the last one first.” He turned to Makenna and motioned her to join them. “This is Lieutenant Makenna Drake.”

  “Actually, it’s Captain now.”

  Bubba raised a brow and shot her a glance riddled with questions. She was a good cop, but captain already?

  She smiled and shrugged as if reading his mind. “It’s a small town.”

  He chuckled at that. “It is, but somehow I doubt that’s the only reason you’re a captain now. I should have expected nothing less.” He looked away from Makenna and back to his friends to continue his story. “Captain,” he emphasized the word, “Drake is from Woodville where I used to live.”

  “Woodville? I thought you were from Texas,” Luca said.

  “I am originally from Texas, but I moved to Woodville in high school. I graduated there and trained to become a firefighter.”

  “You? Or Matt Fisher?” Jordan asked, and Bubba did not miss the note of suspicion threading his voice.

  “Matt Fisher. That is the name I was born with. Anyway, for a couple of years, it was great. I loved the area and my job, but then about five years ago, people began dying.”