The Widow's Protector

by Stephanie Newton

  “What do you mean?” Fiona wasn’t sure she even followed.

  “According to my mamma, there are boys you date and boys you marry. Now, I’m not sure I subscribe to that theory, but either way, Hunter is definitely the marrying type.”

  “Sounds like you’ve thought about this, Bets. Are you sure you don’t have a crush on Hunter?”

  Betsie took a sip of her coffee when Charlotte tucked a plate of cookies between them. And as the hostess bustled back to her stand, Betsie smiled. “Oh, believe me, sugar, it’s not for lack of trying to get that man’s attention, but he only has eyes for one woman—and that woman is you.”

  Fiona felt the heat rush to her cheeks. Was it that obvious to everyone? First Douglas, now Betsie. Had the whole town been talking about them? “You’ve been reading romance novels again.”

  Raising her right hand, Betsie said, “First to admit it. But everybody deserves a happy ending. Even you, sweet Fee.”

  “I’m not admitting anything… .” With her cheeks burning, Fee looked over at Betsie, whose blue eyes were sparkling with their shared secret. “But that dimple really is cute.”

  “I knew it!”

  Fiona pressed her uninjured hand to Betsie’s. “Don’t get excited. Hunter is determined to stay just friends. And with the arson investigation, it’s not the first thing on either one of our minds.”

  “It’s certainly a lot more fun to think about than someone setting things on fire.” She looked up at Fiona from under her long dark lashes. “Also fun, rebuilding and redecorating. Check this out.”

  Betsie slid over the magazine. “I think I’ve decided to make the inside of the Sweet Shoppe look like this.”

  The magazine spread showed a cupcake shop, the colors brown, pale green and white. Little awnings announced shopping areas. “It’s adorable.”

  Her friend nodded. “I want a coffee bar, a pastry bar and a cupcake counter. What about you?”

  “I’m going to rebuild The Reading Nook the way it was. One, I didn’t have as much damage. Two, less to decide and three, we were just hitting our stride. I’d hate to mess with something that’s already working.” Fiona pulled out her notebook and drew two columns, one for Betsie’s store, one for hers. “So, my walls are going up today. Do you want them to come to your shop directly from mine?”

  “You remind me of Jimmy, with that notebook.” Betsie took a cookie from the plate and broke it in half.

  Fiona looked up, an instant smile on her face. “I think about that, too.”

  “He was in my shop for a croissant and a cup of coffee the day…well, anyway. He was scribbling in one of his journals. He looked so serious.”

  “He was there the day he died, before his shift?”

  Betsie nodded. “I remember thinking that I wish I’d given him a hug before he had left that morning. I would’ve, if I’d known.”

  “Me, too.” He’d left before she woke up. He’d been so distant and moody, and while she’d tried to put it out of her mind, maybe that was the wrong thing. Maybe she should’ve been trying to find out why he’d been distant and moody.

  “Did he have his journal with him when he left for his shift?”

  “Yes, of course. Fiona, what’s going on?” Betsie’s face mirrored the confusion in her voice.

  Fiona’d never found the last journal, the one from the month Jimmy had died. Finally she’d decided that maybe it didn’t matter. But maybe it did. “I’ve got to go. Can we reschedule?”

  “Sure.” Betsie stared after her as she grabbed her purse and half ran toward the door.

  “Next coffee’s on me. I promise,” Fiona called over her shoulder as she left the dining room.

  Rather than taking the time to go back to her house to get her car, she walked the block and a half to the fire department. Her mind was turning the problem in circles. If Jimmy had been writing in a journal, it was one she hadn’t found. Surely he’d said something in his writing about what he was doing that had him so distracted in the last days of his life.

  She felt a stir of hope. She would find that journal. And with it, the information that had stayed hidden for two long years.

  * * *

  Smoke poured out of the eaves of the abandoned warehouse on the outskirts of town. The first warehouse fire Hunter had been in since Jimmy had died. As their engine rolled onto the property, his mouth went dry as he stared at the building. Then he looked around at his four-man crew. “Look sharp, everybody, button up your coats. Looks like we’ve got us a hot one.”

  Everyone knew their position, knew what to do. Everyone except Lance. As they bailed off the engine, he got in the rookie’s face. “Stay on my six. Don’t even think about looking anywhere except the stripes on my back. You got that?”

  Hunter picked up the irons and, swinging them to his shoulder, glanced around the scene. The volunteer fire department was already here, already inside the building. He stopped to talk to the man in charge. “What’ve we got?”

  “Three floors of offices to the left as you go in, open stairwell in the warehouse. My guys have cleared the top floor. The rest is warehouse. Steel beams. It’s burning hot.”

  “All right, we’ll go in behind your guys.”

  The sounds of the fire scene were background noise to Hunter—the sirens, the horns of arriving companies of firefighters, the incident commander yelling into his radio. It all faded away as he stepped into the smoke.

  Fire had its own unique sound and character. It roared, whispered, cajoled. Had a way of tricking a person into thinking it was manageable, right before it transformed into a monster. He could hear the probie’s breaths, too fast.

  “Take it easy, Lance. We’re just going to search the first floor. What are the dangers if a warehouse is abandoned?” If he kept him talking, thinking, Lance would get through it okay.

  “There might be holes in the floor and walls. People use them as passageways.” Behind him, the rookie tripped over something.

  Right. Even the sense of the warehouse being familiar was gone now. Every fire was different. Every scene. He knew that. He was in the here and now. The past was the past. “What else, Lance?”

  “We have to search. People could be hiding if they’re trespassing and they know they’re not supposed to be in here.”

  Hunter followed the hose that the volunteer firefighters had laid coming in. “Good. What about the building itself?”

  “We have to pay attention to the fire because while it takes a lot to burn, the structural integrity of the steel can be damaged by the heat.”

  Hunter smiled. So the rookie had paid attention in class. They cleared the first floor quickly. The rooms were empty save a couple desks and what looked like it used to be a hibachi. If it wasn’t what started the fire, it was only a matter of time. This place was a fire waiting to happen.

  “Okay, let’s move to the second floor.” Hunter started down the hall to the stairs.

  “I thought the other crew was checking the upper floors.” Lance’s voice sounded tinny through his SCBA gear.

  “You’ve got to learn to listen and work at the same time. They left after checking the third floor, but we’ve got their guys on the pipe coming in behind us.” Hunter’s flashlight attached to his turnout coat shone ahead of them as they climbed the stairs.

  The second door was shut. Hunter checked the knob. Locked. He handed the ax to Lance. “On my order.”

  He slammed the tool into the crack of the door just above the lock. And on his count, Lance hit the tool with the head of the ax, applying pressure as Hunter applied leverage. The door popped open.

  A blast of heat sent them low. The guys from the volunteer unit stepped forward with the hose to lay the fire down enough for them to search.

  Range of color disappeared in a fire. The world narrowed to orange, yellow, red. Black and gray. Hunter scanned the room. Nowhere for anyone to hide. The walls down the length of the suite of offices were gone and if they didn’t get out of here soon, the f
loor would be, too.

  A bank of windows across the room exploded from the heat.

  He got close to Lance, held on to his coat. “Check that one closet and let’s get out of here.”

  Hunter was getting that itchy feeling in his chest, the one that said it was time to go.

  “Lieutenant.” Lance leaned over in the closet and lifted a small black dog into his arms.

  “Nice save, probie. Now, haul out of here.” He couldn’t put his finger on it. It wasn’t the way the fire looked or sounded, not exactly. But something wasn’t right. He looked behind him to make sure the probie was there.

  They needed to get out of this building. Now.

  TEN

  As soon as Fiona walked into the empty apparatus bay, she knew the firefighters were out on a call. She took a minute to say a prayer for their protection.

  Sean had this idea that the men who kept their town safe were larger-than-life heroes. And maybe that was her fault. She’d wanted him to believe that his daddy had died a hero. And he had.

  But the truth was that firefighters were just people like everyone else. They were brave—the bravest. Being a hero wasn’t just what they did, it was who they were. But at the end of the day, they laid their head on the pillow like everyone else. They were just as fallible as anyone else.

  Just as human.

  It didn’t make them any less heroic in her eyes, only more vulnerable. She ran her fingers over the lettering on Jimmy’s plaque, then knocked on the door of her uncle’s office.

  Mickey looked up before reaching behind him to turn down the radio frequency scanner. “I hope you come bringing your famous beef stew.”

  With a smile, she shook her head. “No, but I’ll bring some by in a few days. It would be good to see everyone. Listen, Uncle Mickey, I won’t keep you. I know the trucks are out.” She didn’t wait for him to confirm, just barreled on. “I need to get into Jimmy’s locker.”

  Mickey pushed to his feet, his beefy hands spread on the desk. Unlike her dad, who was tall and lanky, he was stocky, built like the football star he’d once been. “Now, Fiona, you know there’s nothing in there. It was cleaned out and everything was brought to you.”

  “I know, Uncle Mickey. I just need to look. Please.”

  “I need to stay here and monitor the situation at the fire scene.” He picked a key off the ring and dropped it into her outstretched palm. “I thought you were getting past all this, Fiona. It was a tragedy, but dwelling on it doesn’t help anyone.”

  “I’m fine, I promise. I’ll be quick.” She took the stairs two at a time up to the firefighters’ living quarters. She didn’t have to wonder which locker belonged to Jimmy. It had the fire cross emblem attached to the outside, with a black band across the emblem. If the guys ever needed the locker, they would use it, but for now, they left it empty in honor of her husband’s sacrifice.

  Her palms were sweaty as she pointed the key at the lock. What if she was wrong? It was a long shot at best. She slid the key in the lock, turned and jerked the locker open, her heart pounding.

  The locker was empty. She’d known it would be. Dropping to her knees, she stared into the space. Where would Jimmy hide the notebook? If Jimmy knew he didn’t want anyone to find it, where would he put it?

  She ran her fingers around the edge of the back of the locker. There was nothing at all suspicious about it, nothing to make her think that it had been tampered with. But, as she leaned forward, the bottom of the locker wiggled just a little. Maybe it was loose, but she couldn’t get it to come up.

  Downstairs, she heard her uncle yelling into his radio. Seconds later, his truck went roaring out of the parking lot, siren blaring. She closed her eyes, praying harder that they were all safe. The firefighters of this station were her friends. Her family. The coil of tension in her gut ratcheted tighter.

  God, please protect Hunter.

  Glancing around the room, she caught sight of a screwdriver lying on the desk. Thank goodness for guys who didn’t put their stuff away. Grabbing it, she used the straight edge to pry up the bottom of the locker. She rocked back on her heels.

  In a pile of dust, the notebook was there.

  It was an unassuming little notebook, like the dozens she’d seen over the years, the same as the ones she’d saved for Sean. Small, brown leather and bound, with an elastic strap around the pages. She lifted it like it was the holy grail. There had to be something here to explain why Jimmy had been acting the way he had before he died.

  And if Hunter was right, maybe the explanation would lead them to a killer.

  * * *

  As they turned to leave the second floor, the metal building groaned. Hunter whipped up his head. The fire had gone from bad to deadly in just that instant. With the temperature skyrocketing, the structural integrity of the building would be lost. A trickle of sweat made its way from his forehead down to his chin.

  The roar of the fire made talking nearly impossible, but the rookie was close on his heels, right where he was supposed to be, the little mutt tucked under his arm like a football. Hunter turned around and made the sign. Time to hustle.

  Lance nodded and picked up the pace. With flaming bits of roof dripping down on them, it was hard to see the way, but they followed the hose down the hall and to the stairs. As they reached the landing of the stairs, a beam at the rear of the warehouse gave way.

  Hunter shouted, “Run!”

  He stepped aside. The two volunteer firefighters dropped the hose and ran for the door. Hunter followed their exact path, but the stairs that had held the two men before them began to fail.

  The metal stairway crashed to the floor, catapulting Hunter into the air. His head hit the floor. Dazed, he stared at the roof of the building, wondering how it was that the flashlight on his coat was facing the ceiling.

  He blinked slowly and turned his head. He wasn’t supposed to be lying here. He was supposed to be leaving, like the other two firefighters. Like Lance.

  Out of the smoke, from behind the office space, he saw a firefighter. Hunter tried to get up, but he couldn’t. “Here, we’re here!”

  The firefighter walked closer. Hunter couldn’t see his face. The SCBA mask was a mirror reflecting only the flames and the ruined building. Hunter reached out a hand.

  Without speaking, the firefighter walked away, back into the smoke and flames.

  Hunter’s vision grew gray around the edges and his air meter began to beep. Jimmy had been trapped in a warehouse fire, just like this one. But Lance had gotten out, right? He had to make sure. “Lance!”

  “Reece, where are you?” The rookie’s voice registered vaguely in his mind. “Reece!”

  Hunter swallowed, his mouth dry, pasty. He rolled on his side and reached for the call button with his free hand. The building groaned again and the steel girders above his head twisted like child’s Play-Doh.

  Scrambling to his feet, he turned the other way and saw Lance lying a few feet away, his feet under thousands of pounds of collapsed stairwell. But still, the young firefighter clutched that little mutt in his arms.

  A piece of ceiling crashed to the floor. Hunter jumped out of the way, avoiding it, barely. They’d waited too late to evac, but he wasn’t leaving his partner again. He’d die first. “Lance, I’m going to get you out.”

  “My boot is trapped. Get out. The whole building is about to go.” The kid’s eyes burned into his. He knew, just like everyone did, exactly how Jimmy Cobb had died.

  “I lost the irons when I fell. Do you see them?” Hunter looked around, but the fire faded into a blur, a headache slamming behind his eyes. He blinked, trying to clear his vision.

  Lance looked around, his face lighting up when he saw them. “There.”

  Hunter grabbed the Halligan tool and looked at the roof again, sweat pouring into his eyes. He blinked into focus again. He had seconds to make this work. “If I lever it up, can you slide out?”

  “Yeah, yeah. I got it.” Lance pushed up to a sitting position
, tucking the little dog into his coat.

  Hunter shoved the tool under the mangled steel of the stairs. He put all his weight into levering the mass of metal. It moved. But only a millimeter.

  “Just a little more. I’ve almost got it.” Lance tugged his foot against the metal.

  With one huge effort, Hunter pushed against the steel, putting everything he had into moving the stairs. His vision grayed again.

  And Lance slid his leg free.

  The tool went flying as the stairs came crashing back to the ground. Hunter lifted Lance to his feet. He raced for the door, Lance hobbling beside him.

  Never leave a man behind. Simplest rule of firefighting.

  Sometimes the most difficult.

  They burst into the fresh air. Hands and arms grabbed them. Hunter couldn’t see who or what. He couldn’t see anything at all.

  The vision that had grayed inside went black. Hunter hit the ground, facefirst.

  * * *

  Fiona couldn’t take her hand off the soft leather of Jimmy’s notebook. It was familiar, like a remembered touch. She hadn’t looked inside, had been afraid to, at the station. But here at home, with a mug of tea in front of her, she felt ready to face whatever it was that Jimmy had written in the pages.

  He’d been so distant, so different. Would these pages hold the answers to all the questions that she’d had for two long years? She opened the notebook to the first page and read it, her excitement withering like a helium balloon on the second day. This notebook didn’t hold any revelations. It was mundane details.

  Lines of bad poetry.

  Random numbers. Maybe it was some kind of code. Or maybe it was just random. Jimmy was smart. She knew he was. She needed to study the pages more carefully. There had to be a clue to what he was doing buried here somewhere.

  On the kitchen counter, her cell phone buzzed. She’d had it on vibrate for coffee with Betsie. When she picked it up, she didn’t recognize the number. “Hello?”

  “Fiona, it’s Max Lavigne. Your uncle gave me your number.”

  Her stomach plummeted. “Max, what’s wrong?”