“What?”
“As I understand it, that one’s been discarded in favor of the theory that you and Katie colluded to set the fire once she learned you’re an expert in the field. The insurance company is particularly fond of that scenario.”
“That’s crazy. I tried to make her—” He bit his words back before he could let the wrong thing slip out. Dizziness threatened again. He sank against his pillows.
“Sippy cup.” Joe the Toe thrust out his hand, and Vader slapped the cup into it. Ryan took another deep, long sip.
“What else?”
“You want more? The arson squad is investigating.”
“Did they check out—” Ryan stopped himself again. John Springer, aka Carson Smith, ought to be the prime suspect, not him. But turning in Springer would implicate Katie, and he couldn’t do that, not until he’d talked to her.
“What about Katie? What’s she saying?”
Joe the Toe shrugged his massive shoulders and glanced up at Vader, who shook his head. “We haven’t seen her. The Hair of the Dog was completely destroyed. I think she’s been busy dealing with the mess.”
Ryan gave that information a moment to sink in. Not a surprise, from what he remembered. He braced himself before asking the next question.
“The captain? What does he think?”
“He’s got your back. But it’s not up to him.”
Ryan shut his eyes. He wanted them gone. He wanted everyone gone. He wanted to reverse time to the day before he walked into the Hair of the Dog. No, to the days when he’d still been part of San Gabriel Fire Station 1. Before everything had gone to shit.
He looked at Joe and Vader, who suddenly seemed like ghosts to him. “I’m a little tired,” he managed to say. “Thanks for coming by.”
“We did good, right?” Vader asked anxiously.
“Yeah. I needed to know all this.”
After they’d left, he rested his forearm across his eyes. What a fucking mess. Three people, that he knew of, had already tried to set fire to the bar. Doug, Katie, and John Springer. Either Katie had lied to him and hadn’t called Springer off, or she’d set the fire herself, even though she’d promised not to. But he couldn’t believe that.
Or Doug had done it and she was, as always, trying to protect him.
Melissa had told Katie that Captain Brody had meetings all morning, but would be at the station in the afternoon. Time seemed to be passing at about the speed of her high school chemistry class, which she’d always figured had bent the time-space continuum with its tedium. This was worse. For one thing, she was stuck with her family, and she couldn’t say a word to them about what had really happened . . . or what she planned to do.
She didn’t want them to talk her out of it.
Now that the Hair of the Dog had been picked over by investigators, the Dane family was allowed to remove whatever valuables—using the term loosely—they wanted to salvage. All six of them gathered in their grungiest clothes. Even Bridget wore an old pair of sweatpants that had become loose in the crotch. Jake and Todd, in the last hours of their visit, delved into the mess with relish, but everyone else moved with a kind of solemn sadness.
“There’s gotta be some liquor in here somewhere,” said Jake.
“All the bottles exploded from the heat, doofus,” Katie explained in her nicest voice, given the circumstances.
“Man, I wish I could’ve seen that. Course, my eyeballs probably would have exploded too.”
She gave him a scathing look. “Daddy, what about the sign?” She lifted up the only remaining fragment, still warm to the touch.
“ ‘Og’? That’s it?”
“Good name for a gnome,” said Todd.
“We could hold a garage sale with all this stuff.” Bridget held up a blackened frying pan, touching it with only thumb and forefinger. “Or donate it to a homeless shelter.”
“Why would a homeless person need a frying pan? They don’t even have a home,” pointed out Nina, whose immaculate sleeves were rolled up above her elbows.
“Fine. Salvation Army. Whatever. It’s the thought that counts,” Bridget grumbled.
It occurred to Katie that the family hadn’t worked together like this in a while. “I appreciate everyone coming to help.”
Bridget straightened up. “Well, why wouldn’t we? It’s our bar too. It’s our million dollars down the drain too.”
Katie hung her head. The lost insurance money ate at her conscience. She’d lain awake last night thinking of new cars, vacations, new washing machines, all the things her family could have done with a million dollars.
“Anyway, it’s not like it’s your fault,” continued Bridget. “It’s Ryan’s fault. I don’t believe you were in on it no matter what they say.”
“He didn’t do it!” Katie said for the hundredth time since the fire.
“I knew he looked too good to be true. Anyone that gorgeous has to have a flaw. Turns out his is that he’s a criminal.” She dropped the frying pan into the pile of kitchenware.
Katie launched herself across the pile of rubble and tackled Bridget. Bridget spun around just in time. She stepped aside so Katie went soaring past her. She hit the ground, rolled into a somersault, then sprang to her feet to go after Bridget again.
Bridget braced herself in a martial arts stance, hands held before her like claws. “I’ve studied Tae Bo, Gidget. Don’t mess with me.”
Katie ignored the horrified protests from her parents and the hoots of laughter from her brothers, and barreled toward Bridget again. This time Bridget grabbed her by the shoulders, stopping her in her tracks.
“Are you psycho? I’m twice your size.”
“Stop saying that about Ryan.”
“I’m only saying what everyone else is. You don’t even really know the guy. Are you so sure he didn’t do it?”
“Yes. Why won’t you listen to me? You never listen to me!” She swung futilely at Bridget.
“Katie girl, if you’re in need of any assistance, we’re right over here.” Archie’s booming voice cut through her haze of fury.
Katie looked over her shoulder. Archie, Sid, and the rest of the Drinking Crew stood in a tight knot at the edge of the sidewalk. Even with their canes and Dr. Burwell’s oxygen tank, they looked feisty and ready to rumble. Mr. Jamieson was polishing his glasses, Archie rolling up his sleeves.
“That’s . . . uh . . . okay.” She dropped her fists and took a long, shaky breath. “You know Bridget, right? We’re having a sister bonding moment. Right, Bridget?”
The expression on Bridget’s face at the sight of the old men would have made Katie laugh, if things weren’t so all-around awful.
“Right. Like a pillow fight without the pillows,” said Bridget gamely.
Archie didn’t look convinced. “She’s our girl. We can’t allow her to get beaten up. She’ll always have a place of honor with us after the way she poured her heart and soul into this place.”
“Hope you appreciate her,” piped up Sid. “Even if the Hair of the Dog’s no better than a burnt sausage now.”
Katie winced.
Her father strode over to the Crew and shook their hands. “Thanks for stopping by, gentlemen. Came to say good-bye to the old place, eh?”
“We’re tying up loose ends,” said Mr. Jamieson. “Veni, vidi, solvit.”
“Eh?”
“Translation, we came, we saw, we paid our tab.”
Archie whipped out a worn leather wallet and extracted a check. “We realized, upon reflection and calculation, that we were in arrears with our bar tabs. We hope this helps.”
Tears sprang to Katie’s eyes.
Frank looked down at the check. “Well thank you, fellows, but this is made out to Katie.”
“She worked her fingers to the bone,” said Archie dramatically. “She deserves it.”
“As the French say, Bon sang ne saurait mentir, right, Katie?” Mr. Jamieson winked at her. Blood will out. She tried to speak but couldn’t.
&nb
sp; “You got yourself a fine daughter,” said Sid. “A real peach.”
“Don’t I know it. Come here, Katie girl. Come take this kind gift. You earned it, my dear, putting up with this crew.” Her father beckoned to her, holding out the check. His loving eyes, surrounded by new worry lines, twinkled at her. The Drinking Crew leaned on their canes and smiled at her expectantly. Jake and Todd ran to join them, no doubt to see how big the check was. Her mother looked unexpectedly thrilled. Even Bridget seemed excited. She nudged Katie in the back.
“Go on, Katie. It’s for you. Go get it.”
Katie couldn’t take it. She didn’t deserve all this niceness. She deserved to be raked over the coals, read the riot act, locked in a dungeon for a hundred years. If not for her, the Hair of the Dog would still be standing, and still insured.
She ran, stumbling past the blackened wreck of the bar, past her shocked family.
Driving the few blocks to the firehouse, she realized that before she talked to Brody, she had to talk to Ryan. If he had seen anything before the fire broke out, she had to know. She veered in the other direction, toward the Good Samaritan.
She used the short drive to collect her thoughts. She had no idea if Ryan had been told about the investigation. Maybe the insurance people or the arson investigator had already visited. Hopefully the overprotective nurses had kept them out. This whole thing would be such a shock to him.
By the time she reached the hospital, she felt more composed. She dashed up the steps and through the glass revolving doors. Reaching the intensive care unit, she waved at French Twist behind the desk and hurried toward the locked door.
But the usual click that opened it didn’t come. Instead she nearly slammed her face into the door.
The nurse stood. “Ryan has requested no visitors.”
“But it’s really, really important. I have to talk to him.”
“There’s nothing I can do. He was very specific. He doesn’t want to be disturbed.”
Katie pinned a pleading gaze on her. “This isn’t personal. It’s about him. His career. Could you just go in there and ask him? Tell him it’s me, and that it’s extremely important. I won’t stay long, I promise.”
“You mean, tell him his sister’s here?” The nurse smirked.
“I apologize for that. Really. But please don’t hold it against me. This is about Ryan. If you want to help Ryan, tell him he’s got to talk to me. Please.”
Clearly reluctant, the nurse moved from behind the desk. “Fine. I’m not going to tell him anything, but I’ll ask him if he’d like to talk to you.”
“Thank you. Thank you.”
The nurse took her sweet time unlocking the door, moving through it, then relocking it behind her. Katie couldn’t blame her for her attitude. She probably didn’t appreciate being lied to.
Katie paced around in a tight little circle, going over exactly what she’d say to Ryan. First she’d find out if he’d seen anyone at the bar. If he’d seen Doug, that would count as proof and she could tell Brody everything. She’d tell him he didn’t need to worry, that she was going to clear everything up. And then she’d kiss him and nuzzle her head into his neck and tell him she loved him. She wouldn’t let the fact that he was conscious stop her. She’d had enough practice with the unconscious Ryan. Maybe he remembered hearing the words, maybe he’d say them right back to her . . .
The nurse reappeared, locking the door behind her once again. She stood before it, arms folded. “I’m sorry, Ms. Dane. Ryan doesn’t want to see you.”
“What?” Katie felt color flood her cheeks. “You told him it was me?”
“Obviously. If you’re going to make a scene, I’ll have to call security.”
“I’m not going to make a scene. I just . . .” She swallowed hard. Ryan didn’t want to see her. The shattering truth settled into her bones.
“You should go now.”
“Yes.” She turned blindly toward the entrance. “Tell him . . .” I love him . . . But that would probably be the last thing he wanted to hear. “I’m sorry.”
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Ryan had always moved swiftly when circumstances required. During fistfights and fires in particular, he’d been able to shift into another mode, one in which everything around him seemed to slow down and he could see perfectly what needed to be done.
To be trapped in a bed, in a hospital, in the midst of events that seemed entirely out of his control, had to be the worst experience of his life. Much worse than tumbling out of a burning building. That was movement, that was action.
This was hell.
The painkillers in his IV didn’t help matters. They dulled the sensation of pain, but they didn’t stop his thoughts. Nothing did.
The nurse brought in a tray of food. “Banana pudding today,” she told him. “Your favorite.”
“Thanks, darlin’.” He said the words automatically, although he couldn’t care less about banana pudding. Food had lost all flavor since Joe the Toe had dropped his bombshell.
“Anything else I can get you?”
“No thanks, I’m good. Think I’ll take another nap.”
“Excellent idea. Rest is very important.”
He forced a smile as she left him alone. Rest. He might try to sleep, but he knew he’d get no rest. How had things come to this? How had a man like him, who lived to put out fires, come to be accused of starting one?
And how could he clear his name, without telling Katie’s secrets?
Katie.
Her name brought such a flood of emotion that he shoved the tray of food off his bed in a tangle of shrink-wrapped containers. From the first moment he’d seen her, Katie had upended his life. Without even trying. From the very beginning, he’d wanted to protect her—and impress her. He should have let those guys beat up Doug. He should have let Katie burn down the Hair of the Dog. He should never have gone to the Dog with some crazy romantic notion of declaring his love.
If he’d never met Katie, he’d probably have his job back by now. He certainly wouldn’t be lying in a hospital bed accused of arson.
When the day shift nurse had told him Katie wanted to see him, he’d felt a surge of adrenaline. Yes, he’d wanted to say. Show her in so I can tell her how she’s ruined my life. By the time I’m done with her, she’ll wish I’d never walked into her bar. Which is exactly how I feel.
Instead he’d shaken his head. He couldn’t bear to see her. And didn’t want to lose his temper with her. After all this, he still wanted to protect her.
Damn her.
Katie pushed open the gray steel front door of the San Gabriel firehouse. She felt like she was entering some kind of sacred male haven, even though she knew some of the firefighters were female. But the atmosphere reeked of masculinity, of tools and gear and equipment and testosterone. The planters of red geraniums out front provided the only feminine touch, if it could be called that. With a kind of military order, the blooms stood up straight. Not a single browning petal to be seen.
Clearly, firefighters liked order. She remembered all the times Ryan had cleaned the bar. He liked things to be clean down to the ground, from the inside out, without any pockets of hidden grime. He relaxed his standards a little at home. She recalled a mussed bed and a pile of dirty shirts without a hamper . . .
Enough. No more mooning over Ryan. She had a career to save.
She moved through the foyer, which featured a few framed photos of groups of firemen and some firefighting paraphernalia mounted on the walls—an old-fashioned helmet, a fire axe in a glass case. Firefighters valued their history, apparently. She walked through a narrow hallway, thinking, despite herself, of all the time Ryan had spent in this place. She pictured him ambling down the hall, hands in his pockets, a sparkle in his blue eyes, a teasing smile on his lips.
By the time she reached the lounge, she half expected him to be there, rising up from the couch, opening his arms to her. Her heart raced when someone stood and turned to face her. False alarm, of course.
Fred the Stud smiled at her.
“Hi, Katie,” he said cheerfully. “I hear Ryan’s a lot better. Got his thinker back.”
“So I hear. Is Captain Brody in?”
“Right over there.” He pointed to an office with a closed door. “Just knock. He won’t bite. Unless you overfilled the generator and spilled diesel on the patio.” He pulled a rueful face.
“Nothing like that,” she said. No, only a thousand times worse.
“Come in.” Brody’s deep voice responded to her knock. She took a deep breath, reminded herself why this was so important, and opened the door.
Captain Brody sat at his desk in his fireman’s uniform. He looked grim and preoccupied. He took her in with intense gray eyes that seemed to see right through her. “Katie Dane. What brings you here?”
“I have to talk to you. Is this a bad time?” She eyed the piles of paper on his desk.
“No more than any other,” came his not very encouraging answer. “Sit down.”
He beckoned to a chair in the corner. Katie eyed it dubiously. Did he want her to sit in the corner like a schoolgirl getting punished?
“You can bring it over here,” said Brody, with a hint of amusement warming his voice.
“Right.” She dragged the chair in front of the desk and sat down. The chair, of the folding metal variety, put her about a foot below Brody’s eye level. Never had she felt so small.
Too bad. What did her height matter, when she held the key to Ryan’s future? “I want to talk to you about Ryan Blake,” she said in a clear voice.
He sat back and steepled his fingers.
“Okay,” he said.
“Ryan didn’t set that fire. I’m responsible for it.”
“Responsible for it? You mean you set the fire?”
She hesitated. She didn’t want to lie. But what if that was the best way to clear Ryan? Brody narrowed his eyes. Under that serious charcoal gaze, she realized that lying was not an option. “No, I didn’t set it. But I might as well have. I am ultimately responsible, although I can’t name the person who did it. I don’t have any proof.”
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