Line of Fire

by Jo Davis

  “Better, especially with those magic fingers doing the trick.”

  “Does it hurt much?” She peered at the area.

  “Not really. Just when I push on the sore spot.”

  “Then I won’t bother it. I’m really glad you’re okay.”

  Studying her, he asked, “Are you okay with me having such a dangerous job? What if I decide to stay at the department?”

  “You have to do what makes you happy. I worry, but I’d never let that erode what we have.”

  He nodded. “I met a man today, Mark McAllister. He’s an arson investigator over in Fire Prevention. He gave me his card, invited me to come in and talk.”

  “Tommy, that’s wonderful!” Shea sat up, excited. “Are you going?”

  “Yeah. I’m going to give him a call soon, drop by and find out what it takes to make the move. Just out of curiosity, though. It’s all preliminary.”

  “Good for you. Have you said anything to the guys at the station since we discussed stuff before?”

  “Not yet. No reason to get them all worked up if it doesn’t sound like something I want to pursue.”

  “Okay. In that case, I won’t mention it to Cori. She’d want to tell Zack and the guys would find out before you’re ready.”

  “Thanks, honey, I appreciate that,” he said, stretching. “Now will you feed me?”

  “If it’ll speed your recovery time? Sure.”

  “On second thought . . .” Standing, he lifted her into his arms. “Let’s have dessert first.”

  Her happy squeal pierced his eardrum as he jogged for the bedroom. Yeah, he could make this a habit.

  From now on.

  11

  “Did you assholes miss me?”

  Zack’s greeting was met with cheerful backslaps and off-color comments about the success of the honeymoon. From his spot at the dining table, Tommy glanced up from his coffee and gave his friend a wave.

  “Hey, man! How’s Cori? Did she make the trip okay?”

  “Why, yes, Thomas, thank you for asking,” Zack enunciated, rolling his eyes at the rest of the crew. “I appreciate it, considering all the rest of the bozos want to know about is how much nooky I got.”

  “So? How much nooky did you get, amigo?” Julian leered, making a suggestive gesture with his tongue.

  Eve scowled at Julian.

  “Enough to write a new, revised version of the Kama Sutra ,” Zack bragged. “And that’s all you’re getting out of me.”

  Tommy’s brows rose. For Zack, that was saying quite a bit, considering the man had been a shy virgin before he and Cori met one cold, stormy day this past winter.

  Julian pointedly ignored Eve. “Sex doesn’t hurt the baby?” He seemed genuinely interested, and Zack warmed to the topic.

  “Not as long as the pregnancy is progressing normally. Nature cushions the baby really well. He doesn’t know a thing is going on.”

  “That’s exactly right,” Six-Pack put in, nodding.

  “It’s not weird for you that the baby is, like, there when . . . well, you know,” Julian said, fascinated.

  Zack shook his head. “Not really. It’s gratifying, in a cave-man sort of way.”

  Eve choked, and started for the door. “Good God. I’m going outside before I become ill.”

  “Wait for me,” Tommy called after her, scooting back his chair. “Welcome back, Z-man.”

  “Thanks.”

  Tommy rode Eve’s heels out the door to the bay, and heaved a sigh of relief. “That’s a little too much information for me at this point in my life.”

  “Same goes.” She leaned against the quint, propping one foot on the fender behind her. “I want kids someday, but jeez. Hearing those three discuss babies is beyond weird.”

  “You want kids?” For some reason, that surprised him.

  “Sure, why?”

  “No reason, I just never thought of you as the maternal type. No offense.”

  She gave him a considering look. “None taken. You aren’t exactly the first person to say so.”

  “Aw, don’t pay any attention to the guys,” he said. “What do they know? I mean, look at them now, all former studs-about-town turned lovesick fools.”

  Eve’s white smile contrasted against her medium-bronzed face. “True, but I wasn’t talking about them. My mother is the one with the doubts, though I think she’s only concerned about how hard it is, bringing a child of mixed race into the world. She worries about how it affected me. Not my daddy being white, but the fact that he left. Couldn’t take the pressure.”

  Tommy weighed his answer carefully. Never had he heard Eve discuss her background openly before, with such candor, and he felt as though he’d been included in her circle of trust. A precious thing, if you knew Eve.

  “I can see how that might’ve been true over thirty years ago, but now? Attitudes have changed. People are more informed, more accepting of cultural or racial differences. Don’t let those old constraints keep you from getting what you want, Eve.”

  Eve cocked her head and fell silent for a moment, gazing at him as though she’d never seen him before. Not really. “What happened to the cocky kid who, just a few months ago, hurled sexual innuendo at me at every opportunity? What gives?”

  “I grew up,” he said softly.

  Her eyes widened. “By God, you fell in love.”

  “Yeah. Gives a guy a whole different perspective, I suppose.”

  Eve gave a quiet laugh and crossed her arms over her chest. “Tell you what. I won’t give up on my dreams if you don’t.”

  “Deal. Do I have to guess who your dreams involve?” He might be slow, but he’d put it together.

  “I doubt it,” she said with a sad smile.

  “That battle might not be one you can win, sweetheart. And it has nothing to do with the fact that he’s white.”

  Only that he’s a man with a broken heart, and one who can’t admit he has a drinking problem.

  “I know. But without dreams, we don’t have a hell of a lot to look forward to when the sun comes up, do we?”

  The statement hit him hard. While he searched for what to say next, the intercom emitted three loud, high tones. Next came the call, one Tommy had never worked before and had, in fact, only seen on the news.

  A residence had exploded due to a suspected gas leak, leaving little but a pile of charred brick, wood, and ash. The home was believed to be vacant, but that had not been verified. The HazMat unit assigned to Station Three was on the way to assist.

  “Shit,” Tommy breathed, jogging over to slip into his gear. “What the fuck is up with all the wrecked buildings around here?”

  “That’s what we’d all like to know, kid,” Sean said in a clipped voice, moving past him to bunk out in his own gear. “I was just talking to the battalion chief this morning. The vacant buildings we’ve worked aren’t the only ones the fire department has seen in the last few months. Disturbing fucking pattern.”

  Tommy mulled that information over as Zack drove them to their destination. Six-Pack followed in the ambulance, the unit called out because of the possibility of injuries, however low.

  When the house—or what remained of it—came into view, Julian crossed himself. “Jesucristo.”

  They all shared the same sentiment. If anyone, including innocent bystanders, had been caught in the blast, they were likely dead.

  After Zack parked the quint, they piled out and set to work. Tommy caught a snatch of conversation between Sean and Captain Reynolds of Station Three.

  “Gas is off?”

  “Hell, yes. Wouldn’t send my men in otherwise,” Reynolds barked.

  “Verifying, that’s all.”

  “Wouldn’t need to if you’d keep up with communication.”

  “John?”

  “What?”

  “Go to hell.”

  What the fuck? Tommy shot a glance at the two sparring captains, but was quickly swept up in searching the rubble for bodies. The Search Now team, comprised of of
f-duty firemen and local volunteers, arrived with their cadaver dog, which was a huge help. The enthusiastic Labrador bounded all over the property, nosed every cranny that was difficult for his human counterparts to reach, avoiding the worst hot spots, but came up with nothing. Still, the dog was rewarded by his handler for his hard work with his rubber toy, which he shook with vigor, causing some of the guys to smile.

  It was easy to be amused by the dog when there were no casualties.

  The amusement faded with the arrival of news crews, who obviously had nothing better to report today, body or no body. Tommy and his buddies kept their heads down and let the battalion chief field the questions, especially when one intrepid reporter made the connection between all of the destroyed buildings in the area of late.

  Fuck a duck, this was shaping up to be a long day.

  Tommy wished he was curled up with Shea, snuggling on the couch or better yet, making love. Twenty-four hours—well, make that thirty-six after she’d worked all day when he got off duty—and he’d be with her again, stealing every moment with her that he possibly could.

  Poking a booted toe at a piece of charred wood, he glanced toward the street and the gawkers standing beyond the news vans. Man, what he wouldn’t give for an ice-cold soda or glass of lemonade. Beer wasn’t an option, but—

  Wait a second.

  Tommy froze and peered at the crowd, or rather, at someone in particular. At a lone figure standing slightly apart from the rest, a man wearing a ball cap. Something teased his fuzzy memory. His grandmother would’ve used the term walked over my grave, rest her soul. Whatever the notion was, it remained elusive, to his frustration.

  It shouldn’t have affected him at all, the sight of a man in a baseball cap, hovering at the edge of the onlookers.

  But it stayed with Tommy for the rest of his shift.

  Joseph felt the fucking earth move, the tremor rattling the windows. A short time later, the sirens came, their wailing giving him the creeps. Whatever was going down might’ve been on the next street or miles away. No way to tell.

  Except to turn on the news. He didn’t have to channel surf for long, no more than twenty minutes, before coming across the coverage. One of the big news teams out of Nashville was already there, a male reporter talking in a solemn tone about an explosion in an older Sugarland neighborhood.

  “. . . rocked this sleepy suburb about half an hour ago. A spokesman for the Sugarland Fire Department stated that the cause of the explosion is believed to have been a gas leak, and neighbors claim the residence has been vacant for several months. Which raises the question, why wasn’t the gas turned off?”

  The camera cut away to footage of the flattened mess, no longer recognizable as a house. A couple of neighbors were interviewed, exclaiming their shock at such a thing happening, blah, blah. In the background, people milled about, reminding Joseph of vultures hovering over a carcass.

  Then Joseph sat up straight. A man had stepped apart from the group of gawkers. He wore a baseball cap. Joseph’s vision might be bad and the man a blurred form at best, but it was a form he knew well. That and the hat.

  But it was a blink in time, and the clip ended, leaving room for doubt. The man could’ve been someone else. After all, Joseph hadn’t been able to see his face.

  The scene flicked back to the reporter, who warmed to his topic with enthusiasm.

  “In an interesting side note, this isn’t the first building-related calamity to occur in and around the Nashville area of late. In the past several months, a total of nine buildings have either been destroyed or have suffered major structural damage to the tune of tens of millions in insurance payouts. Coincidence, or something more? No doubt, the authorities will seek answers. Mike Hanson, Fox 17 News.”

  Groping for the remote, he switched off the television and sat staring at the blank screen. Suspicions formed of their own accord, not caring that his first impulse was to reject them as impossible. Facts were facts, and while Joseph only had a handful, the ones he did have were alarming.

  Will was hiding some serious shit from his grandpa.

  His grandson was being harassed by a scheming bastard. And the boy, who’d never had two nickels to rub together, city job or not, had almost a quarter of a million in the bank.

  Had the man in the background on the news been Will? If so, why was he there? For no good reason, that’s what.

  So here he was, contemplating what would equal the final gross invasion of privacy, and hating the motherfucking hell out of it. He couldn’t just ask Will to explain, because this was too big. He’d either give Joseph a sanitized version or lie outright. The boy would do anything to shelter his old grandpa.

  And Joseph felt the same way about Will. That was why he needed the rest of the facts to back him up, then they’d see what to do about cleaning up whatever mess his grandson had gotten himself into.

  With an effort he pushed himself up and shuffled through the living room, down the hallway. At the door to Will’s room he paused, more afraid than he’d been at age eighteen when he’d boarded a ship for Europe knowing he’d probably die.

  Now he was terrified.

  Guilty as hell, too. But there was no help for it, not with Will’s life at stake. Every instinct that had saved his ass over there spurred him on now, warned him that this mission was even more urgent. More important than his own hide.

  Steeling himself, he went inside and looked around. Surely if a man hid something in here, it could be found. The bedroom was small, as were all the rooms in the house, the faux-wood furniture cheap and aged. It consisted of a bed, a nightstand, and a dresser, plus one tiny closet. Nothing more.

  The most natural place to look as far as he was concerned was the nightstand. A convenient place where a person might shove a paper or some other important item.

  He found something there all right—a box of condoms and a small tube of that slippery stuff that made sex more gratifying. Or so the tube claimed. Joseph wouldn’t know, and didn’t want to contemplate how these things had been put to use, perhaps while Joseph had been at the senior center. Or maybe Will visited his lovers during those nights he “worked late.”

  Christ. No, he didn’t want to know the details, but a part of him was hurt that Will felt he couldn’t confide the truth of his nature.

  “Bigger fish to fry, old man,” he muttered to himself. Not as though that was his most pressing worry anymore.

  He slid the drawer shut and tackled the dresser methodically, starting at the bottom, which was hell on his ancient knees, and worked his way to the top. Nothing but shorts, T-shirts, socks, and underwear. He even peered underneath the drawer bottoms and behind the dresser, searching for something that might be secreted there. No damning evidence of shadowy activities present.

  Next he checked the bed, specifically under the mattress and on top of the box springs. He was sweating by the time he finished looking, not being used to squatting, lifting, and such. Damn, in his day, he’d carried wounded men almost twice his size all the way to the infirmary without breaking a sweat.

  Okay, on to the closet. Nothing escaped notice. Pants and shirt pockets were searched, as well as shoe boxes full of boyhood shit. Scout merit badges and trinkets that meant God-knows-what, and only to Will. One was heavy, and upon inspection, he discovered it to be full of rocks and fossils.

  Rocks of all sizes, shapes, and types. Joseph recognized granite and quartz, which was about as good as his rock-identifying skills stretched. Some of the fossils were nautilus-shaped, embedded in rock. He smiled, thinking of the sweet boy who’d saved these treasures. At one time, Joseph had owned a similar, prized collection. God knew what ever happened to it.

  Letting the memories take him back some, he dug his hand into the stones, shifting them around, admiring, wondering at the story behind each one. Wishing he could turn back time to the bright-eyed boy Will had been, holding one up proudly for Joseph to see.

  Grandpa, look at this!

  As his gnarled
fingers brushed aside some of the rock, something white at the bottom of the box caught his attention. Too white for the gray color of the cardboard box, out of place. Frowning, he picked at the white and one edge lifted up. A corner of a piece of paper.

  With the Parkinson’s ravaging his system, grasping the small corner wasn’t easy. But he got hold and pulled the paper out to find it was an envelope. One that had already been opened some time ago.

  Turning it over, he squinted at tiny writing. A dull sort of panic crawled through his belly when he read the name and address of a doctor in Nashville.

  There was only one reason Joseph could come up with as to why Will would bury something from his doctor at the bottom of a box of innocuous childhood mementos.

  The ever-present shaking in his old hands increased as he withdrew the paper from within, let his vision adjust to the print, and read what the fucking thing had to say.

  The box slipped unnoticed from his grasp.

  The doctor’s letter crushed in his gnarled hands, Joseph buried his face in his hands and wept.

  Forrest answered the phone, a glass of Scotch in hand. All day and into the evening he’d been dreading this call from Rose. The bastard probably knew he was sweating, and Forrest resented the hell out of it.

  “Hello?”

  “Your boy made himself visible. On top of the arson ruling, that’s two fuckups. This pisses me off,” he said coldly.

  “He’s your boy, not mine. You give the orders.”

  “You think that’ll save your ass when I come calling?”

  Forrest’s bowels turned to water. “You’re coming here again?”

  “Eventually. Sooner rather than later. In the meantime, the little dipshit’s mistake has put us in a bind. We’ll have to wrap this up ahead of schedule. The question is, who’s going to pay for the error?”

  Sitting in a chair, hard, Forrest sucked down the rest of his drink. “One more job and you’ll have more than enough funds, nobody the wiser. Leave Hensley alone.”

  “What job would this be? And it had better be profitable.”