FIREBRAND

by Paula Detmer Riggs

  "Uh-huh, and then we're going to the doctor's and listen to Prudy's babies' heartbeats," Betsy explained, while Angel and Rosie bobbed their heads in enthusiastic agreement.

  "All of you?" His gaze whipped to Darcy's face. She smiled and nodded but apparently had little to say. It hurt, and yet it was his own fault, wasn't it?

  "Ain't that a kick?" Prudy said, patting her belly gently. "Judd and Jason are very excited about showing off for the ladies. Seems they're already studs."

  Judd jammed one hand in his pocket and reminded himself that he wasn't Prudy's father. Or the twins'. Or Rosie's.

  "When, uh, are you planning to, uh, have these studs?"

  "Doctor says two weeks," Prudy said blithely, "but I say any minute now."

  Judd felt some of the blood leave his face. "Just kidding, Chief," Prudy said, squeezing his arm and giggling. At the same moment, Judd felt a tug on his shirtfront. Looking down, he saw the twins looking up.

  "It's our birthday in five weeks," Betsy began.

  "And Mommy says we can invite anyone we want, so—"

  "We picked you."

  Angel's hand had somehow found its way into Judd's and Betsy was leaning against his leg, while Rosie stood by and beamed.

  "I'm very flattered, both of you, but you'd better pick someone else," Judd said as gently as he could manage when his heart was thudding with the force of a muffled funeral drum and his mind was far too occupied noticing how subdued and wan Darcy was looking.

  "Why?" demanded one of the twins. For the life of him, he didn't know which one.

  "I'm planning to be out of town."

  "For ages and ages, like my daddy?" This time it was Rosie who was looking at him with accusing eyes.

  "Yes."

  "But you can't—"

  "That's enough, girls," Darcy interrupted, placing a hand on each twin's head. "If the chief says he's going to be out of town, he's going to be out of town."

  "Bummer," Prudy muttered as she hustled the others into the drugstore.

  "Sorry about that," Darcy said when she and Judd were alone. "I told the twins that you might be busy, but you know how well they listen."

  The breeze had picked up while he'd been meeting with Tom and now it blew straight down Main, ruffling her hair and tugging at the hem of her flowered skirt.

  She was shading her eyes against the sun with her hand, but he could still see the bruised look around her mouth when she tried to hold the casual, one-friend-to-another smile.

  "I really hurt you, didn't I?"

  "Yes," she said simply. "But give me another twenty years and I'll have myself convinced that you didn't."

  Without saying goodbye, she turned and disappeared into the building.

  Even before shifts changed on the morning of the big parade, scheduled for noon sharp, South Station was in a festive mood. The thick walls resounded with ribald humor and crude masculine taunts.

  As he walked toward his office from the kitchen, his newly filled coffee cup in hand, Judd seemed to be the only one in a glum mood.

  "Hey, Chief, help me out here," Monk called from the small alcove leading to the living room cum kitchen. Four veterans and Probationer Glenn were gathered there, already dressed in the old-fashioned uniforms of red shirt and black trousers for the parade.

  They and the rest of Section A were due for forty-eight hours off, but Judd had ordered everyone to work from eight until midnight on parade day, just in case.

  There had been a fair amount of grumbling, but nowhere near the amount he'd expected. It seemed that his screwed-up rescue attempt at the Kerrigan fire had boosted his standing with the troops.

  Judd paused by the truck's gleaming fender, his well-seasoned instincts telling him that a practical joke was in progress. His hunch was confirmed when he saw the fresh puddle Hambone had left on the concrete floor a full five feet from the paper where she was supposed to go.

  "What's the problem?" he asked Monk, his poker face firmly in place.

  "Probationer Glenn here is nearly six months out of the academy and he hasn't yet learned that dog pee is flammable."

  "C'mon, Lieutenant," Glenn complained diffidently. "I know you're just raggin' me." He turned to Judd for support. "Isn't he, sir?"

  Glenn had a fresh-scrubbed face and guileless eyes. Judd almost hated to do this to him, but every probie sooner or later had to be the butt of a firehouse joke. It was a tradition older than the department's antique, hand-drawn pumper the guys had been spiffing up for days now.

  "Well, son, there's one sure way to find out."

  "What's that?"

  "Drop a match in that puddle there and see what happens."

  "Good idea," one of the veterans piped up.

  From the corner of his eye Judd saw Molly French stop polishing her beloved Ford and move closer. "Yeah, how come you didn't think of that, Monk?" she called.

  "Hell, Monk's about as green as Glenn here," one of the others interjected.

  "Can it, Bowling. At least I know what burns and what doesn't." The lieutenant dug in his pocket and extracted a packet of matches. "Here, kid. Be my guest."

  The uncertain rookie palmed the matches, then hesitated, his gaze going once again to Judd's. "Is it okay, sir? I mean, maybe setting a fire inside the station?"

  "It's done all the time, especially when it's Bowling's turn to cook."

  Judd caught the appreciative gleam in Monk's eyes and for an instant felt like one of the gang again. It was a good feeling, but one he knew wouldn't last. By definition, the chief had to remain separate from the men under him.

  "Here goes nothing," Glenn muttered as he struck a match. Monk grabbed an extinguisher from the rack on the wall and held it ready.

  "Better stand back, son," Judd counseled somberly. "Wouldn't want you to singe that uniform the ladies of the historical society worked so hard to make."

  "Yessir," Glenn snapped out. At the same time he took a step backward and threw the match. There was a loud pop as the liquid burst into a hot blue flame. Glenn jumped back a few more feet, his eyes all but bugging out of his head.

  "Look at that stuff burn! I never woulda believed it if I hadn't seen it with my own eyes."

  "Told you," Monk said with a smug grin as he doused the fire with foamy spray from the canister. "We all told you."

  The others joined in, a chorus of camaraderie that reminded Judd of every fire station he'd ever been in. Such as it was, this was home—for another couple of weeks, anyway.

  "Just for being so stubborn, probie, you can clean up the mess," Monk said, his grin widening to encompass most of his face.

  Glenn's face fell. "I knew there was a catch," he grumbled as he headed for the closet where they kept their cleaning paraphernalia.

  "What did you put in it, gasoline?" Judd asked Monk when Glen was safely out of earshot.

  "Kerosene, from the supply we keep on hand to fill Bessie Girl's lanterns." He glanced toward the old pumper, whose ornate brass fittings gleamed like pure gold.

  Judd allowed himself a rueful grin. "Poor kid. He's going to be damn upset when he tries to show the next probie all about dog pee and ends up with nothing but a puddle."

  "Yeah, ain't he?" Bowling said before slapping Monk on the back. "Way to go, Lieutenant. You pulled that off smooth as glass."

  "With a little help from the chief," Monk said with a nod in Judd's direction. "It always helps to have the boss in on the joke."

  "Just make sure you tell him the truth one of these days, okay? That damn puppy makes a lot of puddles. We don't want the kid throwing matches into every one of them, trying to get them to flare."

  "Absolutely," Monk agreed with a solemn face.

  "Yessir," threw in one of the others before they dispersed, still talking about the look on the probie's face.

  Monk remained, his expression troubled. "Talk to you a minute, sir?"

  "Sure. C'mon in."

  Judd headed for his chair. Monk took the seat on the other side of the desk wi
thout invitation, a lapse of protocol that Judd noted without comment.

  Instead, he opened the top drawer where he kept the bottle of aspirin—his constant companion—and shook out three, swallowing them dry.

  He'd taken so many he no longer noticed the astringent taste. He noticed other things. The hollow feeling in his gut that was there when he woke up and still there when he finally shut down his mind long enough to drift into sleep. The habit he had these days of looking for Darcy's bright head of hair everywhere he went. The feeling of being at loose ends most of the time, as though, no matter where he was, he should be somewhere else.

  "So what's the problem, Monk?"

  "It's about the phony exterminator, sir."

  Judd sat up straighter. "Do you know who he is?"

  "Not exactly, but I saw him again. Yesterday, in fact, when I was watching some of the volunteers putting up the banners. I noticed his hard hat first and took a good look at his face. I asked around and found out he works for GTK Development Corporation."

  * * *

  Chapter 14

  « ^ »

  Outside the streets were beginning to fill. Kids with balloons and parents with coolers and lounge chairs were staking out the best curbside spots on Main Street

  , where the parade was due to pass in a couple of hours.

  Judd drove slowly through the clogged streets, which would soon be blocked off to everyone but parade participants and emergency vehicles.

  A full two-thirds of the parking lot next to GTK Development Corporation had been roped off for use as a staging area for the floats and bands in the parade. The other third, closest to the renovated warehouse, was full, as was every other lot in town he'd passed.

  Judd parked his vehicle in the red fire zone near the warehouse entrance and hopped out. He didn't really expect Koch to be in his office at 10:00 a.m. on the day of the parade, but he had to start somewhere.

  It was quiet in the lobby, and the air smelled of turpentine and fresh paint. Judd found the suite number from the discreet board by the staircase. Suites 100

  , 101 and 102, a few steps to the left. Prime locations. Koch was a success, all right.

  The door to the first suite was unlocked. The lights were on in the reception area, but the receptionist's desk was empty.

  So were the first four offices Judd came to. The fifth, however, wasn't. From the voices he heard, there were at least two men inside. Perhaps more.

  The door was ajar. Judd rapped once, then pushed it open. The two men sitting over coffee in a small alcove looked up quickly. Grant Koch, cool and stylish in dress-for-success casual, merely seemed annoyed. His hulking companion, however, had the look of a bull mastiff, eager for the signal to tear the intruder apart.

  Judd had lived on the edge for a lot of years. After a while he'd come to smell an incendiary situation, the way he was smelling it now. Like a putrid stink from the sewer.

  Judd hadn't touched a weapon since his days in boot camp in San Diego, but suddenly he wished he had Pat's old Colt tucked into his belt, just in case.

  "Well, Calhoun, did you come for that drink I promised you?" Koch asked as he got to his feet, his smile firmly in place. Like a large shadow, the man with him jumped to his feet, as well.

  "Actually, I came to talk to your friend here, the exterminator."

  "Who, Leon?" Koch chuckled easily. "He's no exterminator. He's one of my best foremen. In fact, I'm thinking of letting him handle Darcy's remodel, he's that good."

  "Appropriate, since he's already been in her house. Of course, it was dark that night, wasn't it, Leon?"

  When the other man's jaw went stupidly slack, Judd allowed himself a short ration of satisfaction before Koch's widening grin uncovered more of his perfect, white teeth.

  "Judd, old buddy, I think you've been out in the sun too long." He gestured toward several well-stocked shelves to his left. "How about a drink? As I remember, you prefer tequila."

  Ignoring the gibe, Judd kept his gaze fixed on Koch's handsome face. "Where's the tank, Koch?"

  "What tank?"

  "My money's on the medical center, the one you donated out of a pure, unadulterated desire to do good. Although the ice cream parlor is a possibility."

  Koch's grin turned mean. "I don't know what you're talking about."

  "I'm talking about the gasoline storage tank under your grandpappy's old service station. The one that sprung a leak that was probably never really fixed right." Aware of Leon's quick, nervous look toward his boss, Judd tensed, ready. "Or maybe no one tried to fix it at all. Maybe your grand-pappy paid off the inspectors the way you tried to pay off Mike Kerrigan."

  "How did you—" Koch caught himself, but it was too late.

  Judd took no satisfaction in discovering that his hunch was correct. In fact, he almost wished that it hadn't been.

  "I didn't. It was just a guess. Looks like it was a pretty good one, doesn't it?"

  Judd was speaking to Koch, but he kept his eyes trained on his buddy Leon. Sure enough, the man's eyes narrowed, then shifted quickly to Koch again.

  "Say the word, Mr. Koch, and this punk fireman is history."

  "No need for that, Leon. Not yet, anyway." Resurrecting his seamless politician's smile, Koch walked across the office to a wall safe behind a hinged photo of Mount Hood, spun the tumblers a few times and swung open the heavy steel door, then stepped back to give Judd a good look at the stacks of currency stowed neatly inside.

  "I offered Mike a cool quarter of a million. I'll double that for you."

  "Offered? Sounds like he turned you down."

  "Yeah, the old fool. Gave me a damned lecture like I was a frigging kid again. Told me he'd give me a week to report the tank to the Department of Environmental Quality. Otherwise, he was going to do it for me."

  "So you killed him."

  "No, he died in the fire at the opera house before the week was up."

  Judd's gaze shifted to Koch's buddy, who grinned malevolently.

  "Too bad, too. I was all set to make it look good, like some booze-crazy kid run him down on his way home one night. See, that way—"

  "Leon," Koch interrupted almost gently, "Chief Calhoun knows all about booze-crazy kids, don't you, Judd?"

  Judd absorbed Koch's words without expression. "I know about payback, too, Grant. Like they always say, it is a bitch, but then you'll find out for yourself."

  Koch's gaze flickered, showing the first crack in the bravado. "Look, Judd, I'm not saying you're right, but think about what it would do to Grantley if all of a sudden those bastards at DEQ made us dig up the streets and treat the soil. A lot of decent people would be wiped out. Ruined."

  Judd knew that he was speaking the truth. No doubt Mike had known it, as well. Perhaps that's why he had been so reluctant to shoulder the responsibility as a whistle blower.

  "From the looks of this place alone, the court ought to be able to levy a fine big enough to cover those expenses. And after all, a guy doing ten to twenty at the state pen in Pendleton doesn't need much pin money. Just enough to keep him in cigarettes and mouthwash."

  A dark flush mottled the skin that was beginning to sag along Koch's once clean-cut jawline. "Take the money, Calhoun. Otherwise, I promise, you'll wish you had."

  "I don't think so, thanks anyway."

  Judd nodded to both men once before turning to leave. "Calhoun!"

  "Forget something, Koch?" he asked, turning only his head.

  "I have a crew scheduled to start that remodel of Darcy's next week. I sure would hate it if one of those kids she had running around out there got hurt by a falling beam—maybe even … killed."

  Judd never remembered the five quick strides he made across the carpet's plush pile. Nor the lightning flash of terror in Koch's eyes. All he remembered was the crystal-clear, ice-cold rage that filled his head and gave strength to the hand he wrapped around the front of Koch's custom-tailored shirt.

  "Don't … even … think about it, Koch, or I swear on Pat's gr
ave that I will personally burn you alive." His voice was utterly without bravado or inflated ego.

  "You're bluffing."

  "I never bluff, Koch. Others know about the tank." Koch hissed a curse, but Judd was already heading for the door.

  The building seemed even emptier, like an abandoned ship after a killing storm, as he headed across the lobby. As he walked, he planned. First he would find Tom Billings. And then, if Tom refused, he would make the call to the DEQ himself.

  Still preoccupied, he was outside again and only a couple of angry strides from his vehicle when he noticed Sean-O and Darcy hitching a pretty strawberry roan mare to the old Kerrigan racing trap.

  Lord, how he had hated that old buggy, he thought, fighting another flood of deeply buried memories.

  Patrick had had him paint the big wooden wheels a jaunty yellow shortly after he'd arrived. Twelve spokes evenly coated with oil-based enamel, which he'd had under his fingernails for a week. Part of the payback he'd agreed to. Too bad it wasn't always that easy to make up for a mistake, he thought as he altered his path and headed her way.

  The twins, with their uncanny radar, saw him first. He was still a good ten yards away when they came racing toward him, their long prairie skirts flapping around their ankles and their smiles bright enough to light a room.

  "Look, Judd, we have bonnets!"

  "Yeah, old timey ones like our great-great-great-grandma wore."

  "You forgot a great."

  "Did not!"

  "Did too!"

  "They look terrific," Judd interjected, his gut tightening another notch at the thought of all the arguments he would miss.

  The bonnets were white with blue satin ribbons. Not identical, though, as Angel was quick to point out. "See, mine has violets on it. Betsy's had dumb old roses, but I like violets best, don't you?"

  Caught in the twins' cross fire, Judd had a momentary flash that he must have imagined the ugly scene in Koch's office. But his blood was still running cold with fury and his pulse pounded in his head.

  Somehow, he forced his thoughts away from Koch and the pain he'd caused and on to the answer the girls were awaiting with their usual, hopping-up-and-down impatience.