Dead Man District

by Julie Miller

  “I’ve got what I want,” Kenny shot back, clearly uncowed by the man’s intended threat. “I’ve got plenty of money in my bank account and I’ve got my boy.”

  The older man turned and pointed a finger at Kenny. “If I hear that you’ve stayed in the country...”

  “You’ll hire another enforcer to come after me?” Kenny laughed. “Let ’em try. I have a reputation as the best in the business for a reason. Your secrets are safe with me, Meade.” He waved off the man who had employed him. “Now get out of here and let me work.”

  Kenny picked up a bag she assumed was full of tools or money or both and started packing the items he’d used to imprison her and prep the building for the fire. But he had no pity for her son, either.

  Corie managed to push herself up onto one elbow, putting her at Evan’s level. “Hey, son. Look at me.” Her poor baby had a mark on his face, and his eyes were puffy and red. But he was her brave little soldier. He sniffed hard and swiped away his tears. That’s when the saw the black watch that was far too big for him dangling from his wrist. She wasn’t giving up hope until her very last breath. She wasn’t letting her son give up, either. “Look at your watch and practice telling time. Start counting how many minutes it takes for Matt to get here.”

  Kenny laughed at what he thought was a ridiculous challenge. “Your boyfriend isn’t coming to save you, Katie. I left him with plenty to do. He’ll never find you. Not until this place has burned to the ground and Danny and I are on a plane to a tropical beach in the Caribbean.”

  Corie didn’t intimidate the way she used to. She wasn’t isolated and vulnerable to the likes of Kenny Norwell or her mother anymore. She had friends. She had the makings of a new family. She had a future.

  She had her very own fire-eating dragon.

  “You don’t know Matt Taylor.”

  * * *

  MATT DROVE THE fire engine up and down the skinny throughways and parking areas in the warehouse district north of City Market. He’d killed the lights and siren, creating as much stealth as a diesel truck this size could manage. He’d wasted too many minutes getting stuck behind a line of vehicles merging into one lane around a construction site. If he’d been thinking, he’d have had dispatch clear a construction-free route for him.

  But he hadn’t been thinking. He’d only been feeling. Fear. Love. Loss. Anger. He needed Corie to get inside his head and help him make sense of it all. He needed her beautiful smile to keep the shadows of the past at bay. He needed her boy to make him laugh and get him excited about being a father. He needed her. Period.

  Mark’s sharp eyes had kept the black Charger in sight until it had turned off into this maze of old manufacturing plants and shipping warehouses that had been converted into office buildings, condos and modern businesses.

  “Where’s the car, Mark? Where did he take them?”

  Ironically, Mark, the comic of the family, was the one who kept a cool head. “It’s only been a couple of minutes since we lost them. He probably drove into one of these warehouses and pulled down the door to hide. He’s still here. This complex is locked down for the weekend. We’d have heard him driving away.”

  Matt glanced across the cab of the truck, wanting to believe. But searching every warehouse, garage door, even just on this single block was a daunting task. “We need backup. Call it in. Call everybody in. Alex. Pike. Mom and Dad.”

  Mark pulled out his cell phone and picked up the radio off the dashboard. “I’ll get on the horn with them and any personnel from the nearest station who can give us a hand.”

  “I can’t lose them, Mark. It’s the first time it’s ever felt right for me. I can talk to her and...she says I’m funny and...”

  Matt’s gaze zeroed in on the small dots of primary colors and purple and green sprinkled across the pavement in front of the shipping door off to his left. “Hold on.”

  While Mark chatted with dispatch, Matt climbed down from the truck to figure out what he was looking at. His mood lightened with every step. He picked one, and then another, cradling the tiny plastic building blocks in hand. He glanced up at the second-story window that had been propped open and knew these were a deliberate clue. “Evan McGuire, if you’re not careful, I’m going to adopt you.”

  Tucking the bricks into his pocket, Matt searched for a ladder or fire escape that would give him the access he needed to see inside the warehouse. A dumpster and the drainpipe above it did the trick, too. Although Matt couldn’t see into the open window from his vantage point, he could see in.

  He nearly lost his grip and plummeted to the ground at the sight of Corie strapped to a chair and lying in a puddle of Kenny Norwell’s home-brewed fire-starter kit. The setup was just like the fire that killed Enrique Maldonado.

  After a quick descent, he climbed back into the fire engine and shifted it into gear. “That place is rigged to burn and Corie’s trapped in the middle of it. She won’t be able to get herself out.”

  “Backup’s en route. Did you get eyes on Evan?”

  “No. But Norwell’s there, so the kid has to be around someplace.” He knew a lot of different ways to prevent fires, to put out fires, to rescue someone trapped in a fire. But a locked door stood between him and getting the job done. “We get one shot at this, Mark. Once Norwell knows we’re onto him, Corie will be at his mercy.”

  “You know I’ll follow your lead. What do we do?”

  And then he knew. A moment of clarity washed over Matt like one of Corie’s smiles. He shifted the engine into reverse, backed into an alley, then straightened the big machine to meet the shipping bay door at a ninety-degree angle. “Hold on to something.”

  “You’re not gonna...?” Mark buckled himself in and grabbed the hand bars as Matt shifted gears and stomped on the gas. “Whoa, baby! Who said you were the shy one?”

  * * *

  MEADE AND KENNY were arguing again.

  Kenny never had played well with others. “When we made the agreement to work together on the outside, I said yes because the money is good. But I am my own boss. Understand?”

  On the outside? Kenny and this Meade had been in prison together?

  She wasn’t sure how that was helpful, other than with the two roosters going at each other, each trying to assert his superiority over the other, they weren’t paying any attention to her. Kenny probably believed he’d put her in an inescapable trap, and Meade didn’t care.

  Since she was already covered in the accelerant, it didn’t make any difference if she got more on her. So Corie was tapping every last bit of her strength to crawl her way to one of the desks. She wasn’t sure how she was going to lever herself up high enough, but one of those drawers or pencil caddies had to have a pair of scissors or a box cutter she could use to free herself.

  Evan was back on his stack of chairs beneath the windows, thankfully engrossed in watching the dials on Matt’s watch and, without realizing it, believing in a miracle.

  Corie had her teeth hooked onto the edge of a drawer and, millimeter by millimeter was tugging it open when she heard the loud roar of an engine outside. Both men turn to look toward the window. “What the hell is that?”

  The entire building shook, and Corie fell to the floor as something big and powerful crashed through the garage door below them.

  Evan tumbled off his perch but quickly climbed back up to peer out the window. “It’s Matt! It’s his fire engine!” He swung around to share the news with Corie. “He’s here!”

  “Evan, run!” He hesitated for a moment, no doubt concerned for her. “Run!”

  He took off, leaving her sight as he raced for the far door as fast as his little legs could take him. She heard voices shouting down below, running footsteps, someone calling her name. There were sirens outside now, too. She could barely hear herself think.

  But Corie could see the look of pure hatred on Kenny’s face.

 
; “You’ll never take my son from me again.” He flicked a match between his thumb and finger and dropped it into the puddle of chemicals that covered the floor. The goo burst into flame like a burning pool of oil and raced across the room toward her. “Die, witch.”

  He took off after Evan. “No!”

  The next several things happened so quickly that Corie wondered if her concussed brain was hallucinating.

  The nearer door burst open and two firefighters rushed in with a hose.

  “Corie!”

  Matt? “I’m over here.”

  Two police officers rushed in behind them, guns drawn. A rangy German shepherd led another officer inside ahead of a shorter man armed with some kind of assault rifle. Matt used hand signals to send them all off in different directions. “The boy is our number one priority.”

  He left the other firefighter to open up the nozzle and spray a gushing waterfall that wiped Mr. Meade off his feet. Then he turned the hose, catching the edge of the fire trap with a powerful stream of water.

  “That’s all the length we’ve got, Matt!” Mark Taylor. “I can’t reach her.”

  “I can.”

  Matt ran straight toward her, his thick boots and bunker gear the only deterrent he needed to race through the flames and kneel beside her. “Matt! Don’t!”

  He pulled a knife from deep inside his coat and flipped it open to slice away the tape that bound her right wrist. He trailed a gloved finger over her bruised, swollen cheek. “Oh God, sweetheart, you’re hurt.”

  “Should I tell you I’ve had worse?”

  “No.” He moved to her right leg.

  Even though she couldn’t feel her fingers, she still reached to rest her hand against his stubbled cheek. “I love you.”

  “I love you.” He looked up from freeing her left wrist. “Wow. That was easy to say.”

  “You’re a strange one, Matt Taylor. But I think you’re the right one for me.”

  “Yeah?”

  “Yeah. That’s why you have to go. This isn’t safe. I need someone who loves Evan to be with him now.”

  “You love him. You’ll be with him.” He never glanced over his shoulder while he cut the last of her restraints. But Corie had a clear, eye-level view of the fire dancing across the pool of accelerant, following the path that led straight to her. “You have to go. I’m about to go up in flames.”

  “Then it’s a good thing I’m a firefighter.” He shrugged out of his bunker coat and wrapped her inside it. Corie felt rather than saw the heat of the flames reach for her as he carried her through the fire. Seconds later, he set her on her feet and tossed the coat aside. They were near the windows now, several yards beyond the perimeter of the fire. “Get these clothes off.”

  She fumbled with the buttons on her sweater and blouse while he unsnapped her jeans and peeled them down her legs. “You have to go after Evan. He went out the other way.”

  “He’s got a lot of people I trust looking out for him.”

  “But—”

  “You’ve raised a smart kid. His trail of breadcrumbs is how I found you.” He tossed the last piece of tape aside. “Clothes, woman. I don’t want any accidental spark to trigger a reaction. I don’t intend to lose you.”

  “My hands are numb. The circulation’s been cut off.”

  “Understood.” He took over and stripped her down to her bra and panties and gathered her into his arms. For a split second, she looked up into warm brown eyes and knew she would be safe. She knew she could trust his word that her son would be safe, too. “Hold your breath. This is going to hurt.”

  Corie filled her lungs with air and buried her face against Matt’s chest. He clutched her tightly against him as Mark hit them with the full blast of the fire hose. By the time Matt signaled his brother to cut off the hose, several other firefighters were streaming in with longer hoses that allowed them to reach the spread of the chemicals and douse the flames.

  She felt Matt’s lips at the crown of her hair. “I don’t smell it on you anymore. I think it’s safe to move you outside now. I want you checked out by a medic.”

  She felt like she’d been hit by a freight train, and she was already starting to shiver after being drenched to the skin. But there was still only one thing on her mind. “I’m not doing anything else until I see my son.”

  “How about you put on some dry, chemical-free clothes? Blanket!” Matt gave the order, and seconds later Corie had two blankets, one wrapped around her like a sarong, and the other draped over her shoulders. “Evan’s okay, sweetheart. He’s with my mom and dad in an ambulance, getting checked over by medics. Norwell and Meade have been arrested by my uncle Cole. Jordy turned himself in, and Harve is on his way to the hospital. I’m guessing he’s got jail time in his future, too.”

  Corie stared up at Matt, dumbfounded. “How? How do you know all that? How can you be so certain?”

  He pulled the earbud out of his ear and showed her that he’d been listening in to official radio chatter this entire time. “A little birdie told me.”

  Corie didn’t know if she wanted to swat him or hug him. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

  He smoothed her wet hair away from the wound on her cheek and tucked it behind her ear. “You were the one in imminent danger. That’s where my focus needed to be.”

  “Atonement?”

  “No. Love.” Then he gently laced his fingers together with hers. “Let’s go get our boy.”

  * * *

  Don’t miss the previous book in USA TODAY

  bestselling author Julie Miller’s The Taylor Clan: Firehouse 13 series:

  Crime Scene Cover-Up

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  Chapter One

  The whispers started the moment she stepped into town.

  “It’s her. The kidnapped girl. The one from five years ago.”

  “The one who almost got her real sister killed?”

  Alanna tried to ignore the sidelong glances from the two women peering at her from the open door of the grocery store. In a place like Desparre, Alaska, the stares and chatter were likely to bring more people.

  Alanna hunched her shoulders, trying to disappear into her heavy coat as she picked up her pace. Still, she felt their accusatory gazes bore into her. The pace of her breathing picked up, sweat breaking out all over her body. This was the side effect of sending the “parents” who’d raised her for fourteen years to jail and then returning to another state, to a family she’d tried so hard to remember but didn’t quite fit into anymore. The side effect of spending too long dodging reporters desperate to be the one to break her silence and get the inside story of her abduction.

  The voices faded as the women disappeared back into the grocery store, one of a handful of buildings that lined Desparre’s small downtown area. It looked so tiny compared to the suburb on the outskirts of Chicago where she’d returned after living in the remote wilderness of Alaska with the family who’d kidnapped her.

  Even after being gone for five long years, in many ways, Alaska still felt like home.

  Alanna took a deep breath of the crisp, cool air and closed her eyes, letting the familiar sounds and smells and sights calm her. At her side, her St. Bernard, Chance, recognized her method for coping with anxiety and scooted up against her, then promptly sat.

  A minute later, the sound of Chance’s low, s
ustained growl made her eyes pop back open.

  The St. Bernard was definitely a gentle giant, more likely to thump his tail and wait for a belly rub than go after anyone. But his size and his warning growl never failed to make people who were a little too aggressive back up fast.

  In the past, Chance had used that growl on a handful of particularly determined reporters who’d stuck with her for years, following her around and ambushing her at the most unexpected times, seeking a candid photo or a sound bite. Because no matter how much time passed, she was still one of those women. A name that had made national headlines. A story she could never outgrow. Today, Chance was using his growl on the police officer who’d somehow managed to get close while her eyes were shut.

  His startling blue eyes darted to her dog, then back to her. “Miss, do you need hel—”

  The words trailed off as those blue eyes widened slightly. In a face made up of sharp angles and pale skin, his eyes were especially compelling. His tone was less friendly, more suspicious as he said, “Alanna Altier?”

  “Morgan,” she corrected. The name of her birth family, instead of the family who’d raised her for most of her childhood. After five years, the name Morgan was finally starting to feel less foreign on her lips.

  “Morgan,” he repeated. His gaze swept the space behind her, as if the woman who’d raised her—who’d helped kidnap her and four other children over the span of eighteen years and then escaped from police custody five days ago—would suddenly appear.

  Anxiety started to swell again and Chance scooted even closer, his warm fur pressing against her leg, his big head nuzzling her.

  Absently petting him, Alanna kept her eyes on the officer. She didn’t recognize him. Not that she would—the Altiers had kept her and her “siblings” far from prying eyes, especially law enforcement eyes. She’d been to town before, but more often she’d stayed home, spending most of her days inside the house she’d helped build. Or in the dozen acres surrounding it that the Altiers owned, a buffer from them and the rest of the world. At times, it had felt like an oasis. At others, it had seemed more like a cage.