ONE

      The chrome of Fire Engine 7 gleamed in the glow of the dim lights hanging overhead. Erin Taylor ran one finger along the grille of the monstrous vehicle, then buffed the streak off with her sleeve. She could bust out a rag and work on it, but she’d done that an hour ago. Since she was the only person pulling overnight duty in the station of the Mountain Springs Volunteer Fire Department, there wasn’t anyone but herself to come along and undo her work.

      Great. The dark hours were stretching longer than usual, and it wasn’t even midnight. Maybe it had to do with knowing where she could be right now...at a weekend training conference in Nashville. But she’d had to pass the opportunity along to Mark Jennings so her father wouldn’t be left alone for an entire weekend. His safety came first, even if it sometimes hindered her career...or derailed her life.

      Not that things were ever going to change. Dwelling on it would only make her feel worse.

      Drumming her fingers on her thighs, she wandered to the large garage doors at the front of the building and stared through the windows into the darkness. Mountain Springs slept quietly about a mile away. They hadn’t had a call in a couple of nights, not even for a medical emergency. On this moonless autumn evening, everything was still.

      But a growing restlessness had her prowling the station. She’d organized the small kitchen. Considered baking brownies. Had tried to sleep on the small bed in the bunk room at the end of the hall. Every time she settled in and closed her eyes, something drove her to her feet.

      The same kind of instinct had kicked in when the woods north of town caught fire in a lightning storm a couple of years ago. Her subconscious had caught the scent of smoke before her nose realized it was there. She’d already been halfway to the station when the alarm sounded.

      There was no smoke tonight, simply a weird twinge in her gut that kept her from relaxing.

      It probably had to do with the car.

      For nearly two weeks, an older dark sedan had turned into the front parking lot of the station, turned around and left. The engine never shut off. The driver never left the vehicle. Each time, the only indication the car was there was headlights sweeping through the windows on the bay doors as the car made its turn.

      She’d mentioned the car to her cousin Wyatt, a Mountain Springs police officer, at lunch after church on Sunday. They’d ultimately decided it was a new parent with a sleep-resistant infant.

      Still, the random drive-bys poked at her creepy-meter a little bit.

      With a slight shudder, Erin checked the front door for the third time to make sure it was locked. The back door was as tight as the front, the music of crickets and frogs drifting in from the back of the building.

      Erin pivoted on her heel to go back to the office. There were always grant proposals to write. As one of two paid members of the mostly all-volunteer department, the bulk of