Fatal Response. Jodie Bailey
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excitement. You headed home early? We’re out of coffee.
Why was her father awake at 1:12 a.m.? And why couldn’t he, just once, ask about her? She was half tempted to shoot back an I’m fine, Dad, thanks for asking.
Instead, Erin shoved her phone into her pocket while Wyatt watched with a raised eyebrow.
“You could head home, you know.”
“Chief Kelliher is on his way back from out of town, so I’m in charge even if the station is offline during the investigation. I’d rather stay here anyway. At least then there’d be a chance at sleep instead of...” Instead of cleaning whatever mess her father had decided to leave for her, running through the inevitable argument about why she didn’t find a regular day job, then mowing the huge two-acre lawn before she could drop into her own bed.
“Move out, Erin. Make him stand on his own two feet and stop treating you like his personal servant.”
It was the same thing he’d been preaching since she’d turned eighteen. Jason had echoed him every time. The difference was, Jason had a greater stake in her moving out than Wyatt ever had.
Neither of them understood she couldn’t simply walk away, so she’d stopped arguing. It was her fault her father suffered from the medical issues that held him back in life.
Her father had never liked Jason, had deemed him trouble from the start. Maybe Erin should have listened instead of suggesting they elope the day after high school graduation...and drive to South Carolina in style in her father’s prized ’68 Camaro.
On the way home, a drunk driver ran them off the road at the bridge over Wisdom Creek. They’d tumbled down the embankment and come to rest in the creek, leaving the car destroyed, Jason with a concussion, and Erin with a broken leg and busted ribs.
Her father blamed Jason, and his anger skyrocketed, blowing in an explosion when Jason came to the house the day she got home from the hospital. Before either of them could confess their elopement, Erin’s father had collapsed, the combination of his diabetes and his anger making him the victim of a stroke that had forced him into months of rehab and Erin into silence about her marriage.
It was her responsibility to take care of her father, but the one man who should have understood and supported her the most had never been able to understand. Jason had pushed her to tell the truth about their marriage so they could stop sneaking stolen moments together. He wanted to tell her father, to have her leave home and move in with him.
No, Jason had never understood. Her father had needed to be stronger first. Another blowup could have killed him.
She had to make it up to her father for wrecking his car and his life.
And he never let her forget it.
The radio on Wyatt’s shoulder crackled. He tipped his head to listen, then glanced toward the door. “I have to go, but if you need me, I’m—”
“Only a phone call away?”
“That’s four.” Wyatt turned and walked out, his footsteps echoing through the outer office and into the hallway.
Erin stood in the tiny kitchen, lips pursed. There was too much energy in her twitching muscles. She needed to put them to work.
She strode through the office and across the hall into the bay. The low murmur of voices filtered in through the garage doors at the back of the building, but the distance was mercifully too far to pick out words.
The engine still gleamed from her earlier restlessness, so she grabbed her supplies and walked to the end of the row where the brush truck stood. Her lone footsteps echoed off the high ceiling, the familiarity as comforting as her own heartbeat. No matter what happened in her life, a firefighter was what she was meant to be. She knew it in silences like this as well as she knew it in turnout gear facing a fully engulfed structure.
A small smile edged up her face for the first time in hours, and she let her fingers trail along the side of the large red utility vehicle. She inspected hoses and dials, then dug into the bucket for an old toothbrush. Might as well hit those spots where nobody ever remembered to clean.
She was standing on the running board polishing a handrail when a door opened on the other side of the building. Footsteps, slow but steady, paced toward her.
It was probably Wyatt. He had never been able to understand I don’t want to talk.
Lowering her hand, Erin grabbed the rail and turned, but she kept her place as she checked her watch. Over an hour on the truck. No wonder her neck ached as much as her heart.
The man who rounded the front of the ladder truck wasn’t her cousin.
Jason.
Her fingers tightened on the handrail while she fought to keep her expression impassive, but her insides jolted at his unexpected appearance. In the fullness of the overhead lights, he was everything she remembered and a whole lot more. Those blue eyes had first caught her attention over a decade earlier. While they held concern, they lacked the warmth she’d once enjoyed. Instead, they were wiser and darker, as though they’d absorbed everything he’d seen on his many deployments. His thick sandy-blond hair was longer on the top, tousled, but the smooth skin at his neck said it had been recently cut.
He’d filled out over the past few years, his shoulders broader, his chest firmer beneath his creamy beige sweater. And while it was impossible, he even seemed to be a couple of inches taller.
His height made her glad she’d stayed on her perch on the brush truck. He’d always towered over her by several inches.
Warmth breezed through her with the memory. She’d loved the way her head tucked beneath his chin when he held her. It made her feel protected, like nothing could touch her. The outside world and all its troubles had always drifted far away.
“You okay?”
She blinked twice, warmth morphing to embarrassment. She was staring at him. Had been for who knew how long. Balling her free hand, Erin dug her nails into her palm and turned back to the truck, inspecting an invisible spot on a coupling. “I’m fine.”
“And that’s why you’re polishing chrome in the dead of night?”
Jason’s voice held a knowing it shouldn’t. How often had he found her at the station doing the same thing? He’d always known where she’d run after an argument. He’d always found her.
Yeah. There would be no making up tonight or ever again. At least not with Jason Barnes.
She had to remind herself why it hadn’t worked between them. He’d repeatedly tried to force her hand with her father, refusing to understand why she couldn’t tell her dad the truth about their marriage. Jason had fought against her, not with her, and certainly not for her.
Armed with her catalog of reasons he was every bad idea in the world, she faced him. “What are you doing back in town?”
“Stationed at Camp McGee as an instructor. Got here about a month ago.”
“A month. Were you going to warn me?” The words bit as the emotions of the night congealed into an overarching anger she couldn’t harness. Jumping from the truck, she prepared to pour out every tirade she’d ever practiced in her mind.
But footsteps on the other side of the bay stopped her.
Jason turned toward the sound at the same time she did.
Wyatt rounded the corner with police chief Arch Thompson at his side, their expressions grim.
Erin tensed. Whatever was coming, it was clear...
Her world was about to tilt again.
* * *
“Meth?” Erin eyed the evidence bag police chief Arch Thompson held at his side.
The whole night was spinning faster, circling with all of the ferocity of a whirlpool that threatened to drag