The Widow's Protector. Stephanie Newton
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“It was endless last night, man.” In the locker room, as Hunter changed into his uniform pants, Danny Fitzgerald changed into his street clothes.
“At least you didn’t get bored.” Hunter looked up from his locker.
“Not bored. I’m starving, though. Oh, and 4213 Chestnut Street is out of town and their alarm system is malfunctioning. We were there three times yesterday. What can you do, though? You gotta go.”
Danny was right. They had to go, regardless of figuring it was a false alarm. “Maybe they’ll get home today.”
Danny’s grin flashed white. “Nope, they’re on a cruise to the Bahamas. I talked to their neighbors, who were also a little annoyed to have the fire department on their front lawn at one in the morning.”
“Nice.” Hunter buttoned his uniform shirt over his T-shirt.
“You’re gonna have fun.” Nate Santos laughed from the other side of the room.
“Copy that.” Hunter made a mental note to see if Liam had already called the alarm company. “See ya, Danny. Nate.”
Hunter glanced at his watch—just enough time to catch the chief before the guys got here and started the equipment and apparatus check.
The chief was in his office, pictures of the scene at the Sweet Shoppe spread on his desk. He hung up the phone as Hunter came in. “What’s up, Hunter?”
“I was hoping there was some word on the evidence from the fire yesterday, sir. Is there anything you’d like me to follow up on while I’m here today?”
The chief gathered the photos and closed the file. “No, nothing new. Cops are investigating. I’ll let you know when I hear from them.”
It wasn’t like Fitzgerald to shut out Hunter, but he wouldn’t push. Most likely, the chief was just preoccupied. “Yes, sir. Let me know if you need anything.”
“Brennan Fox called in sick again.” The chief looked up from the folder. “I’m going to ask Danny to fill in for Brennan. So you’ll have to keep the probie with you.”
“Yes, sir.” Lance Woods, the new probationary firefighter, had been paired with the more experienced Brennan Fox. Hunter frowned. Brennan wasn’t the type to blow off work without a good reason. “I’m going to check in with Brennan, too. This is the third time he’s called in, right?”
The chief turned around in his chair and slid the arson file into the credenza behind his desk. “Yep. Let me know what you find out.”
“Yes, sir.” Hunter walked into the hall outside the chief’s office. On the wall was his friend Jimmy’s photograph and plaque. He stopped in front of it, like he often did. Jimmy had been the real deal. Real husband, real hero. And while intellectually, Hunter knew that nothing he could’ve done would’ve changed the outcome of the fire that had killed Jimmy, he carried the weight of failure every day.
Firefighters take care of each other. They go in together, they come out together.
They don’t leave their partner.
He would die before he let what happened to Jimmy happen again. This arsonist would be caught and would pay.
Danny Fitzgerald, back in uniform, walked up beside him, stopped and looked at the wall where Jimmy’s picture hung. “He was a good guy.”
Hunter nodded. “He was. Thanks for filling in today.”
“No problem. I can use the overtime. I could also use a nap.” Danny looked hopeful as Hunter turned and walked toward the apparatus bay.
“Go for it.” Hunter paused and looked back. “After we equipment-check.”
The other two firefighters in their shift crew were waiting in the apparatus bay for them. Every day started with equipment maintenance and restocking anything that had been used on the prior shift. Because their department was small, their units were medical response units, with each of their firefighters cross-trained as EMTs. Some shifts staffed a paramedic, too. Each had their own duty in an emergency, though in a department as small as theirs, there was some overlap.
Blond-haired, blue-eyed Max Lavigne stuck his head from where he was repacking the kits. The paramedic on B-shift liked to talk about how lucky he was with the ladies, but Hunter had actually never known him to have a girlfriend. “Brennan call in sick again?”
Danny nodded his head. “Yep. Lucky you. You get me instead.”
“Hard luck, maybe.” Lavigne kept a straight face until Danny laughed and slapped him on the back.
Hunter hid his smile, settling into the routine, checking each gauge on the engine, with Lance following his every move. Growing up an only child, he’d been envious of Fiona’s relationship with her siblings. He’d dealt with way more than any kid should have to deal with. He’d wished for brothers. Now he had them.
The firehouse tones sounded. All the banter stopped as each man ran for his turnout gear. Hunter was swinging onto the truck less than two minutes later as dispatch announced, “Fire-Rescue One, respond to home alarm at 4213 Chestnut Street.”
Danny looked at Hunter and laughed. “Told you,” but he didn’t slow down as he settled into the seat on the opposite side. If anything, each of them was moving a little faster.
An arsonist was targeting their own. And they were the ones who stood between the arsonist and the people of their town.
THREE
The bookstore hummed with activity. It seemed that everyone wanted to come by and talk about the fire. Fiona didn’t want to talk about the fire. She slid a book into place on its shelf.
The fear lingered in the back of her mind as much as the smoky smell lingered in the air, but in the here and now, she couldn’t think about it. If she did, it could paralyze her. So instead, she focused on her business.
Mrs. Davenport had returned to look through the garden section. Fiona’s assistant, Merry, had five or six little ones for Story Time in the children’s section. The moms and nannies were gathered in a group of comfy chairs by the window pretending to look at books, but really just talking.
Fiona picked up a couple of Hollywood gossip magazines and dropped them off on the table next to those ladies, stopping to compliment Georgina Hennessy’s nanny, Delores, on her new hair color.
The scrapbookers were in the apartment upstairs cropping pictures. A year ago, Fiona had expanded to include a small selection of scrapbook materials in order to bring in new business. It had paid off. The crafters loved making a pot of coffee and sitting down for a few hours of serious scrapbook time. The dedicated space upstairs was perfect for crafting.
The chime on her front door rang. Nate Santos walked in, his typical toothpick clenched in his teeth. His black hair was a little mussed but in his FBFD T-shirt, he still drew a sigh from the moms sitting by the window as he walked in. She smiled a welcome. “Hey, Nate, you just getting off shift?”
“Yeah. I had breakfast at the Sugar Plum and thought I’d drop by to make sure you’re doing okay after the fire the other day.” He sauntered a little closer to the counter, pulled the toothpick out of his mouth and shoved it in his pocket.
They’d gone to high school together, but had run with different circles. He’d tried hanging out with Jimmy and Hunter for a while, but Nate had partied. Jimmy and Hunter would’ve rather been out on her little sailboat or crabbing with her at Aunt Vanessa’s, even in high school.
He picked up a book on golf courses around the country from the display by the register, looked at the cover and then put it down, finally making eye contact with her.
“We’re fine, Nate, trying to keep things as normal as possible, but it’s nice of you to come by.”
His fingers fiddled