Brave the Heat (9 page)

That man was gone.

Much like the memories of her early childhood in Oklahoma.

Jordan had convinced herself that those memories of him singing and laughing with her and her mother had been a dream, because the notion that he had been that way and then changed… That was almost too much to bear.

The father she’d known most of her life was now also a memory—albeit a much more vivid and unpleasant one.

Letting out a hitching breath, Jordan leaned back in the chair and folded her hands in her lap, a sense of defeat filling her.

“You were a son of a bitch,” she whispered shakily.

His lips twitched at the sound of her voice and Jordan froze. Her body went numb with apprehension as his eyes fluttered open. He turned his head toward her, a soft swishing sound filling the room as his flesh rushed over the pillow. Those bushy gray eyebrows furrowed as his watery gaze settled on her, and Jordan held her breath, waiting for some sense of recognition.

An admonishment. Disapproval. Disgust.

None came.

He licked his dry lips and continued staring at her as though he had no idea who she was. Her mother had been completely right. Based on the vacant expression on his face, her father had absolutely no idea who Jordan was, let alone any recollection of what their lives had been like.

“When’s the train leavin’?” he asked in a brittle, raspy voice. “Don’t wanna miss it.”

Jordan almost laughed out loud, but not out of humor. The ridiculousness of the question caught her completely off guard and while she knew, logically, that getting involved in any kind of conversation with a person in his condition was ridiculous, she answered his question.

“There’s no train, Dad.” Sitting up taller, Jordan leaned a little closer and kept her voice quiet. “You’re at home.”

“Can’t miss that train,” he croaked. “You gonna take me to the train? Where’s Claire? You’re not Claire.”

Claire…her mother.

“No.” Jordan’s hands curled into fists, her fingernails dug into her palms as she fought the rising surge of anger. “I’m not Claire. I’m your daughter, Jordan. Don’t you recognize me?”

“I don’t have no kids.” He coughed and licked his lips again. “I gotta get to the train.”

Clearly he didn’t know who she was, and that infuriated her. How could he forget her? She was his daughter. His only child, and he had no clue who she was.

“Yes, you do have a daughter.” She let out a bitter laugh, the irony of the situation not lost on her. “Not that you ever really acted like you wanted me, at least not very often. But I
am
your daughter. I’d say that you’re my father, but the truth is…you aren’t…not really. I don’t suppose it matters though, does it? Would it matter to you if I told you how much you hurt me? Would you care if I let you know that for years I thought I was worthless because you made sure to tell me that almost every day? Would your heart break if I said that I never really believed I was worthy of love?”

Jordan rose from her chair, her voice growing stronger with each passing word, with each layer of her confession.

“I didn’t believe I was capable of truly loving anyone else until I had my daughters. Not even Gavin could get through to me, but then again, how could I believe that he really loved me? I wasn’t worth it? Was I, Dad? All you ever did was tell me how worthless I was.” Her voice dropped to a whisper. The mattress sagged as she settled both hands on the edge and leaned close, staring into his confused expression. “Would any of that matter to you?”

Recognition flickered across his face briefly, and for a split second, Jordan thought her words had gotten through, that somehow he’d heard her and understood. His thin, pale lips quivered and Jordan held her breath, waiting and hoping that finally, after all this time, she might get some kind of satisfaction.

But none came.

“Miss?” he rasped. “When’s Claire takin’ me to the train?”

Gavin stood outside the smoldering wreckage of the abandoned house. Sweat trickled down his back as he stared at the charred remains. Wisps of smoke rose slowly from the structure, and the pungent chemical scent of burned plastic filled his nostrils. A sense of dread nagged at him. This house was on the outskirts of Old Brookfield and had been abandoned for the past two years. The place had gone into foreclosure and the bank still hadn’t been able to unload it, but someone sure as hell had been there recently.

At least long enough to set the fire. Just like the barn blaze the other night.

“You thinkin’ what I’m thinkin’?” Rick asked.

“Possibly.” Dread crawled up Gavin’s back and he rolled his shoulder. The scarred, puckered flesh always tingled more at a fire scene. “Let’s have it.”

“That Heffernan kid has been hanging around the station a whole damn lot, and now he’s here at the scene of a suspicious fire. If you ask me, that’s sketchy. He’s too damn interested, Gav.”

Rick had moved in silently next to Gavin and kept his voice quiet, obviously not wanting the Heffernan kid to overhear them. The boy had been at the station when the call came in, and since regulations prevented him from riding in the engine, he’d followed in his own car. At the moment he was sitting on the hood of his black Honda Civic and staring in awe at the charred remains of the house.

The expression on the kid’s face was nothing short of excited.

“Let’s not go jumping to any conclusions. Besides, he wasn’t at the barn fire the other night.” Gavin adjusted his helmet. “The most intense heat came from the back left corner of the house, and I spotted a V pattern along one of the walls.”

“Could have been an accident,” Rick said as he glanced over his shoulder at their latest volunteer. “Maybe David and a few of the high school kids have been using the house to party. It’s isolated out here, and the next house is a quarter mile down the road.”

“True.” Gavin nodded but he couldn’t shake the feeling that it wasn’t. Not by a long shot. “But I didn’t see any kind of debris like that. Did you? No furniture or any kind of makeshift party pad. The place is empty and abandoned.”

“Yup. Just like the barn.” Rick coughed and spit a hunk of gray phlegm onto the grass. “By the time we busted out the windows and ventilated the place, it was a hot mess in there. But no, it doesn’t look like a party pad gone wrong. You and I both know this was deliberate.”

“Shit.” Gavin rolled his left shoulder again. Keeping his gaze on the charred house, he kept his voice low. “Call the police chief and let him know we have another possible arson. I’m sure the bank will have their insurance people out here in a hot minute.”

“You’re gonna leave this to them?” Rick asked with more than a little skepticism.

“Hell no.” Gavin started toward the house. “I’m going to have another look at the point of origin.”

“All clear, Chief.” Bill trotted down the front steps of the house. The newest firefighter on the team was young and eager, tall and wiry. He reminded Gavin of himself when he first started—charged up and ready to take on the world. “We’ll get the hoses back on the engine.”

“Nice work today.” Gavin slapped him on the arm. “Rick and I need to have another look inside. Why don’t you and the guys show the Heffernan kid how to get the hoses put away properly? He may as well learn something while he’s sitting here.”

“Roger that.” Standing a bit taller, Bill strode away toward the street and waved the boy over. “Come here, kid. Let me show you a couple things.”

“Now he’ll be totally unbearable,” Rick grumbled as they climbed the steps.

“Which one?”

“Both.”

Gavin stepped through the open doorway. The smell of burnt plastic and insulation assaulted his senses, making his gut clench. Even after all these years and countless fires, it still turned his stomach.

Debris crunched beneath their boots, and the sound of water trickling filled the air as they made their way carefully through the damaged house. Most of the fire had been contained to the back of the house, but broken glass, water, and other debris littered the floor. Putting out fires was not only dangerous but messy as hell.

“There.” Stepping into what used to be the kitchen, Gavin pointed to the far wall by the back door. A scorched black pattern in the clear shape of a V was seared into the wall to the left of the half-open door. “We have a clear point of origin. There’s no outlet there, and even if there were, it wouldn’t matter. This place hasn’t had electricity since the Davidsons moved out.”

“Yup.” Rick moved closer and squatted down before pointing to a dark streak along the walls on what was left of the wooden floors. “Whoever did it used an accelerant too. There’s a clear path away from our point of origin, and it seems to fade out just past the door.”

“Son of a bitch,” Gavin seethed. “We need Brian to tape off the property. Nobody else comes in here. We need to keep the area around the house secure too. Damn, this is gonna be a long day.”

“I guess this puts a damper on your plans today?” Rick asked as they headed back to the front of the house. Gavin hadn’t told Rick about his offer to Jordan, but Rick had obviously seen the two of them outside as he drove out of the station. “It is supposed to be your day off, you know.”

“Not anymore.”

* * *

The police chief and two of his officers showed up at the scene, and Gavin gave them the lowdown on their suspicions but refrained from mentioning the Heffernan kid. No point in throwing the kid under the bus based only on Rick’s hunch. By the time the insurance adjustor and arson investigator arrived, it was well after six at night. Some guys were territorial and would have a bug up their ass if someone else came onto their turf, but not Gavin. All that mattered to him was finding out who did it and putting their crazy ass in jail.

They used up the rest of daylight taking pictures and collecting evidence from all around the property. Gavin could have left. Hell, he probably should have. But the possibility that a firebug had come to Old Brookfield kept him there. He loved this town and the people in it, and he’d be damned if someone was going to go around lighting fires and risking the lives of people he cared about.

He stayed out of the way but kept his eyes and ears open.

“Oh, it’s arson, alright.” Rogers was the arson investigator for the county and had been in town looking at the other site earlier in the day. He had a rough, gravelly voice, and his face was mottled by age, sun exposure, and a serious smoking habit. “This was definitely set intentionally. So was the old barn. Looks like your man forced open the back door here and squirted an accelerant of some kind before torching the place. We took samples and should be able to confirm that, but based on the visual evidence it looks like a classic torch job. I found a similar MO at the other site.”

He pulled out a cigarette and made quick work of lighting it before taking a long drag. His wrinkled face scrunched up as he stared at the house, and wispy white hair flew around his balding head.

“Too sloppy to be a pro. Too soon to say for sure, but I’d say you boys have a firebug on your hands.”

“We’ve never had any kind of arson in town.” Gavin glanced at the police captain who looked as unsettled as Gavin felt. “Maybe it was someone passing through. A transient or something. The highway isn’t far from here.”

“Maybe, but I’m not taking any chances.” The police chief took a handkerchief out of his pocket and wiped the back of his neck. “I’ve got two of my guys out now interviewing the neighbors. Hopefully we’ll get lucky and somebody saw something.”

“Could be someone passing through…or not.” Rogers nodded and blew out a stream of smoke. “I’ll keep you posted on what we find, but you’ll know soon enough if it’s a transient or someone here in your town.”

“How’s that?” Gavin asked warily.

“Firebugs can’t stop, you see? They love it. They’re obsessed with watching the flames and they get off on it. The crazies love to watch stuff burn, and once they do it, they don’t stop. Hell, they can’t stop.” He dropped the cigarette onto the gravel along the side of the road and crushed it with the tip of his black boot. “My point is…he’ll do it again. So, you’ll know if you have a firebug in town because—”

“We’ll have another fire,” Gavin murmured.

“Yes, sir.” Rogers nodded solemnly and handed Gavin his card. “Call me if you have any more trouble. I’ll be in touch when the lab gets back to me.”

* * *

Jordan tucked the girls into bed after their bath, and then, after about five minutes of squeals and begging, she caved in and gave them an extra half hour of reading time. She kissed their smooth little foreheads before leaving them to their picture books and shutting the door most of the way. She padded quietly down the hallway to her bedroom and resisted the urge to crawl right in bed and go to sleep because she was exhausted after the visit with her father.

“Exhausted” didn’t cover it. Jordan was bone tired.

There was a mess in the kitchen from dinner, a lavish spread of Kraft macaroni and cheese, and she should probably go straight downstairs and clean it up, but she was desperate to change her clothes. A shower would have been optimal, but that would have to wait until later when the girls were definitely asleep. There was no point in trying to take a long, leisurely shower when it had the potential of being interrupted.

She slipped into her bedroom and quickly changed into her favorite blue tank top and black yoga capris, seeking comfort over style. Besides, she thought as she tossed her dirty clothes in the hamper, it wasn’t like she’d be seeing anyone tonight.

She and the girls had stopped at the market in town on the way home, and the clerks had been buzzing about the fire. Supposedly it was arson. When Jordan heard that, she knew she wouldn’t be seeing Gavin tonight. No matter how badly she might want to.

She rolled her eyes at the fantasies she’d played out in her head most of the day. The ones where Gavin rolls down the driveway in his truck and pays her a surprise visit. A visit that ends with him in her arms. Her bed. Her life.

“Get a grip, Jordan,” she muttered under her breath. “The guy has been fighting a fire all day and dealing with God knows what. He’s
not
going to come babysit you or your drama.”

She sat on the edge of her bed and tried to pull open her nightstand drawer in search of a hair clip, but the drawer, swollen from the heat, was stuck. Jordan growled with frustration and yanked on it harder, the stubborn wood finally giving way. She grabbed the black hair clip in the back corner, but when she pulled it out, her gaze skittered over the papers and the faded red leather journal.

It was her diary from high school. That night when she ran away, she had neglected to grab it from under her mattress. After all these years, she’d forgotten about it until her mother gave it back to her the other day. At first, she couldn’t quite believe her eyes, and Claire, in her typically nervous fashion, had started apologizing about how she would have given it back sooner, but…

Jordan hadn’t had the nerve to read it yet. She’d stuck it in that drawer and pretended the damn thing wasn’t there. Too many memories. Good. Bad. Too much regret and too many countless reminders of what could have been.

The red cover was worn and faded along the spine and around the gold lock, which wasn’t really a lock, but more of a clasp. Anyone could have opened it and read it, though Claire assured her she hadn’t. She was a better woman than most. How many people would find a diary and not read it?

Especially the diary of a daughter who ran away.

Jordan nibbled her lower lip and quickly swept her hair into the clip. She was being a coward. If she really was going to start over, then she had to suck it up and face her bad decisions. Acknowledge them so she could move on, and then maybe the admonishing voice of regret would vanish for good.

After another minute of staring, she finally snagged the diary out of the drawer. With shaking fingers, she pinched the clasp before it popped open with a tiny click. She cracked open the old book, its spine creaking in protest after years of solitary confinement.

What she found inside made her heart skip a beat.

It was an old Polaroid photo of her and Gavin. The captured moment in time was faded by the years, but that day they took the picture was clear as a bell in Jordan’s memory.

It had been Memorial Day weekend, only a few weeks before she left. She, Gavin, Ronan, and some of their friends had been enjoying the beginning of summer on the shores of Old Brookfield. His brother had taken the picture. She was riding on Gavin’s back, her arms around his neck and her cheek nuzzled against his. Their smiling faces glowed with the openness of youth and their love for each other. Tears blurred her vision as she ran one finger over the image from so long ago.

Much had changed since that day on the beach, but not everything.

Gavin was still carrying her…or trying to.

He may not be giving her piggyback rides down the beach anymore, but today he’d offered his support to her. Again. And he always would because that’s who he was—who he
always
had
been.
He may not have been able to follow through on his offer and come with her to see her father, but he
would
have.