The Protector (38 page)

A near fatal accident… Cole winced as he mentally thought through the size of a report listing injuries that had happened in the district over the last year. He’d have to have help to even get that report categorized. “Cowards.”

“It’s an extremely personal remark, again, a conclusion he reached. He probably knows the men who worked at that fire station or at least knows of something they did. They probably exercised normal caution and he saw it as timidity.”

He was taking notes as fast as he could. “Liar.”

“The most personal of all. Look for something you tried to accomplish that didn’t happen. It would have affected him or someone he cared deeply about.”

“Any suggestion for that one? Are we talking about an arson investigation that didn’t get closure? A personal decision? A financial one?”

“I’m not sure, Cole. It does imply that you are a known figure to him, not just a name. I find it interesting that he set your trash on fire. That suggests he knew it had been done to your house before.”

“Popcorn.”

“Contrary to your assumption, I don’t think it’s a reflection of the nursing home fire in the sense of being a jab at what happened. The man who set that nursing home fire was a professional arsonist. Instead, I think the popcorn reflects an admiration of the man who set the fire and the reaction he got. Think about the popcorn as a way for him to suggest he’s got the capability to be like that other arsonist.”

“That man did arson jobs for profit motives.”

“I think it’s a good assumption that this man does have financial problems. You don’t lash out without it being a reflection of intolerable stress.”

Cole thought about that image she was drawing. The profile they had of this man was becoming more and more specific. Cassie had given him the rough age and appearance; the location and type of fires being started were good indications of his background; Rachel’s suggestion was a very good look at how the man thought. He needed to find this man before someone got hurt. “Anything else strike you? This is good, Rachel.”

Silence met his question. He twirled his pen, giving her time to think. He was surprised that she had spent her time unable to sleep thinking about this, but it was obvious her thoughts were more than casual. “Anything,” he urged. “I’m not looking for professional conclusions here.”

“The mural with no word.”

Cole flipped some more notebook pages.

Rachel clearly hesitated over her choice of words. “That one is very serious, Cole. He went mute.”

“He assumes he will no longer be heard,” Cole concluded, understanding what she feared. And if he was done talking, it meant there would be an explosion coming.

“What’s it mean that that message was left at Ash’s home?”

“It means he knew Ash was gone and not likely to return for a while. A mural has to be painted in layers and allowed to dry between each one so the paint won’t mix. Even spray paint takes a few hours to set. And it takes planning. I think he had visited Ash’s home before because that trail of fire motif implies he thought long and hard about actually torching the house, then decided instead to leave just his signature.”

His house had been trashed, Ash’s just painted…the arsonist didn’t want to burn a fireman’s home? Cole wondered, and wrote himself a note to think about that some more. “What is the probability he also knows Ash?”

“Very high.”

“The e-mail word
chicken?”

“One of those cruel taunts, like a school yard pushing match.”

Cole hesitated but had to ask. “And Jack?”

“It has always revolved around Jack and Gold Shift.”

“Will he be targeted?”

“When is his next shift?”

“Today.”

“Can you take him off the shift?”

“Rae—”

“Please.”

“I can’t.”

“You have to.”

“Rae—I can’t.” He had accepted the reality weeks before. He could protect Jack, but not at the price of robbing Jack of his job. “I’ll talk with him,” he struggled to reassure her. “I’ll do everything I can short of taking away his job.”

“Don’t do this, Cole. Take him off duty before he gets hurt.”

She would never forgive him if something happened. “I’m sorry.”

She hung up on him.

Cassie struggled to follow Ash through the smoke-filled corridors of the nursing home. She’d helped eight nursing home residents get out, and there were more waiting to be rescued. There was no way to hurry now as the heat and smoke built. Over the radio came the terse messages of rescue crews as rooms were cleared throughout the building.

She swung her light along the room numbers: 1613, 1614, 1615. All rooms they had helped clear. The fire was above them, in corridors to the east. As soon as the last rooms were checked she would be glad to get out of here.

Ash’s torchlight shot upward, and his hand shoved her hard. She hit the wall, an instant before something struck a glancing blow on her shoulder and she went down, training tucking her toward the wall with hands to protect her neck.

Something struck her air tanks, and then the world exploded with flames and weight, burying her, pinning her.

She was burning. She screamed as she realized she couldn’t move. The debris was crushing her. The burns touched nerves and she coiled into her mind against the agonizing pain.

She was dying. She fought the panic and the pain. She wanted to live. Oh, she wanted so badly to live. She strained to try and move.

“Cassie!”

The yell was the most blessed sound she had ever heard. “Ash…” She couldn’t think against the pain. “Get me out.”

“Hold on. I’m coming, Cassie.” Debris began to move from near her face. Ash strained against the beam pinning her.

Agonizing time passed. He couldn’t move it. She desperately struck her free hand against anything she could reach. She couldn’t wiggle out of the debris and he couldn’t move it.

“I’ve got a fulcrum.”

There was a moment in time when she felt the weight move and then it settled back. She was going to die here. She gasped against her air. Her partner was going to die here too because he wouldn’t leave her, because she didn’t have the strength to get free.

Her air tank began to chime. She was running out of air.

Ash started kicking the beam pinning her.

A good life, and she hadn’t enjoyed it nearly as much as she should have. She’d been too busy trying to get ahead.

Her air ran out. Her ability to move her hand dropped, consciousness was fading.

Her mask was pulled off, the smoke and heat hit her face, and Ash desperately pushed his mask against her face. “Breathe, Cassie. Breathe,” he ordered, choking to say the words as he got as low to the floor as he could.

She breathed, revived. Ash removed the mask and grabbed a breath. Then his mask was tight against her face again.

They were both going to die here. His air canisters had only a few more minutes of air than hers. She wanted so desperately to at least be able to tell him good-bye. The tears were choking her so hard she couldn’t get the words out.
Jesus, don’t let me die.…

Her partner grabbed her free hand. She used what strength she had to squeeze it.

The shrill ringing phone woke her up. Cassie leaned her head over the side of the bed and heaved at the remembered tears, struggling to breathe.
Lord, the fire
… She fought to get away from the remembered panic. The memory was alive, in her memory, in her emotions, the panic so real she could taste the bitterness of the smoke.

She groped for the phone. “Hello,” she choked out.

Silence, and then, “Cassie, what’s wrong?”

“Jack, don’t go to hell. Please don’t go to hell. It’s awful.” She struggled to hold the phone, shivering, closing her eyes against the remembered flames.

“The fire.”

She gasped a desperate half laugh. “The fire.”

“Oh, honey.”

“Promise me you won’t go to hell.”

“Cassie—”

“Come over and take me for a walk. We’ve got to talk.”

His hesitation was brief. “I’m on my way.”

Cassie had on her coat and gloves, her keys in her pocket, and was waiting in the downstairs landing when she saw Jack’s car come into the lot. She went out to greet him and leaned into the hug he offered, wrapping her arms around him and resting against the solid comfort of the man.

His jacket was cold against her cheek and his arms strong around her. “Shh, it’s okay.” He rubbed her back as he whispered the words.

“I wanted to be a hero that day. I nearly became a victim.”

“Fire doesn’t respect a person, good or evil; it will grab and kill whomever it can reach.”

“Satan is just like that, Jack.”

He went still and she tipped back her head to look at him. “Jesus is alive. And unless you trust Him, someday you are going to be caught in a fire like hell that never ends.”

He tightened his arm around her shoulders and pointed her to the walkway. “Come on. Let’s walk.”

There was no finesse to her approach tonight, only a heartfelt passion. If she offended him, she’d accept that. The hesitation to force the conversation had disappeared under the weight of her fear. If something happened to Jack during this arson investigation, she’d never be able to live with herself.

“When we found you and Ash in the nursing home, you were barely conscious. Do you remember what you were saying?”

She shook her head, puzzled. She’d avoided talking about that day, not wanting to relive the details any more than she had to.

“I was cushioning your head while we moved you to a backboard. You were whispering from a psalm the phrase ‘The Lord is my shepherd’ over and over again.”

“I reached for Him that night and He was there.”

“Jennifer said essentially the same thing, when she described the night she met Jesus.”

She tightened her hand around his. “Don’t wait for tragedy to strike like I did, Jack.”

“Did you ever hate God over what happened, when you saw the burns?”

“A man I knew kissed them better,” she whispered.

He dashed a glove across his eyes. “I’ve got so much on my mind it’s hard to sort it out, Cassie. Heaven and hell, the Resurrection—it’s a huge step to accept it all.”

“Trust Jesus. Trust what you do understand. The rest will come. I’m scared for you, Jack.”

He rubbed his gloved thumb across the back of her hand. “I appreciate that, Cassie. And I promise, I am thinking about it.”

She searched his face, longing to find he meant it. She saw a reassurance there. She squeezed his hand. “Thank you.”

“I’m so sorry you dream about the nursing home fire. I dream about the fires too, and it’s hard to wake to those memories.”

“The fear. And the sound of the fire…”

“The awareness that it’s going to happen and there is no way to stop it,” he finished for her.

“Yeah.”

“They’ll go away with time.”

“Oh, I hope so.”

He slowed her as they walked up the sidewalk. The apartment building lobby door had been propped open.

She tightened her hand on his. “Jack.”

“Stay here.”

She didn’t listen but followed him instead.

Popcorn littered the hall.

“He was watching us, watching her,” Jack said to Cole, feeling the fury and the helplessness. This was becoming so personal it was like living a real nightmare. He didn’t know what to do with the fear. If he hadn’t come back tonight, would it be a fire here matching the popcorn? He watched Cassie sitting in his car to keep warm, and he was terrified for her.

Police officers were sweeping the grounds, but they had found nothing so far.

“Go in for shift early, take her with you, sleep at the firehouse, and let me sort this place out.”

“Cole…” Jack did not want to say the words but he had to. “If I go in to work, he’ll strike. The man is escalating. Maybe it’s better if I don’t report in, if we change our plans.”

His friend squeezed his shoulder. “I don’t think it’s going to matter to him anymore whether you’re there or not.”

“I can’t live with someone getting hurt.”

“The best thing to do is accept it’s a foregone conclusion and be ready to respond when he next strikes. In case you didn’t notice, he just acted close to the firehouse rather than at the edge of the fire district. Odds are good we’re not going to have a long time to wait before he acts again. Get Cassie to the station. I’ll join you once the canvass is done here.”

Forty

G
age, couldn’t you have at least tempered the article a bit?” Rachel scowled at her friend as her headache throbbed. She tossed the folded paper down on the table. “You waved a red flag in front of the guy.” Gage had reported the mural, the words, the popcorn, and the sequence of eight fires in his Weekend Focus article. There was more information in the article than she had known.