Flashover (13 page)

Tim put an arm around her. “Ivy, whatever happened, I'm sorry. I know it upset you a lot. Is there anything I can do?”

She felt hot tears well up and course down her face. “It was all some kind of cruel trick. The chief didn't message me. She doesn't want to lay eyes on me until the doctor signs off.”

Tim looked startled. “What?”

Ivy nodded miserably. “And I ran into Miss ‘I'm as Healthy as an Ox' Williams. She's only too happy to take my job.”

He folded her into his arms.

She snuggled deep into the warmth, comforted by the steady beat of his heart against her cheek. “It was humiliating.”

“I'm so sorry, Ivy. It probably seemed a lot worse to you than it did to the chief.”

When her gush of tears eased up, Tim wiped the moisture from her face with gentle fingers. His smile was tender. “You are so beautiful.” He reached down and traced a finger over her lips.

Ivy was lost in a swirl of feeling, her stomach full of butterflies.

For a moment she embraced the sweetness, and it felt like the most natural thing in the world. Then the logic of the situation intruded and she pulled away with an effort.
Don't let yourself love him, Ivy. You've been hurt enough.
“I can't…”

He looked stricken. “I'm sorry. I apologize.”

“Forget it. It's been a strange day.” They continued walking, her heart still beating a loud staccato in her chest.

They made it a few more paces before he stopped short.

“What? What is it?”

“Nothing. I'm sure it's my imagination.”

“Tell me.”

“I was just thinking about the person who sent the message. What if they weren't trying to humiliate you?”

“What do you mean?”

“What if…” He looked up toward the sixth floor. “What if they were trying to get you away from here for some reason?”

Ivy looked from him to the building.

They ran.

T
im got there first. Her door was ajar. He motioned to her to stay put as he crept over the threshold. She waited as long as she could and then followed him.

The place was completely upended, in much the same way Moe's had been. Drawers emptied, the area rug rolled up along the edges, kitchen cabinets disgorged onto the floor. The radio was playing, no doubt to cover the sound of the intruder's actions. Without a word she went into her tiny bedroom and found a similar mess, her clothes closet and drawers dumped onto the carpet in colorful piles. She made her way to the closet.

A figure in a ski mask exploded from the closet and knocked her backward as she screamed. In spite of her shock, she managed to reach out and grab his ankles as he went past. The man fell with a crash, knocking over the pitcher on the bedside table. Ivy hung on to his ankle until a hard kick made her let go.

She heard a shout from the living room, followed by another crash. Ivy managed to get to her feet and stagger down the hallway to find Tim on the floor, struggling under the weight of an upended bookcase.

“Tim, are you all right?” She scooped books away from his flailing legs while he shoved the bookcase off and sat up.

“I'm okay.” His eyes were frantic. “Are you?”

She gave him a shaky nod. “I think so. He was hiding in the closet.”

He shook his head in disbelief. “I heard you scream and came running, but the guy managed to get by me and knock over the bookshelf. Who was he? Did he look familiar?”

“I'm not sure. He's stocky and strong, like the guy who tried to take my purse. I couldn't make out the hair color—did you?”

“No.” He was silent for a moment. “Whoever it was is getting more desperate.”

The whole thing seemed suddenly too much. Ivy turned away so Tim wouldn't see the tears forming in her eyes. “I'm going to see if anything was taken.”

She returned to the bedroom.

With her breath in her throat she stepped into the closet and found her turnouts, lying in a pile, all the pockets inside out. She examined them from top to bottom, but they hadn't been damaged. Gathering them up, she pressed the yellow neoprene, still permeated with the faint smell of smoke, to her face.

Tim looked in cautiously. “Is your gear okay?”

“Yeah.” She retrieved the boots and radio and put them in a neat pile in an empty closet corner. “At least I've still got that.”

Detective Greenly came shortly. He wore jeans and a T-shirt and smelled like charcoal.

“Barbecue duty at my kid's high school. Some sort of wrestling team bonding thing, which ends with everybody sleeping on the gym floor tonight. Not me. I said I'd cook but leave the lying on the cold floor bit to the young bucks.” He looked around. “Anything taken?”

“Not that I could tell.” Ivy told him about the strange message she'd received before her humiliating trip to the fire station.

The detective's eyes rolled in thought. “Bad news is someone is still looking for whatever Cyril handed over. More bad news is he thinks you might be involved now.”

Tim groaned. “What's the good news?”

“He hasn't found it yet. I'll dust for prints, but I'm not optimistic about that. You might want to find another place to stay for a bit until we get this cleared up.” He turned his back on them and dialed his cell phone.

They didn't talk much. After Greenly left, it took hours to put the place back in semistraight order. During a break, Tim stuck his head in the refrigerator. “How about I whip us up some cheese omelets for dinner?”

She nodded, tackling another pile of scattered books.

He busied himself in the kitchen, finally sliding two puffy golden mounds onto plates.

“Heavenly Father,” Tim said, taking her hand in his. “Thank You for this nourishment, and for keeping Ivy safe today.”

She blinked. Keeping her safe? He'd let some nut into her apartment to ransack the place. She was in more danger now than she had been and still unemployed with no end in sight. This was God's idea of safe?

A thought startled her out of her self-pity. But here she was, safe from the intruder, and in spite of her jobless condition, she was sitting in her cozy apartment, eating a delicious meal with a man who'd spent the day shepherding her through one crisis after another. She looked at his head, bowed and humble, and something moved inside her. “Thanks,” she blurted, her voice feeling rusty. “Thanks. Amen.”

The smile he gave her when he looked up was nothing short of dazzling. She hastily started on her dinner. In spite of the evening's turmoil, Ivy found herself wolfing down the creamy eggs and cheddar. “You are a good cook.”

“If you like omelets or anything barbecued, I'm your man.” He gave her a meaningful look. “It wouldn't be a bad idea…”

“No.” She put down her fork with a clang. “I know what you're going to say and nobody is forcing me out of my apartment. Nobody. We've covered this already.”

“How did you know I was going to suggest that?”

“It's written all over your face.”

He smiled. “So much for my steely detective demeanor. You're a stubborn gal, Ivy.”

“That's what Sadie used to say, only not so nicely.”

“Did you fight a lot?”

“Yeah. She was a terrible slob and I hated sharing a room with her.” Ivy's voice trembled. “Now, I'd give anything to have her there, making a mess.”

“I didn't know Sadie, but I think she probably is getting a big kick out of the situation right now.”

“How so?”

He gestured around to the kitchen debris, which still lay piled all over the counter. “Doesn't look like the home of a neat freak to me.”

She laughed and they set to work tidying until it was close to eleven o'clock. “Good enough,” Ivy groaned. “I'm too tired to clean anymore.”

“I was hoping you'd say that.” He headed for the door. “Are you sure…”

“Yes, I'll be perfectly fine here. No running off because of strange text messages or anything. Doors and windows bolted. No strangers in the closet. Cell phone at the ready. Good night, Tim.” She stopped him, fingering the button on his shirtfront. “Thank you so much for everything. I don't know what I did to deserve a…friend like you.”

He leaned forward to kiss her and then stopped.

Her lips ached for his and for a split second she almost allowed herself to close the distance between them. Then she shook away the thought.
You're overwhelmed by the day. Things will be back to normal in the morning.

“Good night, Ivy. Don't forget to lock up tight.”

She shivered as he disappeared into the dark hallway.

I won't.

 

Though he hadn't the time to search as thoroughly as he wanted before they'd returned from the goose chase, he'd seen enough. She didn't have it, not in the apartment, anyway. He'd bet his new fishing rod on that.

Nick comforted himself with the notion that he had made significant progress, narrowing down the more likely target to the strange kid. If the girl didn't have it, then Moe had what he was looking for. Sooner or later, he'd catch up with him, but just to hedge his bets, he'd make sure tough guy kept his eyes on the firefighter, too. It was possible she'd stashed it somewhere else.

Nick stretched in satisfaction. The boss had been talking lately about going back home for a spell. It would be nice, he decided. So much simpler there, much slower paced. He'd miss the luxuries, of course, but they'd be back, he knew. The boss wasn't going to relinquish all his interests here.

Maybe he'd have enough to buy the camera before they left. At the very least he'd take his fishing gear. There really wasn't anything better than fishing anyway, no matter where you did it.

 

Ivy woke at a little after eight the next morning. For a moment, she snuggled deeper in the bed, trying to stave off the memory. It didn't last long. Someone had been in her apartment and searched through every one of her belongings. If Tim hadn't been there…The thought made her skin prickle. The same person was probably out this very minute trying to hunt Moe down. She attempted to wash away the feelings with a hot shower.

Dressed, with a warm cup of coffee in her hands, she felt better. Somehow, some way, she would find Moe and cajole him into telling her what Cyril had given him. He had to, before someone else got killed. She opened the door to search for a newspaper.

Tim stood there, arm raised to knock. He wore the same clothes from the night before, his hair standing up in sections on his head, a shadow of beard on his chin. “Good morning.”

“What are you doing here so early?”

He yawned and clasped a hand to his lower back. “I never left. I spent the night in Moe's apartment on his couch. Man, that thing has rocks in the cushions or something.”

“You spent the night at Moe's?”

“Yeah. I thought I'd keep an ear out for intruders and maybe Moe, if he came back. Madge gave me the key.”

Her heart squeezed. “Oh, Tim. You are so sweet to me, but I can take care of myself. You didn't have to do that.”

He grinned. “I know, but think of the advantages. I'm here to give you a ride to church. We're having a special sunrise service today, the one I told you about, to hear some testimonies and such, before everyone heads off to work. Can't pass that up, right? I'll even spring for a donut on the way.”

She didn't want to go. As a matter of fact, it had been years since she'd set foot in a church of any kind. She knew, however, that if she didn't, he would be reluctant to leave her alone with a prowler on the loose. “What kind of donut?”

“Whatever you want—sprinkles, jelly-filled, sugar, the works.”

She heaved a sigh. “Okay, but just this once.”

“Excellent.”

 

Fifteen minutes later Ivy munched on a cinnamon twist as Tim called Madge and asked if he could extend his stay in Moe's apartment for the upcoming week. Madge was only too happy to have someone there in case Moe came home. As Tim drove to church, Ivy picked up a notepad covered with atrocious handwriting. She flipped through page after page of numbers, some crossed out, some circled.

“What is this?”

“Oh, I've just been messing around with that sequence of letters and numbers Moe kept babbling.”

“Well what does it mean?”

They pulled up at church. “I'm not sure, but I think I'm onto something. I'll tell you after church.”

Ivy bit back her surging curiosity and followed him inside. She was hit by a wave of unpleasant emotion. Sadie's memorial service came back in all its sad detail—the smell of candles, the sound of many mourners filing in, the drone of the pastor's voice.

On that day church had become a place of pain and anger, a home for a God who had punished her beyond measure by taking away her sister. It was ironic that her brother and mother found solace in church, a place to heal from their loss. She couldn't understand it. Her fingers clenched into fists as she sat stiffly next to Tim. He reached for her hand, but she pulled it away.

He'd managed to convince her to come, but it didn't mean she had to like it.

The songs were sweet and soft, followed by the pastor's opening remarks. At one time she would have agreed with his message to obey and seek His word, but it did not reach her now. Then he called a speaker to come forward and give testimony, a tall, balding man named Eugene who had lost his wife to cancer.

Eugene spoke haltingly, often stopping to recover his composure. He talked about how the loss, though expected, was almost more than he could bear. Ivy leaned forward, feeling as if he plucked the thoughts from her own heart.

“I felt like when she died, I did, too. My soul was dry and dead to love after she was gone.”

Then he spoke of acceptance, and the myriad people who'd stepped forward to help him through, people sent by a loving God who grieved along with him. “They held me up when I couldn't do it myself. God put their hands here to minister to me.”

Ivy stiffened. She stole a glance at Tim, his eyes soft, compassion painted across his handsome face. She wanted to stand up and shout a question at the man.
Why did God let your wife sicken and die? Did you ever wonder why a loving God would allow that?

Eugene finished after another pause. “I don't know why He took my wife, but I do know that He blessed me very richly by putting her into my life in the first place.”

Ivy thought of her sister's face, not as she'd last seen it but as she had many times before—laughing, smiling, her eyes sparkling with fun. A thought jolted through her like an electric current. Roddy's words came back to her.
I choose to remember how she lived, not how she died.