The Protector (22 page)

Twenty-one

C
assie.”

She reluctantly opened her eyes as Jack shook her shoulder. As the only thing she was qualified to do now at the scene was to be a well-informed spectator, she’d been trying to get some sleep. The passenger seat of Cole’s vehicle had not been the best choice for where to rest. “You’re letting the cold air in,” she protested.

“Sorry about that.”

She stretched and took the kinks out of her back.

“Cole says it’s cooled down sufficiently that we can get our first look inside. He’d like you to come.”

She pushed up her glasses and rubbed her eyes. “Okay.” She looked around him. “It’s dawn?”

“Yes. You did get some sleep even though it doesn’t feel that way.”

She smiled at him for that stipulation as she slid from the vehicle. Jack had been up all night and he looked fresher than she did. She didn’t have the endurance she once had.

The landscape had changed. The engines, trucks, rescue squads, and police cars had dwindled down to one engine and one rescue squad from Company 81, one engine from Company 21. Three police cars blocked the adjoining roads and yellow police tape was being put up to keep out spectators.

It was very clear it was now Cole’s domain. The arson group technicians dominated the scene, the bright red stripes on their fire uniforms marking them as Cole’s team. He stood in the middle of the chaos, the calm center in the hurricane of the crisis, directing the setup of what would be a very large investigation.

Cassie walked across with Jack to join him.

“Somebody get Cassie some coffee.”

“I’m okay, Cole.”

He looked up from his notepad at her. “Coffee and a bagel. You’re working for me, it’s an order.”

Cassie blinked as she was barked at, then smiled. Cole had definitely been up all night.

“Is that replacement photographer here yet or do I need to send out a search party?”

“Here, sir.” The man was struggling to get equipment out of his camera bag.

“Don’t rush so much that you drop the camera. Someone get him a helmet and show him how to button that fire coat properly. Have you ever worked an arson case?”

“No, sir.”

“Gregory!”

“Boss!”

“Your pupil—and make sure you get me your own Polaroids for reference.”

Cole looked at the photographer. “How much film are you carrying?”

“Two spools, five hundred frames.”

“Plan to use it all. When is your boss getting here?”

“Within the hour, sir.”

“Okay. I’m just going to be looking around. Yours are reference frames, not evidence; we’ll leave those to your boss. When Gregory says take a picture take three, one normal and the other two one step overexposed and underexposed. You’ll get me what I need that way.” Cole looked around. “Now where’s my scribe?”

“Right here,” his assistant replied. “Get moving, boss; it’s freezing out here.”

Cole paused long enough to wink at her. “I’m trying to, ma’am.”

Cassie smiled at the interplay. Cole’s assistant was comfortable pushing him back, and it spoke to the relationship that Cole deferred to her.

Cole pulled back on his work gloves. “Let’s go see what we’ve got.”

The building was cinder block and concrete. While the fire damage was extensive, it was also limited to what would burn. The roof would need to be replaced, windows, doors. Any equipment left in the building after the consolidation would definitely be ruined, if not from the fire, then from the water used to fight it.

Cole led the way.

Cassie stayed a step behind walking beside Jack. The smell of the fire scene made the coffee taste terrible. Jack rubbed the back of his neck. He’d scorched the back of his hand. That sight made her wince. “I’m sorry I dropped out on you to get some sleep.”

“I’d call it smart. Cole is going to be pushing you hard today.”

They entered the dark building. Torches clicked on. Water dripped from above and splashed into the puddles below. Their steps sounded hollow across the wet concrete floor.

The word
cowards
was boldly chiseled across the concrete wall of the engine bay.

Twenty-two

I
hate this guy.”

“Let it go, Cassie.”

She shoved open the door to her apartment, Jack a step behind her. “There is not a single firefighter in this district who is a coward.”

“He pushed a button with you.”

“Don’t sound so surprised. I’ve got a right to get mad at what he implied; quit telling me I don’t.”

“Since the shoe is normally on the other foot and I’m the one people are talking out of being mad, I find it rather interesting to be on the other side,” Jack calmly replied. “Where would you like the gear?”

“In the bedroom. I’ll unpack it there.”

Jack carried it through. Cole had released them at 2
P.M.
, long after the shift had formally ended, long before Cole himself called it a day. Jack had given her a lift home, carried her duffel bag inside for her.

Cassie moved into the kitchen to check her messages.

“Is Linda picking you up tomorrow morning? Or do you want me to give you a lift in the morning to get your car?” Jack asked as he came back.

“I think we are doing some Christmas shopping. If for some reason I need a ride, I’ll give you a call.”

“Fair enough. Get some sleep.”

“You too.” He had been the one up all night.

Jack gave her a tired smile back. “I’m going to shoot for at least eighteen hours,” he admitted.

She saw Jack out and locked the door behind him.

Cassie headed back to the bedroom. It was the middle of the afternoon and she was definitely heading to bed. She closed the blinds. She considered just pushing the duffel bag to the floor but forced herself to spend the five minutes necessary to unpack. She separated the laundry that would need to be done from the clothes she would take with her to the next shift.

She set the bag on the floor.

Jack had left his stuffed mouse J. J. on her pillow. She smiled when she saw it. He had promised it would appear and she’d been waiting for it. She reached to pick up the white mouse…and it moved.

Cassie shrieked and hit the floor as she fell back. The mouse disappeared toward her walk-in closet.

She was moving.

And someone else was packing her closet.

Twenty-three

R
ewash this one,” Cassie ordered.

Jack quickly stepped back to avoid the splash. It was the third glass Cassie had rejected and dropped back into the hot soapy water in the last twenty minutes. There was nothing wrong with his wash job. He’d been assigned kitchen duty for the day and she had been giving him a hard time since breakfast. Jack scooped up a handful of the soap suds and blew them at her. Cassie laughed and tossed the dishrag she was using into the sink, this time generating a splash that did hit his shirt.

“Next time, please don’t volunteer to help.”

A towel was lobbed over his shoulder. “Throw it in, Jack.”

“No way,” Jack called back to Peter. He retrieved the glass, nudged the hot water faucet back on to rinse the glass free of suds. The guys were enjoying having Cassie here and had certainly made her welcome over the last weeks.

Jack glanced over at Cassie and waited until she looked his direction before he spoke. The kitchen was noisy and it was his habit now to notice that factor and wait until he had her attention before speaking to her. “Do you—” His pager went off. Jack set the glass down on the drain rack and glanced at the number.

His sister Jennifer O’Malley; it was her emergency code. Jack paled at the sight of it. He grabbed the towel and dried his hands, then reached for his cell phone. There had been less than a handful of emergency pages from his family over the years.

“Jack—”

He held up his hand and cut off Cassie, punching in numbers with his thumb, having to go off memory for the Houston area code. The large kitchen quieted as the men realized something was wrong, but Jack still headed outside where the transmission would be better. Dusk was falling on the late December day. His wet shirt grew icy in the cold air.

The call was answered on its second ring. “Jennifer, what’s wrong?”

“Sorry…make it an emergency.”

He could barely hear her. “Easy. Slow down and get your breath.”

“I fell.” She was crying.

And Jack started panicking half a country away. Fell? Or had her spine collapsed? The cancer around her spine, the radiation treatment— “Where are you? Is help there?”

“I fell.”

She was worse than shaken up. Jennifer was a doctor, and he’d never heard this kind of confusion before. Jack took a deep breath and focused on one objective. “Jen, where are you?” She called him looking for help from somewhere half a country away. It petrified him. Cole came outside carrying an extra jacket. Jack pointed at him and urgently whirled his finger in a circle, asking for a communication loop.

Cole tossed him the jacket and immediately turned and yanked back open the door. “Get me two phones. Fast.”

Jen had to be either home or at the office. But apparently no one was around.

“Laundry.” Jack caught Jennifer’s faint whisper.

At her house, in the basement, a concrete floor—she’d fallen, or more likely fallen down the stairs. She lived in Texas but it was still cool at this time of year. The basement would be chilly and not somewhere he wanted her with this kind of growing shock apparent. “Don’t try to move, Jennifer. Please. I’m getting Tom.” He’d find her husband somehow.

Cole reappeared with phones.

“Rachel,” Jack whispered. “Then get Houston, Texas, dispatch.”

Cole raised an eyebrow and started dialing. Any other time Jack would have found the realization that Cole knew Rachel’s number by heart fascinating; at the moment he was simply relieved.

“Tom’s car phone,” Jennifer whispered. “Don’t remember number. You were a speed dial.”

“Really? I appreciate that.” Jack was sure her husband Tom was also a speed dial but he had no intention of mentioning it for fear in this confusion Jennifer would hang up and try to call Tom. He hoped her phone battery had been recharged. He needed her to keep talking. “What do you want for Christmas?” he asked, grasping for subjects.

“It’s soon.”

“I know, Jen. What do you want for a present? You never gave me a list,” he coaxed from her.

“Coat.”

She was cold. “I can do that. What else? What do you want for your kids?” Her patients were personal to her, and she always thought of them at Christmas.

Cole strode over. “They’re patching me to dispatch. I’ve got Rachel,” he passed on quietly. “What do you need first?”

“Find Tom. Jen—” he forced himself to put what he feared into words—“spine injury, shock, concussion. The basement at her house.”

Cole absorbed that in one long look. “Okay.” Cole shifted phones. “Dispatch? I need an emergency break-in.”

And Jack started pacing. He was petrified by the rasp in Jennifer’s breathing. “Have you bought Tom’s Christmas present yet?”

Twenty-four

J
ack, it’s Tom. I’ve got her. Spine pain, but she’s got mobility.” There was calm steadiness in Tom’s voice. Jennifer’s husband Tom Peterson was also a doctor, and in this enormous upheaval of Jennifer’s cancer he had always played it straight on medical information. “She fell down about four stairs, went through the railing, and landed in a tangle of Christmas decoration boxes. I’ll call you from the hospital. We’re heading there now.”

Jack heard the sound of people arriving, and from the volume of the footsteps on the stairs knew Jennifer had been lying near the steps. “She hit her head.”

“The confusion is from a recent change in medication. Hold on, Jen wants to talk to you again.”

“Jack…he bought me a butterball.”

She was talking about a brand of turkey. “Okay, Jen. That’s good. Let Tom take you to the hospital now.”

“He’s so sweet.”

Jack had to smile wondering what Tom was thinking of this. “Go to the hospital, Jen.”

A bark nearly shattered his eardrum. There was a clatter as she dropped the phone.

What? They didn’t have a dog.

Tom was the one who came back on the line. “A puppy, Jack. I was out getting her Christmas present. Jennifer, you can’t take the dog with you. Let me have him, honey.” The phone got set down, leaving Jack listening to a faint conversation.

“Baby.”

“Yes, he’s a baby. But he doesn’t need to go to the hospital.”

“Then I don’t want to go.”

“I know. Let them fasten the straps, honey.”

The phone scratched on concrete. “Jack, I’ll call you from the hospital.”

“You bought her a dog?”

“Only because it’s illegal to import the warm water penguin from Argentina she wanted.”