When the Smoke Clears (Deadly Reunions) (3 page)

Alexia took another breath and coughed.

Dizziness returned full force and she went to one knee. Vaguely, she felt the sweat roll down her back. “I’m in trouble,” she said into her radio, keeping her cool, refusing to panic. Help was just a second away. “Where’s RIT? No air.”

Lights flashed in front of her eyes and she blinked. Tried desperately to fill her lungs. How had she run out of air? She should have had plenty of time left.

She pulled in a lungful of smoke this time. Coughing, sputtering, she turned with the child, frantic to get her out before the flames caught up with the smoke.

And then she had no more time to think as the spots before her eyes merged into one big black dot.

Then nothing.

3

May 8, 8:16 p.m.

The letter had arrived at one o’clock this afternoon.

Seven hours and sixteen minutes ago.

Alexia picked it up and studied it once more, as though rereading it might change the contents.

It didn’t.

She tossed it back onto her bedside table. It had been four weeks since the fire. Four weeks of giving her statement and waiting on pins and needles as the investigation progressed at a snail’s pace. Four weeks of wondering if she had a job or not.

Well, now she knew.

She’d disobeyed a direct order from her captain. He’d been livid.

But she should have had time. Should have had enough air.

The investigation showed one thing that really concerned her. She had tiny little holes in her air hose. That explained why she’d had to replace her tank so soon. She’d brought out a nearly unconscious six-year-old boy and handed him over to the paramedics. He was mumbling a girl’s name over and over. They could only guess it might be a sister still inside, and Alexia started to head back in. That’s when she glanced at her air gauge and saw she was low on air. A quick trip to the truck and she shrugged on her new tank before heading back inside with Joel. But still using the same air hose, she had again run out of air too fast.

Confusion filled her as the horror of her suspicions hit her once more. Holes in her hose meant someone had deliberately put them there.

Which meant—someone had tried to kill her? Why?

Unless she could prove it, she was stuck. She was officially suspended from both firefighting and smokejumping until further notice. After all, it wouldn’t look right for a suspended firefighter to be smokejumping, would it?

Not according to her boss.

“Argh!” Alexia grabbed the nearest pillow and punched it. The depression morphed into anger, and she flexed her fingers before curling them into another fist. Unfurling them, she twisted the ring on her pinky as she thought.

Okay, she’d disobeyed a direct order from her captain. But she’d saved a child’s life. That had to count for something, didn’t it?

Apparently not.

Her stomach churned. She’d worked hard to get where she was. Straight out of high school, fresh off a cross-country trip to a new city, she had started training to be a firefighter. She worked her way up the ladder—literally. From secretary to firefighter to smokejumper. She sweat blood and tears for her current position. She was proud to be a member of the North Cascades Smokejumpers.

And now she was in danger of losing it all.

Normally, she wouldn’t have even been at the Washington Fire Station No. 2, but her old chief, Corey Burnham, had called and asked her to fill in. The flu had wiped out half his crew and he needed her if she could spare the time.

It wasn’t supposed to happen this way. She’d been doing a favor and now her life had fallen apart.

Again.

The letter glared at her like the accusing eyes of her captain when she’d finally regained consciousness in the hospital.

Alexia swung her legs over the side of the bed and stood.

Another piece of mail caught her eye.

A postcard announcing her ten-year high school reunion to be held in September. Four months away. Her eyes bounced back and forth between the letter and the postcard. Did she dare go back?

She remembered the night she left. And Jillian’s frantic plea for help before her dramatic disappearing act. She remembered her mom’s not-so-subtle push out the door.

The phone rang and she jumped. A glance at the caller ID told her it was Serena Hopkins.

Alexia picked up the phone and dropped back down onto the bed. “Hello, Serena. Are you a mind reader now?”

“You’re thinking about the reunion.”

“I am.” She flopped back onto her pillow.

“And you’re coming, right?” Serena didn’t sound at all sure, just hopeful.

“I don’t know. When I left there, I sure never planned on going back. Too many bad memories.”

“You think it might be time?” A pause. “Your mother’s in the hospital.”

Alarm clanged through her in spite of the fact that she didn’t want to care. “What’s wrong with her?”

“They’re not sure. They’re running tests to find out.”

“Come on, Serena, you and I both know there’s nothing wrong with her. It’s most likely another anxiety attack.” Her friend didn’t say anything, and Alexia drew in a deep breath. “But she’s all right?”

“For now.” Serena paused. “She’s really changed, Alexia. You would be amazed at the new person she’s become over the last few years.”

“You keep telling me that. But why would she change? How does someone grow a spine at the age of fifty-six? And why now?”

“God can do amazing things when he has a willing heart to work with. You used to believe that.”

“I used to
want
to believe that. There’s a difference.”

“You
still
want to believe that,” Serena countered.

Yes, she did. Desperately. But it was a moot point.

Time to change the subject. She didn’t feel like churning up emotions that took too much time to calm down. “How’s the morgue?”

“Dead.”

“Cute.”

“Seriously, I’m so not busy right now.”

“Which is why I get the phone call.” Silence. Alexia frowned. “Hey, you okay?”

“I heard from Jillian.”

Alexia sat straight up in the bed. “Where is she? How is she? What’s she been doing all this time?”

“She said she’s fine, but not to tell anyone she’d been in contact. She’s been living under a different name all these years. Can you imagine?”

Memories bounced in her mind. “She’s still scared, isn’t she?”

“Sounds like it. I told her about the reunion, but I don’t think she’ll even consider coming back.” A pause. “She still refuses to talk about that night.”

Alexia remembered Jillian’s frantic desperation to escape. Even now, she could hear the echo as the exit door slammed behind her fleeing friend. “I always wondered what she saw. What she was so scared of that she wouldn’t risk telling us about.”

“I know. Me too. When I asked her why she was calling, she just said, ‘It’s time.’”

“It’s time?”

“Yeah. Then she said she’d be in touch and hung up.” More silence, then, “So, are you coming home?”

Alexia drew in a deep breath, forced herself to think about what Serena called home. Columbia, South Carolina, held so many bad memories, but Serena was there. And the fact that her mother was in the hospital concerned her more than she wanted to admit.

Why
did
she care? Her mother had never done one thing in her life to
make
her care. And yet . . . she was still her mother. Some part of Alexia wanted to believe the woman had changed.

“Yeah. Yeah, I guess I am.”

Serena’s uncharacteristic squeal nearly pierced her eardrum. But for the first time in a month, Alexia smiled. Serena did not squeal unless she was extremely pleased.

Then Alexia frowned as her thoughts circled back to her faulty equipment. If she stayed in Washington, she could fight back and figure out what had gone wrong with her tank. And she could appeal the decision and see how everything played out. But if she stayed, would she be in danger?

If she went home to Columbia, she wouldn’t feel compelled to watch her back. Maybe she could forget there was the possibility that someone tried to kill her.

Maybe.

Taking a deep breath, she said, “I guess it’s time for me too.”

As she hung up the phone, somewhere in the back of her mind, she heard a voice mocking her decision.

Running away again, huh, Alexia?

Why not?

It was what she did best.

4

Monday, May 14
5:32 p.m.

Senator Hoffman walked to his desk, pulled the key from his pocket, and used it to unlock the top drawer. The shaking in his hands hadn’t eased since the first letter. If anything, it had gotten worse. And now the third letter joined the first two in the brown envelope.

This one simply said: SOON.

His pulse quickened as he thought about the election coming up. He had to take care of this and fast. Thank goodness his bank account could handle whatever he needed to have done.

Footsteps sounded in the hall. Pocketing the key, he considered whether or not to tell his wife everything. Their marriage wasn’t exactly in the best place right now. It was probably best to continue to keep this to himself.

“Frank, are you in there? It’s time to go.”

“I’m coming, Elizabeth.”

She appeared in the doorway. For the first time in a while, he studied her and found hints of the young woman he’d fallen in love with thirty years ago. Wrinkles had tried to invade her face, but she’d raced ahead of them with surgery and whatever it was women did to stay looking young. Not a touch of gray dared show itself in the brown hair she had cut in a stylish bob.

She looked like a senator’s wife should. Poised, classy, confident, and wealthy. Everything she’d been reared to be.

And yet, lately, there was a look in her eye that made him wonder what she was thinking. Sometimes a sadness that she didn’t blink away fast enough.

But they both enjoyed the perks of his job, so neither rocked the boat. “Did you have Ian bring the car around?”

Ian, their live-in handyman and gardener. He’d been with the family for two decades, and both he and his son, Joshua, were faithful, loyal employees.

“I did. He said he would have it waiting in the time it took for me to find you and get you out there.”

Frank placed his iPhone into the front pocket of his tuxedo coat, then reached up to adjust his tie. “All right, darling, let’s go mingle with the common folk.”

Her left brow lifted. “Don’t forget it’s mostly those common folks who vote you into office.”

His hand absently reached into his pocket to touch his phone. Sometime during the evening, he’d find a quiet moment to make a phone call.

5

Monday, 5:39 p.m.

Detective Hunter Graham folded his six-foot-two frame into the unmarked squad car and shut the door. He cranked the engine, pulled from the station parking lot, and headed down the street to meet up with Katie Isaacs, his partner.

When the phone rang and the caller ID popped up on the screen, his heart lurched into his throat.

Chad was at it again.

Hunter’s brother, twenty-eight-year-old Chad Graham, couldn’t seem to get his life together. Instead of turning to those who wanted to help him, he’d decided to turn to alcohol, drinking himself into oblivion. Fortunately, he usually chose the same bar every time he felt the need to toss a few back, and the bartender was good about calling Hunter’s cell phone.

Wheeling into the parking lot of the Westwood Bar, Hunter clenched his jaw. Chad was already drunk and causing trouble, and it wasn’t dark yet. And it was only Monday.

He climbed from the vehicle and drew a couple deep breaths. After all that Chad had been through, Hunter couldn’t turn his back on his brother. He was family. And he was hurting.

Just outside the door, Hunter could hear the music and smell the smoke coming from inside. Before he could open the door, his phone vibrated. An impatient glance at the screen showed his father’s number.

“Hello?”

“Hunter? Where are you? What’s that noise?”

“I’m on a call, Dad, what do you need?” An unofficial call, but a necessary one nevertheless.

“Saturday night, your mother and I need the pleasure of your company.”

“For what?”

A long, disapproving silence came through the line. Hunter wracked his brain. What had he forgotten?

“The dinner, Son, remember?”

Oh right. “Dad—”

“No excuses. I need you there.”

His father had decided he was getting too old to work fires. Only retirement wasn’t an option for him. Someone had decided Harper Graham would make a good mayor with his background in law and five years as a street copy before changing careers. Harper agreed with that assessment and now was working on getting elected to the office.

And he expected his family to put as much into the effort as he did.

Hunter would do his best if this was really what his dad wanted. “Fine. I’ll be there.”

“And bring a date.”

“Dad . . .”

“Your mother made me say that. I’ve done my duty. See you Saturday.”

Shaking his head, Hunter hung up. His father could be overbearing and autocratic, but he was a good man with a good heart. Hunter loved him. Respected him. And would do what he could to help him out.

Stepping into the smoky atmosphere, Hunter paused a moment to let his eyes adjust to the dark environment. Music pulsed, bodies danced. He ignored it all to zero in on the one he came for.

His brother slapped his glass on the bar and slurred, “I’m not done, yet, Zeke. I want another one.”

Zeke’s eyes met Hunter’s and the bartender turned away as Hunter slid onto the stool beside Chad. “Hello, little brother.”

Chad jerked as though he’d been shot. With a narrow-eyed glare, he slurred, “What are you doing here?”

“Thought I’d come by and check on you.”

Chad sneered at his brother. “Rescue me, you mean?”