The Protector

  “It was my pleasure. And Tom, when she gets a little more coherent, ask her what she bought you for Christmas. You might have a problem.”

  There was a deep pause. “Is it alive?”

  “ To tell you the truth…I’m not sure.”

  Tom laughed. “I’ll check. Thanks for the heads-up. We’re heading out now. I’ll call when we get there.”

  The call ended. Jack shifted his phone from hand to hand before folding it closed, feeling lost as all the responsibility for the crisis shifted entirely to Tom.

  Jennifer. Jack took a deep breath and let it out slowly, grateful that he was very rarely asked to be the point of first contact for a family crisis. It was one thing when it was a stranger and an entirely different matter when it was family.

  Cole walked over. His friend had been listening in via the dispatcher in Houston.

  “Thanks for the help.”

  “Trust Tom. Jennifer is going to be just fine.”

  “From this.”

  “Jack, don’t give up hope. A lot of people are praying for her.”

  Jack knew Cole was one of those people. While he didn’t understand how they thought prayer could change things, he knew how sincere they were about it. At this point he’d take just about anything that might help. “I appreciate that.”

  “Is it okay if I tell the guys what’s going on?”

  Jack was peripherally aware that several of the firefighters had stepped outside in the last half hour to see if there was anything they could do. “Please do. Rachel?”

  “She hung up on me when I passed on the news Tom had arrived. My guess is she’s going to be here very soon.”

  “Cole—”

  “She’s not going to cry all over you.”

  “So you say.” Jack wished with a passion that his brother Marcus was in town. This was the stuff his older brother handled with ease. “Let me know when she arrives. I’m going to try and track down Marcus and Kate.”

  “I’ll do that.” Cole headed inside.

  Jack turned the phone toward the light that had come on at the back of the building in order to pick out the numbers. He paged his sister Kate to start informing his family of what was going on. As he looked up from dialing, a splash of red caught his attention.

  Cassie was sitting at the picnic table. Her head was bowed. She was praying.

  And the appreciation Jack felt was incredible.

  “Hey, lady.” Jack slid onto the bench across from Cassie.

  “You’re shivering.”

  Cassie’s quiet observation had him realizing she was right. He’d been holding his jacket the entire time, not willing to set down the phone long enough to put it on. He rectified that, pulling on the jacket. The warmth was immediate. He turned his phone so he could see the signal strength and make sure the batteries remained strong. He reached his sister Kate and she was going to track down everyone else so he could leave his phone free for Tom’s callback.

  Cassie had pulled on a coat and gloves, but she had to be getting chilled just sitting there. Jack would suggest they go inside but it would remove any chance to have a private conversation. It wasn’t the most comfortable place to chat—beneath his hands the wood was rough, the paint beginning to curl after a year of exposure—but after this day the discomfort didn’t matter as much as the chance to have a moment with her.

  She picked up a thermos from the bench beside her and spun open the top. The aroma of hot coffee drew a final shiver from him as she handed him the cup. He curled his hands around it, grateful.

  “You never told me your sister had cancer.” There was no reproach in the words, just quiet concern.

  “I’m sorry about that. I didn’t mean to hide it.” He circled the coffee mug around a knot in the wood. “It’s all happened pretty fast. She didn’t tell the family until the weekend after the Fourth of July.”

  “Protecting the family from bad news.”

  Jack gave a slight smile. “Temporarily preempting my job.”

  “Jack, she didn’t make a mistake in calling you. Jennifer might have been confused, but she knew exactly who she wanted to intervene. How bad was the fall?”

  “Four stairs. Maybe it was an accident, but I’m afraid it’s going to prove to be something worse. The cancer is around her spine, touching her liver. She’s had a brief remission, but this may be the first indication that has ended.” Jack ran his hand through his hair. “If the remission doesn’t last through Christmas…” He shook his head.

  “I’m sorry.”

  Her words were a mere whisper. She did understand. Cassie had spent Christmas last year in the hospital. And while she’d had visitors during the day, when Jack had swung by the hospital after he got off shift on Christmas day she’d been alone.

  The foot-tall ceramic Christmas tree had looked pitiful, and all the Christmas music in the world hadn’t been able to change the fact it was a hospital room. She’d had skin graft surgery on her right arm ten days before. She’d had her arm elevated, resting on a pillow, and any time she tried to shift on the bed she’d paid an excruciating price.

  Cole had been there earlier in the day but had been called away by a page. Jack had taken Cole’s place, picked up the crossword puzzle he had been reading aloud for her, and teased her into smiling as they debated words.

  His Christmas gift to her had been a copy of How the Grinch Stole Christmas. She had laughed at it, as she’d laughed at everything else going on. He watched her by force of will refuse to let the pain win, refuse to let the despair take hold.

  If Jennifer was in the hospital, he’d deal with it. But creating moments of lightness in such a dark day was not what he wanted for his sister. Not on what might be her last Christmas.

  “She was at Johns Hopkins for weeks, then released to go back to Texas. Her wedding was two months ago. She was so happy, Cassie. They’ve got plans to come here for the Christmas holidays so Jennifer can see old friends from high school. If Tom calls and reports the cancer around her spine has returned and become aggressive, she’s likely to be going back in the hospital for the foreseeable future.”

  “I’d say don’t borrow trouble but it’s probably best to be prepared.”

  The phone call had been a shock. He was definitely not prepared and he had to get there fast. “Thank you for praying.”

  She glanced over, surprised.

  “Jennifer believes.”

  “I’m glad,” Cassie replied.

  “She needs something to hang on to—she chose the idea of heaven and the practical reality of marrying Tom.”

  Cassie looked at him, then down at her coffee. She dumped the small amount that remained and had grown cool onto the grass behind her, then reopened the thermos to pour more. “You think heaven is a myth.”

  “I mean no offense, Cassie, honestly.” That was the last impression he wanted to leave with her. “It would be nice to think eternal life did exist. But why should Christianity’s claims about heaven be more relevant than the claims of any number of other religions? Christianity rests on the idea a man rose from the dead. That’s pretty tough to swallow.”

  “Not if Jesus was the Son of God. Are you familiar with what the Bible says about Him?”

  “Jennifer talks about Him a lot.” And frankly confused Jack, not that he’d tell Jennifer.

  “You need to get to know Him. Then you’ll understand why Jennifer believes. Why I do.”

  “How?”

  “You could try reading the Bible.”

  It took him a couple seconds to realize the dry humor in her answer, to understand the smile she was trying to stop. He lightly kicked her foot under the table. “How did I know your answer would be to read a book?”

  She reached over and tapped his knuckles with hers. “I know you, Jack. A look at the evidence and what Jesus said and you’d get your answers. Jesus is not a myth.”

  “If you say so.”

  “It would be easier to handle Christmas with Jennifer if you would look at
it again with an open mind. Did you ask Cole to call in a replacement for you? The odds are good we’re going to be rolling out again tonight and you’re going to be busy for the next few hours. Ben can come in and cover your shift so you can focus on your family.”

  The arsonist. The reminder was a wrench back to another painful reality. “If I’m not working he probably won’t start a fire.”

  “Jack—”

  “Don’t tell me that isn’t the current theory. I may be slow to put together the pieces, but I get there.”

  She slowly nodded. “It’s a possibility.”

  He rubbed the back of his neck, surprised she had been willing to put it into words. He didn’t know what to do about it. Pull himself off active duty? He’d wanted to be a firefighter since the day as a child he’d seen his first fire. He couldn’t imagine being anything else. He had an obligation as well as responsibility to his men, but if that was what it took.… “I’m a firefighter. This is what I do, who I am. If someone does have a beef with me—” He shook his head. “I’ll cross that bridge when it’s more than a possibility.” Tom would be calling back in the next couple hours. “Any more coffee in that thermos? It’s going to be a long night.”

  “I’ll go get us a refill.” She slid from the bench. “Jack—you’re interesting to watch in an emergency. You’re the first guy I’ve seen who likes to pace and kick rocks while you cajole the world around you to get what you want. You did a good job.”

  “Flattery, Cassie?”

  She squeezed his shoulder as she walked behind him. “Truth.”

  His cellular phone rang.

  Twenty-five

  The district offices were dark but for the lights on in Cole’s office. The clerical staff, other arson investigators, and building inspectors had gone home. Rachel would either park in the visitors’ lot beside the district office or along the street just past the fire station. Cole paced in the conference room where he could see both the lot and the street. Where was she?

  He’d scared her with that phone call regarding Jennifer and he hated knowing that.

  He interrupted something; Rachel’s hello had been distracted. As soon as she heard why he was calling, she practically swallowed her words. She scrambled to get him Tom’s car phone number, talking to herself in frustration as she searched for it and couldn’t quickly find it.

  Cole was going to graciously forget what she had said aloud to herself even while he remembered it as an issue he’d have to soon tackle. Stupid had been the kindest name Rachel had called herself as she’d taken not knowing the number from memory, a misplaced purse, a jammed clasp on her address book, the tumbling out of dozens of business cards all as somehow being her fault.

  Under the stress of a family crisis he’d gotten a glimpse beneath the layer of poise Rae normally maintained and learned just how hard she was on herself. He didn’t like it, not one bit.

  She had to read him the phone number twice as she transposed digits the first time, and he finally had to stop her with a quiet word and remind her to get her reading glasses.

  There hadn’t been time to reassure her. He was forced to leave the call with her open while he worked with the dispatcher to expedite getting help to Jennifer. And in the time that he had been talking with the dispatcher and waiting for Tom and the rescue squad to get to Jennifer, Rachel had been able to hear only thirdhand what was happening.

  He’d passed word to her just as soon as he knew help had arrived. Her response was to abruptly hang up on him. He was afraid she had been crying.

  Cole tapped his knuckles on the edge of the table.

  She should have been here by now.

  The phone in his office rang. With one last long look at the dark street, Cole moved to take the call.

  The coordinator for the state crime lab was on the phone. “Hold on, Kevin.” Cole unlocked the secure file cabinet to retrieve his case index log. While he had a great support staff to keep track of case numbers, assigned officers, pending evidentiary tests, and court dates, it made his life easier to keep his own reference log that could go with him. “Okay. Give me the case numbers.”

  Kevin read a list of six. The last two numbers Cole knew by heart. The popcorn case arson numbers were burned into his memory.

  Cole turned and punched in his secure number on the fax, which would enable encryption and provide the requisite date and time log to make his life easier when he inevitably had to testify at trial. “How much paper are you dumping to me tonight?”

  “Forty-two pages.”

  “Oh, joy.” Cole checked the paper supply. “Shoot them to me. And thanks for the evening response.”

  “Thank your administrative assistant. Your paperwork always arrives complete, with tracking numbers and labels preprinted for my convenience. I don’t mind expediting requests that only need my signature to prep. She’s even started sending the stamps.”

  Cole smiled. “Before you ask, no, you can’t hire her away from me. I’m working on a raise if I have to pay it out of my own pocket.” The fax machine by the window came to life. “I see paper. Thanks, Kevin.”

  “Anytime.”

  Cole dropped the phone back into the cradle.

  Forty-two pages were going to take a while to come through the fax. Cole rubbed his forehead at a rare headache and reached over to the inbox for the top inch of paperwork already waiting there to be read.

  The problem with having an efficient staff was that paperwork that needed his attention rarely got delayed. If he initialed or signed something, made the mistake of writing an e-mail, action happened immediately. Inevitably that meant follow-up status reports coming back. His own success with hiring great staff often felt like the making of his own downfall. He could delegate work; he couldn’t delegate responsibility.

  An official-looking binder with the red stamp budget was on top of the stack. It was a problem that would not go away. Every time Cassie got a draft that would work someone else on, the committee would make more changes.

  He set aside the report to take home with him. It was part of the reality of command. He and Frank were fighting the bureaucracy. Between the two of them he had no doubt they would eventually get the aggressive training program they wanted in place, but it was like rolling a boulder uphill—all the pressure was coming from the other direction.

  The next item was a blue folder clasp, used for personnel matters to protect confidentiality. Cole opened the folder and slipped out the two pages. The bottom line through the official paperwork: Chad wanted to come to work for him. A message from his assistant noted Chad had called again that afternoon. Ben had caught him yesterday over lunch to mention the doctor was releasing Chad for light duty.

  Telling a firefighter on disability he couldn’t come back on shift work was hard, telling him there wasn’t even a place for him in the administrative side of the house felt like hitting a brother when he was down.

  There wasn’t a seniority card he could play. He’d done that with

  Cassie. She had enough seniority he could authorize paying her out of his own budget. To justify bringing Chad off disability meant having a clear permanent position available he was qualified to take.

  Cole found a pen and made a note to his assistant that he would call Chad. He’d find some way to at least give the guy hope at Christmas, even if it meant calling in favors at every other fire company in the surrounding counties until he found someone with an opening. Ben was absolutely right, firefighters had to take care of their own. Cole dropped the paperwork in his out box.

  The fax finally went quiet. Cole reached for the stack of pages, then sorted out the reports.

  The third report was for him. Lab work was done on the evidence he had expedited from the fire department fire. He started reading.

  The first popcorn arson fire had been pinned down to a match dropped with the right wind, humidity, and temperature conditions. In those fires, it had been the popcorn signature linking them.

  The structure fi
res were different.

  The fires starting in the walls had a strange burn pattern. They were very hot, with characteristics of a flash fire. That suggested a spark-triggered accelerant. But there were also odd characteristics of a slow, sustained burn.

  Cole wasn’t surprised when the report pointed to chemical traces of fertilizer. That would explain the heat and flash characteristics of the fire.

  The gold mine was found on page 2 of the report.

  Tar.

  That explained the way the fire clung.

  He’d read just about every arson report this district had written in the last decade to strengthen his own understanding of what type of cases he would have to deal with. Tar was an interesting choice. An unusual one.

  He reached for the phone book. He was about to get a crash course in how many stores and businesses sold tar.

  Car headlights moved across the window. From his office, Cole couldn’t tell if the car turned in the visitor lot. There was the faint sound of a door slamming. That had to be Rachel. He locked away the reports and his log book, then grabbed his coat.

  When he reached the door he caught a glimpse of Rachel already rushing along the sidewalk. Cole pushed open the door and hurried down the handicap ramp. He darted around the railing and caught her arm as she nearly got by. “Hold on, Rachel.”

  She stepped on his foot. He was wearing boots, but he still felt it and wasn’t entirely sure it had been an accident. She’d been driving while crying. The realization made him mad. She should not have been behind the wheel. “I promised Jack you weren’t going to cry all over him. Don’t make a liar of me.”

  “Let me go.”

  “Not until you get your composure back.” He was bigger and broader and he got in her way, refusing to let her past. A sidewalk wasn’t the place to have this conversation, but she wasn’t in a mind-set to slow down at the moment. “Rae—Jennifer’s okay. She’s got some pain in her back from the fall, but she’s got good mobility; she’s alert. Tom’s going to call as soon as he has news.”