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 | Meljean Brook, Chris Marie Green, Erin McCarthy, Susan Sizemore |
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 | Claudia Dain, Allyson James, Robin Schone, Shiloh Walker |
Excerpt Prologue Black smoke curled like an angry fist around Hidden Cove's newest restaurant while furious fingers of flame choked the air out of the building. It was a beautiful sight. "You set this fire, mister?" Startled, he stepped further into the shadows then looked at the speaker. "What the hell are you doing here?" "Just admiring my handiwork." "Goddamn it, are you fucking nuts?" "Nah, I'm a happy man." He nodded to Noah Callahan, chief of the town fire department, who barked orders into the radio. "How come he's at Incident Command? The Cap's supposed to direct the maneuver." "He's a control freak." An ugly chuckle escaped his companion's lips. "The chief can't afford any more screw-ups." Unable to resist, he allowed himself to take pleasure in what he'd already accomplished. "Yeah, like the Sinco fire." "And the apartment complex on Jay Street." And all those pesky problems with equipment and inspections, but he didn't say that out loud. No need for everybody to know everything. All told, several firefighters been injured. Ten had died. "Well, lookee there—another eruption of the red devil." His head swung around. "Where?" "On the west side of the structure." He saw fire lick at what he knew was the small dining hall off larger one. He'd eaten there many times. "Perfect." "Hey, I do good work." Cloaked in inky blackness, he savored the moment. "Soon, very soon, Callahan's going down." "Amen!"
Chapter One "Chief Callahan?" Feeling more like his beleaguered namesake from the Bible than a fire chief, Noah turned and, wiping the sweat from his brow on the sleeve of his navy T-shirt, came face-to- face with a woman he'd never seen before. She was dressed in a severe blue power suit, clasping a leather folder at her side. "I'm Noah Callahan." "Eve Woodward." She held out her hand. He shook it. Her grip was firm. "Nice to meet you." He gave her a quizzical look. She squared her shoulders. "I'm the investigator from Office of Fire Prevention and Control." His gut clenched as he remembered the State Fire Commissioner's voice on the phone last week... We've got to come down there, Callahan. There have been an unusual number of fires, building inspection problems and shoddy equipment maintenance in your department. Mayor Johnson wants an unbiased investigator. Noah had known then that he was in for weeks, maybe months, of some hotshot official from the state breathing down his neck. He just didn't realize it would start so soon. "I thought you weren't comin' until next week." "No. My memo read today." She frowned, marring the smooth lines of her brow. Up close, he noticed her eyes were gray, reminding him of a cloudy sky just before it rained. "There must be some mix up in your office. They told me you were out here working on the children's camp, and I wondered why." Her look clearly said, Can't you guys get anything right? Damn it! "Well," he said, covering glibly. "No harm done." He glanced down at the sweat-soaked shirt and jeans he wore. He'd come out here to work today because he needed a physical task to tax his body and numb his brain. Good hard labor had always been an antidote to what ailed him. "I'd be glad to meet with you after I clean up." He smelled like the fire academy's locker room after recruit fitness classes. "No need to clean up. I work at fires scenes all the time and it gets plenty dirty." Shading her eyes surveyed the camp. "Nice place." A half smile. "Great idea." It was. Hale's Haven, the summer residential camp for children of slain firefighters and police officers, to open in July, had been conceived and implemented by Hidden Cove's bravest and finest after a tragic loss of ten men in a fire last year. The incident still haunted Noah's midnights. "Thanks. Credit goes to my staff, though. It was their idea." She nodded to the pavilion that had been completed last week. Under its roof were a few picnic tables already donated by Carroll Lumber. "Can we get out of the sun?" He noticed she was light-skinned and she'd covered her face with makeup, but still a few freckles peeked out. He'd rather soak up the warm April rays, but he couldn't afford to antagonize her. "Sure. Let me tell Mitch I'm off hard labor." Mitch, a captain on his staff and a good friend, was crew boss this afternoon; at least today Noah didn't have to deal directly with Mitch's brother Zach, who sometimes filled that position. "Fine, I'll wait over there." She headed toward the pavilion. He noticed several men eye her. She wasn't all that attractive—pretty hair though, if she let it out of the knot at her neck. Its reddish highlights reminded him of the color of warm cedar. He supposed his people took note of the way she was dressed since the department had buzzed with rumors that he was on the line for the a whole truckload of problems; they probably pieced her identity together. As he headed for the hole where the foundation for the second cabin was being laid, to tell Mitch he'd be tied up for a while, he thought of the investigator's Biblical namesake. And wondered if Eve Woodward would bring about his fall from grace just as hard and fast as the other Eve brought about Adam's.
Eve stared out at the lake from under the pavilion and cursed her fair skin. Though she couldn't afford to show any weakness in front of fire department personnel, she certainly didn't want a sunburn. It was only April, but the weather had warmed up and the sun bounced off the water sending dangerous noontime rays arcing down toward her. She stared out at the lake and enjoyed the soft whoosh of the waves on the shore; as she waited for Chief Callahan, she mentally calculated what she knew about him. Forty-seven. Widowed. A hometown boy. He'd been a firefighter for a few years in another small town called Sands Point. Then he'd returned to Hidden Cove, this sleepy town about a hundred miles outside of New York City, and worked his way up through the ranks of the two hundred person fire department. He had numerous accolades, including a daring rescue when he went to help out in Oklahoma City after the 1995 bombing. He'd been HCFD chief for five years. And had a bad track record. Craig was concerned. Too many incendiary fires. Suspicion of kickbacks, fixing permits and ignoring code violations for profit...The commissioner says it's hard to believe of Noah Callahan. But something's going on. What do you think, Evie? Eve had looked at the man who'd been her mentor for years. Deputy to the New York State Fire Commissioner, Craig Atkins was one of the most decent man she knew. Sounds like the good-ole-boys network to me. Wanna check it out? You bet. Eve was good at her job, which was working for the Office of Fire Prevention and Control as a special investigator, sent to cities and towns to help out with, or expose, problems concerning fire safety. She liked nothing better than to catch people who were endangering the lives of others. So far, if Noah Callahan was dirty, he'd been responsible for the deaths of ten, and the injuries of several more. "Ms. Woodward?" She turned. Callahan stood before her. "So, when did you get in?" "This morning. Albany's only an hour away." "Yeah, I know. I went to college there." "At the university?" When he nodded, Eve edged up against the picnic table which still smelled like fresh wood. "That's right, you have a bachelor's degree in Public Administration." And an associate's degree in fire science. And countless hours of training at the National Fire Academy. By all rights, he should be a top-notch chief. Too bad he succumbed to criminal activities. "So, how do we start?" he asked. She reached down, fished her glasses out of her pocket and put them on. Flipping open her folder, she read the notes she'd made with Craig. "First, I'd like to see the reports on all the major incidents here in the last five years." "Since I became chief." "Yes." She glanced up. And was stunned by the naked pain on his chiseled features. She didn't know what to say. Literally, he drew back and blanked his face. Folding his arms over his chest, he leaned against a table opposite her. "Will you need somebody to interpret them?" "Interpret them?" "Explain the technical terminology." "No." "Oh. You're bringing them back to Albany?" "No, I'm not." He cocked his head. "I can understand the reports, Chief. I'm a fire marshal." The premier investigator in the fire department hierarchy. Then she added, just so he'd know what he was dealing with, "And I have police certification." Which meant she could carry a gun and arrest people, though she no longer did either, preferring to turn criminals over to the state or local authorities. "I see. What's your rank?" "Captain." His lips thinned. "Can you tell me how this is gonna shake out? Time lines and stuff." "I'll need space at your headquarters. Access to reports and to the buildings themselves, for anything recent. I'll also need lists of personnel involved in those fires—arson investigators who handled the cases where that's applicable, firefighters who fought them, and inspectors who certified the buildings safe after construction or on routine inspections." She paused. "I'll want all the files on equipment problems in the past, oh, two years." "Jesus." Her eyes narrowed. "What, Chief? Didn't you think we'd be this thorough?" He ran a hand through his full head of blond hair. It was sprinkled with gray and when he messed it up, he looked younger. "I didn't know this investigation was gonna include so much of my staff." He glanced out over the grounds—a beautiful setting. Eve let herself admire it—and what he was doing here on the lake. Word of the children's camp had filtered over to OFPC and everyone in her office lauded him for it. Most had even sent money. He seemed to be doing so much good here, so the pieces didn't fit. "Chief?" He focused on her. "Will you be commuting between here and Albany?" "No. I'm moving to Hidden Cove temporarily. I always reside in town when I'm on cases like these." "Must be hard on your personal life." Actually, it worked out perfectly for her and Ian. It gave them the needed time apart so they didn't get on each other's nerves. But she ignored his comment; men often tried to distract women in her position with statements like that. "So, when can I—" "Pa-pa..." Callahan turned as a tiny pink tornado raced toward them. His expression changed from one of grim displeasure to pure joy, like he'd been searching for victims in a burning building—and found one alive. The little girl reached him just as he bent down and scooped her up. "Pa-pa..." she squealed again, burying her face in his chest. She resembled him so much—wheat colored hair in pigtails, same angular features—it was eerie. "How's my favorite girl?" he asked, hugging her close. "Mommy, too. She's your favorite." "That she is, pumpkin." They both glanced up at the sloping grass that spread from the parking lot to the shore. Its verdant color was a fitting backdrop to the stunning brunette who traversed it. Tall. Willowy. The kind of woman who always made Eve feel unfeminine. And at least half Noah Callahan's age. Hell. Did this guy fit every stereotype in the book?
Zach Malvaso turned away from the sight of Noah Callahan, caught between his two worlds. But as he hauled bags of concrete to the mixer to be used for the foundation of the boys cabin, Zach couldn't stop himself from shooting surreptitious glances toward the chief. The suit he was with must be from OFPC. Rumor had it the department was being investigated and Callahan's ass was on the line big time. To top it off, Mitch had told Zach that the chief's daughter and her kid had come to live with him after her marriage had broken up. Damn, the guy had a shitload to deal with. Not the least of which was Zach himself. As he lifted the bag to stack it on the others, he remembered the pure venom on Callahan's face... I gotta work with you Malvaso, Callahan had said when Zach had repented his ways after the Sinco fire and gone to the chief to apologize for his past sins against the man. But I'll never like you, or forget for what happened between you and my wife. Well, that was okay. Zach would never forget—or forgive— himself for a lot of things, either, despite the fact that he was paying the piper big time for his mistakes. The post traumatic stress he suffered since the Sinco fire, when he was buried under hot plaster and he thought for sure he was going to buy it, along with the chief's contempt, were just two of the things he had to live with. "You gonna help me with this concrete or you gonna stay there daydreaming all day, Malvaso?" The harsh voice of Casey Brennan broke up his pity party. He didn't realize he'd stopped in his tracks. He turned. Here was yet another stone in his shoe. What had he been thinking when he recommended she join their fire station group after another crew member retired in January and she wanted to move from her former house? She'd done nothing but shoot sparks off all the guys in the two months she'd been at Quint/Midi Seven, Group Two, where they worked. "Quit complaining, Hulk." He'd given her the nickname when he discovered what kind of muscles she had. Hell, he bet she could outlift everybody at the station. Which was part of the reason some of the guys disliked her. "Yeah, well get the lead out of your ass. We got a lot to do before dusk." Her sunny disposition was another. "Take a break, Brennan. Live a little." She glanced across the lake and for a minute, her face shadowed. If she wasn't so hard she'd be pretty—thick hair, pulled up like she wore it at work, nice cheekbones, eyes the deep blue of the sky at midnight. And that body. "No. I gotta be out of here a little early, so I wanna keep working." "Got a hot date?" he asked. Still staring out at the water, she watched a boat make waves as it cut through the lake. "Yeah, sure. Don't you know I'm working my way through the department. By recent tallies, I'll bet I've slept with at least half the guys." Though she said it gruffly, he'd been around her enough now to hear the hurt beneath her saucy tone. "I don't believe that, Casey." She glanced over her shoulder. "Don't go soft on me, Malvaso. I'm not big on warm fuzzies." He shrugged. God, she was so much like he used to be. "Okay, fine. Then, do I get a turn?" Pivoting, she hooked her fingers in the belt loops of her jeans that gloved her nicely and gave him a sexy perusal that sent his blood pressure rocking. "No turn for the new you, buddy. Now, if you were the old Zach, I'd hop right into the sack with you. Word has it you were a legend between the sheets." She shook her head. "But now—you're milquetoast. I like my men tougher than me." He socked her playfully in the shoulder. "You don't fool me, Brennan. I've been where you are. Underneath that veneer, is a sweet and tender heart." "Nah, I don't even have a heart." "Course you do, darlin'" He gave her a bad boy wink. "You just need the right guy to help you find it." Again she glanced at the lake. "I already had—" She stopped abruptly. "Never mind." She donned a sassy look. "I only need a guy for one thing. Now, I'm getting back to work." Crossing to the pile, she hefted a fifty pound bag of concrete like it was filled with feathers and strode toward the foundation. Mitch came up behind him and tracked his gaze. "Man, she's strong, isn't she?" "Physically, yeah." His older brother took a bead on him. "What do you mean?" "I think she's got a fragile side." "Yeah? You looking to find it?" "Are you kidding? I wouldn't dare. She'd eat me up and spit me out before I could make the first move." Mitch's hand clapped his shoulder. "Maybe. In any case, be careful, big guy. I don't want to see you get hurt. But I sure would like you to find yourself a girl." Zach's gaze focused on blond and pretty Megan Hale, who'd stopped to talk to Brennan. "Just because you hit the jackpot?" As he stared at Megan, Mitch's grin was a mile wide. After a disastrous marriage, Mitch was biding his time until the divorce so he could marry Megan. But their road to wedded bliss hadn't been easy. "She sure is a winner." "You're one lucky man, Mitello." "I know." Mitch's face sobered. "You will be too, Zaccaria." Zach remembered his wedding day to Angie and how beautiful she'd looked, how she told him that night all she wanted out of life was him and his babies. Less than four months later, he'd been in the sack with another woman. "Nah, I had my shot and blew it. I'm not expecting paradise anymore." Zach meant what he said. As he turned and caught sight of Callahan again, he knew for sure that even if he was looking for heaven, he'd never find it. The most he could hope for was to get out of this purgatory. He'd settle for that.
Casey Brennan swore under her breath as she hefted another concrete bag and brought it to the mixer. Malvaso was getting to her. She found herself slipping up around him, and she didn't know why. Maybe because he'd been where she was. Only he'd had a fucking epiphany, and those kind of men were the most dangerous. They thought everybody was salvageable. Which she definitely wasn't. She glanced out at the lake as she deposited the bag, and pictured the white clapboard house nestled on the opposite side, with its pretty bedrooms and swing set in the backyard. Damn, she didn't need this. Turning, she let the concrete fall—grazing somebody's foot. "Shit, Brennan, watch what you're doing." "Whatsamatter, Snyder, I hurt your toesies?" The wiry, nasty firefighter with an ego the size of Texas, kicked the bag with his boot. "You bitch." Her face flushed. "I—" Mitch Malvaso, Snyder's captain on the Rescue Squad, came up to them. The elite force was responsible for all fires regardless of which station house covered the area, along with water crises, car accidents and confined space maneuvers. Unfortunately, the Rescue Squad was housed at Quint/Midi Seven, her new home. "What's going on here?" Mitch asked. "Nothing." Casey shrugged. "Me and Snyder were just having one of our cozy chats." "Look you two, you gotta find a way to get along. I'm sick of your sniping at each other." Snyder regarded Mitch coldly. "She's the one that transferred to our house. Which was about the dumbest move..." "Oh, can it, Snyder. You don't like me because you're stupid and incompetent and I call you on it." He took a step forward toward her. "I don't like you because you're a cu—" Mitch stepped in between them. "Enough." Casey had observed that the mild mannered captain could turn into a pitbull when he had to. "You're right." Casey yanked off her gloves and slapped them on her jeans. "I didn't come here on my day off to put up with this shit. I'm bookin'." She gave Snyder a disgusted look and strode away. She'd just reached her Camaro when somebody grabbed her arm. She knew who it was as sure as she knew when fire was hiding in walls. "Hey, wait a sec," Zach said. Since he was close, and since his concern dented her emotional armor, Casey whirled on him and attacked. "Back off Malvaso. Jesus Christ, why are you always nagging at me?" His eyes, the color of rich earth, narrowed. He was sweaty and the red t-shirt he wore stretched across world class muscles. "Because I know you." "What does that mean?" "Casey, I've been where you are. I know the place your head's at." For a brief minute, she stared at the man before her and wished that was true. Then she came to her senses. "You don't know me. What's more, I don't want you to." "Why?" "Because..." She glanced behind him to the lake, saw whitecaps beginning to form from more boats whizzed by. "Shit, Malvaso, just leave it alone!" Whipping open the door, she slid inside. She didn't look back until she was in the car and the engine had roared to life; then she glanced in the rearview mirror. He was staring at her, his expression somehow...knowing. She tore out of the lot faster than a rig on its way to a call. That was all she needed. For Malvaso to find out her secrets. Too many people already knew about her drunken father. Some probably guessed she herself drank and smoked too much. And though her sexual exploits were exaggerated, she did like to sleep with men. It kept away the loneliness. Which was caused, primarily, by her greatest secret of all, something nobody in the department knew about. At that thought—and far enough away so she couldn't be seen by camp workers—Casey pulled off the road and lit a cigarette. Though the tobacco calmed her, the images didn't recede. So when she tossed the butt out the window, she gave in to the urge and opened the glove compartment. From inside, she drew out her wallet, and from the leather folds, a battered picture, crinkled with wear and tear, its edges ragged. Her throat tight, she stared down at the photo and lovingly traced the lines and swirls of the two images there. Her eight year old twin daughters, Shannon and Lindsay. Who lived across the lake from the camp in a storybook home, with a storybook father, a not-so-wicked stepmother, and a life that Casey was incapable of giving them. Jesus, all she needed was for anybody in the department to find out about that. © 2004 Kathryn Shay |
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