What a Girl Wants

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“Ethan, I’m not speaking as your brother, but as a member of this squad. I think you should sit this one out.”

“As captain, I respect your opinion, Jim, but on duty or not, I’m leading this one.”

Jim looked about to argue, but Derek said, “We’re wasting time, guys.”

“Fine, but for the safety of everyone involved, you’re on pump only,” Jim insisted.

“No, you’re faster on pump. I’m going in.”

“Only if you can get a grip.”

Ethan just nodded as he flicked on the emergency lights and sirens and tore through the bay door into the street. His thoughts ran wild—the garage, Bailey’s shop. His hands shook on the wheel and he tightened his grip in an effort to steady them under Jim’s watchful gaze. He forced a calming breath. Jim and Derek were right. He was a little too close to this one and he needed to keep a clear head. Not only did Bailey depend on him keeping his focus and his safety training in mind, but his team, as well. One of the many benefits of small-town life was that everything was close, and at this hour of night the streets were deserted, but as the speedometer reached forty, Jim shot him a look.

“I said, get a grip.” His brother’s voice was stern.

Ethan slowed just a fraction as the big truck made a right off Main Street onto Vermont Avenue and the shop came into sight. Thirty-six seconds later—it felt more like thirty-six minutes—they pulled into the lot, followed by the wailing sirens of the ladder truck behind them. Thick, dark gray smoke billowed from the side bay doors and he could see flames through the shop’s big front window.

“Okay, let’s do a 360.” He motioned to Jim as they jumped down from the first truck. The perimeter check was important to locate the fire and confirm that no one needed immediate rescue, as well as identify any possible hazards to their own safety. A propane tank or any flammable waste materials near the building could cause serious problems. He wasn’t taking any chances with his team.

Jim nodded his understanding as he put on his self-contained breathing apparatus and followed Derek around the side of the building.

“Back door is locked, preventing access,” Jim called over the radio to Derek and Mark as Ethan secured the nozzle of the hose on the back of the truck.

Bailey always kept the back door dead bolted at night. Even in a town as safe as Brookhollow, she didn’t take chances with her clients’ vehicles.

“Is there an internal sprinkler system?” Derek asked.

“No.” Why hadn’t he insisted that Doug install the proper security measures years before? Without a doubt the damage this fire would cause could have been eliminated or at least reduced had a system been installed to respond to the first signs of smoke or flames. There was nothing he could do about it now. “Check for open windows and doors,” Ethan said.

“Small open window on the left side of the building,” Mark confirmed.

Thank God. An open window eliminated several possible dangers in a situation like this one. An airtight space had the potential for a backdraft or flashover when a firefighter had to force entry. The last thing they needed was an unexpected explosion increasing the danger level.

“Parameter check complete,” Jim announced. “Several discarded car engines and an old battery have been transferred off the premises.”

Ethan tried the front door.

“Front door is locked. I’m breaking in.” He grabbed an ax and shattered the thin pane of glass in seconds.

Derek and Jim joined him with the hose line, and all three dropped to their knees to crawl under the heavy blanket of thick, dark smoke that made it impossible to see past several feet. The emergency lighting through the back of the shop and the illuminated exit signs were their only source of light.

Ethan stood as he reached the swinging door to the back bays and peered through the small window. The Volkswagen Jetta in the middle bay was completely engulfed in a violent orange blaze and the flames extended to the surrounding walls. He scanned the area and his pulse quickened at the sight of spray-paint cans lining the shelves just inches above the reach of the flames. That wasn’t good. In another minute those cans would start to explode. Pushing the door open, he stood back and motioned the other guys through, pointing to the burning car.

Jim and Derek moved closer and opened the nozzle on the flames.

When the fire was mostly contained, he said, “Bulk of the fire is knocked down. Let’s create a cross draft of air flow. I don’t want any airtight areas and we need to get this thick smoke out of here to secure the remaining area.”

“All clear,” Derek reported.

“Windows are all broken out,” Mark said.

“Heavy smoke only, no more flames.” Ethan gave the final all clear and a collective sigh of relief could be heard over the radios. Jim shut off the water access and disengaged the hose.

Great, now for the hard part, Ethan thought as he scanned the charred walls and ceiling above the bays. The sound of Bailey’s motorcycle approaching made him sigh. He’d hoped to do this without her watching.

* * *

FRANTICALLY, BAILEY CUT the engine on the bike and pulled off her helmet.

“What happened?” she asked, approaching Ethan, who was exiting through the broken glass in the front door.

The sound of crunching glass under his boots made her cringe, and she stared blankly at the burned shop with its broken windows and melted bay doors.

“I was just here a couple of hours ago.” She’d stopped by the shop on her way home from the fire hall and noticed that Nick had left the back door wide open. Nick... She’d bet almost anything that he had something to do with this. Why had she agreed to let him work in the shop for the summer? Anger mixed with her shock and confusion.

Ethan met her gaze, but hesitated.

“What are you not telling me?”

“The fire was started by a short circuit of that Volkswagen Jetta’s battery cable.”

The disabled car on the highway. Her knees weakened and she placed a hand to her stomach as a wave of nausea made her dizzy. She’d brought the car in...disregarding Ethan’s advice not to. This wasn’t Nick’s fault; it was hers.

“You okay? Here, sit.” Taking her arm, Ethan guided her to the back of the fire truck and gently forced her to sit. “Take a deep breath.” His voice sounded far away.

“We’re about to start the overhaul.” Jim’s voice came over Ethan’s shoulder radio and Bailey saw him flinch before giving the go-ahead.

She forced herself to sit straighter. “Overhaul? What does that mean?” Her mouth was dry, but her skin was damp with sweat as she fought another wave of nausea.

Ethan cleared his throat, and despite the August heat, he retrieved a blanket and draped it over her shoulders. “He means the teardown—we need to make sure there isn’t any hidden fire in the walls or ceiling.”

The loud crashing noises behind her made her jump, and discarding the blanket, she stood and moved closer to the garage. Ethan’s hand on her arm prevented her from going too close.

“No farther,” he said.

The front wall of the shop collapsed in front of her and her hand flew to her mouth. “They are destroying the place.” She turned to Ethan. “Make them stop.” The damage from the fire was more than enough mess to clean up.... If they kept tearing down the main structures, the entire garage would need to be rebuilt from the ground up.

“I can’t, Bailey. This is protocol. It’s a safety—”

“You know what? I’m sick to death of your safety measures. This is my shop, Ethan, it’s my life, my livelihood—they can’t just tear it down.” Enraged, she blinked away the tears that stung her eyes.

“There could be more fire somewhere in there. We can’t take the chance. I’m sorry.” His voice was calm but she heard a note of anguish.

Desperate to argue but knowing it was no use, she watched the back ceiling give way, falling to the floor of the shop in a heap of rubble. Her shoulders slumped as she lowered herself down to the gravel parking lot, tucking her knees under her. “So that’s it. They’re just going to continue pulling down the entire building?” she said, more to herself than to him.

Ethan knelt beside her, wrapping an arm around her bare shoulders. “We won’t leave until we’re certain that we’ve put water on anything glowing.”

CHAPTER FOUR

“SO WHEN YOU left last night at midnight, everything looked fine?”

The insurance adjuster from Newark, who’d introduced himself only as Phillips, had arrived early the next morning. The area around the garage had been roped off with caution tape to prevent anyone from going near the ruins of the building. The fire crew had instructed Bailey not to touch anything or attempt to clean up until the insurance adjuster had time to assess the full extent of the damage. She understood the reasoning, but driving away the night before from the shop that had been a major part of her life for ten years and was now lying in a heap of rubble had been difficult.

“Yes. I noticed the back door ajar when I drove past, so I stopped to close and lock it.”

“An employee left a door open?” Phillips raised an eyebrow as he glanced up from his paperwork.

Bailey nodded, her jaw clenched. Nick.

“You know that your insurance wouldn’t cover theft if the premises were left unsecured?”

“Yes...but this is Brookhollow. No one would ever think of stealing anything. Heck, I’m sure if someone in town had noticed the door open, they would have just locked up themselves.” It was one of the things she loved most about her hometown—the neighborly comfort the residents enjoyed. Everyone looked out for one another.

“Maybe, but you can never be too sure,” he said, stepping over the broken glass in the metal shell of the door frame to enter the shop. “Wow, quite a lot of damage.” He studied the scene, flipping to a fresh page in his notebook.

Bailey found it difficult to look as she followed him inside, stepping over the large wooden ceiling beams that now lay on the ground.

“Yes. The fire from the vehicle spread very quickly, so the firefighters were forced to tear everything down.” An image of the fire crew using their axes and hammers to bring down the walls and ceiling flashed in her mind and she cringed. She knew they had been doing their job, but they’d destroyed everything. All she had.

The man nodded. “Happens often,” he said dismissively.

Not to her. What he casually shrugged off as just another insurance claim was one of the most stressful and heartbreaking events in her life. Bailey had worked in the shop since she’d moved out on her own at seventeen, and it had become a familiar and comfortable place. She knew what she was doing inside the shop, something she couldn’t say for many other aspects of her life. Memories were buried within its walls and the building had stood in Brookhollow for over forty years. Noticing her calendar sticking out from under the charred desk, she bent to retrieve it. She dusted off the image of the St. Mark’s, the August picture on the calendar of Italy that Ethan had given her for Christmas to keep her motivated to save for her trip. Rolling the calendar, she tucked it into her back jeans pocket.

Inspector Phillips continued to walk through the rubble, making several notes, until he stopped beside the charred Volkswagen Jetta. “This was the one that started the fire?”

“Yes.” The one she never should have towed.

“Fire report says it had caught on fire on the highway the day before, as well.”

It wasn’t a question, so she remained silent. No doubt Ethan’s report was detailed. Her palms sweat slightly.

“You were advised not to bring it here,” he continued to read. “In Newark, a vehicle like this would have been impounded and deemed undriveable by the police.”

This wasn’t Newark. “We don’t have an impound lot and I couldn’t leave the man stranded.” She fisted her hands at her sides. Maybe she should have called the police at the time, but it had been her first experience with this kind of thing. Unfortunately, her ignorance had cost her the shop. “The danger seemed to be past....”

“But the firefighter on the scene thought otherwise,” he said, glancing at her, a look of disapproval behind his dark, thick-rimmed glasses.

“I made a judgment call,” she said, knowing she sounded defensive.

“The wrong one, it seems,” he said, then continued on before she could say anything else. Not that she had a great case. “Based on these fire inspection reports, it wasn’t the first suggestion you ignored.... A sprinkler system was recommended on numerous occasions.”

“The upgrades weren’t exactly in the budget.”

“I don’t think I need to point out the irony there.”

That was enough. “Did any part of your training teach you to have at least a little compassion for the business owners you are dealing with?”

He stopped, dropping his folder to his side. “Ms. Sheppard, I understand that this is the first time you’ve had to deal with this sort of thing, but try to see this from my tired perspective. Every day I see situations just like this one with people gaming the system. I’m not saying that is the case here, but let’s go over the facts....” He paused and scanned what remained of her garage. “This place is at least forty years old. It needs upgrades. You just bought it from...” He skimmed his paperwork. “A Doug Sheppard—your father?”

“Uncle.”

“You just bought the place from your uncle a month ago and you brought in a vehicle that you knew was a potential fire hazard?”

Put that way, it did look suspicious.

“Look, I’m not saying that I think you did this on purpose, but forgive me if I follow protocol on this one.”

This was not good. “So my claim may be denied?”

“That’s always a possibility, but I’ll do my best to try to find something...anything to make this claim not look so much like a fraud.”

* * *

FRAUD. THE WORD rang repeatedly in her head as Bailey parked her motorcycle outside of Joey’s café on Main Street a short time later. In twelve hours, she’d lost her business, and was suspected of arson and fraud. Fantastic.

Right now Main Street was quiet, as most of the shops didn’t open until nine o’clock. Bailey always loved the street at this time of day when the buildings blocked the sun’s heat, casting a shadow over the brick-patterned sidewalk. Everything was calm. Within an hour, the merchants’ displays would extend onto the walkway and the cafés would set up their outdoor seating areas and colorful umbrellas, ready for business. But today she couldn’t enjoy the peace, desperate to get inside where her coffee waited.

Removing her helmet, she waved to Pearl Richards, who was flipping the sign on the door of her flower shop, Pearl’s Petals, to Open. The family-owned business was located in one of the oldest buildings in town on the corner of Main and Temple Streets. Pearl was the great-granddaughter of the original Pearl who’d owned the store eighty years before. She’d not only inherited the pretty name but the store as well, when the older woman had passed away. That’s how things worked in Brookhollow. Businesses were kept in the family.

“Bailey.” Pearl’s greeting was terse as she hung several potted plants on an iron hook above the door before hurrying inside.

Weird. Bailey usually exchanged pleasantries with the woman on Sunday mornings before her weekly breakfast with her dad and brothers. It was just as well; she wasn’t really in the mood to chat after the meeting with the insurance adjustor.

Entering the fifties-style diner, Bailey scanned the crowded room for her family. The Sunday-morning breakfast was a tradition they’d started when she and the boys had still lived at home.

“Hey, Bailey. Your dad’s just in the kitchen, checking out a leaking pipe under the sink. Your brothers are sitting at your usual booth near the window.” Tina Miller set the tray of steaming coffee cups she carried onto the nearest table, then reached forward and enveloped Bailey in a tight hug.

The smell of the woman’s lavender perfume made her eyes water.

“I’m so sorry about the garage...and we were all so relieved to hear no one was hurt.”

“Thank you. It’s been a tough morning,” Bailey admitted, the tray of coffee tempting her to reach out and grab one. With literally no sleep at all the night before, it was a wonder her eyes were staying open.