Authors: Jennifer Bernard
Oh yes, she felt it too, if her glazed eyes and parted lips were any indication. Ryan sighed happily. Sex in a yellow beanbag chair ought to be followed by sex on a red futon, and he hadn’t even seen the bedroom furniture yet. But those pleasant visions fled when Katie extricated herself from his lap with a suddenly businesslike look.
“Did you . . . are you . . .” He didn’t even know what to ask, that’s how discombobulated he was.
“I have to go see Carson Smith,” she said briskly. “About the fire.”
He sat up too. “I’ll come with you.”
“What, don’t you trust me?”
“I trust
you
, but that type of guy’s slippery like a snake. You can’t deal with them like normal people.”
“I’m not going to deal with him. I’m just going to tell him the whole thing’s canceled.” She disappeared into a dark room that must be her bedroom. “I could call him, but I want to explain in person.”
Ryan fought with his pants, which didn’t want to slide back onto a body in a beanbag chair. He rolled off the chair and landed on his side on the floor. He looked up to find Katie staring down at him. She’d switched from the skirt to black jeans and T-shirt. “I think I should go instead,” he told her from his awkward position. “It’s the kind of thing that’s better coming from another man.”
He knew how ridiculous he must look, but she didn’t laugh. “I know you’re trying to help me. But I need to do this by myself. I started it. Actually, Doug kind of started the Carson Smith part, but it was my fault for letting him. From now on, the buck stops here. It’s my mess to clean up.”
She started for the door, as Ryan struggled to get his jeans to cooperate. “The door locks automatically. Thanks for stopping by. It was a great”—tossing him a wicked look over her shoulder—“lecture.”
He limped after her, one leg still out of his jeans, only to watch her hop into her Datsun and zoom off.
No other woman had ever skedaddled that quickly after sex before. It was enough to make a guy worry. Not that Ryan Blake, the heartbreaker of Fire Station 1, ever worried about such things.
Until now.
T
his cannot keep
happening
, Katie lectured herself as she drove to the Sports Junction where Carson Smith was waiting.
No more sex with Ryan. Your heart can’t take it. Might as well chop it up into little bits and throw it into a frying pan. Got it? Good
.
If only hearts did what they were told.
He was so sweet, wanting to deal with Carson Smith for her. She wouldn’t have minded. She’d had enough of that man for one lifetime. But she couldn’t let Ryan come because she knew he wouldn’t go along with her plan to pay Smith off with her graduate school fund.
But she didn’t have a choice. Carson Smith had made that clear on the phone. Sure, he’d back off. But she still owed him money for his time and trouble. If she didn’t fork over nine thousand dollars, he’d make an anonymous tip to the insurance company and the fire department.
After she handed him her savings, the countdown to catastrophe would really begin. The Hair of the Dog’s insurance policy was due to lapse in one week unless she paid
them
ten thousand dollars. Which would be hard to do once she’d given all her money to Carson Smith.
Ironic. In a week, instead of wishing for the bar to burn down, she’d be doing everything possible to prevent a fire since they had no insurance.
At least Ryan would be proud of her.
C
hannel Six’s Ella Joy stood in front of the Hair of the Dog, surrounded by a TV crew. A light shone on her hair, picking up bits of bronze among the caramel strands. Katie had seen her on TV over the years, but never in person. In person she was almost unnervingly perfect.
“I’m here at one of San Gabriel’s most historic drinking establishments, the Hair of the Dog, although some are now saying it ought to be called the Hair of the Phoenix.” She paused to give everyone a chance to appreciate her cleverness. The small knot of onlookers exchanged puzzled frowns, perhaps trying to picture hair on a phoenix.
“The Hair of the Dog has nearly burned down at least five times over the past two weeks, and yet, as you see behind me, it’s still standing, and still serving drinks to thirsty San Gabrielenos. With me is Katie Dane, who manages this family-run business.”
Katie attempted a frozen smile that probably looked more like a Tourette’s syndrome twitch. She’d known this would be trouble as soon as Ella Joy had contacted her. But if it drew people to the bar, she’d do a headstand on live TV.
“Katie, how do you account for the Hair of the Dog’s remarkable resilience?” The anchor held out the microphone for Katie.
“Well.” She cleared her throat. “One thing is, we’re really close to the fire station.”
Ella Joy waited, but Katie didn’t see much more to add to that. “You must be very grateful to the heroic men and women of Station 1. Aren’t you doing something special . . . ?” she prompted.
“Oh. Right. In thanks to all the firemen and firewomen . . .” Uh oh, that didn’t sound right. “Firepeople.” That sounded worse, like something supernatural. She tried again. Time to dredge up some clichés. “In thanks to anyone who puts their lives on the line to protect our life, property, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness . . .”
Where had that come from? God, she was totally babbling. She caught a smirk from the man behind the camera.
She soldiered on. “We’re offering a special drink all this week. It’s called a Hair on Fire. You know, because we’re the Hair of the Dog and we’ve had a few fires. It’s got spiced rum . . .”
Ella flicked the microphone back to herself. “We don’t need the details.” She gave the camera a stern look. “The Sunny Side of the News does not promote alcohol use. Always drink responsibly, and select a designated driver.”
Katie gave the camera an embarrassed smile and leaned across Ella to speak into the microphone. “We also have something for any kids who’d like to stop by. It’s called Dogs on Fire. Grilled hot dogs. No actual dogs will be harmed.”
“Well,” said Ella Joy brightly. “Hair on Fire, Dogs on Fire. It sounds like everything’s on fire at the Hair of the Dog. Except the bar itself, we hope. Thank you, Katie. And now, Jeff, back to you in the studio.”
She waited until the red light went off, then fluffed her hair. “Whew. I think that went well. Did you like my phoenix reference?”
“Well . . . um . . .”
“Slow day at the Sunny Side of the News?” The sound of Ryan’s teasing voice made them both turn.
“Ryan Blake, City Hall hero, interview ruiner.” Ella Joy pouted her cotton candy–colored lips at him. “I still haven’t forgiven you.”
He bent to kiss her cheek. “Should I beg?”
“Begging never hurts.”
“I’ll consider it. Nice job, Katie. I’m glad you slipped the word ‘rum’ in there. It’s the only hard liquor we have left.”
Katie glanced from Ella Joy to Ryan. She sensed history. “You two know each other?”
Ella sniffed. “I know a lot of people. Better people than him.” She held his glance. Katie suddenly felt like a party crasher.
“I’ll let you two catch up then.” She backed away. Was there anyone in this town who didn’t “know” Ryan Blake? Oh God, had he slept with Ella Joy?
But Ryan quickly said good-bye to Ella and caught up with Katie. “In case you’re wondering, yes, we had a thing; no, it meant nothing. City Hall caught on fire just in time. I saw her true colors.”
“What makes you think I was wondering?”
He opened the front door of the Hair of the Dog. The smoky smell still lingered, but in a pleasant, barbecue kind of way instead of a disaster zone way. Katie’s entire family had spent all night scrubbing and reconstructing. Even her brothers had flown in. Todd was on the disabled list with tendonitis in his elbow, and Jake, with that eerie twin timing, had gotten suspended for several games. The Dane family planned to make the most of their whirlwind visit, with a combined “Welcome Home-Goodbye” party after the cleanup.
Ryan took her elbow. “Katie, I got a call from my father. He remembered who Carson Smith is. His real name is John Springer and he’s got a long criminal record and several fraud convictions. He used to be a plain old anarchist like Zeke, then he got greedy.”
Katie didn’t want to hear anything more about Carson Smith, no matter what his real name was. “It’s already dealt with. I saw him yesterday and it’s over.”
“What did you tell him? You didn’t give him any money, did you?”
Katie shook him off and hurried to the bar. If her TV appearance on the Sunny Side of the News noon show had any effect at all, she had to be ready. “I don’t want to talk about it. Ever again.” She slipped under the hinged pass-through on the counter.
“Katie.”
“Look.” She turned to face him, steeling herself for the impact of his blue eyes. “I really appreciate you not turning me in to Captain Brody. In return, I vow never to try to burn anything down, ever again. Which means that this place has to start making money. Lots of money. Right away. Why else would I go on TV? I hate TV. Now I want to get to work. If you still work here, I could use some help.”
R
yan’s spidey sense told him something was wrong. Or maybe it was his Katie sense. He knew his Katie. Knew how she hated lying, or fudging the truth in any way. From the tension in the slim lines of her body and the way she attacked the counter with a rag, he knew something was bugging her.
He blamed John Springer.
The day passed quickly, their busiest day yet at the Hair of the Dog. They served massive numbers of Hair on Fire drinks. And not only to girls. Men came in too, and not just elderly men. Businessmen, college students, firefighters. Many, many firefighters. Word spread fast from firehouse to firehouse.
Katie’s brothers, Todd and Jake, pitched in, twin laughing-eyed baseball players who kept picking Katie up and hugging her like a pet panda. Every time, she spluttered and kicked.
“Big party coming up,” one brother told Ryan. “The Dane Family Posedown. You gotta come.”
“No, he doesn’t.” Katie sounded mortified.
“Wouldn’t miss it,” said Ryan promptly.
“I might have to kill myself first,” Katie hissed at him as she emptied a bottle of rum.
“And ruin the Posedown? What is it, anyway?”
“You really don’t want to know.” She winged the glass down the bar to a fireman from LA County.
“Are you busy later?”
Her face turned pink. He loved that. “Maybe.”
“Well, come by if you want. I’ll set your hair on fire.” He waggled an eyebrow suggestively, then stopped when one of the twins gave him a Katie-style glare.
He skipped out early and went to find John Springer, who preferred long-term hotel rentals to houses, apparently. He’d booked a room at the Days Inn, according to his father.
Why his father had suddenly decided to help him out, he didn’t know. Maybe he thought years of neglect could be wiped away by one phone call.
Carson Smith, aka John Springer, opened the door little more than a crack. His pale gray eyes gleamed behind his aviator glasses. “I had a feeling I hadn’t seen the last of you.”
“Can I come in?”
“Do you need a problem solved?”
“Yes.” In a manner of speaking, he did.
Springer shrugged and allowed him inside. His suite contained a double bed, a huge TV in a console, a desk, and an armchair in the far corner. He went to the desk, where a bucket of ice sat next to a liquor bottle.
“Like a drink? I recently purchased a bottle of Johnnie Walker Blue Label. Most expensive Scotch you can buy in this town. I was about to pour myself a finger or two.”
Ryan’s hackles rose. Had he bought that bottle with Katie’s money? Guys like Springer didn’t back off, or do anything, unless there was a financial incentive. “No, thanks.”
Springer poured himself a glass. The warm amber liquid splashed gently over the ice. It smelled heathery and expensive. He sat down on the chair and crossed one ankle over the opposite knee. His belly pushed against his shirt buttons, so Ryan saw the white undershirt underneath. “Well?”
“I want to know what happened with Katie Dane.”
“That’s confidential.” The lenses of his aviator glasses caught the light, so Ryan couldn’t see his eyes.
“I never heard of a criminal confidentiality law.”
“I have to protect my clients.”
“But she’s not your client. She told you to ditch the job.”
Springer took a hit of Scotch and smacked his lips. “Ditched it is. It goes against the grain to leave a mission without completing it. But she’s the boss. Cutest little boss I ever had.”
“So you . . . dropped it? No play, no pay?”
Springer answered with a smug smile that told Ryan all he needed to know.
“She paid you to walk away, you lowdown scum.”
“Confidential, my boy, confidential.”
“She doesn’t have any money.”
“What makes you think you know everything about Katie Dane? You appear to be misinformed on that point. Her desire to keep the bar intact, and to keep authorities from pursuing the matter, seemed to be worth quite a bit to her.”
Ryan felt the carpeted floor do a slow roll underfoot. Rage flooded his system like poison. The edges of his vision went hazy. “Give it back to her.”
Springer rolled Scotch in his mouth for a long moment, followed by a very deliberate “Fuck off.”
Ryan scrambled to remember some of his anger management techniques. Deep breaths. Count to ten. “Find someone else to rip off. She can’t afford it. She doesn’t deserve it. She works her ass off for that place.”
“You fucked her, huh?”
The room went fire engine–red. Ryan lunged at him. So much for anger management. Springer didn’t deserve the effort. He slammed a vicious uppercut blow into the lowlife’s jaw. Springer’s head jerked back. Something hit Ryan’s stomach. He knew it was a fist, but didn’t care. The man’s smug, greedy face needed another punch, fast. This time he went for the nose. His fist came away with blood on it. And now the man was scrabbling in the top drawer of the desk.
A gun. With shaky hands, he aimed the gun at Ryan. “Quite a punch you have there, son.”
“Don’t fucking call me ‘son.’ ”
“I take it back.” Springer’s voice held a placating note. Clearly he didn’t want bloodshed in his hotel room.
Ryan fought for control. More than anything, he wanted to smash this guy to pieces, send him back to the slimy underground world, along with Zeke and all his horrible childhood memories.
But he wasn’t stupid. Beating up John Springer would create more problems, not solve any. He dropped his fists to his sides, panting.
“Why didn’t you ever go into the ring?” Springer looked genuinely curious. “Good way to channel your anger. We could have made a fortune off you.”
“Why didn’t you go into the weaselly criminal business?”
Springer held the gun steady. “As you can see, I did. I’m not ashamed. And I have no intention of giving anyone their money back. The capitalist system is growing on me.”
“You’re not going to shoot me, jackass. The last thing you want is the police investigating a shooting in your hotel room.”
“Maybe, maybe not. I don’t want to shoot you. But I don’t want any more whacks to the face either.” He wiped away a trickle of blood. To Ryan’s expert eye, it could have been worse. He’d inflicted some pain, but hadn’t even broken the man’s nose. “Your gallantry is endearing, if you aren’t on my end of it, but may I suggest to you that Ms. Katie Dane is a grown woman making her own decisions. It’s the twenty-first century, my boy. Women can vote, run for office, and even hire criminals if they so choose. Does she know you’re here?”
Ryan stared at him. He despised the man, hated how he’d popped up from the past like a jack-in-the-box in aviator glasses. Hated how he sounded so educated, how he’d learned certain skills and decided to create mayhem with them. And yet, he had a damn good point. Katie wouldn’t want him here. She’d specifically told him to stay out of it.
Now that the adrenaline of rage was fading, he cursed himself for losing it like that. He’d better go before the man said anything else to piss him off.
“I’m leaving now, but if I see you anywhere near Katie again, or the bar, I will get violent. And I won’t hold back.”
He waited until John Springer acknowledged that statement, then left.
Instead of taking the elevator, he jogged down the stairs from the fifth floor, using the time to chill down. What a pointless fucking thing. He’d made Springer’s nose bleed, but he hadn’t gotten Katie’s money back. He might have even made matters worse by barging into the middle of Katie’s business. Guys like Springer—like his father—could be vengeful.
Should he tell Katie what he’d done? Warn her that Springer might try to pull something else? She’d be furious with him. But at least she’d be on guard.
He reached the side door of the Days Inn and burst out into the sunshine. In the last few days, he’d withheld information about an act of arson from Captain Brody. He’d nearly run into a still burning building. And he’d punched out a criminal.
Had he learned nothing in his year and a half off? Did he even deserve to get his job back?
“W
hy’d you pay him to stop? Doesn’t seem right.” Doug slouched over the counter and fixed his reddened eyes on Katie. Reddened as in stoned. She knew the signs. Just what she needed, Doug smoking weed again. When he smoked, he went off his mood stabilizers. Perfect.
“Because I wanted him to stop. It’s too dangerous. It’s too stupid. Pick an adjective, it’ll work.”
Bleary-eyed from the long, busy day, she wiped the counter down. Todd and Jake had already left. Ryan had taken off before the end of his shift. She really wanted to go home, draw herself a hot bath, and watch mindless TV.
Fear Factor
reruns or something cheerful like that.