Authors: Jennifer Bernard
“Go on, Katie. It’s for you. Go get it.”
Katie couldn’t take it. She didn’t deserve all this niceness. She deserved to be raked over the coals, read the riot act, locked in a dungeon for a hundred years. If not for her, the Hair of the Dog would still be standing, and still insured.
She ran, stumbling past the blackened wreck of the bar, past her shocked family.
D
riving the few blocks to the firehouse, she realized that before she talked to Brody, she had to talk to Ryan. If he had seen anything before the fire broke out, she had to know. She veered in the other direction, toward the Good Samaritan.
She used the short drive to collect her thoughts. She had no idea if Ryan had been told about the investigation. Maybe the insurance people or the arson investigator had already visited. Hopefully the overprotective nurses had kept them out. This whole thing would be such a shock to him.
By the time she reached the hospital, she felt more composed. She dashed up the steps and through the glass revolving doors. Reaching the intensive care unit, she waved at French Twist behind the desk and hurried toward the locked door.
But the usual click that opened it didn’t come. Instead she nearly slammed her face into the door.
The nurse stood. “Ryan has requested no visitors.”
“But it’s really, really important. I have to talk to him.”
“There’s nothing I can do. He was very specific. He doesn’t want to be disturbed.”
Katie pinned a pleading gaze on her. “This isn’t personal. It’s about him. His career. Could you just go in there and ask him? Tell him it’s me, and that it’s extremely important. I won’t stay long, I promise.”
“You mean, tell him his sister’s here?” The nurse smirked.
“I apologize for that. Really. But please don’t hold it against me. This is about Ryan. If you want to help Ryan, tell him he’s got to talk to me. Please.”
Clearly reluctant, the nurse moved from behind the desk. “Fine. I’m not going to tell him anything, but I’ll ask him if he’d like to talk to you.”
“Thank you. Thank you.”
The nurse took her sweet time unlocking the door, moving through it, then relocking it behind her. Katie couldn’t blame her for her attitude. She probably didn’t appreciate being lied to.
Katie paced around in a tight little circle, going over exactly what she’d say to Ryan. First she’d find out if he’d seen anyone at the bar. If he’d seen Doug, that would count as proof and she could tell Brody everything. She’d tell him he didn’t need to worry, that she was going to clear everything up. And then she’d kiss him and nuzzle her head into his neck and tell him she loved him. She wouldn’t let the fact that he was conscious stop her. She’d had enough practice with the unconscious Ryan. Maybe he remembered hearing the words, maybe he’d say them right back to her . . .
The nurse reappeared, locking the door behind her once again. She stood before it, arms folded. “I’m sorry, Ms. Dane. Ryan doesn’t want to see you.”
“What?” Katie felt color flood her cheeks. “You told him it was me?”
“Obviously. If you’re going to make a scene, I’ll have to call security.”
“I’m not going to make a scene. I just . . .” She swallowed hard. Ryan didn’t want to see her. The shattering truth settled into her bones.
“You should go now.”
“Yes.” She turned blindly toward the entrance. “Tell him . . .”
I love him
. . . But that would probably be the last thing he wanted to hear. “I’m sorry.”
R
yan had always moved swiftly when circumstances required. During fistfights and fires in particular, he’d been able to shift into another mode, one in which everything around him seemed to slow down and he could see perfectly what needed to be done.
To be trapped in a bed, in a hospital, in the midst of events that seemed entirely out of his control, had to be the worst experience of his life. Much worse than tumbling out of a burning building. That was movement, that was action.
This was hell.
The painkillers in his IV didn’t help matters. They dulled the sensation of pain, but they didn’t stop his thoughts. Nothing did.
The nurse brought in a tray of food. “Banana pudding today,” she told him. “Your favorite.”
“Thanks, darlin’.” He said the words automatically, although he couldn’t care less about banana pudding. Food had lost all flavor since Joe the Toe had dropped his bombshell.
“Anything else I can get you?”
“No thanks, I’m good. Think I’ll take another nap.”
“Excellent idea. Rest is very important.”
He forced a smile as she left him alone.
Rest.
He might try to sleep, but he knew he’d get no rest. How had things come to this? How had a man like him, who lived to put out fires, come to be accused of starting one?
And how could he clear his name, without telling Katie’s secrets?
Katie.
Her name brought such a flood of emotion that he shoved the tray of food off his bed in a tangle of shrink-wrapped containers. From the first moment he’d seen her, Katie had upended his life. Without even trying. From the very beginning, he’d wanted to protect her—and impress her. He should have let those guys beat up Doug. He should have let Katie burn down the Hair of the Dog. He should never have gone to the Dog with some crazy romantic notion of declaring his love.
If he’d never met Katie, he’d probably have his job back by now. He certainly wouldn’t be lying in a hospital bed accused of arson.
When the day shift nurse had told him Katie wanted to see him, he’d felt a surge of adrenaline.
Yes
, he’d wanted to say.
Show her in so I can tell her how she’s ruined my life. By the time I’m done with her, she’ll wish I’d never walked into her bar. Which is exactly how I feel.
Instead he’d shaken his head. He couldn’t bear to see her. And didn’t want to lose his temper with her. After all this, he still wanted to protect her.
Damn her.
K
atie pushed open the gray steel front door of the San Gabriel firehouse. She felt like she was entering some kind of sacred male haven, even though she knew some of the firefighters were female. But the atmosphere reeked of masculinity, of tools and gear and equipment and testosterone. The planters of red geraniums out front provided the only feminine touch, if it could be called that. With a kind of military order, the blooms stood up straight. Not a single browning petal to be seen.
Clearly, firefighters liked order. She remembered all the times Ryan had cleaned the bar. He liked things to be clean down to the ground, from the inside out, without any pockets of hidden grime. He relaxed his standards a little at home. She recalled a mussed bed and a pile of dirty shirts without a hamper . . .
Enough. No more mooning over Ryan. She had a career to save.
She moved through the foyer, which featured a few framed photos of groups of firemen and some firefighting paraphernalia mounted on the walls—an old-fashioned helmet, a fire axe in a glass case. Firefighters valued their history, apparently. She walked through a narrow hallway, thinking, despite herself, of all the time Ryan had spent in this place. She pictured him ambling down the hall, hands in his pockets, a sparkle in his blue eyes, a teasing smile on his lips.
By the time she reached the lounge, she half expected him to be there, rising up from the couch, opening his arms to her. Her heart raced when someone stood and turned to face her. False alarm, of course. Fred the Stud smiled at her.
“Hi, Katie,” he said cheerfully. “I hear Ryan’s a lot better. Got his thinker back.”
“So I hear. Is Captain Brody in?”
“Right over there.” He pointed to an office with a closed door. “Just knock. He won’t bite. Unless you overfilled the generator and spilled diesel on the patio.” He pulled a rueful face.
“Nothing like that,” she said. No, only a thousand times worse.
“Come in.” Brody’s deep voice responded to her knock. She took a deep breath, reminded herself why this was so important, and opened the door.
Captain Brody sat at his desk in his fireman’s uniform. He looked grim and preoccupied. He took her in with intense gray eyes that seemed to see right through her. “Katie Dane. What brings you here?”
“I have to talk to you. Is this a bad time?” She eyed the piles of paper on his desk.
“No more than any other,” came his not very encouraging answer. “Sit down.”
He beckoned to a chair in the corner. Katie eyed it dubiously. Did he want her to sit in the corner like a schoolgirl getting punished?
“You can bring it over here,” said Brody, with a hint of amusement warming his voice.
“Right.” She dragged the chair in front of the desk and sat down. The chair, of the folding metal variety, put her about a foot below Brody’s eye level. Never had she felt so small.
Too bad. What did her height matter, when she held the key to Ryan’s future? “I want to talk to you about Ryan Blake,” she said in a clear voice.
He sat back and steepled his fingers.
“Okay,” he said.
“Ryan didn’t set that fire. I’m responsible for it.”
“Responsible for it? You mean you set the fire?”
She hesitated. She didn’t want to lie. But what if that was the best way to clear Ryan? Brody narrowed his eyes. Under that serious charcoal gaze, she realized that lying was not an option. “No, I didn’t set it. But I might as well have. I am ultimately responsible, although I can’t name the person who did it. I don’t have any proof.”
Brody frowned. “Why are you coming to me? I’m not involved in this case, except for providing background information.” He pushed at the papers on his desk with a disgusted air.
So that was Ryan’s file, Katie thought with a chill.
“I’m coming to you because Ryan trusts you. And you know Ryan. And once I tell you the whole story, I’m hoping you’ll know what’s the best way to clear him. And what I should do so that
I
face the consequences. Not Ryan.”
“I’m sensing there’s quite a story to be told here.” He flipped open a yellow legal pad and picked up a pen. “Mind if I take notes?”
Katie swallowed. Notes made it seem so official. “Of course, that’s fine. Notes. Okay, well, it started with the insurance payment coming due. No, it started when my father had his heart attack. Or maybe when he put me in charge of the bar. No—” She stopped to collect her thoughts. “The idea of burning down the Hair of the Dog was entirely mine. It seemed like the only way out, for me and for my father. See, he was under too much stress, so my mother asked me to take over. I was desperate and went a little crazy . . .” And from there, the story flowed. The enormous pile of bills, her hopeless sense of being alone and in over her head. The appearance of Ryan. Her insane idea of burning down the bar and collecting the insurance. How Doug had offered to help. The fires that Ryan kept putting out.
“See? Why would he start a fire after putting out so many of them? It doesn’t make sense.”
Brody nodded gravely. She couldn’t read his expression at all. She barreled ahead.
“And then he did the bachelorette party strip show, and—”
“The
what
?” Brody braced both hands on his desk and leaned forward. “Did you say, ‘strip show’?”
Oops. How was she to know Brody hadn’t heard about that?
“Not full frontal, or anything. Just full back-tal. Backside. The front was turned away. And covered by a helmet.”
“A fireman’s helmet?” His voice was low and dangerous. If she got Ryan into any more trouble, she’d really never forgive herself.
“All the guests really enjoyed themselves, and no harm came to any San Gabriel firefighters. I’d say the department’s reputation was enhanced by the firemen’s willingness to . . . um . . . pitch in and help out a friend.”
Brody shook his head. “Never should have gone along with that one,” he muttered. “Go on. What happened after the striptease?”
She decided to skip ahead to Carson Smith and Doug’s role in locating him. “Ryan thought he looked suspicious, and that his father might know him. So we went to his dad’s trailer.”
Brody looked genuinely surprised by that. “Ryan saw his father? And he took you along?”
“Yes, but his father didn’t remember Carson Smith. Until later, when it was too late. Carson Smith set the fire that you put out.”
“So you paid him to set the fire that burned down the bar.”
“Well, not exactly. I mean, I was going to, but instead I paid him to go away and not set any more fires. I felt so terrible after you and Ryan put out that fire. I wanted to call it off. But he wouldn’t stop unless I paid him. So I did.”
“In other words, you paid him
not
to commit arson.”
“Yes, but . . .” This was getting off track. “Only after I hired him to commit it.”
Brody rubbed the dented lines between his eyebrows.
“I know it’s confusing. The point is, why would Ryan go to the trouble of finding out the truth about Carson Smith if he intended to start another fire himself? That isn’t his real name, by the way, in case you’re writing things down.”
Brody had stopped writing notes a while ago, so Katie thought he might need a reminder. He picked up his pen, shook his head, and put it down again. “Just keep talking. Might be better if I don’t have all this on paper.”
“Oh, right.” That certainly made sense.
“Go back to the part where Ryan visited his father. How did that go?”
What did that have to do with anything? “Well, fine, I suppose. He didn’t shoot either of us. Apparently he does that sometimes.”
“And how was Ryan afterward?”
Katie’s face heated. Afterward they’d steamed up the interior of his truck while parked under a grove of orange trees. She didn’t think that needed to go in the report. “You saw him soon after. On the way back I told him that I’d hired Mr. Smith, and that’s when he called you.”
“Hm.” Brody delivered another of his long, probing looks. “Something tells me you’re a good influence on Hoagie.”
“Hoagie?”
“That’s our nickname for him.”
“Geez, that’s the best you could do?” Katie sniffed. She could think of many nicknames better than that one. Hottie McHotstuff. Mr. Sexy. Ultimate Dream Man.
Focus, Katie
. “I’m not a good influence on him at all. In fact, I’ve pretty much ruined his life, especially if he loses out on getting his job back. I can’t let that happen.”
“It’s not really up to you, is it?”
She flushed again. “No, of course not. It’s up to you.”
“Mostly, it’s up to Ryan.”
“If you knew how much he studied for that exam.” She scooted the chair forward, forgetting how nervous Brody made her. “He worked so hard. He had piles of books at his house. Sometimes he brought the manual to work. And I’ve seen him put out fires. Twice. He’s amazing. How can you not want him back?”
Brody stood up from his chair and clasped his hands behind his back. He walked in a small circle, as if moving helped him think. “Ryan Blake is the best fireman I’ve ever had on my crew. No one else has ever come close. Here’s something you may not know about Ryan.”
“What?”
“Deep down, he’s a family man. To him, this firehouse is a family. He’d do anything to protect his family. Something tells me that now applies to you.”
Katie stared at him, appalled. “That doesn’t mean . . . you don’t think . . .”
“Do I think he started that fire? No. It would go against all his training, all his instincts. But some will interpret his history and profile that way.”
Katie squeezed her eyes shut.
It couldn’t be, it couldn’t happen
. “Charge me.”
“Excuse me?”
“Take my confession. Isn’t that what cops do?”
“And priests,” Brody murmured.
She stood up to face him. “I hereby confess to the intention and committing of resources to willfully and foolishly burning down the Hair of the Dog.”
Brody walked around the corner of the desk and loomed over her. “Do you know what happens to people convicted of arson?”
But she held her head high, straightened her spine, and held his gaze. “I don’t care. They can put me in jail, fine me, whatever the law requires. I assume they don’t burn arsonists at the stake.”
His grim face lightened a bit. “Some would like to, it’s true. In your case, I’m not sure what the punishment would be. No one was hurt, except Ryan. He could probably sue you for damages.”
She gulped. If he did, she’d deserve it.
“And then there’s the false confession issue. The law doesn’t like that sort of thing.”
“False confession? But I just told you the story. I started the whole thing.”
“And you stopped it. Several times. Using your own money. Someone didn’t get the message. Who actually started the fire, Katie?”
Staring back at him, she saw why Ryan looked up to him so much, why he had such a legendary reputation. The man was a commander, through and through. She’d seen the same steel in Ryan, though masked by his playfulness. “Captain Brody,” she said, clearing her throat. “I can’t say any more than I’ve already said. I suspect someone, but I have no proof. And I can’t accuse someone without proof. Anyway, it doesn’t matter. I’m the one who’s to blame.”
She saw a glint of respect in his charcoal gaze. “Are you so sure it wasn’t someone with a deep-seated grudge against the Hair of the Dog? Someone with nothing to do with you?”
She’d never thought of that. “I’m not sure of anything, to be honest. Except that it wasn’t Ryan, and that I did, at a certain point, have the intention to commit arson. Which is more than Ryan ever had.”
She withstood more scorching scrutiny from Captain Brody, until he made a brisk turn back to his desk. “I’m glad you came in today, Katie. It was very illuminating.”