Burn for You
Burn for You
Stephanie Reid
Burn for You
Copyright © Stephanie Reid 2015
Published by Stephanie Reid
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either products of the author’s imagination or used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
All rights reserved. No part of this publication can be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, without permission in writing from the author or publisher.
Cover design by Najla Qamber Designs
Cover photo: Kelsey Kukal-Keeton of K Keeton Designs
Models: Eric Madden and Kendra Malcom
Chapter 1
“Repeat after me…”
Sitting in an uncomfortable chair, in front of his lieutenant's desk, Jason Meadows searched deep within his reserves of respect-for-authority and managed to pull out some eye-roll restraint.
“I will not give chase,” Lieutenant McCann continued, “when a suspect takes off at fifty-five miles an hour in a residential zone.” McCann waited, eyebrows raised.
Snick. Snick. Snick.
The second hand ticked loudly through the silence, reminding Jason of the wall clock in his high school principal’s office.
“You’re serious?” Jason asked.
“Yes. I want to hear you say the words. Repeat after me. I will not give chase…”
Jason sighed, less successful this time at holding back an eye-roll. He’d never had much in his respect-for-authority reservoir anyway. “I will not give chase…”
“Unless it’s a forcible felony…”
“Unless it’s a forcible felony…”
“And even then, I will exercise good judgment…”
“Lieutenant—”
McCann held up a hand. “No. Repeat.”
This was bullshit. Pure bullshit. He hadn’t become a cop so he could watch some scum-of-the-earth criminal drive away in a rusted-out Impala.
“I’m waiting.” McCann clicked the butt end of his pen on his notepad. “Let’s hear it.” Meeting Jason’s silence, McCann beckoned with his other hand and repeated his prompt. “And even then, I will exercise good judgment.”
“I
was
exercising good judgment. It was three in the morning. No one was on the road. And I’d positively ID’d the driver as Christopher King.”
McCann threw his pen down on the desk in a rare show of emotion. It skittered over the notepad and stopped with a clink against his coffee mug. “I don’t care if Jimmy fucking Hoffa, risen from the dead, was driving that goddamn car. We have a no-chase policy for a reason.”
Sighing, McCann scrubbed a hand over his face. When he spoke again, his voice was more controlled. “I would expect you, of all people, to understand why that policy is in place.”
Jason looked away, his gaze involuntarily drawn to a photo sitting on the credenza behind McCann’s desk. A snapshot of Lieutenant McCann at a backyard barbeque with his arm around his best friend—Jason’s former foster father, Officer Luke St. James. McCann had been leaner back then, his mustache brown instead of gray. But St. James hadn’t had the luxury of aging much since that photo.
Nineteen years before, St. James lost control of his vehicle while chasing an armed robbery suspect. He’d avoided a group of school kids walking home, but paid the price with his life when his squad car wrapped itself around a telephone pole.
“St. James was going after someone who’d committed a forcible felony. He was playing by the rules.” Jason wasn’t going to sit there and let McCann imply that his foster father had been out of line. Luke St. James was a hero. A good man.
“I know,” McCann said quietly. “But that didn’t make it any easier to lose him, did it?”
Jason leaned back in his chair, crossed his arms, and glared at McCann’s coffee mug instead of the Lieutenant.
“No criminal is worth risking civilian lives.” McCann paused until Jason looked up again. “No criminal is worth risking
your
life. If you hadn’t chased King down, we’d have gotten him eventually. We had his name. We had his vehicle—make, model, and plates. There would’ve been another opportunity to track him down.”
“Maybe. Maybe not.”
McCann stiffened, his jaw clenching at Jason’s insolence. “I’m not going to argue with you about this, Meadows. You know the policy.” He tapped the desk with his index finger, lowering his voice in a way that somehow commanded more attention. “And if you ever want a shot at vice, you’re going to have to show me that you can follow the damn rules.”
Jason gnawed on the inside of his cheek. There was nothing he wanted more than to be on vice. Doing that kind of police work? Dealing with the dealers and the pimps? Taking the lowest of the low off the streets? That’s what he’d become a police officer to do. Fuck traffic stops and speeding tickets. He was all about taking care of business.
“I can follow the rules,” Jason said.
“Can you?” McCann crossed his arms, leaning over his elbows on the desk. “Because vice guys have a lot of freedom. They develop their own contacts—sometimes set their own hours. They have a lot of independence, and I don’t give officers that level of independence unless I know I can trust their decision-making skills.”
“Yes, sir.” Jason could respect that rationale. McCann had high expectations, but he was fair. And while Jason had little patience for the authority granted to McCann because of the gold bars on his collar, he
could
respect true leadership.
“Look, Meadows. Here’s the position I’m in. You’ve pissed off the sergeant on your shift. He wants to write a letter of discipline for your file.”
Unfortunately, it would not be the first such letter in Jason’s file. Not very helpful to his application to vice.
“I stuck my neck out for you,” McCann said. “I told him I’d give you a sufficient ass chewing myself.”
“Thank you, sir.” Jason nodded and started to rise from his chair. “Consider my ass thoroughly chewed.”
“Not so fast.” McCann inclined his head toward the chair, and Jason sat back down. “Discipline is not my only duty. It’s also my job to mold young officers like yourself into better police officers.”
This wasn’t going to be good. The last officer McCann had tried to
mold
spent a year as a friggin’ school resource officer.
In an elementary school.
“So, here’s what I’m going to do.” McCann raised his gaze to Jason’s. “I’m withdrawing your application to vice.”
“Sir—”
McCann raised his voice a fraction, silencing Jason’s protest. “Until you’ve proven you can do police work without breaking the rules.”
“Sir, I promise you—”
McCann held up a hand. “
And
I’m giving you an opportunity. A chance to show me you can follow protocol and do intelligent, investigative police work.”
Intelligent, investigative police work? Well, now, that sounded a bit more promising.
“I’m sending you to Arson Investigation Training.”
It wasn’t babysitting second graders, but still, not what Jason was hoping to hear. He deflated in his chair. “I thought Daniels wanted that position.”
McCann shrugged. “He did, but I’m sending you.”
“But sir, that hardly seems fair when Daniels wants it and I don’t.”
“Oh? You don’t want it? You don’t want this opportunity to prove yourself?”
“It’s not that sir, it’s just…”
“It’s just what?”
“This seems like a convenient way to get me off the road for a few weeks.” And keep him stuck on patrol instead of vice.
McCann shook his head, an incredulous laugh escaping from beneath his graying mustache. “Convenient, huh?” He leaned over the desk again. “Let me tell you something, Meadows. I don’t do anything because it’s
convenient
. The fact is you’re the best choice.” He opened a file on his desk. “Says in here you got perfect scores on your ACT in math and science. Got a full ride to the University of Illinois. Majored in Chemical Engineering. Makes me wonder why you’re not working for Dow or Procter & Gamble.”
“Turns out, you can’t arrest people if you work at Dow. I checked.”
McCann grunted—his version of a laugh. “True. But I bet you’d make a lot more money.”
Jason shrugged. He’d majored in Chemical Engineering because that’s what the scholarship he’d won was for, and he’d needed a way to go to college. He’d heard the bigger police departments were using bachelor’s degrees as a way to trim their applicant pools, so he had figured he’d better get one of those. He hadn’t much cared what it was in. So long as it helped him get a police job.
He’d always had a single-minded focus when it came to being a police officer—specifically, a vice officer. And now McCann was trying to derail plans that had been in the making since Jason had been sworn in six years ago.
“I think you’re going to pick up on this stuff fast, Meadows. You know chemistry. You know scientific methodology. And while that’s not a requirement for this training, I can’t help but think you’d be good at it.”
Jason suddenly wished his scholarship had been for something less practical, like Philosophies of Eastern Culture or Fermentation Sciences.
“Don’t you need to have some kind of firefighter certification before you can go to AIT?”
McCann nodded. “Usually, yes. But this is a new accelerated course, specifically for police officers. Just one more reason we need someone sharp. You’ll be learning in two months what would normally take four to six.”
Great. Two whole months off the road
and
a rigorous course load. Lucky him.
“Do we even need an arson investigator?” Jason asked. “How many arson cases has Evanston had in the last year? Three? Four?”
“Try twenty-two. But don’t worry. When you’re not working a case, you’ll still have plenty of time to be on patrol.” McCann smiled and closed Jason’s personnel file. “On patrol,
not
engaging in high-speed chases, that is.”
“I’m surprised Evanston Fire Department didn’t put a candidate forward for this. Wouldn’t they rather work with one of their own?”
“Well, according to Chief Bines, they’re understaffed. They can’t spare a body for the length of this training. Which means they’ll work with you. They don’t have a choice.”
And neither did Jason. That’s what McCann left unsaid. If he wanted a shot at vice, he’d have to toe the line for a while.
“The town needs an arson investigator,” McCann added. “Doesn’t matter if he comes from police or fire. Plenty of AIs are cops.”
“All right. Well, I guess I’m going to Arson Investigation Training then.”
“Don’t sound so bummed, Meadows.” McCann put on his reading glasses and picked up a report from his desk, his attention already moving to other more important matters. “I’m giving you an opportunity.” He eyed Jason over the rim of his glasses. “And you’ll get out of it exactly what you put into it.”
“Yes, sir.”
McCann nodded his dismissal, and Jason left the lieutenant’s office, letting the door click shut softly behind him. No small accomplishment when what he really wanted to do was slam the damn thing.
Looked like he was going to be spending a lot more time with firefighters. Smug bastards. People revered them as heroes for climbing ladders and retrieving escaped house cats from trees. Meanwhile, he was seen as the asshole giving tickets to John Q. Public, when the poor guy was just trying to get to work on time.
Friendly professional rivalries aside, Jason had never really cared much for firefighters, and now he’d be seeing them all the time.
Great. Just friggin’ great.
* * *
“Have you seen Vicki?”
At her mother’s query, Victoria Russo sank further back into the rack of bridesmaids’ dresses she was lounging in. Okay, not lounging exactly. It wasn’t possible to lounge with a metal rod digging into one’s ass. No, she wasn’t relaxing.
She was hiding.
Yes, it was seriously juvenile behavior she was engaging in, but dammit, if she had to try on one more purple, taffeta nightmare, she might do something horrible. Like stomp out of the store and abandon her future sister-in-law completely.