Fan the Flames (21 page)

“Look.” He pointed at the wall behind Ian. “The locker room was painted just six weeks ago. Now they're blue, but before, they were this nasty yellow.”

“Baby-shit yellow,” Junior clarified before dodging Steve's slab of a hand.

“Language,” Steve growled, although he didn't sound too serious. Everyone was staring at the picture with huge grins on their faces.

“Can I have this picture?” Rory asked. “I'll give it to the lawyer when he arrives tomorrow.”

“Sure.” Soup handed it to her. “It's on the computer, too. We just printed it off on photo paper to bug Ian. He hates it when we tell him he should be the fire department poster boy.”

“The lab geeks can probably get a date stamp off the digital file,” Junior said.

Moving toward his office, the chief said over his shoulder, “I have a copy of the dated invoice for the locker room painting. I'll print that for you, too.”

“Perfect. Could you send it and the picture to me, as well?” she asked. “I put my email address on one of the volunteer forms.”

“Sure,” Early called as he disappeared into his office.

“You guys are the best,” Rory said, fighting the urge to squeeze the photo to her chest.

“Soup got a hug. Don't I get one too?” Junior asked, stepping forward with his arms outstretched.

Grabbing the back of the smaller man's shirt, Steve yanked him back. “You hug her, and either she'll shoot you, or Ian'll do it when he gets out of jail.”

Junior appeared outwardly unconcerned by the threat, but Rory noticed he stayed where Steve had put him. The door swung open, and she looked over to see Joel Becker enter. The other guys gave him nods in greeting, which he returned.

“What's going on?” Joel asked, eyeing their huddle. The chief returned from his office, the printed invoice in his hand.

“We found evidence that'll get Ian out of jail,” Junior said. Rory had to hold back a snort at the way he'd taken partial credit for Soup's discovery.

Joel's expression stiffened, but he just silently headed to the locker room. Rory noticed the chief, his forehead knotted in an uncharacteristic mess of worried wrinkles, watch him go.

“You working tonight, Rory?” Soup's question pulled her attention away from Early's sober regard.

“I was planning on it.” She sent a glance toward the chief, whose attention had returned to their group. “If that's okay?”

“Sure you're up to it with everything that's going on?” Early asked.

“I'd rather stay busy. I wouldn't sleep tonight anyway, and I would just stew about everything and drive myself crazy.”

“Well, okay then.” The chief gave her a stern look that didn't fit on his cheerful face. “But if you find you're too distracted, go home.”

“I will, Chief.”

His typical jolly grin appeared. “Good job on that.” He tilted his head toward the photo she clutched carefully in her fingers. “Ian's lucky to have you.”

“He doesn't exactly have…um.” She stopped her protest halfway when everyone leaned closer to catch her words, their faces alight with gossip-loving glee. Instead, she finished with a weak, “Thanks, Chief.”

* * *

To her frustration, the night was agonizingly slow. They had one call, which was for a vehicle off the road. When they arrived on scene, they discovered an orange tag that indicated the car had been abandoned. Although Rory was happy that no one experienced an event that required the assistance of the fire department, she was also wishing for something to take her mind off of the thought of Ian spending the night in jail.

Even though she had the photograph, doubt began to creep into her mind. She wondered if it would be enough, or if Billy had manufactured some other bogus evidence that would point to Ian being the killer. It was upsetting and almost unbelievable that there was at least one person who'd disliked Ian enough to steal and plant the pendant, framing an innocent man for a crime serious enough to send him to prison for the rest of his life. As Rory had said earlier, Ian was a hard man to loathe.

To distract herself, she cleaned. Once she couldn't find anything else to clean, she organized the disaster of a storage room. As she was arranging the coats by size, Soup glanced in and shook his head.

“Callum did this once, and now he's banned from this room,” he told her, eyeing the newly ordered shelves.

Without pausing, she said, “It desperately needed organizing. How did anyone find anything in here? It took hours for me to dig out bunker gear that fit. Look, now you can actually see the floor.”

“The chief says he knows exactly where everything is. He's going to be grumpy about this.” After another head shake, he retreated from the doorway. He was probably trying to get as far away from the room as possible, so he didn't have to experience the fallout when Early saw its newly organized state.

Rory folded another coat and put it with others of the same size. She wished longingly for a label maker. Glancing around the room, she had a feeling of satisfaction at the difference between the former chaos and the current order. Although the chief might disagree, it was so much better now.

As Rory took a moment to stretch her back, Ian popped back into her head. He never left the forefront of her thoughts for long, but she still attempted to bury her worry in her current cleaning binge. If he didn't get out of jail soon, Station One would never be the same.

And neither would she.

North Butterfield was nothing like what Rory had expected.

She and Lou waited for him at The Coffee Spot, since there were limited meeting places in Simpson, especially those that were open at seven in the morning. When a tall, thin man in a really nice suit walked into the shop, Lou jumped to her feet.

“Nutter Butters!” she cried, grabbing him in a hug.

He groaned, although he hugged Lou back. “I thought we decided you'd retire that nickname.”

“
You
suggested it, but I don't remember agreeing.”

As the two exchanged friendly greetings, Rory studied North. He looked so
young.
His floppy, thinning hair was light blond, and his trendy, black-framed glasses just made him look like a kid playing dress-up. Lou thought he was Ian's best chance, though, so Rory decided to withhold judgment and give him the benefit of the doubt.

“Rory Sorenson”—Lou grabbed the lawyer's arm and dragged him the few feet to their table—“meet North Butterfield. Rory knows guns, and North wins cases. There. You've been introduced.”

As Rory shook his hand, North smiled. She was struck by how sweet his expression was. From Lou's description, Rory had expected him to be smooth and sharklike.

“Thank you for coming,” Rory said.

“Glad to help.” His gaze flicked toward Lou's boss, Ivy, who was currently manning the counter and overtly listening to their conversation. “Should we all head over to the sheriff's office together? That way, we could talk during the drive.”

“Sure,” Lou agreed. “But it's going to have to be someone else's vehicle. Callum dropped me off this morning.”

“We could take mine, but it'd be a tight fit in my standard cab.” Rory followed the other two toward the door. “Haven't you replaced the pickup that burned yet?”

North stared at Lou. “Burned?”

“Long story.” Lou patted his arm. “We'll catch up after you take care of Ian.” She looked over her shoulder at Rory. “Callum and I are having a little disagreement about that. I have my eye on the cutest 1952 International pickup, but Cal is whining about safety and the lack of air bags, and claiming that I gave him veto rights. I don't remember saying that, but, then again, a lot of words leave my mouth. It's hard to keep track of them all.”

“Who's Callum?” North asked as they made their way to a smaller, new-looking SUV. Apparently, there had been an unspoken agreement that they were taking his car rather than all squeezing into the front seat of Rory's truck.

“That question falls under the tell-you-later umbrella,” Lou said. “Want me to drive so you can take notes?”

“Please.” North climbed into the back seat. Once the doors were closed, he pulled a notepad from his briefcase and said, “Now tell me what I need to know.”

Eyeing the pad of paper, Lou said, “You're rocking it old school.”

“Paper can be burned,” he said, uncapping his pen. “Electronic files, on the other hand, can always be recovered.”

Rory could relate to that—her life had been full of those types of rules. The fact that he was thinking along those lines made her trust him a little more. “Okay. Where do you want me to start?”

“How about with Lou's murder victim?”

“Hey!” She shot him an irritated glance before returning her gaze to the road. “Just because I kicked him doesn't make him mine!”

“You kicked a dead guy?” There was no horror in his tone, only mild interest.

“Not important. Rory, you start, and I'll interrupt if I think you've missed anything.”

Taking a deep breath, Rory began.

* * *

It took a long time. North filled page after page on his legal pad as Rory talked, with Lou interjecting something every so often.

“Who would've thought a sleepy little mountain town could be such a hotbed of murder and intrigue?” North asked after Rory finally fell silent. Since Lou didn't add anything else, Rory assumed that they'd covered everything North needed to know. They'd been sitting in the SUV in the sheriff's department parking lot for the past twenty minutes. For a while, the only sounds were North's pen scratching against the paper, the rustle of turning pages, and his mutterings.

“Okay,” he finally said, making Rory jump. North opened the door and unfolded his lanky frame as he exited the SUV. “Showtime.”

Watching as he slipped and slid across the snow-packed surface of the parking lot toward the main entrance, Rory bit the inside of her lower lip. “He didn't say anything about whether he thinks Ian has a strong defense or not. Do you suppose that's a good sign or a bad sign?”

“It's a sign that North is in the zone,” Lou said, turning to face Rory so she could give her a level look. “When North is in the zone, he's pretty much unstoppable, so Ian's as good as free.”

Despite Lou's confidence, Rory still had a niggling feeling of doubt trying to choke her. “He looks so young.”

“Ror.” Lou put both hands on Rory's cheeks, turning her head so their eyes met, and, in the process, squishing her cheeks together. “Stop fussing. Ian shouldn't have even been arrested with such flimsy evidence. He'll be fine.”

“I'm not…” Her voice was muffled from Lou's hold on her face, so Rory shook off the other woman's hands before continuing. “I'm not fussing. Oh, I forgot to tell North that Chief Early emailed me the picture and the invoice, so we have electronic copies as well as the printed ones I gave him. Do you think I should run in and tell him?”

“No.” Lou reached for Rory's face again, but Rory leaned back out of reach. “I think you need to settle down and let North do his job.”

“Okay.” Rory had to agree that she was acting more like one of her chickens than her usual calm self. It was just that it was
Ian
. “Okay. Can you stay here and wait with me?”

“That's the plan.” After a few moments of silence, Lou asked, “Want to play I-spy or something?”

Rory gave her a confused look. “I spy on what?”

“No.” Lou laughed. “It's a kids' travel game. You know, I spy with my little eye…something green.”

“What?”

“Never mind. It's not that much fun anyway.”

Rory felt like she'd just failed some sort of social-interaction test. “We never traveled much when I was little.”
Or, you know, ever.

“Really?” Lou leaned forward, and Rory watched the other woman's hands carefully, wondering if Lou was going to grab her again. “What was it like for you growing up? You never say much about your family, so all I have to go on are crazy stories from The Coffee Spot customers, and I never trust the accuracy of those. In fact, I usually believe the opposite of the rumors floating around Simpson. The local gossip mill is not known for its accuracy.”

“By the local gossip mill,” Rory said, “do you mean the fire department?”

With a laugh, Lou agreed, “Pretty much, yeah. And I include the dive team in that.”

“That's how you met Callum, right?” Although Rory really was curious about the odd pairing, her main motivation was deflecting the topic of conversation away from her.

“Yeah.” Her eyes went soft. “I figured he couldn't stand me at first. For whatever reason, he was always there to witness my most embarrassing moments, and he had this
look
he would give me.”

Rory knew that look. It was one of the most intimidating things about Callum.

“But then he volunteered to help me with the HDG—I mean, the Willard Gray case. When everything started happening—my stalker and the fire and my stepfather and everything—he was always there. It kind of freaked me out.”

Rory hadn't been expecting that. “Freaked you out? Why?”

“I grew up pretty sheltered and spoiled,” Lou explained with a grimace. “I had to learn how to take care of myself once I moved into that little cabin up here. And Callum, he'd wrap me in blankets and pull me around on a little sled if I let him.”

Blinking, Rory said slowly, “O-kay.”

“That sounded crazy. Sorry.” Lou laughed again. “I guess I was just afraid of slipping back to being that soft, dependent person.”

It was Rory's turn to laugh—just a dry bark of a sound, but a laugh nonetheless. She was glad Lou was waiting with her. If she'd been alone, Rory wouldn't have lasted two minutes before storming the jail. “I don't think there's any danger of that.”

“No?” Lou's usually confident expression was unsure. “It's just so easy to let him take care of the unpleasant stuff.”

“No. You're definitely not helpless in any way. I've heard you stand up to Callum several times, and he kind of intimidates me,” Rory admitted.

Lou looked shocked. “Seriously? I didn't think anyone intimidated you. You run a business by yourself, hold your own with macho mountain men who think you have to have a penis to know anything about guns,
and
you even went Dirty Harry on armed bikers breaking into your shop. You kind of kick ass and take names, you know.”

Flushing, Rory looked out the windshield at the building in front of them. “That's the simple stuff. I wish I could talk to people as easily as you do.”

“Please,” Lou snorted. “Most of what comes out of my mouth is just straight-up embarrassing. I just keep talking, hoping that whoever's listening will forget the stupid thing I just said.”

Rory wondered with amazement if, at the ripe age of twenty-five, she was having her first girl talk. “Well, I don't think you have to worry about being soft or useless, that's for sure.”

“Thanks.” After a moment of quiet while they both stared at the entrance to the sheriff's department, Lou said, “I wonder what's going on in there.”

“I can't think about it.” The possibilities were making Rory sick to her stomach. “Can we talk about something else?”

“Of course.” A slow grin lit Lou's face. “We talked about my relationship status—how about yours?”

“My what?” She turned a blank face to Lou, who rolled her eyes.

“Your relationship,” Lou repeated slowly. “The one with the currently imprisoned bundle of hotness, with the tattoos and bunker gear? Oh, and those
eyes
. How do you even get within ten feet of him without forgetting your own name?”

Her cheeks warmed to an inferno level of heat. “I don't…um, what?”

“Fine. I'll put it bluntly. What's the deal with you and Ian?”

It appeared that girl talk was a lot more uncomfortable than it had seemed in the books she'd read. “No deal, really. He just feels…protective, I guess? Because of what happened in the shop.”

“Uh-huh.” Skepticism bled from Lou's tone. “I don't think so. I think he's had a thing for you for years, and you're the reason he stays away from the club women.”

Rory felt like she'd been pistol-whipped. He turned down other women…for her? They hadn't even kissed yet. They'd been on one non-date date! “Why would you think that?”

“He told us. Well, he implied it.”

Her mouth was open, but she was having trouble speaking. In fact, she was having trouble breathing. “He actually said he had a thing for me?” she asked when she finally managed to force out some words.

“Not exactly, but he pretty much admitted he avoids the women at the club because he has feelings for someone, and you're the only woman he voluntarily spends time with. I'm no math genius, but even I can add one and one and make two.”

Rory blinked. “It's just so…implausible. I mean, someone like me with someone like
Ian
? He could have anyone he wanted.”

“Well, you're the only woman I've ever seen him take on a date.”

Although Rory considered denying knowing what Lou was talking about, she'd run their dinner at Levi's over and over in her head enough times that she was pretty sure she couldn't lie about it convincingly. “That was a non-date date. Ian and I agreed.”

After staring at her for a long, open-mouthed moment, Lou burst out laughing. “Sorry!” she gasped once she could speak again. “I'm not laughing at you. I'm just laughing because I had a ‘non-date date' at Levi's, too! Maybe they should market their restaurant as the place to go when you're uncertain about the status of your relationship.”

Something about the confines of the SUV, coupled with the stress of the past twenty-one hours, made Rory want to confide in Lou. “I've never had a boyfriend,” she blurted before she could reconsider.

Lou shrugged. “So? A lot of people just date casually until the right person comes along.”

“No.” Shaking her head, Rory felt her stomach clench as she clarified. “I've never even gone on a date—except for the non-date date with Ian.”

“Never?”

“No.” She couldn't look at Lou, afraid the other woman would be staring at her as if Rory was a freak—which she kind of was.

“Wow. How'd that happen?” The casual friendliness had returned to Lou's voice, so Rory dared a glance toward the driver's seat. She was relieved to see that Lou's expression matched her tone. “I mean, you're really nice, and you like guns, which I imagine is a turn-on for a lot of guys. Plus, it's not like you never meet anyone, since people—mostly male people—are in and out of your shop all day. It's like a dating buffet line for you.”

That startled a choked laugh from Rory. “I was homeschooled.”

“So? I've known a lot of homeschooled kids, and they managed to meet people. School isn't the only place to mingle.”

With a frown, Rory realized the conversation had circled back around to her upbringing, despite her attempts at redirection. How had Lou managed that? But this time she felt comfortable enough to admit, “My parents didn't trust many people—or any, actually, so I wasn't allowed to have friends come over to our house. As I grew older, Mom and Dad got more and more paranoid, so eventually they stopped going to anyone else's homes, too. Or anywhere, really.”