Montana Fire (3 page)

Oh, crap. “Yes.” She jumped up and punched in the number for the alarm, then returned
to her seat.

“I’ll ask one of the men to call the security company.” Trent asked her for the company’s
name. “I need to let them know everything’s okay.”

“It’s AA Protection Services,” she said, surprised she remembered.

Once he spoke into his shoulder radio and gave the other officers the information,
Trent dragged a chair around to face her. He took out his iPad, probably for taking
notes, and looked over at Thad. “If they were here to rob the place, they’d probably
assume any clinic with drugs would be alarmed. Perhaps they wanted the key.”

“Even with the key, they’d have to punch in the code,” she said.

Trent raised his brow. “Maybe that’s what they needed you for.”

“You think?” Crap. Had karma decided she’d done something wrong in her past life and
deserved this punishment?

Trent firmed his lips. “I have no proof of anything. It was just speculation. I’m
sorry.”

She understood why he’d said it.

“You’re safe now, Jamie,” Thad said.

It was as if he could read her mind. Or had he noticed how she’d woven her fingers
together? She stopped tapping her foot, and tried to slow her rapid breathing.

“I know.” She trusted Thad. Her friend and therapist, Zoey Donovan, was a lucky woman
to have snagged him.

“Could these two men have been teens?” Thad asked.

Teens? He worked for the Street Crime Unit who dealt with gangs. “Not unless teenage
boys have really deep voices.” Jamie told him about the man shouting. She then closed
her eyes for a moment to picture them. “They were large, but it was too dark to see
much of their shape. I do remember that the one who ran around to the back had a slight
limp.”

Trent jotted that down. “Can you describe the van?”

Weren’t all vans the same? “Black. Big. As I mentioned, as soon as I thought I might
be in danger, I spun around and didn’t think of anything other than getting to safety.”

Trent relayed her information about the vehicle to someone on the other end of his
radio mic.

“You did good,” Thad said.

Jamie held out her hand. “Then why am I shaking?”

“Because you went through a trauma.” Thad then glanced at Trent. “We should have someone
patrol the place for the next couple of days.”

“I’ll let the captain know,” Trent said.

After a multitude of questions that ranged from who normally locked up, to if she
had been aware of the many thefts in the past, two patrolmen knocked on the front
door. Trent let them in.

“We checked a four block radius, sir, but spotted no one,” one of the cops said.

“Thanks,” Trent replied. “Keep an eye out for anyone suspicious. We don’t need them
returning.”

Thad tapped her knee. “I bet you want to get out of here.”

He had no idea. “Yes, but I need to call my supervisor and tell her what happened.”

Trent returned. He swiped his iPad. “Give me her number, and I’ll take care of it.”

“I appreciate it.” Jamie was too torn up to go over the event one more time. She looked
up Dr. Yolanda Withers’ contact information on her cell and gave the information to
Trent.

Thad stood. “I want you to stay with us tonight.”

He was the sweetest man alive. Jamie rose and placed a hand on his arm. “I appreciate
the offer, but I’ll be fine. If you could drive me to my car, and maybe follow me
home, I’ll be good.”

He shook his head. “Not going to happen.”

Chapter Two

W
hen Thad escorted Jamie into his house, it was close to ten thirty at night. Her body
ached with both fatigue and frustration. Zoey should have been in bed, but there she
was standing at the kitchen island with a cup of coffee in her hand, her brows pinched.

Zoey set the drink down and rushed over, opening her arms to hug Jamie hard. “Oh,
Jamie. Are you okay?”

Her friend acted as if the thugs had actually harmed her. “I’m fine. They didn’t get
me.”

Only after Thad and Trent arrived, had she realized things could have gone very wrong.
She shivered, pushing aside the fact she’d been seconds away from possibly being attacked
or killed.

“Thank goodness.” Zoey leaned back and held Jamie at arm’s length, running her gaze
up and down her body. “You don’t look any worse for wear.”

“I’m just a bit shaken. That’s all.” Jamie slipped out of her coat and draped it over
one of the center island stools.

“I made some decaf for you. Black. Just the way you like it.” Zoey handed her a matching
mug.

“I can really use this.” Jamie brought the rich smelling brew to her lips and sipped.
Divine. It was the perfect temperature—warm without being tongue-burning hot.

Thad waved the satchel he’d let her gather from home. “I’ll put this in the spare
bedroom.”

Jamie appreciated he was giving them some space. “Thanks.”

While she might appear calm on the outside, her stomach was churning up a storm, and
anger was close to the boiling point. The near violation was beginning to sink in.

Zoey picked up her mug. “Tell me what happened.”

“You going to charge me for the session?” Jamie gave her former therapist a smile,
trying to lighten the mood.

“No, missy. Now spill.”

Jamie inhaled. “The one time Yolanda asks me to close up, some thugs decide to rob
the place.” The injustices of this last year came crashing down on her and she squeezed
the cup tighter.

Gravity tugged on Zoey’s lips. “Thad has a punching bag in the garage. Want to take
a whack at it?” Zoey acted like that would help.

“I would if I knew I wouldn’t break my hand.”

“Come here.” Zoey wrapped a comforting arm around her shoulder, and led Jamie over
to the sofa in the family room and sat down next to her. “No one would argue that
what happened to you was terrible, frightening, and undeserving, but this might be
a good thing.”

Jamie studied her friend, checking to make sure her eyes were clear. “You might be
a shrink, but are you sure you haven’t been smoking some wacky weed or something?”
Even though every cell in Jamie’s body vibrated with irritation, Zoey’s words eased
her concern.

Her friend set down her nearly empty coffee mug on the wooden table in front of them.
“Anger can sometimes be a good motivator.”

“Really? If that’s the case, I should go on tour. With how pissed I am, I could motivate
the hell out of people.”

Zoey smiled. “I wasn’t talking about motivational speaking.”

Jamie sipped her coffee, some of the frustration dissipating. “I’m not really following
you.”

“All I’m saying is that while you’re riled up, it’s a good time to take action.”

“Action, as in trying to get the store owners to clean up the street, kind of action?”
Then where would Jonathan, Larry, and those like them live? “Or action, as in bugging
the city for more streetlights, and maybe even a few policemen to patrol the area?”

“I like those ideas, but I was thinking more along the lines of taking a class in
self-defense from the police department.”

Jamie had considered doing that after a female friend had been mugged a few years
back, but time always got away from her. “Given my size, I think I’d be better off
learning to shoot a gun.”

Zoey winced. “I thought you hated weapons.”

“I do, more than anything, but I’m tired of being a victim.” When Max spoke to her
at the wedding about how she seemed to think of herself as one, she’d stomped off.
She could see he’d been right. “In truth, I wouldn’t feel good handling a gun, and
I certainly could never shoot anyone, but having one close by might make me feel more
secure.”

“I’m all for whatever makes you feel more comfortable.”

While Jamie didn’t really care for the gun option, if Zoey hadn’t had a stun gun when
one of her loose cannon clients attacked her, Zoey could have died. “Working the night
shift twice a week at the clinic probably isn’t a smart choice on my part. I guess
I could ask for days only.” Jamie shrugged, trying to think outside the box. “Or I
could get a job in a better neighborhood. The problem with that is that I like working
with those in need. Besides, I really like my coworkers.”

“Keep thinking. Something will be a good fit.” Zoey’s smile brightened.

“I can’t quite tell which solution you like the best, but your eyes lit up when I
said I could quit my clinic work. Are you suggesting I go back to the hospital?” Jamie
wasn’t convinced it was any safer there.

Zoey shook her head. “It’s not up to me to decide. You’re the one in control. It’s
your life.”

“Control. Right. My life has been out of control ever since Benny tried to take away
my pain.”

“Well, keep thinking. More options equate to more power.”

Jamie leaned back against the sofa, her mind going in ten different directions. “It’s
strange.”

“What is?”

“My rage is actually wearing off,”she said, inhaling.

“That’s good, right?”

Hadn’t Zoey just said that anger was an excellent motivator? Maybe it had already
done its job by allowing her to consider her next course of action. “The problem is,
now I’m kind of scared.” It had been a long time since Jamie had admitted something
like that.

Zoey slid Jamie’s mug from her fingers. “Come here, you. I bet you could use a hug.”

For the first time since she had spotted the men, Jamie really smiled. “You have no
idea.”

*     *     *

Max Gruden rolled over in bed thinking the loud noise came from one of his many bad
dreams. When the vibrations in his head refused to stop, he cracked open an eye and
spotted the glowing cell on his nightstand. “Damn.” Picking up his phone, he glanced
at the clock instead of looking at the name on the screen and answered. “Gruden. It’s
one in the fucking morning.”

“Sorry. It’s Rich.”

Christ. Max had worked with the man for years. The guy had to know by now how precious
sleep was to someone who suffered from insomnia. “What is it?” Max barely kept his
voice civil.

“There’s a fire raging at the old warehouse on First Street.”

The word
fire
had Max sitting up, his feet hitting the cold floor. Arson investigators usually
arrived after the coals were cold. “Tell me more.”

“About half an hour ago, I was driving down First Street—don’t ask—when I spotted
the fire and called it in.” The excitement in his voice urged Max to hurry.

He rummaged through his closet for something warm. “What can we do?” His brain was
still fuzzy.

“Fuck, Max. I thought it would be easier to locate the source if we witnessed the
fire first hand.” Rich Egland had been an inspector way back when Max had first joined
the Rock Hard Fire Department more than eight years ago. Now, he worked for Max.

Rich’s logic finally sunk in Max’s sleep-weary brain. “You’re right. It’ll be easier
to determine if arson is involved. Appreciate the heads up. I’ll get there as soon
as I can.” He disconnected the call before Rich could say more.

Once dressed, Max rushed to his car and headed to the outskirts of town. As he neared
the warehouse, his heart pinched at the sight. The place was lit up like a Christmas
tree. Bad memories assaulted him, but he pushed them back. He’d found closure, or
so he wanted to believe.

The closest he could park was a block away. Max hightailed it to the blaze. Flashing
his new fire marshal’s badge, he spoke with a cop guarding the perimeter.

“Go ahead, sir.”

Spotting Rich, Max picked his way over to him. “What do we know?”

“Fire’s going fast, eating up the place from west to east. There are multiple source
points, too.”

That screamed arson. Sirens sounded and another truck pulled into place. Behind it
was an ambulance, and he and Rich moved out of their way. The last few fires had been
linked to gangs. “You have a chance to check for graffiti?”

Rich shone his light on the far right side of the building that had yet to burn. “It’s
too dark to tell the colors, but it looks liked the same gang related swirls.”