Walk Through the Fire (Finley Creek Book 10) Page 6

“Annabelle Jane Gaines, open your eyes. Right now.” The voice came from next to where she slept. It wasn’t her mother. Of course, it wouldn’t be. She had serious doubts her mother would be anywhere she was actually needed.

  But she recognized the voice.

  It was far more welcome than her mother’s ever could be. Annie opened her eyes, and there Izzie was; one of her two best friends in the world.

  In a light blue hospital gown, with her short, dark hair sticking up in a thousand different ways as always, peering down at her like she was a bug. “Well, it’s about time you rejoined the party. You always want to sleep late. Miss life that way, Ann.”

  “What’s happened? The boys?” Annie knew where she was. She didn’t even attempt to sit up in the bed. That was probably not going to be happening for a while. Every joint in her body screamed at her. And her right shoulder flamed, even though she felt cloudy from pain meds of some sort. Hospital. The pale-yellow walls and the antiseptic smells made it clear. As did the fire in her shoulder. And her leg. “There was a storm. Tornado. I was with someone…I think. Where are the boys?”

  “The boys are fine. Josie has them at home, right now. The storm took out two-thirds of the ER,” Izzie said quietly. “You and Nikkie Jean were both hurt in the storm.”

  “I was in the ER?” That didn’t sound right, either. Not with what she remembered. There had been a man with her…and they had been alone. She thought. He’d had dark blue eyes. Beautiful eyes. And a strong, deep voice telling her that she would be ok. That he would make it so. He’d promised to make everything ok for her.

  For some strange reason, she had almost believed him.

  His voice had wrapped around her in the dark.

  “No. You were wrapped up in the mayor’s arms. Nikkie Jean was found outside. We think she was going to meet you at city hall. Do you remember anything?”

  “Yes. The building blew up around us or something. There was a man there with me. He had strong arms. And he kept talking to me, through the storm. Nice voice. He…got me out.”

  “It was Turner Barratt. The mayor. The two of you were together for the storm. How much of what happened do you remember?” a male voice asked.

  Annie looked past Izzie’s shoulder to see another familiar face. Dr. Jacobson leaned in the door—blocking it. Concern was on his handsome face. And irritation.

  No doubt he and Izzie had been snapping at each other. Izzie and Dr. Jacobson didn’t always get along.

  The return to normal was more reassuring than she would have expected. If Izzie and Dr. Jacobson were snipping at each other, the situation must not be that bad. The two were determined, dedicated professionals—they’d not act out when it was serious. No. If they were getting along, the medical situation was dire. She could deal with this, then. Even the pain.

  Annie looked at Dr. Jacobson.

  “I remember talking to the mayor, then the storm hit. And I was hurt. I don’t really remember getting out.”

  She remembered a deep male voice telling her that he had gotten help, that he would take care of her. That she would be ok, that he would always be there. Every time she’d opened her eyes, he had been there.

  Until all she could focus on was him.

  “Annie...do you remember Kevin Beck pulling you out?” Dr. Jacobson asked quietly. “He and Houghton Barratt got to you first.”

  “No. We were talking, and then the siren went off. The mayor had my hand, and we were running. We didn’t make it to the basement before the storm hit. We were in the hallway. How did we miss the storm was coming?”

  “Everyone missed it. It formed just south of the Barratt County line and was moving so fast, they barely had time to get the sirens activated,” Dr. Jacobson said. “Then it slowed down just as it approached the city. Slowed down and went from EF3 to EF5 right over us. And lingered. They’re calling it a freak storm. One-in-a-million odds.”

  “How badly is Nikkie Jean hurt?” Annie turned her head toward the third bed in the room. Nikkie Jean was there, her hair in two braids like she preferred, and a big man sleeping by her side. “Her baby? And why are you in a gown?”

  Worry shot through her. Nikkie Jean was in the first trimester of her pregnancy and had already been hospitalized once. And Izzie, sometimes she had a tendency to rush into situations where she shouldn’t. “How badly are you two hurt?”

  “I wasn’t hurt at all. Jacobson just likes seeing me in this getup.” Hostility was hard to miss. No surprise, Izzie really didn’t like Dr. Jacobson much. Annie suspected Izzie had transferred all of her animosity and fear to Allen Jacobson. As an outlet. “Iz...truth. Right now, missy.”

  “Asthma, Annie. That’s all. Jacobson and I were in the ER lobby when the storm hit. We were exposed to some dust particles and debris. But I’m ok. I’m mostly not fighting him so that I can have an excuse to stay with you and Nik. Otherwise, they’d probably kick me out. She’ll be fine, too. We think she just hit her head when she fainted. You actually took the worst of the damage, Dorothy.”

  “I remember hurting.” Terror. Terror that she wouldn’t survive to make it home to the boys, terror that something had happened to them, too. She didn’t live all that far from city hall.

  “You were pinned in the debris.” Izzie’s breath hiccupped. She would try to hide the tears, but Annie knew...

  She was just about all Izzie had. Her, Nikkie Jean, and Izzie’s uncle. Izzie didn’t have any other family. Not anyone. “The boys? Jake? Josie?” It surprised her that her sister wasn’t there, but she had an idea where Josie no doubt was. “Iz, my kids? Where exactly are they right now?”

  Two of the three people she most trusted with her children were right here in the room with her now. That left only her eighteen-year-old sister.

  “Are perfectly fine. Your house took some damage, but it can be fixed. Your sister and kids were at the neighbors’, in their basement. They are just fine,” Dr. Jacobson said, as he checked the bandage on her chest. And then he moved to her leg. “Do you remember how your leg was injured?”

  “No. I don’t. I remember it hurting, but not as much as my chest.” Dr. Jacobson listed the exact injuries and how long she would have to take it easy.

  Before she could say anything, a tall, handsome man with dark hair and blue eyes stepped inside the room. Her breath caught, seeing him again. All she had focused on was his voice, his face in the eerie blue glow of his cell phone. Seeing him in the bright light of day, in a room she’d been in hundreds of times, told her more than anything else that the storm had passed.

  “Mayor Barratt,” she said softly.

  “Hey, Annie Belle. Glad to see you’re awake. How do you feel?”

  Like she’d been impaled by a quarter-inch piece of metal that had narrowly missed piercing her lung. But, other than that…she’d live. She hadn’t asked, but she knew—other people hadn’t been so lucky. “Sore. Very sore. How badly were you injured?”

  “Just bumps and bruises. I have a hard head. Houghton tells me it’s my only redeeming quality.” He stepped closer. His hand wrapped around hers. Warm, reassuring, and familiar. Safety. “I’m glad to see you’re ok. You had me scared there.”

  “Scared me, too.” His voice was just as comforting as she remembered. Annie closed her eyes for a moment as memories assailed her. She’d honestly thought they were going to die in that rubble.

  “Turner, Annie really needs to rest,” Dr. Jacobson said. He patted her other hand, just over the IV, gently. “And so does Izzie.”

  Izzie was just as snippy as always when she turned toward him. “I’m good, Jacobson. I told you that.”

  “Too bad. In the bed, please.”

  Izzie glared. Annie fought a smile as she looked at her friend. Izzie always had been snippy when someone tried to tell her what to do. No doubt because Izzie was used to doing her own thing—and had been since about the age of eight, when her father had left, and her mother had sunk into herself for years.

  By the time Izzie’s mot
her had emerged from her shell, she had been ill with cancer. Izzie had had three months with her mother acknowledging Izzie existed before the woman had passed, leaving Izzie alone at fourteen, except for her twenty-six-year-old uncle, who’d had no idea how to deal with a grieving teenager who had basically raised herself.

  Jake and Izzie liked to say they’d raised each other after that.

  They’d survived. All of them had. She looked at Izzie again, pain meds making her head feel fuzzy. Her memories. “Are they with Josie? At home?”

  Izzie nodded. “As long as you need. Once I’m out of here, I can get to them, too.”

  “I…”

  Dr. Jacobson stepped closer and covered her hand with his. “It’ll be ok, Annie, I promise. We’ll see to it that everything is. Just rest, and let us take care of you.”

  Annie closed her eyes for a moment, fighting the pain meds she knew they’d given her. When she opened them again, it was Turner Barratt next to her bed. His hand was still wrapped around hers, even though he was sleeping lightly.

  There was another, larger man across the room, watching every breath Nikkie Jean took.

  They were going to be ok.

  She finally slipped back into sleep, conscious of Turner’s hand around hers. He’d promised he’d make it ok, and he had.

  She’d just get through today, then find her boys tomorrow.

  17

  He’d barely slept for three days. The hours he’d hidden out in Annie’s room had been the last reprieve he’d had. He and Marc Deane had taken a Barratt-Handley helicopter up to assess the damage as soon as the rain cleared. It was even worse, more impactful, from a bird’s-eye view.

  Turner would never forget the horror he’d seen from above.

  Whole houses had disintegrated. There was nothing left but splinters.

  His family was mostly ok. Powell had been in her office. She’d been cut by flying glass and had been hit by a two-by-four. Her cracked ribs and fractured arm were the worst injuries any in his family had taken. Her four brothers had carried her off to the family ranch for pampering and extra care for a few weeks.

  Clay had been found. His pretty little blond deputy—a woman Turner suspected Clay was in love with, though he was denying it—had been injured, but they were both alive.

  Current death toll was sitting at fifty-four. Fifty-four too many. But, by the grace of God, it wasn’t more than that.

  Yet.

  The majority of storm-related injuries were recorded in the first week or so after the storm, as people started searching through rubble for the pieces of their lives.

  Secondary deaths were coming; it was just a matter of time.

  It took Turner forty-four hours to make it to his own house near the outskirts of the city limits. He’d bought the property fifteen months ago and had hired a cousin’s construction company to remodel it.

  Now, the six-month-old roof lay next to the house in pieces. Some sheets of metal had peeled off the roof like tissue paper. One stuck up on top of his roof like it was giving the city behind it the middle finger. The entire third floor had water damage that would have to be repaired, but his house hadn’t been in the direct path of the storm. The damage was relatively minimal.

  His cousin Mac was already out there with his crew, getting tarps over the holes in the roof.

  Turner didn’t have it in himself now to even give a damn.

  Fifty-four people had died on his watch. Countless more were injured. A roof that he could replace with his own two hands if necessary didn’t matter in the least.

  With the roof off the house, he had no place to sleep for the moment. Turner didn’t even get out of his car. He just turned around and headed back to the Barratt hotel. He had a family suite there that he used only on holidays, when he didn’t want to leave his family long enough to go home. The Barratt was becoming the center of the action, anyway. That’s where he needed to be.

  He’d have to deal with people between him and his suite on the family floor, but it was a bed. He’d sleep and do it all over again in the morning.

  There were men pounding on the door to his suite at four a.m.

  Elliot Marshall and a dark-haired man who looked familiar, but Turner couldn’t place.

  The man held out his hand first. “Detective Jacob MacNamara. Nice to meet you.”

  “You, too.”

  “I wanted to say thanks for taking care of Annie Gaines during the storm. She’s…family.”

  “MacNamara? Are you Izzie’s brother?” The guy favored Izzie, that was for sure. Same dark hair and eyes, though he was built like a former linebacker. Or a brick wall. One who chewed nails for breakfast. He was a far cry from the pretty little fairy that was Izzie.

  “Uncle. But I raised her. I’ve known Annie since she was five or so. Practically raised her, too.” The man’s voice clogged up for a minute.

  “How is she doing?” Turner had wanted to go to her. More than anything, he wanted to. He wanted nothing more than to sit by her bed and just…talk. Reassure himself that she was going to be ok.

  He wasn’t too dense to realize he was suffering some trauma-related reactions now. He’d deal with them when he had the time. That time was definitely not now.

  “She’s awake. Sore. But they’ve had her out of the bed now and moving around a bit. I’m heading over there in a few hours to get Izzie after her shift ends.”

  “Iz doing ok? Last time I saw her, she was giving Dr. Jacobson fits.” But she was with Annie. And that meant information. Turner was genuinely concerned—he’d like to consider Izzie a friend, even if he didn’t know her all that well. “And her little chattery buddy was in the room with them.”

  He hated the thought of her being in the hospital all alone.

  “Izzie’s fine. Home and back to work within a day. Taking care of Annie, like always. Nikkie Jean is taking a few days off, then she’ll be back once she’s fully cleared by her doctors. They are taking good care of her.” MacNamara looked at the chief. “Let’s get down to business. We all know how valuable time can be.”

  Elliot didn’t argue. He got the sense the chief respected his detective. MacNamara had an air about him that said he’d seen a lot, done a lot, and wasn’t afraid of a lot.

  “So what’s going on?” It was more than just storm recovery that had brought the two men to him. Turner wasn’t an idiot. Something was going on.

  “Someone’s stealing from our resources. Someone on the inside,” Elliot stated bluntly. “We think it’s originating in your office, or in the city council. And we need to find them.”

  Dread tightened a band around his gut. “What do you mean?”

  “Supplies have disappeared. At first, we thought there was some tracking mix up. Until they hit the streets within hours, for an exorbitant price,” Elliot said. “Jake’s tracking the supply chain now, but it’ll take a while.”

  “And what makes you think it’s my people?” Sometimes humanity surprised him—and not always for the good. Turner wanted to believe the people of his city were banding together to help their neighbors—and most were. But there were some that were trying to profit right now.

  He’d already given a dozen PSA messages warning people not to fall for con men showing up with false claims for repairs. Or information—people’s private information could be damned valuable now. Turner had warned against everything he could think of.

  It was his job to protect his city.

  “Means and resources to pull it off. Everyone and every service is down. Especially while information is a bit harder to come by. Except the city officials. We’re all keeping dialed in,” Elliot said. “Whoever is doing this is three steps ahead of us. Well aware of where the TSP is, at all times. That tells me it’s someone with access. Cash to get things started, and a workforce of their own to carry things out. Possibly inside the TSP, as well. And the hospital. Utility companies.”

  MacNamara was a bit blunter. “And rumors are flying in that direction. Informants
have made it clear—this is coming from your office. Or someone damned close.”

  “That means my office or the council. Then we need to find the person responsible.” It was a no-brainer to Turner. But as the two men shared a significant glance, he knew it was more than that. “What is it?”

  “We found my two missing officers,” Elliot said. His tone was all that Turner needed to know that it wasn’t good. “Shot. Point-blank. The storm had nothing to do with it. They were dead long after the storm hit.”

  Turner bit back a curse, followed by nausea. He’d met a good deal of Elliot’s people in the last year. He may well have known the fallen officers. “How do you know it’s connected?”

  “Some of the missing insulin and prescription drugs were found in the trunk of their patrol car. Their fingerprints were all over it. But I don’t know that they unloaded the supply trucks willingly. There was blood splatter that shouldn’t have been there. Forensics are being handled by a temporary unit out of Wichita Falls. Anything they can’t handle we’re routing through Houston. That’s going to slow us down.”

  “How are we going to figure out who’s responsible for this?” It had gone well beyond just theft of resources and governmental corruption now.

  Murder.

  Dead cops.

  And it had happened on Turner’s watch.

  Now he had to fix it.

  18

  Turner went looking for information. His first stop was his deputy mayor. Carl Buchanan had been a good friend of Turner’s uncle for years. He’d also been active in city politics with no intention of leaving for state or federal politics at any point. He’d been encouraging Turner in his pursuits since Turner had been a young man of eighteen or nineteen. Carl and the previous mayor Richard had been Turner’s mentors as a teen. Carl still was.

  He also had the ability to read a person easily and see exactly what kind of person they were. Not to mention being a damned fine businessman, who’d built his career from the ground up. If anyone could help figure out who on the council was dirty pool, it would be Carl.