Montana Fire (5 page)

*     *     *

Jamie drove toward the clinic the next morning, feeling almost like her old self.
Zoey’s words had made a big impact on her. Jamie liked the idea of doing something
proactive, whether it be taking gun lessons, asking for a different shift, or even
finding a new job.

All positive thoughts about having a lot of options disappeared the moment she caught
sight of the travesty in front of her. Dear God. Her throat nearly closed. Not only
were local law enforcement vehicles blocking the path to the vacant parking lot, the
horror of the mostly collapsed warehouse had her heart slamming against her ribs so
hard she almost lost her grip on the wheel.

She rolled down her window to draw in more air, but not only did the cold fail to
relieve the sludge in her veins, the heavy scent of the fire made her gag. Stunned
by the shambles, she shut the window.

Reality pierced her brain. The burned out shell of a building was where she believed
Jonathan lived.
Oh, my God!

Quickly nabbing one of the prime spaces in front of the clinic, instead of waiting
to be diverted to a new lot, she jerked the car to a stop and jumped out. Leaving
her food purchases in the car, she ran down the sidewalk. Cop cars, a CSU van, as
well as an assortment of other vehicles, were spread out everywhere.

Where was her friend? Jamie frantically searched for Jonathan, and prayed he had the
sense to find other shelter once the blaze started. As she glanced across the street,
she spotted Larry and sighed. Thank God, he was safe. He might know where to find
Jonathan.

Swallowing the ebbing panic, Jamie rushed across the street, holding her hand over
her nose to keep the stench from entering.

“Larry. Have you see Jonathan?”

He looked up from the sidewalk with bloodshot eyes and shook his head. A giant claw
of worry ripped a hole in her gut.

“It be bad, missy. Real bad.”

Her stomach contracted as his ominous words found their mark deep inside her. Maybe
he was talking about the state of the building and not about her good friend.

“What about Jonathan?” Blood pounded in her ears.

Larry wove his gnarled fingers together and refused to look at her. Then he shrugged.
“Ambulance came for him last night.”

She prayed Larry knew the difference between an ambulance and a coroner’s van. “He
isn’t…dead, is he?” The word
dead
wedged in her tight throat.

“Tall man talked to him.”

Tall man? Did he mean Max? “Did you see the blaze?”

He nodded. She waited for him to say he’d tried to help his friend or that he found
someone to call 911, but she didn’t want to push him. Larry often shut down when she
asked him too many questions.

Jamie wanted to rush to the scene to find out about Jonathan’s condition, but Larry
probably needed her kindness more. Jonathan was his friend, too. “I’ll be right back.”

She jogged to her car, grabbed the snack bags with the fast food, and returned. She
set the food next to him. “You might as well eat Jonathan’s share. I’ll see what I
can find out and let you know. You take care now, you hear?”

“Yes, missy.”

Larry refused to call her Jamie. He said it wouldn’t be a sign of respect to use her
first name.

She jetted back across the street, dodging the rubberneckers, and headed toward the
carnage. A good head taller than the short squat man next to him, Max Gruden was easy
to spot. He’d have the information she needed.

As she approached the yellow crime scene tape, a cop materialized as if out of thin
air. “I’m sorry, ma’am. No one is allowed any closer.”

Desperation flooded her system. Even if she explained she was a friend of the man
who’d been burned in the fire, the cop would have no reason to let her speak with
Max. Jamie had been raised never to lie, but desperate times called for desperate
measures. “I need to speak with Max Gruden. He’s my boyfriend.”

*     *     *

Trent strode up to Max. “Your
girlfriend
has asked to speak with you.” He nodded toward Jamie.

“My what?” Max must not have heard Trent correctly.

He and Jamie had gotten along really well at the wedding until he started to preach
to her about how thinking like a victim would hinder her ability to heal. Like she
needed a lecture from him? Jesus. He’d been such a jerk. And she’d told him, too.

“Your dance partner over there tried to convince poor Bernard that she had to speak
with you about something.” Trent chuckled. “From the way she avoided you after dinner,
I’m guessing she’s exaggerating about your blossoming relationship.”

Max glanced over at her. Blonde hair whipping around her face, Jamie stood there with
her hands clenched. With the way she was shifting her weight from foot to foot, she
had something important to tell him. “I’ll speak with her.”

As he took a step to face her, his left knee and thigh sent out a stabbing ache from
where he’d landed after the blast, and he worked hard to suppress a groan.

“I can get rid of her if you want,” Trent offered. The detective must have misinterpreted
his grimace.

“I got this. I’ll chat with her over there.” It was a mud bath where they stood.

Not only did he want to know what she had to say, he wanted to make sure she was okay.
Trent had told him about the clinic break-in last night.

Max recalled his last conversation with her. After an enjoyable meal with the rest
of the wedding party, he and Jamie had gone for a short walk. While they were chatting
outside the owner’s farmhouse, he’d come at her with some very sensitive questions
about her plans to get her life on track. No surprise, Jamie immediately retreated
into her shell. He never should have pushed her so hard.
Stupid, stupid.
His dating skills really needed work.

He turned to Rich. “I’ll be right back.”

Walking toward her, Max couldn’t help but notice how her jacket was several sizes
too big. For a split second, he was tempted to drag her to breakfast just to make
sure she had a good meal, but she’d accuse him of pity, and he of all people knew
about that emotion.

When he neared, she planted her hands on her hips as if she was pissed that Bernard
hadn’t allowed her to cross the yellow crime scene tape. There was a reason for it
being there. Not only might the soles of her nursing shoes suffer some damage walking
over the occasional hot ember, crime scenes were off limits to civilians. If they
weren’t, there’d be no need for the tape.

“Jamie? Nice to hear I’m your boyfriend. I guess you’ve forgiven me for my attempt
to push my values on you.” He hoped she took his comment as a quasi-apology. When
her serious expression didn’t change, he smiled to help put her at ease.

She pressed her lips together. “I’m sorry about lying. I had to make sure I could
speak with you.”

Her desperate tone sobered him. “I’m listening.”

“I want to know about Jonathan Rambler.” Her gaze bored into him as if she were trying
to extract all of the information in his head.

The name wasn’t familiar. “And he would be?”

Her eyes widened, and he thought he caught a glimpse of hope. “He was the homeless
man who often sits on the steps in front of this building. Larry said he was the one
burned in the fire.”

Larry? He could be the vagrant from across the street Max had seen this morning. “Is
Jonathan a friend of yours?” He hoped he wasn’t someone more important.

After finding an old mattress, some cans, and a heap of old clothes stashed in the
building, the burned victim appeared to be homeless. Given her caregiver nature, Max
wouldn’t be surprised if she’d become friends with the man on her way to and from
work.

“Yes.”

“Then you know he
lived
in this abandoned warehouse?” Max was fishing for confirmation, but she didn’t have
to know that.

“I suspected.” Her slight hesitation implied she’d never been a guest inside Jonathan’s
humble abode.

Max saw no harm in telling her what she wanted to know. All she had to do was go to
the hospital and find out for herself. “I’m still investigating, so I’m not at liberty
to divulge all the details, but from what I can tell, your friend, Jonathan, was asleep
when the building caught fire. By the time the flames reached his side, a piece of
burning wall fell and landed on him.”

She clamped a hand over her mouth and squeezed her eyes shut. Empathy seemed to ooze
out of her and he fought the urge to comfort her.

She straightened her small shoulders, appearing to get her emotions under control.
“Did he say anything? Like why he didn’t get out of the building?”

People often burned in their beds—especially if they were drunk—but now wasn’t the
time to give her a lecture about alcohol abuse. “No. He was in shock when the fireman
brought him out.”

She planted a hand over her heart. “Did they intubate him?”

“I didn’t stay long enough to see, but given the amount of smoke, I imagine they would.”

Jamie bit down on her bottom lip, looking quite young. “I need to see him. He might
be stable now.” She tilted her head a little before turning to walk away.

From her clenched hands, she was barely keeping it together. “Jamie?”

She stopped and slowly rotated around. “Yes?”

“Are you going to be okay? I’m really sorry about your friend.”

“I will be.”

Max had to warn her. “I’m not saying it was arson, but if someone was pissed enough
to burn down the warehouse they won’t take kindly to you asking too many questions,
you know.”

She strode back to him, her eyes wide once more. “I just want to help.”

“I know you do. And you can. If you speak with Jonathan, and he tells you something
about the fire, can you let me know?”

Jamie cast her gaze downward. “Sure. I won’t get in the way. I promise.”

She turned and headed back to the road. He felt sorry for her. She had two shocks
in one day. Not only might her friend die, the clinic break-in would have rattled
the strongest person. If the perpetrators had waited another minute until she was
farther from work, they might have caught her. Steel hardened his body at the frightening
thought. He wanted to reach out to her, but he wouldn’t yet. Not until he was sure
it wouldn’t cause a bigger chasm between them.

Tired and frustrated, Max strode back to the fire, more determined than ever to find
clues that would locate the perpetrator.

Chapter Four

A
s Jamie made her way back to the sidewalk, her head swam. The best explanation for
why Jonathan hadn’t roused would be if he’d been drunk. But when she’d left each night
and passed him, she’d never seen him with any kind of alcohol. Larry, however, was
a different story. It was possible the two had shared a bottle. Regardless of Jonathan’s
condition, her heart ached for her friend.

Too confused to think straight, she headed over to tell Larry what she’d learned,
and to ask if Jonathan had been drinking. When she stopped to cross the street, she
searched for Larry. Damn. He was gone. Again. Seemed anytime there was trouble, the
guy vanished.

Talk about vanishing—that was what she needed to do. Her boss was an understanding
lady, who no doubt had seen, or at least smelled, the terrible fire three blocks away.
After Jamie had practically staved off the break-in at the clinic last night, she
bet Yolanda would grant her an hour to visit Jonathan.

Jamie stepped inside the clinic and wrinkled her nose at the pervasive scent of smoke.
For the sake of the patients, she hoped the air filters would do their job soon. Given
half the seats were already occupied, it was going to be a busy day. Some of the people
were regulars, but others were new to her. She visually scanned the condition of those
present to make sure Admitting hadn’t missed someone in serious need of aid. No one
appeared to be in dire pain, so Jamie headed into the back to look for her supervisor.

Yolanda Withers was in the hallway checking an X-ray. While Jamie didn’t want to ask
for the favor, she had no idea how long Jonathan might last. If she’d been in a bad
fire and woke up in a hospital, the depression would surely add to her anxiety. From
the few things Jonathan had told her about his war experience, being in a small room
brought out his PTSD. At least, he’d be blissfully unaware while he was intubated.