Smoke Season

CHAPTER 20

July 12

6:00 a.m.

Thirty-six hours after the spark that ignited the Flatiron Fire set the week on an entirely new trajectory, True woke to a radio report citing that the blaze still raged at under 20 percent containment, with weather that continued to defy normal heat and humidity levels.

Just rain already, she thought fervently, rising from her Paco Pad next to Astor in the Eddy office to peer out through the gloom of the deck. They’d been too exhausted last night to even make their way to Sam’s apartment upstairs. The events of the evening came back to her like a bad dream. Fallows, threatening them. Sam ... God, the look of suspicion on Sam’s face, the potential for outright disappointment waiting in the wings behind it, had cast her right back to the bank of the Outlaw, seeing that same expression on Vivian. Was she destined to let down everyone she cared about in the same twenty-four hours? If so, she guessed she could count on wronging Mel next.

Which had her staring out in the direction of the river corridor again, trying to read the weather. Was it a trick of the low, hazy light, or had the sky grown overcast somewhere above the smoke? Rain could be a blessing, but it could also come with lightning, and more lightning was the last thing Carbon needed right now.

She’d promised Astor her famous river pancakes, complete with Nutella, so she returned to the kitchen to hunt up ingredients, determined to stay in the good graces of at least one Bishop, trying hard not to think about making these for Emmett and Vivian just days before. She’d volunteered to stay over with Astor because she loved the kid and wanted to help Sam and Mel, but also because she’d dreaded the idea of being left alone to ruminate on what couldn’t be.

She’d just dumped the Bisquick into a bowl when the Eddy door creaked open, the unexpected intrusion causing the box to slip from her fingers. Pancake powder puffed in a cloud around her face.

“It’s just me.”

“Shit. Mel. You scared me.”

But the fear only settled in more adamantly when True turned to face her. Mel had bad news. She just knew it. “What?”

“I just came from my morning briefing. As the Flatiron Fire spreads, it looks like it’s heading south by southwest, as I feared, which means—”

“The Outlaw,” True supplied in a resigned whisper, the name of her beloved river tight in her throat. “God, Mel, it’s bad enough for the river road to close, but if firefighters are actively—”

“I know,” Mel hissed. “I know.” Her voice was even tighter than True’s, maybe even close to tears. The stress was consuming both of them, and Mel probably wouldn’t admit it, but the loss of Sam’s trust had to be eating away at her, too.

True rounded the corner of the bar to place her hands on Mel’s shoulders. She was back in fresh yellows, the heavy fabric rough under True’s palms. “Just breathe. We’ll think of a plan.”

Mel shook her head wildly. “You heard Fallows.” She mimicked his crude drawl. “There is no Plan B.” She looked up at True. “If the ammo box fails to show, we’ll never see this last payoff needed to keep Annie current with her meds. She needs refills as it is.”

Closure or no closure, fire or no fire, True would not let that scenario come to pass. Even if her hands were as tied as everyone else’s. “Then we’ll come up with a Plan B of our own.”

“I don’t see how.”

“If the fire’s actively threatening the river corridor, maybe I can get a rapid tag for my place. Access the river that way.” The county-issued tags allowed evacuated homeowners back onto restricted roads and property to retrieve possessions and assess damage. Of course—

“You know those are only for use after a fire,” Mel said, shaking her head again. “Not to go into one.”

True laid her eyes on Mel unflinchingly as she repeated herself. “Still. Maybe I can get a rapid tag now .”

Mel stared back at her, her expression uncomprehending. Was her sense of protocol so entrenched she couldn’t make the leap? When comprehension did dawn, Mel didn’t look pleased. “I can’t possibly,” she snapped. “It’s a danger to you, True.” She swallowed. “There has to be another way.”

If there was, True sure as hell didn’t see it. Even when Mel left again for the station after rousing Astor to say good morning, True couldn’t figure any other way to get to Temple Bar to retrieve the ammo box before the fire—or anyone else for that matter—beat her to it. She called Sam to assure him all was well, got an update on Annie—holding steady, though last night was touch and go—and settled Astor in front of Jurassic Park , the only DVD stuck in Sam’s ancient office TV/DVD combo. She set back to work on the pancakes, her mind still churning through—and discarding—options. She was busy beating the batter within an inch of its life when she heard Astor’s voice rising over the sound of the TV in the office. A sound of surprise, followed by the quieter murmuring of conversation.

Had Mel returned? Maybe she’d rethought the rapid tag.

True dropped the first batch of pancakes on the griddle and hurried to the office, her heart already warming to the thought. Instead, the sight that met her at the doorway made her blood run cold.

John Fallows, in the flesh. But all True could focus on was the fact that he was touching Astor’s flesh, his arms encircling her as he playfully covered her eyes as a raptor attack played out on the TV.

“Get the hell away from her!”

Though forceful, True’s voice sounded oddly distant to her ears. Detached from her body somehow. Her limbs were stiff, too, like she suddenly couldn’t move. But she would, oh yes she would, if she had to. When she had to.

“Tsk, tsk. You’ll scare the girl,” Fallows drawled.

But Astor was already scared. Astor, whom True had taught to sit tall and take no prisoners, had shrunken in on herself, shoulders curled forward as if to put as many inches between her body and this man’s—this adult man’s—as she could.

True’s sudden presence seemed to give Astor the permission she’d been waiting for. She shrugged out from Fallows’s arms with a little yelp of relief, then scurried over to press herself against True’s side as though she hoped to infuse herself there.

Oh, Astor. True put an arm around her but didn’t take her eyes off Fallows. “What do you think you’re doing? How did you get in here?”

She wasn’t sure which question she wanted answered first, but it didn’t matter; Fallows was in no hurry to fill her in. He barely turned his gaze from the TV as the raptor attack faded out. “Honey. Like I was telling Mini-Mel here, Uncle John just wanted to check in.”

“Is he really my uncle?” Astor asked in a whisper from under True’s armpit.

True’s gaze remained laser-focused on Fallows. “No. He’s nothing to you.”

“Semantics,” Fallows chuckled; then he coughed. From the kitchen, a strong smell of burning hit True’s nose, accompanied by a waft of smoke.

The pancakes.

As if cued to action, the shriek of the smoke detector sounded from the hallway.

“I’ll go,” Astor said instantly, already turning heel and sprinting for the kitchen. True knew she knew the drill, thanks to hours at the grill with her dad. Turn off the burner, grab a dishcloth, and start fanning the smoke for all she was worth.

Which left True alone with Fallows. “I already told you everything I know last night,” she shouted over the incessant sound of the alarm. “So I’ll only ask you one more time. Why are you here?”

Fallows smiled, displaying a mouthful of dental neglect. “Because I can be.” He rose and crossed the room, not stopping until he stood just inches from True’s face. It took everything in her to resist being the one to step back and concede space. Even when Fallows leaned in and whispered in her ear, his lips brushing her lobe, she stood her ground, feet planted. “I can be anywhere I want to be. At any time. Here. At your cute little abode on the river.” He jutted his chin back toward the Paco Pad, where Astor had settled in to watch the movie minutes before. “Even in a Bishop baby’s sleeping bag.”

“You fucker, I’ll—”

“True!” a new voice called out over the continued wail of the stubborn smoke-detector alarm, accompanied by a pounding at the front Eddy door. “Sam? Anyone in there?”

Kim. She’d probably heard the alarm from her place next door.

“Right in here!” True yelled, with some relish, right in Fallows’s face.

He finally took a step back. From the kitchen, she heard a few harried words between Kim and Astor, and the alarm went abruptly silent.

Knowing that Kim was now at Astor’s side gave True a boost of confidence. “I will call the cops—”

He laughed, the sound mean and tight. “No, you won’t.”

Confidence dashed. “I’ll get your damned money,” she whispered.

“Bingo.” He tapped her nose with one finger, none too softly, either. “You catch on pretty quick for washed-up river trash.”

True didn’t have time to react before Kim was in the doorway, brow furrowed, the scowl on her face punctuating her deep dislike of Fallows. “What’s going on here? Astor said something was wrong.” With one arm, she barred Astor entry back into the office. “No, hon, you stay back.”

Fallows finally slunk around True, patting Astor on the head as he slipped through the door. Kim pulled her back to give him a wide berth.

“Keep your panties on, ladies. I was just leaving.”

Ten minutes later, the griddle still smoldering, the remaining pancake mix now concrete in the bowl, the image of Fallows looming over Astor still played across True’s brain.

“I’m okay,” Astor promised for the third time. “Pinkie swear.” Her proud chin tilt was back, an encouraging sign. “I’m tough, like you.”

“I know you are.” True looked her goddaughter in the eye. “But, Astor, you shouldn’t always have to be.” And neither should she, fear and guilt for having left Astor alone for even a second, susceptible to being cornered by Fallows, notwithstanding.

Astor considered this. “Well, I know how to turn off the smoke alarm, but this time I decided it was maybe juuust too high for me to reach,” she added slyly, with a trace of ego.

True laughed shakily, despite herself. “You clever girl, you.”

As soon as enough of the fear and adrenaline had drained from her body for righteous anger to set in, she called Mel from the smoky Eddy deck.

“I still think the rapid-tag idea is too risky,” Mel said immediately upon picking up.

True didn’t waste time arguing with her. “Fallows was here,” she told her. “He threatened Astor.”

Mel’s tone shifted in an instant, the effect reminding True of a false bottom suddenly falling out of a floor. “ What? Did he hurt her? Is she all right?”

“She’s all right, but Mel?” True waited until she had her full attention. “This is bigger than just getting paid for the delivery now. It’s even bigger than helping Annie. We have to protect both the girls. And to do that, it’s time to go on the offensive.”

“What is that supposed to mean?”

“Just that we stop reacting to every move Fallows makes, and start making a few ourselves.”

Silence stretched on the other end of the line for what felt like a full ten seconds before Mel said in a rush, “I left a rapid tag under the napkin dispensers by the cash register. It was supposed to be just in case.”

But True was already on the hunt, tilting dispensers until she felt the hard cardstock of the tag beneath her fingers. “I got this, Mel. I’ll get the ammo box, and I’ll get Fallows off our backs.”

And away from anyone with the last name of Bishop.