Rescued By The Firefighter

This time, she turned away from the dining tables and headed toward the door. Walking in her boot slowed her down enough that she could read the caller ID.

It was the same number that had tried to reach her previously.

Still looking down at her phone, she reached for the screen door to the outside porch. “Who in the heck is calling me?”

Then she ran smack-dab into a broad, rock-hard human chest. Beatrice wondered if she’d suffered a concussion. Not another trip to the ER! And what would that cost? “What?”

“I called,” Rand said. “You didn’t pick up.”

“I didn’t know it was you.”

“I gave you my card.”

“When?”

“Last night. Er, this morning. In the hospital.”

“Sorry. I was drugged. I mean, medicated.”

“I see that. We’re here about the investigation.”

Beatrice’s skin iced over as if the contents of her boot had thrown over her whole body.

She tried to remember that he was responsible for saving her, and Eli and Chris. He was handsome. And strong and heroic.

But Rand stood like a colossus in front of her, and at this moment he represented every fear that had festered in her head from the instant she’d smelled smoke. Her earlier resolve to go toe-to-toe with him faltered.

Ultimately, she was responsible for Eli and Chris being in that fire last night. Their safety was her obligation. She’d put them in harm’s way. Would Rand report to his superiors that the camp was unsafe? That she, personally, was at fault for the kids being out by themselves?

If Rand found one fault and declared her camp unsafe, the sheriff could shut her down, send the kids away and force her to make improvements. Not until a city inspector deemed the camp safe again, could she open. If Rand or his superiors declared her negligent, her state license could be revoked. She would lose more money than she could ever recoup.

And Beatrice’s dreams would be lost, too.

The fact that everyone was safe and alive didn’t matter, she realized. Rand was here to find fault. From the dour look on his face, she guessed that he believed she should be toe-tagged with the blame card.

CHAPTER SIX (#u059e642b-8be6-52fd-9d9f-0953725a7dc4)

“YOU’RE READY TO START?” she asked, her mouth suddenly dry. She forced a smile that she was sure would crack her lips. She just hoped she didn’t bleed in front of him.

“Yes. The forensic team is already on the job.”

She tried to peer around him, but his shoulders nearly blocked the entire entrance and all of her view of the outside. “Okay—”

He didn’t let her finish. “Since that—” he tilted his head to indicate the fire site across the street “—is county property, this is just a courtesy to let you know we’re here.”

Her sigh of relief was instantaneous. He wouldn’t be investigating the camp. She was off the hook.

“However...”

She held her breath. She should have known she wouldn’t escape this man’s scrupulous and discerning eye. “Yes?” She lifted her chin defensively. She was ready for him. She had nothing to hide.

That I know about.

She thought of the previous night with Eli and Chris, all their infractions and possible broken laws huddled together like balls inside a pool-table rack, waiting to be broken apart. Dispelled. And sunk.

Beatrice’s best defense was honesty. “I intend to cooperate in any way I can.”

“I should hope so,” he said brusquely. “After all, we’re here to ascertain if a crime has been committed.”

“A crime?” Beatrice nearly lost her balance. She slammed her palm against the wall for support. “Sorry. I’m not used to the air boot.”

His eyes flitted down to her foot and then back up.

Oddly, she didn’t recoil from his glance at her camp shorts and T-shirt. When his eyes met hers, she could have sworn she saw empathy in them.

“I’ll need to interview you, your staff, the two kids...” He lifted a notebook. “Chris and Eli.” He lowered his hand. “I trust they’re all here now?”

“They are. And Officer Nelson, I’d rather you didn’t talk to Chris or Eli in the dining hall. I don’t want to disturb the other kids. You can use my office.”

“That would be good.” He stepped back from the entrance, put the slim notebook in the back pocket of his jeans and smiled at her with a quirk of his lips. “Uh, and Bee. I’m not an officer. My father was a navy officer, an admiral, actually. I’m a firefighter. You can call me Rand.”

Beatrice’s head hitched back as if she’d been doused with a bucketful of water. She wished he wouldn’t call her that. No one had called her “Bee” since she was little. Coming from Rand, she’d never heard it said with so much velvety charm.

And where had that come from? Rand had been stoic and strong and purposeful during the fire, when he’d saved her and the boys. His gruff exterior only a second ago had caused her to believe he was as rough as sandpaper on the inside as well. But this sudden glimpse of something else—someone else—was unexpected.

But was it real?

He stepped outside. “I’ll get my recorder and be right back.”

“Recorder?”

“Yeah. I tape the interviews for the captain’s records. It will go with all the other forensic samples.”

Beatrice wrung her hands as the depth of his investigation hit her. She looked at her hands and shoved them to her sides. She wasn’t the hand-wringing type. She’d just risked her life for her camper kids. She’d do it again. No second thoughts.

But what if Rand’s investigation exposed some nuance of neglect? Just how far would he go to fulfill his duties as a firefighter?

“Maybe you should tell me what exactly you’re looking for?” she challenged, raising her arms to cross over her chest. Armor to deflect the threat he posed.

“Noncompliance with safety regulations.” He raised an eyebrow. “Unfortunately, it’s all too common. I’ve even seen day-care owners who posed as caretakers but in truth were anything but.”

“And you think I’m capable of such behavior?”

He stared at her.

“Why would I—or anyone—do such a thing? They’re...children, for goodness sake.”

“Money. Government funds. Grants.”