making his way to the third floor, Drake went in and greeted the elderly secretary, who had been the smiling face of this office for the past forty years. No matter the mayor, Betty May Allen was the right-hand woman. That woman probably held more secrets than the Pentagon.
“Chief St. John.” She beamed, sliding down her reading glasses to dangle off the pearl chain. “What can I do for you?”
“Is he in?” Drake asked, nodding toward the closed door.
With the frosted glass and large block lettering, Drake couldn’t see.
“He is. You don’t have an appointment, do you?” she asked.
“No. I’ll just be a minute if he’s free.”
Betty May slid from behind her L-shaped desk and walked to the door, easing it open a crack. Her silver hair bounced as she nodded and spoke, but he couldn’t make out what she was saying.
Turning with her signature smile, Betty May gestured as she opened the door wider. “Go on in, Chief.”
“Thank you, ma’am.”
Drake closed the door behind him as he took in the overweight, half bald, half comb-over man behind the large mahogany desk. The man looked every bit the part of a small-town mayor. Too bad he didn’t play the part like one.
“What can I do for one of my city’s finest workers?” Mayor Tipton asked, easing back in his chair hard enough to cause very questionable creaks.
Was it too much to hope the jerk would tip the chair too far and fall backward?
Gripping the back of the leather chair across from the desk, Drake leveled the man’s gaze, refusing to return the smarmy smile. “How’s the budget looking? Are we going to be able to bring my men back on board?”
Tipton blinked. “The budget meeting is tomorrow.”
Drake never did like a man who couldn’t just answer a question straight-out. And he’d certainly never liked this lazy, selfish mayor. He hadn’t voted for the man, and he sure as hell hated working under him.
“I’m sure you have some idea,” Drake said, clenching the chair and trying to rein in his patience, as he had for several months now. “My department is suffering, and because of that we were shorthanded on the fire at the Adkins’ residence on Sunday.”
“Yes, I heard all about that.” Mayor Tipton leaned forward, propping his flabby forearms on his cluttered desk. “I was told the young boy was severely injured.”
Drake swallowed the bitter truth as images of that boy lying beside his bed as flames licked all around his room consumed him. Drake had dragged the unconscious boy out, praying the entire time that he hadn’t been too late.
“The city simply doesn’t have the extra money,” the mayor was saying. “We had to cut somewhere, and unfortunately your department was one of the areas.”
Fury bubbled within him, and Drake knew if he didn’t leave he’d say something that may get him suspended. But he also wasn’t going to back down, not when he had dependable men who needed the income, not to mention men that worked harder in one shift than this mayor did in an entire year.
“Did you happen to look at cutting your own income? Or maybe the new landscaping in the park? How about those new streetlights that just went up around Main Street? None of that was ever considered? That little boy’s injuries lie directly on your head, not mine. I did my job... Can you say the same?”
Drake didn’t stop when the mayor pushed his pudgy frame away from the desk and stood. In fact, the idea of the mayor gearing up for the argument was rather amusing and fueled Drake even more. He was definitely teetering on a thin line here.
“Oh, I see where you’re coming from,” Drake said in his most condescending tone. Sarcasm had always been a strong suit for him and his brothers. “Why pay honest, hardworking men when we can make things pretty? I see that logic. Best to put lives in danger so we can have purple pansies and lantern-style streetlights.”
“You better watch yourself, Chief.” The mayor’s face was slowly turning red, his gobbler neck wiggling back and forth when he spoke. “You always were a smart-mouthed hellion.”
Ah, yes. The infamous St. John reputation he and his brothers had had to overcome in order to rise to their rankings in this small town.
Drake didn’t care if his character came into play here. He knew he was right and the mayor was flat-out wrong. Drake also didn’t care if Tipton got angry. Angry didn’t even cover what Drake felt when he thought of the moment he’d had to tell three of his men that they were no longer needed.
“A young boy is lying in the hospital with second-and third-degree burns to his arm and torso,” Drake went on, the image alone adding fuel to his anger. “We would’ve been able to get to him faster had all regular responders been available. We’re shorthanded, Mayor, and it’s time you realized just how dangerous those cuts have become. The guys left on staff are working overtime, and it’s not safe for them or the public to have them so exhausted.”
“I sympathize for the boy. The accident was tragic, but I am not to blame here. I have a job, just like you. I suggest you focus on that.”
A whole new level of rage slid through him. “Are you suggesting I didn’t do my job?”
With a slight shrug, the mayor merely stared across the desk.
Yeah, if he didn’t leave, Drake would get fired...at the very least, because the urge to punch the guy in the face was too strong. Fortunately Drake had self-control and actually cared about protecting the people in this town. That right there proved he’d overcome his rebellious days. Once upon a time Drake and his brothers would punch first and discuss later.
“One way or another, my men will come back to work,” Drake assured him. “Your term is almost up. Then we’ll see who really cares about the safety of the citizens.”
“Are you threatening me?”
With a slow grin, Drake raised his hands, palms out. “Just stating a fact. The voters will take care of you.”
And with that he walked out, nodding to Betty May, who was wide-eyed, no doubt hearing the heated encounter—not Drake’s first with the mayor, but perhaps the most hate filled.
Drake marched all the way back to his truck and slammed the door. Damn it. He had to figure out a way to get the city to allow him to hire his men back on. The men who were currently working were maxed out. They were tired and all feeling the extra stress...not good when lives were on the line every single day.
Drake clenched the steering wheel and stared out the windshield toward the old fountain in the distance at the park.
Andrea had loved that fountain. Had always said if she got married she’d do it there in the summer with all the beauty of the tall old oaks surrounding her.
Drake had every intention of giving her that dream. He’d had every intention of giving her everything she’d ever wanted.
But that dream had died in a fiery crash.
Starting the engine, Drake forced out
