living in that I hadn’t realized it sooner?
“Did someone call Gram?” Jeremy asked. He was at the door, itching to go. Misty stood in the background with tears welling, and Christy had stopped texting.
“Jim’s picking her up,” Sandra said. Then, to me, “You okay to drive?”
“I am.”
“All right, the girls and I will take care of things here, then we’ll be along.”
I hugged my sister. I didn’t hug often, but it was called for. “Thanks, Sandra.” When we pulled apart, I saw Misty all wrapped up in Jeremy, whispering that she wouldn’t be far behind him.
Then the three of us headed out, jumping into Mason’s car without even thinking about it, because it was closest. As soon as we got to the end of my almost-private dirt road and took a right to head for the I-81 north ramp, instead of left toward I-81 south, Jeremy said, “Why are we going this way? The hospital’s—”
“They took him to Saint Joseph’s in Syracuse, Jere. It’s apparently the standard place to go for burns.”
He was looking at me like I’d just kicked him in the shins, and he opened his mouth to say something else, then glanced at his kid bro and bit his lip. He was growing up. Graduating high school in a few weeks. He swallowed what I told him and knew what it might mean. I could see that. “Just a precaution, I think. I mean, if you have burns, you want a burn unit, and that’s the closest one.”
“Yeah. Okay.”
But he was scared. Terrified.
And so was I.
* * *
Mason was hurting like hell and resenting the fact that they’d dragged his ass all the way to Syracuse when there were three perfectly great hospitals within a half hour of his home. And while they’d cleaned (excruciating) and dressed the burns on his left arm and shoulder, and doped him up with enough morphine to slow down a rhino, he was still in pain. Not just the arm, either. His chest hurt like hell. Every breath was torture. It felt like he had shredded glass lining his lungs.
And then he saw Rachel, behind Jeremy and Joshua, with an arm around each of them, and the pain took a backseat. She was all smudged with soot but still in that sexy red clingy dress she’d worn for their weekly date night. He’d been admiring it all night long. She was wearing a big phony mask of confidence and ease, but he could see the fear behind her baby-blue eyes.
Damn, he loved her eyes. Even when they’d been blind, they’d been beautiful.
“Uncle Mace!” Joshua broke into a run. Mason managed to lift his left arm out of the way before impact, wincing because it hurt to move the arm at all. He tousled the kids’ hair with his good hand. “I’m fine, Josh. Don’t worry, I’m fine.”
“I was so scared,” Josh said.
“I know. I’m sorry.”
“You’ve gotta be more careful, Uncle Mace. We need you.”
The kid meant every word. Mason looked over Josh’s head at Jeremy. “C’mere, you.”
Jeremy smiled and went to hug him, as well. “The nurses in the waiting room said you saved those two kids’ lives. Said you were a hero.”
“Yeah,” Rachel said, still standing back, giving them room. “She was all cow-eyed when she said it, too. If she didn’t have your life in her hands, I’d have to kick her ass just to establish my dominance.”
“I can’t help it if I’m irresistible to women,” Mason told her. “It runs in the family. Be forewarned, Jere.”
Jeremy grinned. “Yeah, I’m fighting them off all the time myself.”
“I’ll be sure to let Misty know,” Rachel said.
* * *
I leaned against the doorjamb and forcibly held back tears—relieved ones—while Mason continued to talk and tease and joke. Bit by bit the terror left the boys’ faces. God, he was good at that. How did he get to be such a pro? Was it because he was a cop, or because he was their uncle? I was damned if I knew. I had a ways to go to catch up, though. His mind-easing, reassuring abilities were damn near supernatural. Even with me.
Eventually I could tell the emotions were coming out whether I liked it or not, and I didn’t want to lose it in front of the boys, so I said, “I’m going to get food. We really need some junk food. I’ll be right back.” I started to leave, but when I reached for the door to open it, Mason’s partner, Rosie, was standing on the other side.
“Hey, buddy,” he said, eyeing Mason hard, assuring himself that he was all right. “I can’t leave you alone for a minute, can I?”
“Apparently not. Boys, I need a minute. Would you go out and see if your grandmother got here yet? She’s probably out in the waiting room giving the staff a hard time.”
“Yeah. But we’re coming right back,” Jeremy said. He took Josh by the arm. “C’mon. We’ll scope out the cafeteria while we’re at it.” He sent Rachel a very grown-up look. “We’ll get the junk food, Rache. You can hang here.”
The boys left. I didn’t. I was eyeing Rosie, then Mason, then Rosie again, and my NFP (for Not Fucking Psychic, because whatever I had, it wasn’t that simple) was heating up to a slow simmer. “What?” I asked. “What’s going on? I can see something is.”
Rosie gave himself a shake. “I’ll never get over that shit. Yes, something’s goin’ on. That fire is goin’ on. You saved the kids, Mason, but their mother didn’t make it. And it was arson.”
* * *
Peter’s wife was dead, according to the TV news. Police were investigating the fire, which had been ruled arson only hours after the flames were doused. Then again, hiding that fact hadn’t been her goal.
The kids had survived, which defeated part of her purpose, but she supposed the lesson had been delivered all the same. Peter would think twice before he treated her like garbage again. Like some disposable toy he could use and then throw away. He would make her his top priority or else. And he had to know that now.
She’d warned him. She’d warned him. But he was just like the rest.
She picked up the remote to turn her little 27-inch flat-screen television off, but then they flashed a picture that brought her to a stop. It was a man, on his knees on the front steps of the burning house, one of her lover’s kids in each arm. His clothes were charred, and so was he. The caption read Hero Cop Saves Children. The reporter was running her mouth. Gretchen Young turned up the volume and sank onto the love seat—her apartment didn’t have room for a full-sized couch.
“This tragic arson, resulting in the death of thirty-six-year-old mother of two Rebecca Rouse could have been an even bigger tragedy had it not been for the actions of off-duty homicide detective Mason Brown. Brown, a decorated member of the Binghamton Police Department, was off duty when he saw the fire and rushed inside to rescue Rouse’s children, ages three and eight. Detective Brown has been in the news before, most notably for solving our city’s first-ever serial killings last year and, more recently, for arresting
