LITMIR.BIZ

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shook his head. “My days of six-pack abs and bulging biceps are over, I’m afraid. No one wants to see this out there.” Rubbing his large stomach, he shuddered.

      “That’s the truth,” Mark called from his post, where he secured the blood pressure cuff around Mrs. Norris’s arm.

      The older woman, the owner of Ginger Snaps, the bakery on Main Street, shot Chief Clarke a look that suggested he was past his prime, though Bailey suspected Ginger Norris was at least ten years his senior.

      “You looking to get assigned nightshift duty, Adams?” Ken warned.

      “You can’t. I’ve had nights for three weeks now. Tonight is my first one off and the beginning of a rotation of days.” Mark removed the cuff and recorded the reading on a wallet card for Ginger. He handed it to her and accepted her hug, before gathering her purse and jacket for her.

      “Are you sure about that?” Ken asked, checking the rotation schedule on the pegboard behind him, which was covered with pictures of his grandchildren. To say he was a proud grandfather would be an understatement.

      “Positive.”

      “Darn,” Ken muttered. “Well, that doesn’t prevent me from putting you on bathroom duties.”

      “You already put Craig on bathroom duty for pouring salt in the sugar dish in the lunchroom last week, remember?”

      Bailey watched the scene with unconcealed amusement. The men were always pulling pranks on each other at the fire hall and Ken was often on the receiving end. It was all in good fun and the guys knew they’d pay for it with extra shifts or unwanted responsibilities. Injecting some fun into their routine helped to break up the monotony of quiet days and ease tension whenever there was a real emergency.

      “Anyway, I’m not here to check out the guys,” Bailey said, though it was an added bonus. “I’m here to check on truck number two.” The ladder engine was rarely used, causing the hydraulic fluid lines to clog and making it untrustworthy in the event of an emergency. While most buildings in Brookhollow were no more than two stories high, some of the newer structures in the downtown business sector were four stories or more.

      “Great timing. The hydraulic motor didn’t work last week during a routine test.” He motioned behind her. “There’s Ethan. Get him to show you the problem with the rotating gear on the motor.”

      Bailey held her breath as she turned to face her best friend. He was in full uniform, on clinic duty. She wasn’t sure whether to feel relieved or disappointed. Relieved, she decided, yet... She cleared her throat.

      “Hey, you. How’s the arm?” She nodded toward the small hand-shaped purple-and-yellow bruise visible on the inside of his strong, perfectly smooth left biceps, just below the firefighter crest on the sleeve of his dark blue shirt.

      Ethan’s broad smile revealed perfect, straight white teeth and a deep dimple in his left cheek. “It’s fine. You don’t really think that move you pulled on me last night actually worked, do you? I was just playing along...for the sake of the class.”

      “Yeah, sure. That’s why you looked ready to cry when I wrenched your arm behind your back?” Bailey taught a weekly self-defense class at her brothers’ gym and mixed-martial-arts—MMA—club, Extreme Athletics, and Ethan had volunteered to act as the attacker for demonstration purposes.

      “I told you—it was all for show. Besides, I’ll do anything I can to get you closer to your trip to Venice.”

      It had been his suggestion to charge for the self-defense class, knowing she’d been saving money for the trip to Italy. Her parents had honeymooned in Venice years before and her mom had told Bailey stories about its beautiful scenery and culture when she was growing up. She’d always wanted to go and decided it was time, but having just bought the garage from her uncle Doug the month before, funds were limited.

      “Well, your injuries are definitely appreciated.”

      “Come on, I’ll show you the problem with the truck.” Ethan led the way to the ladder truck in the last bay. “So where’s your sidekick today?”

      Bailey followed him to the engine. “Are you kidding me? Nick would never be up this early. He works in the shop from about ten to three-ish three days a week...and even that’s too much.” Doug’s son, her cousin Nick, had started to work in the shop that summer after dropping out of the computer program he’d been attending at the New Jersey Institute of Technology the previous year. He knew nothing about mechanics and had even less interest, but Doug had insisted that he apprentice with her that summer. She only prayed he planned to return to school in the fall. Her cousin was a great guy, but having him around the shop proved to be more work than help, and he certainly didn’t enjoy being there.

      “Probably a good thing. You said yourself, the guy doesn’t know a wrench from a screwdriver,” Ethan said with a shake of his head.

      Climbing up onto the roof of the fire engine, she studied the hydraulic motor. “So what’s wrong with this?”

      “The rotating piece of the motor—it won’t shift left to right.”

      “Probably just a fluid buildup in the lines.”

      “If you say so,” Ethan said with a laugh. “You’re the expert.”

      “Ethan, quit flirting with our mechanic and get over here,” Mark called.

      Bailey paused and glanced at Ethan.

      A slow teasing grin spread across his face. “Are we flirting?” he asked loud enough for Mark to hear.

      Bailey played along. “Well, if the biggest flirt in town thinks so...”

      “Very funny, you two,” Mark grumbled, nodding toward Sheila Mason, who awaited her turn for the blood pressure check, her cell phone to her ear and her sandaled foot tapping against the concrete floor.

      Bailey frowned. “Mrs. Mason is here?”

      “Yeah, she’s helping Victoria plan the wedding. I wouldn’t be surprised if her blood pressure is a little high.”

      Sheila Mason’s daughter, Victoria, had returned to Brookhollow eight months before to buy out Legend’s, the local sporting-goods store, on behalf of her client, Play Hard Sports. She’d not only acquired the store, but also rekindled the flame with her former fiancé, Luke Dawson. Bailey could understand Sheila’s anxiety. Her daughter had called off her first wedding twelve years ago just two weeks before it was to take place.

      Turning her attention to the engine, Bailey fiddled with the rotating gear just as her beeper chimed on her hip. The fire-hall phone rang seconds later and Ethan dived for it. “Fire hall five...Yes, no problem...South of exit forty-eight,” he said, repeating the information flashing on her pager. Grabbing her tool kit, she climbed back down as he replaced the receiver.

      “Car stranded on I-95?”

      “Looks like we’re heading in the same direction,” he confirmed.

      * * *

      ETHAN’S CELL PHONE vibrated against the console of the fire truck and he barely heard the familiar ringtone above the wail of the sirens as he sped along the highway toward exit forty-eight. His gaze flew to the call display and his grip tightened on the steering wheel. The Miami number flashed on the screen for a torturous five rings before the call went to voice mail. Emily wouldn’t leave a message. She never did. Yet lately the calls from his ex-girlfriend were becoming more and more frequent...as were the text messages that simply said she needed to talk. Yeah, well, the time for talking had long passed.

      “Her again?” his brother and coworker Jim asked from the passenger seat of the engine. He’d just finished washing the truck when the call had come in and had offered to go along as the other men were busy running the clinic.

      “Yeah,” Ethan mumbled, avoiding Jim’s expression. One he’d seen too many times over the past six months since his long-term girlfriend, Emily Parsons,

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