The Widow's Protector - Stephanie Newton Mills & Boon Love Inspired Suspense

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at his hands. “Aw, gee, Danny, I would, but I just got my nails done.”

       “Nice job on the door this morning.” Nate Santos looked up from where he was pulling wallboard.

       Hunter walked toward the front of the shop, but looked back at the guys with a grin. “Anytime A-shift needs my help, I’m happy to oblige.”

       Danny held up the shovel again.

       “Except for that.”

       Nate Santos elbowed Danny. “He’s too good for that kind of job now that he got promoted.”

       “You got that right, Santos, but I’ve always been better than you. I’ll show you when we haul hose next week in training.” Hunter threw the words over his shoulder as he followed the chief.

       “Loser buys lunch.” Santos pulled off another sheet of soggy wallboard and tossed it into the growing pile on the floor. The cooling building popped and creaked. Every surface that might hide a smoldering ember had to be breached. The ceiling tiles and wallboard were the first to go.

       Hunter looked back, grinned. “Deal.”

       Photographs would’ve already been taken and bits of wallboard and ceiling collected for testing. He wasn’t sure what the chief wanted him to see. Mickey Fitzgerald waved him to the ruined remains of a glass display counter, along with the A-shift officer, Liam. “Over here.”

       On the surface, Hunter saw a board with melted plastic on it. Some wiring ran out of it. He glanced up at the chief, a knot of nausea settling in his stomach. “Remote detonator?”

       “Yeah. And it was wedged right where there was plenty of fuel. This place went up in a hurry.”

       Liam took off his gloves and tucked them under one arm. “We pulled another one of those from the crawl space above the storeroom. There was some insulation up there that kept it smoldering, which is why that side of the shop burned slower. All in all, they were lucky to get out with their lives.”

       Hunter tried to keep his mind on the rational, keep the emotional out of it. But they were talking about a six-year-old boy. “The arsonist could’ve called from anywhere. I’m sure these are burner phones, but we can try to get serial numbers off them and find out what we can from the call logs.”

       The chief nodded and pulled another evidence bag from his pocket. “This one came from the Sugar Plum.”

       The setup was the same, but it wasn’t as melted because the fire at the inn last month hadn’t burned as hot. The sick feeling intensified.

       Hunter reached for the board and turned the phone on its side. He found what he was looking for. He didn’t know this arsonist’s name, but he knew the signature—a curl in the wire leading to the vibrating electrode in the side of the phone.

       It was the signature of an arsonist who had killed before. Brother, father, cousin, husband. This same arsonist had taken the life of firefighter Jimmy Cobb.

       Anger iced into determination. The killer had gotten away once.

       But not again. New evidence, new chance for Hunter to bring in this criminal. Hunter wouldn’t rest until this guy was behind bars where he belonged.

      TWO

      “I got six stitches in my arm.” Sean pulled his pajama top over his head and climbed into his fire-engine bed. “Jordan B. only got four stitches in his foot when he kicked that nail.”

       “Very impressive. Is that what you’re going to show your class tomorrow in show-and-tell?” Fiona pulled up the covers to his chin, sheets covered with little fire hats and cute floppy-eared Dalmatians. Sheets that had been picked for a little boy with a firefighter daddy. They matched his fire-engine-red walls. “Or are you going with one of your Lego creations again?”

       “I want to take Hunter and Liam for show-and-tell.”

       She stopped in the motion of tucking his favorite stuffed elephant under the covers with him. “Hunter and Liam? Why?”

       “Because Hunter rescued Miss Betsie and Liam helped me after the fire.” He gave her a look that said, duh, why do you think? “They’re heroes.”

       “I see your point.” She tickled his chin and he giggled as she turned out the light and then remembered something from the fire that she’d been meaning to ask him. “Sean, why did Hunter call you L.J. today?”

       “He calls me that sometimes. It stands for Little Jimmy. He says I remind him of my dad.” Sean’s voice was getting sleepy. “My dad was a hero, too.”

       Fee closed her eyes. Unfortunately, Jimmy had been all-too-human. But Hunter had given her son something irreplaceable—a way to see his dad in himself. “Your dad was something special, funny and smart and brave—just like you. I love you.”

       Sean mumbled an “I love you, Mommy.” Fiona leaned over and kissed him on his head.

       Gathering up his dirty clothes and wet towel off the floor, she started down the stairs. Halfway down, she sank to a sitting position, dropped her head into her hands and let the tears fall she’d been holding in all day. She’d gotten used to one empty pillow, one missing piece of their family. She wouldn’t have survived another one.

       When Sean was born, Jimmy had given her a tiny gold disc with Sean’s first initial and his birthstone to wear around her neck. She never took it off. She wrapped her hand around that pendant, as if by clutching it in her palm, she could somehow keep him safe. This fire had brought back so many feelings that she’d thought she’d buried.

       Fear, doubt, grief.

       A soft knock at the door jerked her head up. She swiped at her cheeks with the back of one hand, leaving the pile of clothes where she sat on the stairs. A quick peek through the peephole told her it was Hunter. He had his arm propped on the wall beside the door. The line of his body said he was as tired as she felt. She pulled open the door. “I have coffee made. It looks like you could use some.”

       “Mrs. Davenport sent you some lemon squares.” The plate was in one hand. He held out her keys with the other. “And I brought your car back.”

       “I don’t think so.” She pretended to consider him. “In fact, definitely no. I like the blue truck. It makes me feel tall.”

       He gave an overdramatic sigh, but his eyes were serious as he studied her face. “You doing okay, Red?”

       She didn’t meet his eyes, instead reached for the plate of lemon squares and headed for the kitchen, ignoring his question. “I really appreciate you taking care of things at The Reading Nook after I left with Sean. I knew the stores on Main probably wouldn’t open, but I was afraid one of the ladies might show up.”

       “And you were right, but I think Mrs. D. just wanted to pump me for information.”

       “About the fire? Do you know anything?” Fiona slid a cup of coffee to him.

       He took a swig from the mug and reached for one of the brownies she put on the plate with the lemon squares. “I walked through the scene with your Uncle Mickey this afternoon.”

       “And?” She kept pouring coffee as if his answer didn’t mean anything to her. As if her whole world hadn’t changed two years ago when an arsonist set fire to an abandoned building on the outskirts of town.

       “We’re still analyzing the evidence.” He looked down at the coffee in his mug and she knew he wasn’t telling the whole truth.

       “Tell me, Hunter. You’ve always been straight with me.”

      * * *

       He looked up, into the blue eyes he’d fallen in love with as a teenager. They’d been inseparable growing up, best friends from the fort-building days all the way through the growing pains of middle school, both swearing off dating in favor of crabbing from her family’s dock.

      

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