The fire marshal sighed. He looked back at the body, then at Michael. His eyes were tired—no, exhausted. “Wait and see, Mike. Wait and see.”

CHAPTER 23

Hannah found her father at the police station.

She didn’t find that out from him, of course. He’d been gone from the scene before she and Irish had been ordered to bag the body of the man he’d killed. He wouldn’t answer her texts or her calls, and he wasn’t at his office by the courthouse—she’d already checked there. Her mother only knew that he’d said he’d be late—without anything more specific than that.

So Hannah had been left to find him like a child who’d lost her mommy at a grocery store: by asking any adult who might have a clue. In this case, it meant someone with a badge.

Even when she walked into the precinct and found him sitting at an empty desk, surrounded by forms and file folders, he barely looked up at her.

“I’m busy, Hannah.”

She didn’t move. Police officers moved about the room, creating dense background noise, but his words and the tone behind them came through loud and clear. It should have felt like a slap to the face, but for some reason, right now, his words hit her as nothing more than that: just words. He didn’t sound angry; he sounded worn out. In the bright fluorescent lighting, she realized she’d never noticed just how much grey had spread through his hair, or how many lines had etched the skin around his mouth and eyes. Her mind always thought of him as the hero fireman, maybe mid-thirties, with blond hair and a bright smile.

Not as this stern taskmaster who lived and breathed by procedure and code, who looked as if life had chewed him up and spit him back out.

Her father looked up more fully when she kept staring at him. His eyes were hard, a cold blue. “I’m not kidding, Hannah. I’ve got a mountain of paperwork—”

“I see that.”

“Then what do you want?”

I wanted to see if you were okay. But she could never say that. They didn’t have that kind of relationship.

Then again, she knew he’d never killed anyone before. Maybe she was just remembering the man he’d been, the firefighter who took every life as seriously as if the victim were a member of his own family. Ten years ago, this would have bothered him. A lot. After his last job as a firefighter, when he’d failed to save everyone, he hadn’t slept for a week. She remembered.

She didn’t want to think too much about the flip side: that he wouldn’t have used deadly force unless his own life was in danger.

At first glance, he didn’t seem bothered. But his knuckles were white, as if he gripped his pen too tightly. The set of his shoulders looked almost painful.

“Hannah?”

“I wanted to see if you were okay.”

Maybe she could say it after all.

His eyes widened a little. Just enough that she knew she’d surprised him. His voice softened. “I’m fine.”

“You didn’t tell Mom what happened.” Her mother had seemed startled that Hannah was even questioning her father’s whereabouts.

“I don’t talk about active investigations. You know that.” His voice was automatic. Hannah thought about what Irish had said in the fire truck. He looked up at her. “Did you tell her?”

Hannah shook her head. “No.”

“Good.”

Hannah wet her lips and dropped her voice. “You don’t want her to know?”

“No reason for her to know.”

“Dad. You shot someone.” A pause. “You killed someone.”

“I was there, Hannah.”

A small steel chair sat beside the desk, and she glanced at it. “Can I sit down?”

She honestly expected him to refuse, but after a moment, he slid the paperwork into a file folder and nodded at the chair.

She eased into it, wishing for privacy. This room was too open. Too many people swarmed around. If she said the wrong thing, her father would shut his mouth and order her out of here.

“I’m surprised you’re not in your office,” she said. “I looked there first.”

“I had people to question.”

Hannah hesitated. “You mean Michael?”

She didn’t expect an answer, but he nodded. “And his friend.”

She’d tried to reach Michael, but his phone had gone straight to voice mail, and he hadn’t responded to her text messages. “Did you arrest them?”

“No. They just had to give a statement.” Her father put his pen down, then rubbed his eyes. “We found evidence on the gunman linking him to the fire in the home.”

“And the bombing?”

“I can’t say.”

Which meant yes. Probably.

“What about the other fires?”

“Hannah—”

“No. It’s okay. I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have asked.” She hesitated again.

He studied her. “Why did you come looking for me?”

She gave him a look. “Because you wouldn’t answer your phone.”

He pulled his cell phone out of his pocket, took a glance at the screen, and grimaced. “I can’t believe it’s after seven. I missed one from your mother, too.” He centered on Hannah, and his voice turned brusque again. “That doesn’t answer my question. What do you need?”

She blinked. “I don’t need anything.”

“Were you just trying to find out the fate of your boyfriend? I’ve already told you that I’m not going to let personal feelings get in the way of—”

“Dad.” This was so typical. She almost slapped her hand on the desk to get his attention. “I’m not here because of Michael. Is that what you think? That I came here to beg you not to arrest him?”

“I sure hope you’re not here to make your case about being an adult again—”

“I’m not here to argue at all!” She stood up. It was a struggle to keep her voice low. “God, you make it impossible to talk to you.”

“I’m not the only one.”

That made her stop, a quick retort dying on her tongue. For the first time in a long while, he was looking at her—really looking at her—and his expression revealed that maybe he was as frustrated by their relationship as she was.

When she’d been a child, all she’d needed to do was shed a tear, and he’d swoop her up in his arms and make her feel better. She wished he would do that right now.

Because that wouldn’t be awkward right here in the middle of the police station.

She took a long breath to ensure her voice would be level. “I really was worried about you. That’s the only reason I came looking for you.”

And because she couldn’t take any more rejection from him, especially now, she turned on her heel and headed for the door.

By the time she made it to the parking lot, she realized she’d expected him to follow her. He didn’t.

Shocking.

She climbed into her car and put the key in the ignition. She felt like such an idiot. It didn’t help that his last comment kept pinging around her brain, making her question her own actions.

I’m not the only one.

He wasn’t right. He couldn’t be right. She’d made one mistake in high school, and he’d turned into a different person. He’d gone from someone who always did the right thing to someone who’d barely give her the time of day. Nothing she did was ever good enough.

Fuck him. She didn’t need this. She shoved the gearshift into reverse and pressed down on the accelerator.

A hand knocked on her window. Hannah jumped and slammed down on the brakes. Her car was half out of the parking place, and her father stood just outside the driver’s-side door, about six inches away from being squished between two cars.

She rolled down the window. “Are you crazy? I could have killed you!”

His eyes were dark and shadowed in the darkness. “Maybe you shouldn’t back out of a parking place at forty miles an hour, then.” Before she could get all up in arms, he leaned closer. “You’re a paramedic. I would have been all right.”

She looked at the windshield. Her eyes were burning, and she was ashamed to realize she was a breath away from crying. “I’m not a paramedic yet.”

“That’s all right. I already know you’ll be a good one.”

Hannah turned to look at him. She expected a patronizing smile, maybe even a mocking one. But shadows still darkened his face, and he looked serious as ever.

It was possibly the kindest thing he’d said to her in years.

That didn’t mean she had to take the bait. “What do you want?” she said.

He glanced at the open lane of traffic behind her. “Could you park your car for a moment?”

She was tempted to refuse, to press down on the accelerator, and then zoom off, leaving him standing here.

But she didn’t want that any more than he did.

She pulled back into the parking place, rolled up her window, and got out of the vehicle, slamming the door behind her. Her breath fogged instantly, and she rubbed her hands together, leaning back against the driver’s-side door.

“Parked,” she said. “Now what?”

He leaned against the adjacent car. “I try not to tell your mother too much because I don’t want to worry her.”

“You were a fireman for years. You don’t think she’s used to it?”

He laughed, but without any real humor to it. “Not anymore. She thinks this job is code violations and safety inspections. Most of the time, she’s right, so I don’t spend much time correcting her. But your mother hated it when I was a fireman.”

“No, she didn’t. She loved it.”

His expression didn’t change. “No, Hannah. You loved it.”

Hannah stared at him, too shocked to come up with an immediate response. He was right about her, of course. She’d been so proud of her father when she was little. Her mother still had a massive box of crayon drawings from when she was a child, and just about every picture featured a fire truck on its way to a blazing building, or a tall, blond fireman rescuing a kitten.

Her father spoke into her silence. “Don’t get me wrong. Your mother loved it when we were first dating. But after we were married, she seemed to realize that firefighting carried a little more risk than a desk job. Every time I had a tour, I had to watch her choke back a handful of anxiety pills.”

Hannah thought about her mother, the perfect homemaker, the perfect mother, the perfect grandmother. Always calm, always even-keeled. “Mom never said a word about that.”

“You think your mother would have wanted to pass that along? To tell her ten-year-old that every time her father walked out the door, they might never see him again?”

Hannah watched her breath continue to cloud. She tried to wrap her head around this new information, but there were too many memories, too many years to scroll through quickly. “But she’s been so supportive of my becoming a firefighter. She watches James at the drop of a hat.”

Her father gave her a look. “He’s her first grandchild. Your mother would watch James if you were jumping out of planes all day long.” He paused. “I probably shouldn’t tell you this, but . . ” He trailed off.

“Yes. You should definitely tell me.”

“I don’t want to drive a wedge between you.”

“You don’t have to worry about my relationship with her.”

He winced, then hesitated so long that Hannah worried she wouldn’t get an answer at all. “She hates it just as much that you’re a firefighter. She’s counting down the days until you get your paramedic license.”

“She’s never said a word!”

Her father narrowed his eyes. “Are you sure? She hasn’t encouraged you to find a less stressful job?”