Through The Fire

Lucia read the large ad. “‘Let fire come down from Heaven and consume you, for our God is a consuming fire.’”

“I checked, and nobody knows who paid for this. But I think this is related to the fire at the hospital.” Colleen raised a hand. “And I knew this was a Bible verse even if I couldn’t figure out which one, so I called Pastor Dawson and found out it’s actually two verses. So, whoever bought the ad was sending someone a message, don’t you think?”

FAITH AT THE CROSSROADS: Can faith and love sustain two families against a diabolical enemy?

A TIME TO PROTECT–Lois Richer (LIS#13)

THE DANGER WITHIN–Valerie Hansen (LIS#15)

THROUGH THE FIRE–Sharon Mignerey (LIS#17)

IN THE ENEMY’S SIGHTS–Marta Perry (LIS#19)

STRICTLY CONFIDENTIAL–Terri Reed (LIS#21)

HEARTS ON THE LINE–Margaret Daley (LIS#23)

SHARON MIGNEREY

lives in Colorado with her husband, a couple of dogs and a cat. From the time she figured out that spelling words could be turned into stories, she knew being a writer was what she wanted. Her first novel garnered several awards, first as an unpublished manuscript when she won RWA’s Golden Heart Award in 1995, and later as a published work in 1997 when she won the National Reader’s Choice Award and The Heart of Romance Reader’s Choice Award. With each new book out, she’s as thrilled as she was with that first one.

When she’s not writing, she loves enjoying the Colorado sunshine, whether along the South Platte River near her home or at the family cabin in the Four Corners region. Even more, she loves spending time with her daughters and granddaughter.

She loves hearing from readers, and you can write to her in care of Steeple Hill Books, 233 Broadway, Suite 1001, New York, NY 10279.

Through the Fire

Sharon Mignerey

Special thanks and acknowledgment are given to Sharon Mignerey for her contribution to the FAITH AT THE CROSSROADS series.

As thou hast believed, so be it done unto thee.

—Matthew 8:13

To Susan Litman, editor extraordinaire

My thanks to:

Carol Steward for answering dozens of questions about Sam Vance (Finding Amy, LI#263 8/04). I hope I did justice to Lucia’s big brother. For those thousand and one things I didn’t know about firefighting and firefighters, Sue Richardson, Fire Fighter Paramedic (Colorado Springs), and Joe Whitensand, Retired Fire Chief, were generous beyond call. The good stuff is all theirs and the mistakes are all mine. Celeste Mignerey and Paul N. Black, Ph.D. filled in all those little details about safety and precautionary systems in large buildings and hospital settings. As always, you two are an awesome resource, and I couldn’t have done this without you. Robin, Steve, Denée, Karen G., Amy, Daniele, Danica—my amazing first readers and critique partners. You guys are the best.

My fellow authors in this series, Lois Richer, Valerie Hansen, Marta Perry, Terri Reed and Margaret Daley. You each made this wonderful journey one to be remembered. Blessings to each of you.

CAST OF CHARACTERS

Rafael “Rafe” Wright—He saved Lucia’s life once by being in the right place at the right time. Was the gorgeous smoke jumper also the “right” man for her?

Lucia Vance—The female firefighter was tired of being coddled and protected by her family. She felt secure with Rafe, but his nearness also stirred feelings for love she’d thought long buried….

Neil O’Brien—Was there more to the battalion chief’s animosity toward Lucia beyond his accusations that her father the mayor got her her job?

El Jéfe/The Chief—His name kept coming up in investigations. Was he somehow connected to Baltasar Escalante, the drug lord whose body was never recovered following his plane crash?

Dear Reader,

I suspect I’m not the first author to write to you that writing a novel is easier than writing a letter to you. Letters should be personal, and since we haven’t met, this one cannot be as personal as I would like. Even so, thank you for choosing this book where you’ll spend a few hours escaping into a world where hope prevails.

That sense of hope…of faith, even…is my favorite thing about romance novels. Whatever challenges characters face within the pages, they move forward in faith, hoping things will work out. That moving forward in faith is the reason why I chose the particular Biblical quote that I did. “As thou hast believed, so be it done unto thee.” Matthew 8:13.

For any of us embarking on a new endeavor or going through a difficult time, it may be hard to predict a successful outcome. If you’re at all like me, you’d love the certainty of a happy ending. For me, that’s where faith steps in, where I do my best to move forward as though the thing is already done. It’s the same for Lucia Vance and Rafael Wright in Through the Fire. They can’t be certain the challenges they face will be successfully overcome—all they can do is move forward in faith.

Again, thanks for choosing this book.

Blessings to you and yours, always,

CONTENTS

PROLOGUE

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

CHAPTER ELEVEN

CHAPTER TWELVE

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

CHAPTER NINETEEN

CHAPTER TWENTY

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

PROLOGUE

“It’s really quite simple, Neil. I own you.” She held the condemning papers up for him to see as though he somehow wouldn’t have recognized his own signature on copies of the promissory notes. “You borrowed money, and I bought the loan from that rather unscrupulous man you’ve been doing business with in Cripple Creek.” Turning the papers around, she glanced through them, then folded them back into neat thirds. “Such a lot of money.”

Despite the cold breeze that swept off Pikes Peak on this cold March day, Neil O’Brien felt a bead of sweat slide down his back as he contemplated taking the papers away before choking her to death. Wondering where the originals were, he stared at the woman standing under the pavilion with him, her words echoing through his head.

When he had agreed to meet her at this remote corner of Bear Creek Park, a well-known lovers’ lane for teenagers, he’d had a visceral sense of anticipation. Foolish thought that she might be interested in a man like him—they didn’t run in the same circles. The extra thirty pounds he carried and his thinning hair made him look ten years older than he was. He wished he didn’t mind quite so much.

He looked away from her to the snow beginning to fall. The flakes left little white splatters on the sidewalk. Farther away, the parking lot was empty except for their two cars.

Quite literally, she held the power to ruin him in that sheaf of papers.

“You have nothing,” he said, deciding on a bluff and making a point to look at the documents in her hand. “O’Brien is a common name.”

“Then why did you agree to meet me?” She waved toward the remote expanse of the park to the west, the sleeve of her wool coat riding up her arm enough to expose a diamond bracelet that probably cost more than he earned in half a year. “Here?” She smiled. “Away from work and home and your pretty, pregnant wife?”

Neil stared at her. The antacid he had swallowed just before getting out of the car turned sour in his mouth. Another foolish hope. That he could keep his gambling—and his mountain of debt—from Mary.

“I wonder…does she know about this, Neil?” She tapped a finger against her lips. “A phone call to her—”

“Get to the point. What do you want?”

She opened her purple leather handbag, the designer name discreetly embossed onto the surface, and put the folded papers inside. “Cooperation, Neil, that’s all.”

“What kind of cooperation?” Whatever it took to keep his wife from finding out that he had accumulated gambling debts greater than the mortgage on their brand-new home was worth considering in the short run. In the long run, there was only one way to be rid of a blackmailer—a remedy he would take just as soon as he had the originals of the promissory notes in his possession.

“You want all this to go away?” She pressed the flat of her hand against the purse. “All of it?”

“The debt would go away?”

She tapped her finger against her lip again. “Neil, my dear, Neil. You do understand, don’t you?”

What he understood was that he was being played, and he didn’t like it. And without a big win, he didn’t see a way out, either. She held the winning hand.

“What do you want?” he repeated, shivering as the wind shifted and fine, cold snowflakes blew across his face.

“There’s a certain firefighter in your department who will have a tragic accident that will end her life.”

Another cold bead of sweat trickled down Neil’s back. What she was suggesting was impossible. Murder, like he was contemplating just now, was easy. Murder by fire and made to look like an accident…nearly impossible.

“The poor thing went against the wishes of her family to take on such a dangerous job, alienated herself from her father, worried her mother to death and all those protective older brothers…Why, they were opposed down to the last man.”

The woman was talking about Lucia Vance, Neil realized. Personally, Neil thought she represented nepotism at its finest. Her daddy was the mayor, and her brother Sam was a detective on the Colorado Springs police force. It had been Neil’s goal for the last year to get her kicked out of the department. But deliberately setting her up to be injured—killed—he couldn’t do it.

He shook his head. “That’s not an easy thing to do. If you want her dead, why not simply shoot her?”

Her mouth tightened. “Easier, yes. But then her parents and her brothers wouldn’t understand.”

“What?”

“That for every choice there is a consequence.” She patted her purse again. “Think about it, Neil. All this goes away. Your sweet little pregnant wife doesn’t find out. You’re not ruined.”

“What you’re asking—”

She pressed a shockingly hot finger against his lips, her eyes wide and luminous, making her look like a girlfriend instead of a blackmailer. “I’m not asking.”

When she took her finger away, he shuddered inside his heavy parka.

“A perfect place would be Vance Memorial Hospital, where her mother keeps a vigil over her poor injured father.”

“You can’t be serious.” Mayor Maxwell Vance had been shot in an assassination attempt last November. He was still in critical condition, and Neil knew the investigation had drawn in the FBI. Security in the hospital was tight.

“Oh, but I am.”

Neil shook his head. “It can’t be done. Hospitals have sprinklers and preactionary systems, all designed to prevent even the smallest fire.”

She stared at him as though what he had just told her didn’t make any sense.

“I can see the headline now,” she said. “Assistant Fire Chief Neil O’Brien Ruined.” She smiled again, but her expression was as warm as the icy snow falling around them. “Only you will have died tragically, maybe suicide in your despondence over your gambling. And your wife will be left to raise your child in poverty and shame, all because you wouldn’t do a simple thing.” She paused and shifted the purse on her arm. “A simple thing, Neil, that would make all your troubles go away.”

Wishing he’d had the guts to simply kill her, he watched with his hands in his pockets as she walked away. As she got into her silver luxury coupe, she blew him a kiss. A second later, the car purred to life.

A simple thing. As if there was anything simple about planning a murder that was supposed to look like an accident.

ONE

Last night, Rafael Wright had been too consumed with guilt to pay attention to the hospital room numbers, so he paused at the doorway to make sure he was at the correct one. He knocked lightly on the door before pushing it open. The bed closest to the door was empty, and his good friend Malik Williams lay in the other, raised to a reclining position. The television mounted near the ceiling was tuned to a police drama.

“Hey, you came,” Malik said as Rafe moved toward him.

A bandage at one corner of his forehead covered a gash that had bled like crazy yesterday when he was knocked over by a fifteen-foot ladder when it fell. Last night, Malik had been asleep when Rafe checked on him.

“Of course I came.” His fault that Malik was here—an accident, but one that should not have happened. Malik wouldn’t have been hurt if Rafe had been focused on the training exercise they were doing instead of the news that his younger sister Lisa was separating from her husband.

His dark eyes gleaming, Malik craned his head as Rafe came farther into the room. “If you don’t have a big vanilla malt hidden behind your back, you can leave right now.”

Rafe clicked his tongue. “That concussion must not be too bad since you’re cranky.” He pulled his hand from behind his back and set the tall paper cup containing his friend’s favorite dessert on the table pulled next to the bed.

Malik grinned, pressing the volume control to turn the television down. “Figured I should play on your sympathy—”

“Which won’t last long if you keep this up.” Rafe shrugged out of his leather bomber jacket, which he set on the chair in the corner.

“That’s you, all right. All bark. No bite.”

“I wouldn’t count on that.” Since Rafe was the foreman for a Type 1 hotshot crew of forest-fire fighters, part of the territory was making sure he came across as a major tough guy. Since Malik was both his roommate and his friend, just now he seemed more like a kid brother than simply one of the guys on the crew. Not that many years separated them, but a lifetime of experience did. Malik worked full-time during the summer, then went to school and skied in the winter while continuing to work part-time for the Forest Service. “I thought I’d been properly sympathetic—”

“If you don’t count yelling.”

Inwardly, Rafe winced. He had yelled. At the time he had been furious, a hundred percent of it directed at himself for not seeing the accident coming.

At his discomfiture, Malik grinned. “Speaking of biting and the screams of pain that come after…” He waited a beat while Rafe raised an eyebrow. “I bet you didn’t know they don’t sound alarms in hospitals. They want things to be calm,” he added, raising his hands to punctuate quotation marks around the last word. “About an hour ago, I’m lying here talking to a real pretty nurse, and there was this page for Dr. Firestone. She tore out of here like she was on her way to a fire.” He tore the paper off the straw and plunged it through the plastic top of the cup, then took a long sip of the malt. “About a half hour later she came back—I’m irresistible, you know—and told me that ‘Dr. Firestone’ is the code for a fire. She said they’ve had about a dozen false alarms over the last couple of days.”

“That’s got to be annoying.”

“That’s what she said. She told me that ‘Dr. Quick’ is for combative patients and ‘Dr. Avery’ is for a bomb threat.” Malik grinned. “And I’ve been thinking—”

“Always a bad sign.”

“I need something to get that nurse back in here to see me.”

“A page from Dr. Valentine?”

Malik laughed. “Yeah. Something like that.”

“Sounds to me like you’re going to live,” Rafe said.

“The doc told me I can go home in the morning. They just want to keep an eye on me overnight.” Another of his easy grins came, his teeth flashing white against his African-American complexion. “If you ask me, I think it’s because a certain nurse thinks I’m—”

“A klutz,” Rafe filled in.

“Man, don’t insult me like that.” Malik took another sip of the malt. “That’s real good. Thanks.”

“Least I can do.”

Malik grinned again. “You mean, since you tried to kill me.”

“Anything to get rid of a pest,” Rafe said deadpan.

“This mean you won’t be giving me a ride home? That’d actually be okay because that good-looking nurse—”

“Like she’d give you the time of day.”

“Like,” Malik returned in their good-natured banter.

Rafe studied his friend. Clearly, the obvious question didn’t have to be asked if the guy was going to be okay. Since he was thinking about girls and malts, he’d undoubtedly be his old self in a day or two. Rafe, though, was feeling old. As he had driven to the hospital, he had counted the fires he had fought since he was eighteen years old. One hundred and twelve, and he felt every single one. Those fires had taken him from the Everglades to inside the Arctic Circle in Alaska.

The nomadic life was the one he had wanted…once…which brought him full circle back to his sister. Her husband was walking away from everything Rafe had recently decided his life was missing. A woman to come home to. A child barely two years old. Now that Rafe was nearly finished with his master’s degree in fire science, he had choices. He could settle down and work on finding the right woman.

“You get much more quiet and I’m going to think I’m sitting here alone,” Malik said.

“Then turn up the TV.”

“You’re not thinking stupid things like blaming yourself for what happened to me, are you?”

Rafe met his friend’s gaze. “You know the drill about accountability.”

“Yeah, I do. It’s what makes you the best.”

There was nothing Rafe could say about that, so he remained quiet, folding his arms over his chest as he leaned against the wide ledge in front of the window. At his back, the glass felt cold. “Think it will snow?”

Malik laughed. “Hope so. Since I have a few days off, maybe I’ll head up to Breckenridge or Keystone for a little skiing—”

“Not the best plan for a man with a concussion.” If Rafe had the time, he’d head for Wolf Creek, which boasted the deepest snow in the state. The only drawback was the six-and-a-half-hour drive to get there.

Malik took another sip of his malt. “You’re sounding more like my grandpa every day.”

“Now who’s being insulting?”

Just then, the lights flickered, and the television went off.

“It’s definitely going to snow,” Malik announced, clicking on the remote for the television, which remained off. “You’d think a brand-new hospital would have built-in surge protectors.”

“You’d think,” Rafe agreed, glancing toward the hallway as the lights flickered again. The TV suddenly blared, and Malik turned it down.

The hospital had undergone extensive renovations over the last couple of years, the most recent being the addition of a new pediatric wing. According to a recent article in the Colorado Springs Sentinel, it had attracted the necessary grants and research money to become the premier orthopedic center for children in the western United States. The part of the article Rafe remembered best was a picture of a chapel at the end of the wing, which boasted a great view of Pikes Peak. That was something to check out before he left. He didn’t like hospitals much, but he always made a point to visit the chapels.

Once again, his thoughts returned to his sister and her little girl. He wished they lived closer, wished he could ease their heartache. He needed to do something more for them than simply including them in his daily prayers.

“Are you going to be okay?” he asked.

“Fine.” Malik leaned his head against the pillow. “Might as well take a little snooze, especially since you’re so talkative.”

“Then I’ll head out.” Rafe grabbed his jacket off the back of the chair and headed toward the door.

“Hey.”

He turned around.

Malik grinned. “If you see that pretty nurse—the petite one with black hair all done up in a bun on the top of her head—send her in to see me.” He clapped a hand over his heart. “I think I’m in pain.”

Rafe shook his head and waved at his friend. “There’s a difference between being in pain and being a pain, you know.”

“Get out of here. Send back a real friend.”

He waved again and headed down the hall, where it widened into a big rotunda and a set of wide stairs that led to the main lobby of the hospital. From the balcony, he looked down to the first floor, where the gift shop and information desk flanked the exterior door. Directly opposite from where he stood was the entrance to the new pediatric wing. Rafe headed in that direction, drawn by the cheerful pale-yellow walls that had flying birds painted on them as if leading the way into the area. He stopped in front of a big marble plaque and read the dedication of the wing, which had a list of major donors. The familiar names of Colorado Springs society were there, topped by the Montgomery and Vance families.

Everything about the addition seemed to be of the highest quality, Rafe thought as he wandered farther into the wing. The smoke doors that would close during an emergency were painted to look like arched gates entering a brilliantly colored park.

Wondering where the chapel was, Rafe followed a set of animal tracks painted on the floor, which took him past the X-ray lab. A quick peek through the door showed an X-ray machine painted to look like an elephant. He didn’t see many people, and even here, where he expected the noise level would be higher because of the children, there was instead the overall hush that seemed to permeate hospitals.

Ahead he saw the sign for the chapel, and when he peeked through the window in the door he saw that it too was designed with children in mind. Instead of formal pews, there were a couple of comfortable-looking sofas and several beanbag chairs covered in plush fabric. A couple of children were sitting together on one of the giant beanbags.

Rafe watched them a moment, knowing too well how they felt if they were waiting for news of a sick family member. Not wanting to intrude, he made his way to the end of the hallway, where a large window looked down on a park. In the distance, he could see the spire of the Good Shepherd Church.

Hands in the pockets of his jacket, Rafe made his way back down the hallway, which continued to be mostly deserted, a thought that made him smile since the parking lot had been packed when he arrived. About halfway back to the chapel door, he suddenly smelled smoke.

Between the chapel and the nurse’s station he saw a door discreetly labeled Janitor’s Closet. From beneath the door, smoke curled across the spotless tiled floor. He ran those last few feet to the door.

He pressed a hand against the door, which felt warm. Too warm.

His thoughts raced as he hurried on to the nurse’s station. Was this the reason the lights had flickered a few minutes ago? How could the door be that warm? And in a brand-new facility, why hadn’t the sprinklers come on? Why hadn’t some computer-generated warning notified someone?

Only one nurse was at the station. She raised her head when she saw him coming, gave him an automatic smile, then bent her head down once again.

“Miss,” Rafe said, “there’s smoke coming from under a door down the hall.”