Daring Devotion (9 page)

C
al picked his way through the debris, his thoughts centered on the fire damage that surrounded him on every side. Something wasn't right about the scene. This had been the fourth fire in the same number of days. That in itself was not so unusual, given the above-average temperatures they'd been experiencing that summer. But combine that with the similarities in each case, and the situation reeked of foul play.

Just then, he noticed the fire marshal entering the opening that was once a doorway. “Noel!” he called to the familiar man.

Noel nodded in greeting before stepping over a crushed pile of what were once cereal boxes. “What's up, man? I heard you were…out for a while.”

Cal stiffened, realizing that word of his suspension was apparently making its way through the department and into other firehouses.

“Yeah, just until they complete their probe.” He waved it off, hoping he sounded more unconcerned than he felt. “What's your take on this?” Cal gestured to the destruction surrounding them.

“Don't know. Just got here.”

“Did you work the fire at that nail shop on Gratiot yesterday afternoon?”

Noel shook his head in denial, his eyes surveying the work ahead of him. He was breaking down the scene and the way he intended to divide his manpower, even as he carried on the conversation with his friend.

“Well, let's just say the aftermath looked a lot like this place,” Cal continued. “And the liquor store on Vandyke the day before, and the doctor's office on east Jefferson the day before that.”

By now he had the fire marshal's complete attention. “You thinking arson?”

“It was always after hours when the places were closed and no one could get hurt, and it was always commercial buildings, not private homes.”

Noel gave Cal an unreadable look. “How do you know all this?”

“I visited the scenes and read the reports, as well.”

Noel just continued to stare.

“Look, Noel, the fire that got me suspended looked a lot like this. It's what first made me suspicious. If there is an arsonist in my district, I want to know. This guy may've cost me my badge.”

Okay, it was making sense now, Noel thought. If he were in Cal's shoes he would probably be doing the same thing. Tilting his head to the side, he mentally reviewed what he knew about those other fires. Many times, his subordinates went out to inspect without him, and he thought that was probably the case with the nail shop and the doctor's office, since he had no memory of reviewing the reports. But he did remember the liquor store. He was still in the process of determining the cause. He'd already ruled out accidental. What Cal was saying only confirmed his own suspicions, and now he knew there were probably other deliberately set fires, as well.

“I already suspected something was up with that liquor store fire, but thanks for the heads-up. I'll definitely take that into consideration during my investigation.” He frowned, just remembering something. “Did you say the nail shop was on Gratiot?”

Cal nodded.

“And the doctor's office on East Jefferson?”

Cal nodded again.

“That explains it. Those are both outside my jurisdiction. But I'll contact the marshal for that district and get copies of the reports.” He shook his head sadly. “The last thing I need is an arsonist in the area. Hell, we get enough work with legitimate cases.”

Cal chuckled. “I heard that. Can you let me know what you find out?”

When he received no answer, he realized Noel's attentions were distracted by Marty, who was knocking down the fragile outer wall of the building some distance away.

“How's St. John treating her?” Noel asked the question, knowing Cal would understand his interest.

“Good, as far as I know. She seems happy.”

Noel looked away quickly. “Good.” He forced a weak smile. “I'm happy for her. And thanks again for the info.” He turned and began moving across the room to begin his inspection. “I'll give you a call,” he called over his shoulder at the last minute.

Cal watched the other man walk away with slumped shoulders that reminded him he wasn't the only one with problems.

 

“Cal, have you ever heard of post-traumatic stress disorder?”

Cal frowned at Chet Butler, one of the many department shrinks. Of course he'd heard of PTSD, what firefighter or cop had not? “Yeah, but what has that got to do with me?”

Chet, a small, quiet man, cleared his throat loudly, already knowing what Cal's reaction was going to be. But he pushed ahead anyway. “That is my diagnosis. I believe you are suffering from PTSD.”

“What? Are you kidding me?” Cal shot to his feet to tower over the man. “After only three sessions you come up with this?”

Chet looked up at the giant standing over him. “Cal, sit down, please.”

Cal balled his fist at his side trying to regain control of his temper. He flopped back down in the chair and sighed. “You're wrong Doc.” He buried his head in his hands.

Chet just waited for the other man to accept what was blatantly obvious. The diagnosis of PTSD was always the most resisted by firefighters, who often reacted as if he'd just accused them of having a mental breakdown. Because of the symptoms, PTSD had a reputation of being a career ender, and it was always met with outrage, disbelief and sometimes violence. And yet, it was the most common diagnosis throughout the fire department.

For men and women who dragged charred bodies out of burning buildings on a daily basis, it was only natural that eventually the stress of what they did would take its toll. And the condition could easily be treated with therapy and sometimes medication. Chet was quite proud of the fact that most of his patients were able to return to active duty in a relatively short amount of time. There was always the initial shock of the diagnosis and the refusal to accept it. But once they got beyond that, he was able to help them.

Right now, Cal was just at the acceptance stage. Chet knew it would take time. “Cal, all the symptoms point to PTSD—the dizziness, the hallucinations, the nightmares.”

Cal's brown eyes came up to meet his, and Chet could see the torment behind them. “That can't be.” Cal shook his head adamantly. “No, you're wrong.”

“Cal, I know what you are thinking, but PTSD is not what you think it is. No one is saying you are crazy, or have to give up your career. It is entirely treatable.”

Cal shot to his feet again. “You're wrong.” The words were said with no anger, but with absolute conviction. He turned and headed toward the door.

“Cal!” Chet called realizing his patient was leaving. He stood. “Where are you going? We still have fifteen minutes left in our session.”

“Home, I need to…” Cal found his mind was too muddled to form coherent thought. “I need to get out of here.”

“Cal, I'm gonna have to give Mack my diagnosis soon. Can't we just talk a little more, maybe come to some sort of understanding regarding what is neces—Cal! Please come ba—”

Chet watched the door swing shut behind the man and shook his head. This was always the hardest part of the job. Firefighters and cops used confidence and self-assuredness like a shield and sword. What the average citizen saw as cocky arrogance, he understood was a necessity to get the job done. Insecure, self-doubting people did not run into burning buildings or face armed criminals. No, these men and women
needed
to believe in their own indestructibility.

Before he'd actually met the man, Chet had heard of Big Cal Brown through rumors of his heroics. He knew that for someone like Cal his diagnosis would be especially hard to accept. He could only hope the man would eventually accept the inevitable. In order to become the fireman he once was, he would have to accept professional help.

A
ndrea looked at her watch again before zipping up her overnight tote and setting it on the floor near the door. She hadn't heard from Cal all morning, and his appointment with the department psychiatrist had ended three hours ago. She headed back into the bedroom and picked up the phone on her bedside table. She dialed his cell phone once more, but still there was no answer.

It was getting late, and she was getting worried. They were supposed to be on the road headed north to Mackinaw Island for the weekend two hours ago, and she was certain Cal remembered the time they agreed on. She picked up the phone to call the firehouse, thinking maybe he'd stopped by there to see the guys on his way back and lost track of the time. She'd dialed the first four digits when she heard a key in the front door lock.

She hurried back into the living room, where she saw Cal had already picked up two of the three bags sitting by the front entrance, and was heading back out the door with them.

She grabbed her purse off the dinette table and followed him out. “Where were you?”

He glanced back over his shoulder at her as he circled the vehicle. “Where I was supposed to be, down at mental, seeing the shrink.”

Andrea stopped dead in her tracks hearing the gruff tone of his voice. This wasn't the
Hey, baby, let's get on the road and have some fun
voice. No, this was the
Leave me the hell alone
voice.

In the beginning of their relationship, that voice had stopped her in her tracks more than once. Growing up with Andrew Chenault, she had good reason to be wary. But now, she knew no matter how intimidating Cal may be in voice and form, he would never hurt her.

“So…what happened?” She tossed her handbag on the front passenger seat through the partially opened window and walked around to the back of the truck where Cal was lowering the rear gate.

“He obviously doesn't know what he's talking about,” he announced casually, as he began loading their suitcases onto the bed of the truck. “He said I have PTSD.”

Andrea felt something like a chill on the wind behind the acronym. After a year of listening to firehouse conversations, she knew PTSD was like a death sentence to a firefighter. “What did you say?”

“Just what I told you, he obviously doesn't know what he's talking about.”

“Cal, he had to be using some kind of insight. The man has had years of professional training. I'm sure he wouldn't just make a declaration like that unless he had something to base it on. I know you're not the only firefighter he's ever diagnosed with this.”

Cal slammed the gate shut and spun around. “You sure as hell are eager to agree with him! Why don't you go down there and help him write the report. I'm sure he could use your
input
regarding the nightmares.” With that sarcastic statement, Cal stormed back into the house.

Andrea waited for her heart to stop pounding. She had to tread lightly here. He was hurting and one wrong word would cause him to set in his heels against the idea that he may have post traumatic stress disorder.

When she entered the living room, Cal was sitting on the couch. His long legs were stretched out in front of him and crossed at the ankles. The remote control dangled carelessly from his fingers, as his thumb occasionally grazed over the buttons.

“Mackinaw Island is a three-hour ride,” she said quietly. “Don't you think we should get started?”

“I'm starting to think this whole weekend getaway is a bad idea. I mean, if you are just going to hound me the whole time, hell, we can stay home and do that.”

That did it. Wounded bear or no wounded bear, she'd had enough of his snide remarks. She stood in the doorway in silence for several minutes, watching him channel surf before finally crossing the room to the television and turning it off.

“I understand you are angry and frustrated and have a lot on your mind, but you
will not
take it out on me.”

When she turned to face him, Cal saw a look in her eyes that he'd never seen before. It was a combination of hurt and anger, disappointment and pain.

“Cal, face it…whatever is going on with you, you can't handle it alone, and as much as I want to,
I don't know how
to help you. You need this man's help, this
doctor's
help in understanding what is going on in your mind.”

He stood and stretched out his long arms. “Look at me, Andrea. Do you think anyone has ever offered to help me with anything in my life? People take one look at me and decide that I am the
least
helpless person they've ever met. I've always had to do it on my own, even when I needed help. So I've learned to survive whatever life threw my way and I'll survive this, whatever this is.”

They stood on opposite sides of the room for several seconds, staring at one another in a silent showdown.

Finally, Cal spoke. “I'm sorry I snapped at you. I just ask that you let me handle this my way. Can you do that?”

“I don't know.” She shook her head sadly. “Your way seems to be killing us.”

Cal sighed heavily. “Andrea, I don't know how much longer I will be allowed to stay with the department. If this shrink gives me a negative eval, I'm done. Which means I am not only out of a job, but a job I love.” He slumped down on the couch again and huffed. “Who am I kidding? All my life I dreamed of being a firefighter. And once I was accepted by the academy, I never looked back. This is more than a job, Andrea. This is who I am, and honestly, I don't know who I will be once it is gone.”

“You'll be Calvin Brown, the man I love. Turnout gear does not define you!” Andrea crossed the room and stood in front of him. “You're not your job or your reputation. Regardless of what you are doing for a living, you will still be the man you are today. I know you love being a firefighter, but baby…if you can't do it, then life goes on.”

“Maybe for you, and maybe even for the rest of the world, but for me…I don't know what else I would do.”

She looked up into his eyes, needing to express everything she felt in her heart. “Then we will find out together.”

A week later, Cal was back at the firehouse and this time he was on a mission. Tucked beneath his arm was a notebook containing notes he'd taken earlier that morning when he'd spoken with Noel.

Apparently, they did indeed have a firebug in their midst, and accordingly to Noel it was someone who had access to the type of accelerant used by the department. When he heard that, Cal suddenly remembered the day he saw Jeff coming up the stairs with the can of accelerant cradled in his arm.

When Cal reached the top of the stairs, Tommy was coming toward him. “Hey, man, when are we doing tuxedo fittings?”

“Wednesday evening,” Cal gave a distracted answer as his eyes surveyed the area. “You know where Jeff is?”

Something about his face must've given away his inner rage, because Tommy's eyes widened in surprise.

“Yeah, but given that look on your face, I don't know if I should tell you.”

Cal forced a laugh. “It's okay, man, just got a lot on my mind.”

Tommy's eyes narrowed in suspicion, and Cal knew he wasn't buying it. His friend knew him too well. “Hmph, he's in the kitchen.”

“Thanks, man.” Cal patted the other man on the shoulder as he moved past him toward the kitchen. As soon as he entered he found Jeff standing at the stove, concentrating on the grilled cheese sandwich that was slow cooking in a skillet.

His head came up at Cal's entry and his eyes instantly hardened. “What are you doing here? Only firefighters allowed.”

“Just visited some friends, seeing how things have been going in my absence.” Cal studied the man's tight back as he leaned against the sink. “Dwight was telling me you have really become a team player since I've been gone.”

Jeff glanced over his shoulder with narrowed eyes. “Is that right?” His voice was laced with suspicion.

Cal's mouth twisted. “Yeah. So, what's new?”

Jeff glanced at him again, his eyebrows crinkled in confusion and Cal knew he was trying to make sense of the sudden truce.

“Nothing new, and yourself?”

“Nothing much. Been catching up on my reading.”

“Really?” Jeff asked with little interest, while flipping his sandwich in the skillet.

“Yeah, I'm reading this really interesting book right now about a firefighter who is secretly an arsonist.” Cal watched in satisfaction as Jeff's hand stopped in midair above the skillet.

“Oh?”

“Yeah, it seems he had some personal beef with his chief.” Cal's eyes narrowed on the other man's back. “Haven't figured out what it is yet. But anyway, this firefighter slash arsonist decided to take out his anger by staging fires in his district.”

Jeff turned to fully face him for the first time since he'd entered the kitchen. “Why would he do that?”

Cal tilted his head thoughtfully, but never took his eyes off Jeff's face. “Don't know, haven't gotten that far in the book…yet.”

Something in Jeff's eyes shifted, and Cal knew the man was finally beginning to understand that he wouldn't be here if he didn't have something.

“So?” Jeff asked, reaching back to turn off the skillet.

“So, what?”

“So, how do they catch the guy?”

The man was worried. It was written all over his face. Cal turned from the sink and smiled wickedly. “I don't want to give that away. I mean, what if you decide to borrow the book one day?”

Jeff's eyes narrowed. “If you got something to say, Cal, just say it.”

Cal shrugged, feeling like a bored cat who'd found a mouse to play with. Being suspended was incredibly hard to deal with, but it felt good to have a purpose again. One way or the other, he would prove that Jeff was the arsonist, but knowing which accelerant was used, and happening to see Jeff with a can one time was simply not enough. No, as much as he wanted to take the guy down, he would have to bide his time.

“Nothing to say.” He smiled evilly. “Just telling you about a book I'm reading. Kinda anxious to get to the end though, you know…the part where they catch the guy.” He turned and walked out of the kitchen.