Rescued By The Firefighter. Catherine Lanigan
empathy in them.
“I’ll need to interview you, your staff, the two kids...” He lifted a notebook. “Chris and Eli.” He lowered his hand. “I trust they’re all here now?”
“They are. And Officer Nelson, I’d rather you didn’t talk to Chris or Eli in the dining hall. I don’t want to disturb the other kids. You can use my office.”
“That would be good.” He stepped back from the entrance, put the slim notebook in the back pocket of his jeans and smiled at her with a quirk of his lips. “Uh, and Bee. I’m not an officer. My father was a navy officer, an admiral, actually. I’m a firefighter. You can call me Rand.”
Beatrice’s head hitched back as if she’d been doused with a bucketful of water. She wished he wouldn’t call her that. No one had called her “Bee” since she was little. Coming from Rand, she’d never heard it said with so much velvety charm.
And where had that come from? Rand had been stoic and strong and purposeful during the fire, when he’d saved her and the boys. His gruff exterior only a second ago had caused her to believe he was as rough as sandpaper on the inside as well. But this sudden glimpse of something else—someone else—was unexpected.
But was it real?
He stepped outside. “I’ll get my recorder and be right back.”
“Recorder?”
“Yeah. I tape the interviews for the captain’s records. It will go with all the other forensic samples.”
Beatrice wrung her hands as the depth of his investigation hit her. She looked at her hands and shoved them to her sides. She wasn’t the hand-wringing type. She’d just risked her life for her camper kids. She’d do it again. No second thoughts.
But what if Rand’s investigation exposed some nuance of neglect? Just how far would he go to fulfill his duties as a firefighter?
“Maybe you should tell me what exactly you’re looking for?” she challenged, raising her arms to cross over her chest. Armor to deflect the threat he posed.
“Noncompliance with safety regulations.” He raised an eyebrow. “Unfortunately, it’s all too common. I’ve even seen day-care owners who posed as caretakers but in truth were anything but.”
“And you think I’m capable of such behavior?”
He stared at her.
“Why would I—or anyone—do such a thing? They’re...children, for goodness sake.”
“Money. Government funds. Grants.”
She held up her palms. “Stop right there. I would never do anything to harm these kids. And what on earth would I gain by starting a fire?”
He shrugged his shoulders. “Insurance money? I’ve seen that before, too. Insurance money is a quick way out for people who get into debt.”
She narrowed her eyes to slits to filter out his accusations. He probably had seen that kind of person a dozen times over in his line of work. Maybe worse. Pyromaniacs. People whose euphoria escalated with the sound of sirens.
And even though that was nowhere near the kind of person she was, Rand was the kind of by-the-book official who would shut down her camp if he found the tiniest infraction.
Had she caused herself great harm by running into that fire to save Eli and Chris?
And what of the boys themselves? The boys might have had something to do with the fire, but she would not let herself think that either of them had done anything intentional. It all had to be an accident. But even if it was, would the fact that the boys were in her care still be enough to bring charges against her?
She could see the case Rand could make. That accusatory finger of the law was itching to point at her.
Beatrice sensed that if she let her growing sense of guilt show on her face or in her tone of voice, he would suspect her of crimes she hadn’t even thought of. That was the problem with being a cop’s kid. You could always see the dark side of a situation before you saw the light.
She cocked her chin and pursed her lips. “Well, Mr. Nelson, I can tell you one thing—you’re never going to get the truth out of a kid acting like this.”
“Me? What are you talking about?”
“None of your questions and interrogations will be easy for a kid. I know you’re doing what’s necessary and all this is required by the law, but these kids—” she turned her head toward the dining room and then, after a thoughtful pause, back to him “—they’re good kids. All of them.”
Ouch. Even she thought her defensive tone was sharp enough to pierce granite.
“Look,” she said sweetly, changing tack. “Some of them have had a rough life. A couple have had a very tough life. Could you be a little...well, softer in your delivery?”
“Softer?”
“Yeah. Not so gruff.”
His biceps flexed, bulged and relaxed as he folded his arms over his chest. “You think I sound harsh?” He leaned forward a few inches, but instead of seeming threatening, his closeness reminded her of the other reactions she had to him. The ones that made her wish they were not in this antagonistic situation. The ones that flashed visions of being held in his arms.
“To a kid. Yes.”
She peeled her eyes off his arms and hauled them up to his face. She met his gaze dead-on.
“I’ll take that into consideration. Thanks for the advice. I’ll be right back.”
He walked toward the huge fire truck.
His heavy black boots left shallow imprints in the dry dirt as he headed across the summer-bleached grass that in spring had been dark green velvet. Their indentations left proof that he was on the job, performing his duty. Beatrice inhaled deeply as the space between the two of them lengthened. She realized that when she was near him, he didn’t just fill the inches and feet between them, but he overtook her thoughts as well.
He wore regulation black jeans and a short-sleeved knit shirt, which had the ILFD logo over the breast pocket. Beatrice had never been the type to linger long over any male’s physique, but Rand was so perfectly sculptured, it was impossible not to conjure visions of ancient Greek Olympians and the mighty feats they accomplished.
But then, Rand had carried her and Eli out of a blazing inferno. What was more Herculean than that?
Beatrice was so immersed in her fantasies about Rand, that she didn’t notice that he’d walked back to her and had started talking to her.
“Sorry, what?”
He sighed, and started over. “I need to talk to all the kids about fire safety before I have the private, er, interviews.”
She had to give him points for carefully choosing his words. Maybe he’d listened to her.
She turned her boot around and let her body follow, using the wall for momentary security. “This way.”
The kids were nearly back to normal, Beatrice realized as she entered the dining hall. Their voices were sprinkled with chuckles and had returned to the loud, happy tones she’d heard before the fire.
She clapped her hands three times, the signal for their attention. Usually, it took them a few moments to stop joking with one another. This time they came to abrupt attention.
“Guys. This is Firefighter Rand Nelson. Some of you met him last night during the fire.” She looked pointedly at Eli and Chris. Eli smiled at Rand. Chris scooted back on his chair. He clutched either side of his seat with his hands. Little Ricky’s eyes were filled with adoration.
Cindy stared blatantly at Rand’s chest. Maisie’s cheeks were pink.
Beatrice continued. “Mr. Nelson wants to talk to you all