Читать книгу: «Passion Ignited»

Contents

Cover

Back Cover Text

Introduction

Dear Reader

Title Page

About the Author

Dedication

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Chapter 23

Chapter 24

Copyright

Chapter 1

The somber rendition of “Going Home” filled the air, played as it always was, by the bagpipe and drum band. The rhythmic sound of dress boots hitting the asphalt in unison accompanied the sound of the music. Firefighters from all of Ocean City’s fire departments marched in formation, following the ladder truck that carried Dean Dunbar’s flag-draped coffin.

Omar Ewing hated the sound of the pipe and drum band. Hated it with a passion. Besides the rare happy occasions—like Saint Patrick’s Day celebrations—this type of music always signified a funeral.

Firefighters from well beyond Ocean City’s borders in California—even from outside the country—lined the streets for the procession. Police officers and paramedics were among the crowd, too. The case of the Ocean City arsonist had garnered international attention and the turnout to pay final respects to Lt. Dean Dunbar was impressive.

It was exactly as Lt. Omar Ewing knew it would be. Firefighters and other first responders always supported each other when someone was killed in the line of duty. If it was feasible, they traveled as far as they could to attend the funeral of a fallen brother or sister.

This was no exception.

The procession approached the spot where two fire trucks were on opposite sides of the street, their ladders extended on an angle toward each other. Held up by the ladders was a giant American flag. This was a day to remember Dean’s sacrifice. People were proud of his sacrifice. But all Omar could think about was that it shouldn’t have happened.

He and the rest of his brothers knew the risks of the job they did, of course. But that didn’t make it any easier.

Cameras flashed, video cameras rolled. This story would be on every news station and in newspapers across the country.

A huge number of civilians had come out. They stood on both sides of the road, many waving American flags. A good firefighter had fallen. Dean Dunbar had just been doing his job, protecting the citizens of Ocean City by battling a blaze that had threatened an entire neighborhood. The fire at a meat packaging company had been a monster. Several other firefighters had sustained injuries. All because some sicko was out there taking pleasure in wreaking havoc on the city.

Omar glanced up at the sky. It was bright and sunny, without even a cloud. It seemed illogical that it was such a beautiful day when he and his colleagues were mourning the loss of a fallen brother.

Dean Dunbar had been a firefighter for twenty-two years. His wife and two teenage boys were absolutely devastated. It was hard to see them so grief stricken. His wife in particular was barely able to contain herself. Her two sons were helping hold her upright.

He should have been able to retire and enjoy his family after putting in so many years with the fire department.

But nothing was guaranteed. Not in life, and especially when your job involved putting your life on the line.

Omar knew the risks, but he would have it no other way. For him, saving a life was the ultimate reward. There was no better feeling than knowing he could save someone. It was the reason that he and his fellow firefighters did this dangerous job.

The procession arrived at the church. Dunbar’s widow began to sob as the pallbearers took the coffin from the top of the fire truck. The bagpipe and drums continued to play.

Omar scanned the faces in the crowd. Was the arsonist there? Was he watching with a sense of smug satisfaction?

Omar could only look around briefly before continuing into the church, where he and all the mourners would pay their final respects to Lt. Dean Dunbar.

* * *

Hours later, many of the Ocean City firefighters were packed into a bar. They had come to raise a glass for Dean Dunbar, something they did after every funeral. Omar knew that Dean would want it no other way.

Omar, Mason and a few more of the men from Fire Station Two were sitting at the far end of the bar. There was faint laughter as people remembered Dean fondly. But there was also a lot of sadness and anger.

“We have to catch this guy,” Omar said.

“Absolutely,” Mason agreed. “This has gone on long enough. Now we’ve lost one of our own.”

Omar took a pull of his beer. “Somebody, somewhere knows who this guy is. A girlfriend, a sibling.”

“We’ll get him,” Mason said. “We have to.”

“I have a bad feeling that the arsonist is going to ramp up his game,” Omar commented. “I’ll bet he was in the crowd, watching the procession. Probably got a kick out of seeing the family grieving.”

“There are a lot of deranged people out there,” Paul, another firefighter from their station, said. “Now that someone has died, hopefully everyone will be vigilant. Anything suspicious, people need to report. Whether that’s on the street, or at home. I don’t want to lose another firefighter. And definitely not a civilian.”

Omar raised his beer. “For Dean Dunbar.”

Mason, Paul and the firefighters within earshot raised their glasses. “For Dean Dunbar,” they said in unison.

As Omar drank, he knew there was one other thing they could do to honor Dean’s memory. And that was to find the arsonist.

Hopefully before he struck again.

* * *

Surprisingly—and thankfully—there were no fires over the Christmas holiday. People had gone from being fearful and waiting for the other shoe to drop, to feeling hopeful again. Maybe the arsonist had suddenly gotten a conscience. Maybe he’d gotten bored with setting fires. Or maybe he had moved away.

Whatever the reason, the air seemed clearer in Ocean City, and the sun brighter. People were living their lives again. Until the first week of January when the arsonist struck again. A Chinese restaurant was set ablaze just after midnight.

Tom Sully, the fire chief at Station Two, was on the scene, giving orders. “Ewing, Williams. Get that ladder to the roof so we attack the fire from there. Roman, DeNiro—get a hose to the back of the building. Duff, Riley—you two attack it from the front. The restaurant closed at ten, thank God, so there’s no one inside. Let’s kill this thing—fast!”

A small crowd had gathered on the sidewalk. People stared from the high-rise across the street, looking down undoubtedly with horror at the chaos. But had anyone seen the arsonist?

“When are you going to catch the jerk?” someone yelled.

“How long do we have to live in fear?”

Omar and his fellow firefighters set about fighting the fire. Even if they had time to answer the questions being asked, they would be unable to do so because they didn’t have the answers.

Omar was as determined to see this arsonist caught as anyone else. The fires needed to stop—and the sooner, the better.

As Omar climbed the ladder to go onto the top of the building, fire exploded through a window. Instinctively, he lurched backward. People below him screamed.

His heart pounding, Omar regained his footing and continued up the ladder. This would be yet another building lost. By the time they had arrived, the entire structure was on fire. Whoever was behind this knew just how to operate under the cover of darkness so that the response of any fire station would be too late to stop the most damage.

Omar glanced over his shoulder as he neared the top of the building. Despite the late hour, the crowd had grown.

Was the arsonist among them, watching them at this very minute?

* * *

It took a good hour to put out the fire. In that time, the crowd had continued to grow instead of wane. Omar could hear the angry rants among the spectators. People were tired of their city being under attack. People wanted the arsonist apprehended immediately.

Omar went over to Tyler McKenzie, the engineer on the pump truck. He was spraying water from the nozzle of a hose, allowing firefighters to drink and cool down. Naturally, fires were hot. But add to that, the protective gear they had to wear, and they all were sweating profusely underneath.

“Omar, drink,” Tyler said.

Omar put his face beneath the spray of water, sighing as the cold water splashed his hot face. Then he angled his head to drink several gulps.

As he stepped away from the hose, his eyes were on the crowd. Suddenly, he spotted a face that gave him pause. It was a woman wearing a baseball cap pulled low over the top of her head.

A black baseball cap.

He had seen her before...at the last fire. He was sure of it.

He watched her. Unlike the other spectators, she wasn’t checking out the scene before her. She seemed fidgety, her head turned to the right. Had she seen Omar looking at her, and was now avoiding making eye contact?

Suddenly, she started to move. She weaved her way through the crowd, walking briskly.

Omar started after her.

“Ewing,” Chief Sully called.

“Chief, I think I saw something.”

“What?” the chief asked.

But Omar didn’t have time to answer. He only had time to give chase. He made his way along the street in front of the crowd of onlookers, vaguely aware that they were observing him with curiosity.

Someone gasped as he pushed his way into the crowd. “Excuse me,” he said. “Sorry.” And kept going.

He saw the woman—dressed in dark colors—round the corner into an alley. Omar started to jog. As he got to the opening of the alley, he saw her running.

She was clearly trying to get away.

“You’ve got to be kidding me,” Omar muttered. A woman? A woman was the one setting the fires in Ocean City?

That was the only thing that explained why she would be running after he had picked her out of the crowd.

He started to run faster. With his long legs, he caught up to her in no time. “Stop right there!” he yelled.

The woman didn’t stop, just glanced over her shoulder at him before turning sharply to the right.

Omar picked up speed, darting around the corner she had just taken. He saw her heading toward Clark Street. Within seconds, he was upon her again. He reached out and grabbed her by the arm, and whipped her around. As he pulled her toward him, she landed against his body.

She looked up at him, her eyes flaming.

“What are you doing?” she demanded.

“What are you doing?” he countered.

“I was chasing the arsonist!”

“Funny,” Omar said wryly. “That’s exactly what I was going to say.”

She looked at him, aghast. “What?”

“I saw you. And you saw that I saw you in the crowd. Then you took off.”

Her eyes widened with indignation as she forced her body away from his. “Didn’t you see that guy?”

“Right, lady. The only person I saw was you. Looking suspicious in the crowd, then taking off.” Omar tightened his hand on her upper arm. He wasn’t about to let her go. “The whole city’s been waiting for this day. I’ve got to admit, I didn’t expect the person terrorizing Ocean City to be a woman.”

“You must be out of your mind.”

“I’m the one out of my mind?” Omar retorted.

“I’m not the arsonist!”

“You can tell your story to the police.” Omar started walking with her toward Clark Street, but she dug her heels into the ground and tried to yank her arm free.

“Let me go!” she demanded.

“I don’t think so.”

“You’re making a mistake.”

“Sure I am.”

When Omar continued to drag her toward Clark Street, she groaned, and then said, “Why am I not surprised? No one in this town is doing their job to catch the arsonist.”

“Nice try.”

With her free hand, she whipped off her baseball cap. Her dark shoulder-length hair spilled free. Omar’s immediate thought was how beautiful she was. He could see her face fully now beneath the streetlights. What would drive a woman like her to commit such heinous crimes?

“You don’t recognize me?”

Omar shrugged. Wait... He hadn’t dated her in the past, had he?

No. He would remember her.

He saw a look flash on her face. It was subtle. Disappointment? Perhaps a little surprise? He wasn’t sure.

“I’m not who you think I am,” she said. She craned her neck to look around the corner onto Clark Street, and then threw up a hand in frustration. “And my God, you just let the arsonist get away.”

The sound of exasperation in her tone caused Omar to halt. Was she actually telling the truth?

“Why are you out here dressed in dark colors?” Omar asked. “And why did you run when you saw me?”

“I didn’t run when I saw you,” she quipped. “I ran because I was certain I saw the arsonist.”

Frowning, Omar released her. “You were serious about that?”

“Yes!”

“Who are you? And why are you out here alone trying to take down the arsonist?”

“Because someone has to.” She let out a frustrated breath, then reached into the pocket of her jacket. “I’m Gabrielle Leonard. I thought you might recognize me when I took my hat off, but you probably don’t watch community television.”

Omar said nothing.

“Anyway,” she continued. “I’m a producer and host at Cable Four. I have a very successful show. Your Hour—”

“Ahh,” Omar interjected, finally understanding. “So you’re a reporter, out here trying to get a scoop.”

“This isn’t about a scoop,” she said. “This is about catching the person who—as you said—has been terrorizing our city. But thanks to you, he just got away.”

Her eyes shot fire as she studied him, yet all Omar could think was how attractive she looked. Was she always this heated?

He kept a level head as he said, “You’re a reporter. Not a cop. If you had pertinent information, you should have given it to the authorities.” Now Omar was beginning to get irritated. All too often reporters got in the way—because they wanted to get the almighty story. “You were in the crowd. You looked suspicious. And that’s why I came after you. I hope to God the person you saw wasn’t actually the arsonist.” His eyes roamed over her body. She was all of five foot five, maybe a hundred and ten pounds. “How exactly were you planning to take him down? By batting your eyelashes?”

“Oh, that’s priceless. Now you’re going to throw out sexist insults?”

“You’re a reporter, not a cop.”

“I’m a TV host and producer.”

“Whatever. The last thing we need is a civilian inserting herself into the investigation.”

“Someone’s got to catch this guy,” Gabrielle muttered.

“Yeah—the professionals.”

“Fine. He’s long gone, anyway.” She glared at him, as if to emphasize that it was his fault. “Now that I’ve been duly lectured by you, I’ll take it into consideration for when the next fire happens.”

Oh, she had a mouth on her. Both literally and figuratively. Her full lips looked sweet. Yet she spewed such sarcasm and sourness. Why was she treating him like the enemy?

“Goodbye.” She turned in the direction of Clark Street. But Omar put a hand on her shoulder, stopping her.

She turned, looking up at him in surprise.

Omar said, “Not so fast.”

Chapter 2

Gabrielle’s eyes widened as she looked at the firefighter. Why was he stopping her now?

“Don’t tell me you still don’t believe me,” she said.

“I do...believe you.”

“Then why aren’t you letting me go?”

He didn’t speak for a moment, and she noticed the way he was suddenly looking at her. There was something in his eyes. It was a look that Gabrielle had seen many a time. Most notably, with her own ex-fiancé—when he had leveled his eyes on other women.

This man was a player. It was practically written on his forehead. So often, the attractive ones were.

“If you are out here hoping to get a scoop, I have to ask that you don’t insert yourself into this investigation. Things get complicated when journalists get in the way.”

Gabrielle gritted her teeth, and held back a nasty retort. Of course, he didn’t believe her. He clearly thought she was interested in nabbing the arsonist for the glory. But that had nothing to do with it. She was in this for justice.

Justice for her parents.

Her parents had been victims of the arsonist. Their restaurant—the culmination of their hopes and dreams—had been burned down after only six months in operation. Two weeks later, her father had had a heart attack. The stress had gotten to him, and he’d almost died.

“I’m trying to catch this arsonist, because somebody has to. He has the city gripped with fear, and it’s mind-boggling that no one is able to figure out who he is and stop him.”

“You don’t think we’re doing our job?”

“Not good enough,” Gabrielle said.

She saw a little bit of irritation flash in the firefighter’s eyes. And she wondered why she was goading him. They shouldn’t be at odds. Ultimately they had the same goal. Yet, they were arguing.

“Why don’t you have a camera crew with you?” Omar suddenly asked.

The question caught her off guard. She wasn’t prepared for it. “I’m not here in an official capacity with the station. I already told you, this isn’t about me getting a story.”

“But you were at the last fire. Maybe the one before that, too. I’ve seen you before. That’s why, when I saw you tonight, I thought it was suspicious. More than a coincidence.”

“It is more than a coincidence. I heard about the fire on the radio, and I came down to the scene. Same as I did with the last fire. You guys are busy, and I wanted to see if I spotted anyone in the crowd who looked suspicious. I came armed with my cell phone camera.”

“You got the arsonist on camera? Why didn’t you say so?”

“You see how dark it is out here. I got pictures, but they’re not great. And I couldn’t get close to the guy.”

“Can you give me a description of him?”

“Not exactly.”

Omar chuckled mercilessly. “But you were so certain that you were chasing the right guy. This is ridiculous.”

The only thing ridiculous was that he was paying no attention to her at all. He wasn’t getting it.

“I couldn’t tell who he was because I wasn’t right beside him. And because he also was wearing a hat. And it’s dark out. I can tell you that he’s a white male. I saw him at the last fire as well. When I saw him tonight... I just knew.”

“Then why didn’t you try to get the attention of someone in authority?” Omar asked.

“I...” She had been too absorbed with trying to keep her eye on the person she believed to be the arsonist. “I’m not sure it would have done any good. The authorities in the city seem completely inept at catching this perp.”

“Ouch.” Omar made a face. “For such a beautiful lady, you certainly know how to hurt a guy’s feelings.”

Then he smiled. And Gabrielle’s jaw went slack. She couldn’t believe it. He was flirting with her!

“Omar!”

The firefighter turned. Another firefighter—Gabrielle recognized Mason Foley, because he had been in the papers some months earlier—was striding toward them through the alley. “Did you find something?”

“Thought I did,” Omar answered. “But I was wrong, apparently.”

Mason’s eyes narrowed on Gabrielle. “Her?”

“I saw her in the crowd,” Omar explained. “She was acting suspicious. I saw her take off, so I did too. When I caught up to her, she said she was in pursuit of the alleged arsonist.”

“Until he got in the way and stopped me,” Gabrielle quipped.

“You’re Gabrielle Leonard, aren’t you?” Mason asked.

“Yes.” At least this guy didn’t only read the sports pages, she thought sourly.

“The guy got away,” Omar said. “Did you see anyone running down Clark Street?”

Mason shook his head. “Naw.”

“Damn.”

Gabrielle looked up at Omar. There was something about him that looked familiar. And his name...

Yes! It came to her. Hadn’t he dated a friend of a friend? Two, from what she remembered. Both had been head over heels for Omar, but he’d broken their hearts. There was some story about a love triangle. It had been a few years back. But it was becoming clearer in her mind. Omar had played both the women. In the end, both had been devastated.

“Omar, we need you back at the truck,” Mason said.

Omar suddenly met her gaze. And there was that look again. Now Gabrielle could define it. It was the bedroom eye. She quickly averted her gaze to Mason, who nodded at her, and said, “Have a good day.”

Then she looked at Omar again, and though it was a quick glance, she felt something she didn’t want to feel. A spark of attraction. There was an undeniable sizzle between the two of them.

She jerked her gaze away and turned down the alley.

“Gabrielle,” Omar called.

But she pretended not to hear. Because the last thing she wanted to do was have any further involvement with him.

* * *

“Don’t quit your day job,” Tyler McKenzie joked when all of the firefighters had returned to Station Two. “You’d make a lousy detective, Omar.”

The guys had a good laugh at Omar’s expense. Mason, having gotten a kick out of the fact that Omar had “nabbed” Gabrielle Leonard, had enthusiastically shared the story. With everyone.

“Very funny, Tyler,” Omar said.

“Wasn’t Stacy Jackson out there with Channel 10 news?” Mason asked. “Maybe she’s the arsonist.”

More raucous laughter from the guys.

Omar rolled his eyes. Okay, so he had made a colossal mistake. Gabrielle Leonard was clearly not the arsonist.

“I couldn’t see her face,” Omar said. “She was wearing a hat.” Though he wouldn’t have recognized her even in the light of day. He never tuned in to to any Cable Four programming.

“Surprising,” Tyler said. “You mean there’s actually a woman in Ocean City you don’t recognize? I thought you’ve dated all of them.”

“You keep that up, you won’t make it to your wedding,” Omar warned him.

Tyler had recently gotten engaged—for the second time. His first engagement had been a mistake, something Omar and the other guys at the station had known almost from the beginning. But Tyler had hung on far longer than he should have, trying to make things work. It had been futile.

But a few months ago, Tyler had met someone else. Their connection had been wild and furious, and now he seemed happier than ever.

Omar had felt an instant connection to Gabrielle, as well. Sure, she was beautiful. That was obvious. But it wasn’t simply her beauty. There was something else. There had to be—because she had been undeniably angry with him, yet he still felt a spark.

“What was some woman from a TV station doing at the fire scene anyway?” Omar asked.

“She’s not just some woman,” Mason said. “She’s Gabrielle Leonard. A local celebrity.”

“Yeah well, I never watch community television.”

“We don’t even want to know what stations you watch!” Tyler said, then laughed.

“You’re a regular comedian today,” Omar said to Tyler. “I don’t have to watch it, when I can be out there living it.”

There was a round of ooohs and enthusiastic laughter. Someone patted him on the back, and said, “Our resident stud.”

Omar chuckled. His reputation at the station was one of a ladies’ man. And it was true, he had dated a lot. But he hadn’t dated seriously, at least not in recent years. For that reason, the guys all thought he wasn’t serious about finding a girlfriend.

It wasn’t that he wasn’t serious about it. He just hadn’t met anyone who had really intrigued him. Oh, he’d met plenty of beautiful women. And he dated many of them. But they all failed to interest him past the initial attraction. So what was he supposed to do? Settle?

“That’s our Omar,” one of the paramedics said. She was female, and she liked to tease Omar for his playboy ways.

It wasn’t that he was simply a playboy. At least, that’s not how he set out to live his life. And he knew he wasn’t getting any younger. He was thirty-six. Like practically the rest of society, the idea of settling down and having a family was one that appealed to him. But he first had to find the right woman.

Omar knew that if he told his colleagues at the station that, they would break into spontaneous laughter. He had to take responsibility for his own reputation, but part of his carefree attitude had been an act. He didn’t talk about it, but Omar had lost the love of his life. Losing Mika had devastated him. And since her death, he hadn’t met anyone else who could compare.

His mind went back to Gabrielle. He’d felt something with her in that alley. Something he wanted to explore.

The problem was, she had walked away from him when he had called out. She’d ignored him, making it clear that she wanted nothing more to do with him.

Well, Omar would see about that. One way or another.

* * *

“What are you doing?” Gabrielle asked.

Omar pulled her toward his body, and looked down into her eyes as if trying to claim her with his gaze. “Kissing you.”

He began to lower his lips slowly, and just when his lips touched hers, Gabrielle felt her body explode.

Her eyes popped open. For a moment, Gabrielle didn’t know what was going on. Her heart was beating fast. She was in her bed, she soon realized. Which meant...

Which meant she had been dreaming about Omar.

Dear God in heaven, what was wrong with her? She glanced at the clock. It was just after four in the morning, and she needed to be up in a few hours. Yet, she had been sleeping fitfully. For some reason, her mind wouldn’t stop replaying what had happened the previous night. How she had been running down that alley, then suddenly stopped by Omar. How the perp had gotten away.