“ANY DETAILS YOU want to give me on the Cocoon Club?” Roman estimated the trip to Senior Central, as he’d learned the house was called, would only take a few minutes. “Frankie’s given me the basic background, I think.”
Jasper shifted back in the passenger seat, shoved his hair out of his eyes. “My mom says they’re worse than a group of aimless teenagers.”
“How so?”
“Always getting into trouble. Testing boundaries.”
“Or maybe they like the attention,” Roman offered. Older folks, even when part of a group, tended to have more issues with loneliness and depression than other demographics. He’d gotten his share of calls, especially in Florida, regarding locks that didn’t work or a cat that got out. Leaky roofs were a big one, too. Now that he thought about it, the calls from the Cocoon Club weren’t that much different. Just better organized. And more entertaining.
“Attention like before Thanksgiving when they called for a ride home from the grocery store?”
Roman winced. “You heard about that?”
Jasper looked at him. “Everyone knows about that. Sir.”
“What are people saying?”
“Mostly they just roll their eyes and say it’s typical of them. No one minds, really, about their calls and shenanigans.”
“Shenanigans?” Roman couldn’t remember the last time he’d heard that word used.
“That’s what my mom calls it. They’re all kinds of comic relief for us. What are they up to now? Who’s moving into the house, that kind of stuff.”
“Remind me who is who again?” A refresher course was definitely in order.
“There’s Myra, who used to be a hairdresser and only retired a few years ago when the business closed. Delilah, who worked in advertising. Alice is Abby’s grandmother, and she used to run the Flutterby. Marty and Harold are both vets, but you can always tell who Marty is because he wears something related to the marines.” Jasper counted them off on his fingers. “Clyde was the town pharmacist, Lorna was a sec—sorry, administrative assistant.”
Roman grinned at the political correctness catch.
“Eloise worked at the bank before it went under and then Penny. I’m not sure what she used to do. Her sister Polly, who’s only three years younger, lives on her own over near Skipper Park. I overheard Marty telling Harold one time Polly used to be a pinup girl like some lady in the war. Betty Grable?” Jasper frowned. “I’ve never heard of her.”
“Then your movie education is sorely lacking,” Roman said, suddenly in the mood for a classics marathon. “That’s nine. Aren’t there ten?”
“Right. Oscar. Mr. Bedemeyer’s a kick,” Jasper said. “He snuck into the army when he was sixteen so he could fight in WWII. Used his older brother’s ID. He used to come to the school to talk about his experiences and what it was like back then. He’s walking history.”
“Used to? He doesn’t come in anymore?”
“I don’t know that he’s been asked lately. The high school got a new history teacher a few years back. Mr. Bedemeyer likely got lost in the changeover. Mostly all the antics they get up to are because they’re trying to keep busy. They do a lot of stuff around town, organizing events and fund-raisers, but not as much as they used to. None of them drive anymore.” Jasper eyed him. “Public safety, according to Luke.”
“Frankie acted like she was expecting this call. She seems to know how to deal with them.”
“She doesn’t treat them like they’re old. She grew up here, so she’s known them all her life.”
“Is that your way of saying I should tread carefully?”
“I’d never say that, sir.” But Jasper flashed a grin before he looked out his window. “But there were times even Chief Granger said they were the bane of his existence. He was happy to let Frankie handle their calls. Don’t get me wrong. It’s not like he was afraid of them or anything. Just...”
“It was just Frankie is better with them. Don’t worry. I get it.” It had been easy in a big city to keep responses impersonal. Arrive, deal with the situation, move on to the next call. The learning curve here was steep and definitive: you’d help people you would see every day and know what was happening in their lives, whether it was hearing that Oliver Hideman was finally back home with his daughter and grandchildren in time to celebrate the holidays, or making sure Shirley and Amelia had a nice Christmas despite their recent troubles, or running into Delilah and Penny at the grocery store and enduring another photo session. He’d been quick to tell Frankie their calls were about the people, but he hadn’t bothered to take his own words to heart. Until now.
And now, when he pulled Dwayne to a halt in front of the old Victorian on the corner, a bolt of unexpected fear and concern struck him. He swore, earning an appreciative look from Jasper, and slammed the truck into Park and shoved open the door.
Fear was something firefighters learned to control, at least when it came to major incidents where the unknown would be their greatest enemy. A multialarm fire, multiple-car accident, wildfires. Once, back in Boston when he’d still been a probie, Roman had found himself in a four-floor inferno. His training officer had been knocked out byfalling debris, his own air unit compromised. The suffocating fear that had locked around his throat had almost choked the life out of him, but he’d conquered it, used it. Learned from it.
Spotting Harold and Marty sparring on top of the roof unleashed a new, unknown tendril twining through Roman. He sped along the walk.
Myra, wearing a black suit that with her tangerine hair made her look like a struck match, was already closing in on him.
“She sent you this time, did she?” The anger in Myra’s voice caught him off guard, but her next words told Roman he wasn’t the target of her rage. “Don’t blame her one bit, not wanting to deal with those two bumbling baboons up there. Six years! Six years they’ve been doing the Christmas lights and do you think one season would come and go without them arguing? Darn fools. Stomping around on the roof and giving me a headache. They woke poor Alice up and she has enough difficulty sleeping as it is!”
“What’s their point of contention?” Roman cleared his throat and forced the concern down to where he couldn’t reach it. Even from a distance, he could see Harold’s marine insignia–emblazoned T-shirt along with his slightly shaky knees. That steep roof wasn’t safe for any length of time for anyone, certainly not for an aged marine. Not even for Roman.
“Same as always,” Myra snapped. “Clear or colored bulbs. We alternate every year, but none of us can remember which we did last year. Harold swears we did color. Marty says white. Mind you, we haven’t gotten to the discussion over twinkle or steady burn yet...”
Roman motioned to Jasper to continue the conversation with Myra as he headed over to where the ladder leaned up against the gutter. The damp earth had sucked the stabilizing feet a good inch into the mud, and not evenly. How either of these guys had scrambled onto the roof safely would remain a mystery.
“Afternoon, gentlemen.” Roman gave a quick wave of acknowledgment. “Perhaps this discussion would be better had on sturdy ground?”
“We’re almost done.” Marty gestured with a tangled ball of lights as if in triumph. “Just have to untangle these and drape them over the—”
“Those are the wrong lights!” Harold spat. “We bought new ones last year, remember? LEDs so they don’t burn out.”
“We got those for next year because they’re white. And if we got new ones, where are they?”
“I can’t remember where I put them. Oscar’s looking for them now.”
“Harold? Marty?” Roman moved closer, shielded his eyes against the bright sun. “Guys, it would make Myra and Eloise and even me feel a whole lot better if you’d come down off the roof.”
“Young’un thinks we’re too old to do our jobs.” Harold glared down at him. “I’ve been hanging Christmas lights since you were crawling around in your diaper.”
Oh, if only his mother could hear this conversation. “I’m sure you were, sir, but that doesn’t change the fact you’re worrying your friends. Now, please, come down.” Roman locked his hand around the ladder and gave it a good jerk to test its sturdiness. “Or else I’m coming up after you.”
“You wouldn’t.” Marty looked more offended than concerned. “We don’t need your help! We’re doing just fine.” To prove his point, he did what Roman could only assume was his toned-down version of a jig. “Whoops!” One of his feet slipped, but he caught himself and managed to avoid falling.
“Down!” Roman was done playing nice. “Both of you. Now.”
Given Harold had reached out to grab his friend’s arm when he slipped, the two men nodded in unison. “Okay, okay. You win. Roof’s still wet from the rain last night. That’s the only reason I—”
“Stop making excuses and get down here,” Myra called from behind Roman. She grabbed hold of Roman’s arm and squeezed. “Thank you. Frankie’s trained you well.”
Roman bit the inside of his cheek when Jasper covered a laugh with a cough. “Yes, ma’am.” He watched every step the two men made on their way down and breathed a sigh of relief when they were beside him. “Now.” Roman looked up to where Marty had left the bundle of lights on the roof. “I think we can all agree that the world will not come to an end if, perchance, you repeat the color scheme of last year.”
“The color of the lights determines which additional decorations we use on the lawn,” Marty explained as if Roman were a child. “With white lights we use a Santa and his sleigh theme. If we use multicolor, we go with snowmen.”
“Heaven forbid we make any changes,” Myra muttered. “They won’t even let us talk about the angels we’ve got that we’ve never used.”
“Or the Rudolph we got a few years ago at a clearance sale,” Eloise called. “By the time we use him, his nose bulb will be burned out.”
“Oh, the inflatable Rudolph!” Myra clasped her hands to her mouth. “I’d forgotten about him. We talked about using a leaf blower to blow it up.”
The very idea of anyone in this house using a leaf blower made Roman nauseated. “Okay, here’s what we’re going to do. Harold, Marty, you’ll supervise. But from down here. Whatever new lights Oscar finds will be what goes up this year. Jasper and I are happy to get them up as long as we don’t get another call.” He’d never been so conflicted about wanting an emergency in his life. If his radio remained silent, he’d be stuck stringing lights all afternoon. If they got a call, chances were he’d be back in a few hours replaying this entire scene.
“You ever string lights, young’un?” Marty didn’t look convinced.
“Used to help my dad every year,” Roman confirmed. “How about I take those old lights of yours back with me to the station and we’ll see about recycling them?”
Harold grimaced and looked back up on the roof. “We left them up there.”
“I’ll get them,” Jasper offered.
“It’s okay.” Roman was already grabbing the ladder and hoisting it out of the muck. “I’m going to move this over to where it’s cement and not mud.” He looked at the two old men as if they should have thought about that themselves.
“Oh, but we start here because—”
“It’s not safe here.” He clanged the ladder down, planting it solidly against the side of the porch overhang. Inside the garage, he could hear muttering and swearing as someone moved boxes around. Oscar, Roman assumed, searching for their missing lights.
“I don’t know about this.” Marty shook his head. “That’s not how we usually do it. We tried it one year. Why didn’t we do it again?”
“Can’t recall,” Harold said. “Only know it’s not—”
Roman ignored them as he headed up the ladder. He could see the hooks from where last year’s lights must have hung. Behind him, he heard the telltale squeak of Oscar Bedemeyer’s walker.
“Found them!” The triumphant cry caused Roman to give silent thanks for whatever force had guided Oscar to finding the right lights so quickly. “They were in a box marked ‘plumbing supplies.’ Don’t know what darned fool...”
Roman stopped listening. “Frankie does this every year,” Roman muttered to himself as he headed for the roof. “Woman deserves a medal.” He could see the tangle of lights across the porch overhang as he moved to step off the ladder.
“I’ve got them. Here I come!” Oscar declared, and a telltale clang cut through the air. The ladder under Roman’s feet vibrated. As he looked down, he could see the wheels of Oscar’s walker had caught the foot of the ladder. “What in land sakes is this ladder doing here?”
Roman had heard stories about time slowing down to the point of going still. He’d never experienced it before. Until now. In only a matter of seconds, the ladder was knocked out from under him and he’d grabbed hold of the shingled roof, splinters slicing into his fingers. He heard Jasper cry out, and from the corner of his eye, Roman saw the young man race forward, arms waving. But Roman’s hands slipped free. He felt himself fall, and when he landed, he did so with an odd crack, partially on the ladder.
Head ringing, body numb, he rolled to the ground, trying to catch the breath that had been driven out of him.
“Chief?” Jasper was leaning over him, hands reaching out to help before he must have remembered his training and so stopped himself. “Chief? You okay?”
“What in green acres was he doing up there on that ladder?” Oscar demanded as he and his walker clicked his way over, the four boxes of industrial white lights stuffed into the swinging leather pouch. “That looked like it hurt.”
Roman finally sucked in enough breath to let out a groan. The pain, when it hit, shot straight up from his toes.
“Sir?” Jasper planted a hand on his chest to stop him from moving.
“Hang on,” Roman gasped. “Taking inventory.” He tried to push beyond the numbness. He could feel a bruise forming on his forehead and he could taste blood, but he knew better than to try to move his neck. Better safe than sorry, even though he was beginning to feel every pain-pounding cell in his body. “I think I’m okay.” He wiggled his toes...on his left foot. On his right? Oh, man. He sucked in a breath, his hand going down to his leg. “Nope. Scratch that. Jasper, check my right leg.” He had four old faces peering down at him as if he he’d been plucked from the planet and put on display for his alien abductors. All that was missing was a probe.
He could feel the kid’s hands on his leg and knew by the suddenly pale color of Jasper’s cheeks he’d confirmed what Roman suspected. “I think it’s broken.”
“Yeah.” Roman didn’t nod. He took a deep breath and stared up at the sky. “Okay, you got your cell? Call Frankie. Tell her we need an ambulance. And then have her call for some volunteers to meet you here.”
“Why?”
“Because.” Roman sucked in a breath as his chest tightened. “We need to get those Christmas lights up.”
“FRANKIE?”
“Hey, Paige.” Frankie glanced up from her phone, clicking it off as she leaned an arm against the emergency room check-in desk. “How is he?”
She couldn’t remember feeling quite so frazzled. Her hands were shaking and her stomach was leaping like an out-of-place toad at a frog-jumping contest.
She’d known, logically at least, Roman was okay. He was in good hands, from the paramedics to the ER staff, which included nurse Paige Bradley. But as many times as Frankie told herself she had nothing to worry about, she couldn’t shake the desire, the need, to see for herself that Roman was all right.
Luckily, Ozzy had been working out at the station and offered to keep an eye on things. Meanwhile, she headed over with Sebastian to check on the volunteers stringing what would soon become an infamous set of Christmas lights. Given Roman’s orders to Jasper before the ambulance had arrived, she knew he’d want to know his reason for going out on the call in the first place would be taken care of.
It was. But her stomach was still a roiling mess. Roman hadn’t been on the job for a month and here he was, injured. She’d read his file. Roman wasn’t careless. In fact, his list of injuries over the past decade had been minor at best.
It was guilt, she told herself. Guilt because she should have taken the call. She knew the Cocoon Club took special handling, but she’d sent him out there anyway. That said, who could have known Oscar and his weaponized walker would go on a rampage? She could have known, she reminded herself. She should have known. Yes, guilt. Because to consider any other emotion where Roman was concerned would just open a door to a place she did not want to go.
“Roman’s fine.” Paige’s sunshine-yellow scrubs were so bright it almost hurt to look at her. With her neat ponytail bobbing behind her, her eyes were sympathetic but didn’t hold any concern. The combination instantly relaxed Frankie. “Well, he will be given a little time. He’s pretty bruised up. Ribs, left shoulder. And he broke his nose. Not for the first time, from what he’s told us.”
“No.” By Frankie’s recollection, this would be number four.
“The break in his leg is clean, so he won’t need surgery, but he’ll be in a cast for a good six weeks. More if he doesn’t follow orders and use crutches.” Paige’s tone stressed that fact specifically, and Frankie accepted the unspoken order to make certain he did as he was told.
“Can I see him?”
“Yeah, sure.” Paige motioned for her to follow. “We’re taking him in for an MRI in a bit. Doctor’s pretty sure he’s got a mild concussion, so he’s here at least overnight. He’s a little loopy. We gave him a shot for the pain, but also because he tried to get out of bed twice.”
“Of course he did.” Something told Frankie her already-full hands were about to overflow. “Huh, isn’t this a sight?” Frankie purposely kept her tone light and amused as Paige led her into Roman’s room. With him in it, the space felt as if she’d stepped into a doll’s house. He took up every inch of the bed. His leg had been prewrapped for a cast and was resting on a mound of pillows. The bruise on his forehead had Frankie wincing in sympathy, as did his swelling nose. He was going to have some serious black eyes come tomorrow. “You just couldn’t make this easy on me, could you?” Relief had swept over her at seeing him. She had to clear her throat of the emotion. He was a mess, but he was alive. “Everything has to be a production with you.”
“Hey there, Frankie.” Roman’s head lolled against the pillow, and he gave her a goofy smile. “I was wondering when you’d turn up.”
“I’ll leave you two alone.” Paige gave her a pat on the arm. “You need anything, I’ll be at the station just out there.”
“Thanks, Paige.” Frankie let out a long breath. “How are you feeling?” Frankie stood at the foot of his bed, more uncertain than she could ever remember feeling. That was strange, because she always knew what to do. Even when she didn’t, she moved through the uncertainty with purpose and calm. But seeing this strong man looking as if he’d gone ten rounds with Godzilla left her hesitant about what to do next. She partly wanted to yell at him for scaring her—the other part wanted to throw her arms around him. She couldn’t help it, she’d been worried.
“I feel great.” He looked to the side, then the other side and back at her. “Everything’s really, really great.”
Frankie covered her mouth with her hand before her smile emerged. “Do you remember what happened?”
“Splat!” Roman tried to smack his hands together and missed by a mile. “Ladder just went whoosh and I went splat. And from what people tell me, I made a decided thunk.”
This time, Frankie had to turn away to hide the laugh. It took a bit longer than expected to get herself under control, but eventually she faced him again. On the nightstand, his phone buzzed.
“Darn thing hasn’t stopped ringing since I got here.” Roman pointed at the phone and frowned. “Stop that.”
“How about we see who it is?” Frankie picked up the phone. Roman grabbed her arm, his fingers warm on her skin. “What?”
“Splat!”
“Got it. We’ll call you Splatman from now on, okay?”
“O-kay!” Roman gave her a thumbs-up as his eyes began to droop. Yeah, he’d be out for the count any time now.
“Hey, Roman?” She held up his phone. “It’s your mother.”
“Uh-oh. She’s got her mom-dar working overtime.” Roman sighed. “She always knows when something’s happened. Always knows. Let it go. She’ll call back. Hey, Frankie?”
The call ended. Frankie didn’t like the idea of his mother worrying. She might not be an expert when it came to mother-child relationships, but she’d seen parental intuition at work. Parents knew when something was wrong with their kid, no matter how old they got.
“Yo, Frankie!” Roman’s voice raised.
“Shh.” Frankie stepped closer to the bed. “There are other patients here, you know. Stop being such a loudmouth.”
“Frankie.” Roman smiled again. That sparkling, chest-clenching smile that had her grinning. “You’re a knockout, Frankie Bettencourt. Did I tell you that?”
“Ah.” Frankie’s cheeks went hotter than an inferno. “No, you did not.” But the way he’d kissed her the other day had given her an inkling. That said, now was not the time or place to have this discussion with her boss.
“Because I shouldn’t say it,” Roman said in a singsongy voice. “Nope. Can’t tell the knockout fireman...woman...person I work with that she is a sight to behold. That is R-O-N-G-E, wrong.” He lifted a finger to his lips. “Shh. Don’t tell Frankie I told you. I think she might punch me for it.”
Frankie glanced over her shoulder and found Paige leaning against the door frame, chuckling.
“I won’t say a word,” Frankie promised. “How about you get some sleep, big guy.”
“Splatman,” Roman mumbled as his eyes drifted closed.
“Oh, he’s going to be so sorry he said that,” Frankie told Paige as she picked up his phone again. “If he’s looking for this, let him know I have it. I’d better get back to the station. Um. How much medication did you give him?”
Paige laughed and walked out with her. “Enough he won’t remember a word he said. But I’m betting you might.”
“All the calls and hospital runs I’ve been on, I’ve received my share of confused injury-induced compliments,” Frankie said. “They don’t tend to stick in my head.” But this one? Something told her this one would be the exception. Frankie texted Jasper to pick her up at the hospital, where she’d been dropped off earlier.
TODAY, FRANKIE THOUGHT, might end up being the longest day of her life. She looked outside and found the sun continuing to stream. It had only been a few hours since she’d seen Roman at the hospital, but that seemed ages ago as she watched her brother and Ozzy bring furniture up from the basement. “And it’s not over yet.”
In her back pocket, Roman’s phone buzzed again. This was the fourth time in the past few hours his mother had called. Every time it started, she told herself to answer. She certainly wouldn’t want to be the one calling and not getting through to her loved one.
True to form, volunteers had shown up at the station once word got around about Roman being injured. Schedules were rearranged, plans changed, new ones made so that someone could be at the firehouse at all times, leaving Frankie, for the most part, in charge. Her first task? Emptying out the room they used for storage on the first floor so Roman wouldn’t have to climb stairs once he was released from the hospital.
“Nope! By the window, guys.” She followed Monty and Ozzy into the room, pointing at where she wanted the bed. She’d snagged one of the curtain sets from an unused room upstairs and gotten them situated moments before. “That’s great.” The station’s basement had long ago become a depository for unused and unwanted furniture from people in town. Well, what they didn’t feel like putting on consignment at the antique and thrift store.
The room had its own entry into the unisex bathroom and wide enough doorways that he shouldn’t have much issue with his crutches. With the bed in place, the transformation was complete and included an old leather recliner in the corner, a scarred desk, a sturdy chair and a low dresser where they’d set up a TV.
“Guess he won’t be looking for a place to live anytime soon,” Monty told her as Ozzy headed upstairs to pack up Roman’s things.
“Probably not until after the holiday, no.” It occurred to Frankie that she should report in to dispatch and get them back in rotation. As she went, she clicked on the light switch that illuminated the artificial tree she’d decorated in keepsake ornaments. The tiny lights hiding in the boughs of greenery she’d strung around the office settled into an even glow and, just like that, the spirit of the season took over. “You sticking around?”
“Thought I might,” Monty said. “If you don’t mind. I didn’t feel like cooking tonight.”
“Help yourself to whatever’s in the fridge.” Frankie was still riding an adrenaline buzz, so food wasn’t on her mind. With Roman out of commission for a while, she needed to readjust his readjusted schedule. Not completely. She wouldn’t disrespect the changes he’d made—but some allowances would have to be made.
“Heads up, sis.” Monty jerked his thumb at the driveway. “Buzzkill at twelve o’clock.” He disappeared into the kitchen just as Frankie caught sight of Gil Hamilton coming into the bay.
Her hands tightened around the pen and clipboard. She hadn’t seen the mayor since Roman had arrived in town. She wasn’t avoiding him purposely; she just assumed the universe had stepped in to prevent a major scene from happening. This meeting was inevitable, and why not add it to today’s shenanigans? It really was the cherry on the melting sundae. “Evening, Mr. Mayor.”
“Frankie.” Gil’s voice carried the same chill she’d aimed at him. “I just got back from the hospital. Chief Salazar is going to be all right.”
“Yes, sir.” Frankie nodded. “I stopped in earlier to see him.” And the memory of that visit was going to keep her entertained for weeks, maybe months to come.
“They’re going to keep him an extra couple of days for observation.” Gil stood on the other side of the desk, looking down at her with a cautious expression. What was he expecting? For her to lunge across the desk at him? Frankie pursed her lips. Wait. Now that she thought about it...
“Oh?”
“They’re just being cautious.” Gil leaned over to look past her when he heard banging in the kitchen.
“Monty’s raiding the fridge,” she said. “There’s plenty food to be had—help yourself.”
“No, thanks. I have a dinner meeting with Chevy Conroy.”
Frankie arched a brow. “The new mayor of Durante?”
“Yes.” A flicker of unease shifted across his face. “We’re discussing options for the opening of the sanctuary. Expanding the potential attendance base.”
Because Gil’s potential base could never be too large. “Was there something you needed?”
“It’s been brought to my attention that I owe you an apology. And...” Gil took a deep breath. “An explanation.”
For the second time that day, Frankie felt as if her feet had been kicked out from under her. “Forget about it.” Today was not the day she wanted to get into things with Gil. “You made your choice. I’ve accepted it.” Mostly.
“Have you?”
“Enough that I no longer want to slug you. Plus I’ve had some time to think about it. We don’t like each other, which makes it difficult to work together.” She heard her brother choke and cough in the distance.
“That’s exactly what I thought.”
“In fact, it’s probably me who owes you an apology.” It wasn’t often she felt magnanimous around the mayor, so she might as well get this over with while she did. “About the nickname. It was childish and rude.” Actually, what was childish and rude was the fact she still called him by that name, but for today, she could move beyond that.
“Ah, thanks.” Gil’s frown was one of confusion, and it lifted Frankie’s spirits considerably.
“I mean, you kind of deserved it, but I could have at least been more original. You know, given you a name that really packed a punch. Something you could have incorporated into one of your campaigns, for instance.”
“Stop while you’re ahead, Frankie!” Monty called out from the kitchen.
Frankie bit back her retort, motioning instead for the mayor to take a seat. “What brings you by, Mr. Mayor?”
“To give you an update about Roman. And to explain. Beyond my not wanting to work with you, Frankie, there was a good reason I didn’t promote you.”
“Do tell.” Frankie folded her hands on top of the desk. “Please,” she added when Gil narrowed his baby blues at her.
“You don’t need it.”
“I’m sorry? I don’t need what?”
“You didn’t need the promotion. You’ve been the defacto chief for months, Frankie. Heck, maybe years. Bud might have had the title, but you’re the one people rely on. When all is said and done, you are chief.”
“All the more reason to officially promote her!” her brother chimed in.
“Shut it, Monty!” Frankie yelled before refocusing her attention on Gil. “So, I’m good enough to do the work, just not have the title or pay that goes with it?”
“I’m not going to argue that you’re qualified for the position. You and Roman were pretty evenly matched on paper. But maybe you should consider looking outside Butterfly Harbor. You know, spread your wings.”
“Spread my wings.” Frankie repeated the statement as if testing out the words.
“Look, let’s be honest, Frankie. You and I are never going to work well together, and Roman won’t be here forever. If I pass you over again once he leaves, it’s only going to be trouble for me, and I can do without that. I’ve got it on good authority the recently elected mayor of Durante is looking for a new chief. I’d be happy to put in a recommendation—”
“What do you mean Roman won’t be here forever?” A familiar pang of dread hit her. “Once he leaves?”
Gil’s expression went blank. “I assumed he’d have told you, or that you’d at least have heard.” He shrugged. “Roman’s contract with Butterfly Harbor is only for six months. There’s the possibility of a six-month extension, but he’s not here to stay, Frankie. He’s got his sights set on a big federal investigator’s job. Being chief here is something to boost up his résumé. Nothing more.”
“Is it?” Frankie’s throat felt hot. “Is it really?”
“I’m sorry.” Funny. He didn’t sound sorry at all. “Maybe I shouldn’t have told you.”
No, but Roman should have. She’d been right. Men like Roman Salazar didn’t stay. And yet she’d still let herself start to fall a little bit in love with him. Let herself believe... “I appreciate you filling me in. But just so we’re clear,” she added when Gil stood. “Even when he leaves, you won’t be considering me for the position of chief.”
“No.” Gil took a deep breath, as if considering what to say next. “Once Chief Salazar leaves, there’s every possibility we’ll be closing the department altogether.”
“What?” Frankie bolted to her feet. “But you can’t... Gil, this town needs a fire department. Emergency services are vital to a town’s survival. People rely on us.”
“All that’s being taken into consideration. There are contractors we can call in for a fraction of the cost. We can also route the calls to other stations that aren’t too far out. Response times might go up, but it will save the town a huge amount of money and allow us to expand in other areas.”
“What you’re proposing is going to add even more responsibility to the sheriff’s department,” Frankie said. “Luke’s already stretched thin. And if the town grows the way you want, we’ll need more firefighters, not fewer.” How could he not see this?
“Again, we’re looking into multiple options. Nothing’s written in stone, Frankie. And there will be extensive debate on the subject after the first of the year. In the meantime, take what I told you and consider your options. You’re a great firefighter. Any department would be lucky to have you.” He headed for the door.
“You’re driving this town into the ground!” Frankie yelled at his back. “What you’re proposing is going to cost people their lives!”
He disappeared from sight.
“This can’t be happening.” Frankie flopped into the closest chair, covering her face with her hands as the truth of Gil’s words sank into her. “He cannot be seriously considering this!” She glanced up at her brother and Ozzy, who emerged from the kitchen looking as pale and shaken as she felt.
“Seems he’s past considering it,” Ozzy said, a glimmer of anger in his eyes. “That sounded like a done deal to me.”
Roman’s phone buzzed again. Frankie checked the screen, saw Roman’s mother’s name. “I need to take this.” She picked up the phone, stopped in front of her brother. “Whatever it is you know, whatever someone’s planning about taking down Gil, you’ve got my full support. In fact, I’ll lead the charge myself. We have to stop him.” They would not lose the BHFD. Not on her watch.
“Agreed.” Monty’s steely gaze matched her own.
Pushing aside her fear, Frankie tapped the screen of Roman’s phone and walked purposely out into the fresh air. “Mrs. Salazar? I’m sorry to have worried you. This is Frankie Bettencourt, Roman’s... I work with Roman. Roman’s fine, but I’m afraid there’s been an accident.”