Burn for You Read online

  Table of Contents

  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

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Epilogue

  Author’s Note

  About the Author

  Acknowledgements

  Burn for You

  Stephanie Reid

  Burn for You

  Copyright © Stephanie Reid 2015

  Published by Stephanie Reid

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either products of the author’s imagination or used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication can be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, without permission in writing from the author or publisher.

  Cover design by Najla Qamber Designs

  www.najlaqamberdesigns.com

  Cover photo: Kelsey Kukal-Keeton of K Keeton Designs

  Models: Eric Madden and Kendra Malcom

  www.kkeetondesigns.com

  Chapter 1

  “Repeat after me…”

  Sitting in an uncomfortable chair, in front of his lieutenant’s desk, Jason Meadows searched deep within his reserves of respect-for-authority and managed to pull out some eye-roll restraint.

  “I will not give chase,” Lieutenant McCann continued, “when a suspect takes off at fifty-five miles an hour in a residential zone.” McCann waited, eyebrows raised.

  Snick. Snick. Snick.

  The second hand ticked loudly through the silence, reminding Jason of the wall clock in his high school principal’s office.

  “You’re serious?” Jason asked.

  “Yes. I want to hear you say the words. Repeat after me. I will not give chase…”

  Jason sighed, less successful this time at holding back an eye-roll. He’d never had much in his respect-for-authority reservoir anyway. “I will not give chase…”

  “Unless it’s a forcible felony…”

  “Unless it’s a forcible felony…”

  “And even then, I will exercise good judgment…”

  “Lieutenant—”

  McCann held up a hand. “No. Repeat.”

  This was bullshit. Pure bullshit. He hadn’t become a cop so he could watch some scum-of-the-earth criminal drive away in a rusted-out Impala.

  “I’m waiting.” McCann clicked the butt end of his pen on his notepad. “Let’s hear it.” Meeting Jason’s silence, McCann beckoned with his other hand and repeated his prompt. “And even then, I will exercise good judgment.”

  “I was exercising good judgment. It was three in the morning. No one was on the road. And I’d positively ID’d the driver as Christopher King.”

  McCann threw his pen down on the desk in a rare show of emotion. It skittered over the notepad and stopped with a clink against his coffee mug. “I don’t care if Jimmy fucking Hoffa, risen from the dead, was driving that goddamn car. We have a no-chase policy for a reason.”

  Sighing, McCann scrubbed a hand over his face. When he spoke again, his voice was more controlled. “I would expect you, of all people, to understand why that policy is in place.”

  Jason looked away, his gaze involuntarily drawn to a photo sitting on the credenza behind McCann’s desk. A snapshot of Lieutenant McCann at a backyard barbeque with his arm around his best friend—Jason’s former foster father, Officer Luke St. James. McCann had been leaner back then, his mustache brown instead of gray. But St. James hadn’t had the luxury of aging much since that photo.

  Nineteen years before, St. James lost control of his vehicle while chasing an armed robbery suspect. He’d avoided a group of school kids walking home, but paid the price with his life when his squad car wrapped itself around a telephone pole.

  “St. James was going after someone who’d committed a forcible felony. He was playing by the rules.” Jason wasn’t going to sit there and let McCann imply that his foster father had been out of line. Luke St. James was a hero. A good man.

  “I know,” McCann said quietly. “But that didn’t make it any easier to lose him, did it?”

  Jason leaned back in his chair, crossed his arms, and glared at McCann’s coffee mug instead of the Lieutenant.

  “No criminal is worth risking civilian lives.” McCann paused until Jason looked up again. “No criminal is worth risking your life. If you hadn’t chased King down, we’d have gotten him eventually. We had his name. We had his vehicle—make, model, and plates. There would’ve been another opportunity to track him down.”

  “Maybe. Maybe not.”

  McCann stiffened, his jaw clenching at Jason’s insolence. “I’m not going to argue with you about this, Meadows. You know the policy.” He tapped the desk with his index finger, lowering his voice in a way that somehow commanded more attention. “And if you ever want a shot at vice, you’re going to have to show me that you can follow the damn rules.”

  Jason gnawed on the inside of his cheek. There was nothing he wanted more than to be on vice. Doing that kind of police work? Dealing with the dealers and the pimps? Taking the lowest of the low off the streets? That’s what he’d become a police officer to do. Fuck traffic stops and speeding tickets. He was all about taking care of business.

  “I can follow the rules,” Jason said.

  “Can you?” McCann crossed his arms, leaning over his elbows on the desk. “Because vice guys have a lot of freedom. They develop their own contacts—sometimes set their own hours. They have a lot of independence, and I don’t give officers that level of independence unless I know I can trust their decision-making skills.”

  “Yes, sir.” Jason could respect that rationale. McCann had high expectations, but he was fair. And while Jason had little patience for the authority granted to McCann because of the gold bars on his collar, he could respect true leadership.

  “Look, Meadows. Here’s the position I’m in. You’ve pissed off the sergeant on your shift. He wants to write a letter of discipline for your file.”

  Unfortunately, it would not be the first such letter in Jason’s file. Not very helpful to his application to vice.

  “I stuck my neck out for you,” McCann said. “I told him I’d give you a sufficient ass chewing myself.”

  “Thank you, sir.” Jason nodded and started to rise from his chair. “Consider my ass thoroughly chewed.”

  “Not so fast.” McCann inclined his head toward the chair, and Jason sat back down. “Discipline is not my only duty. It’s also my job to mold young officers like yourself into better police officers.”

  This wasn’t going to be good. The last officer McCann had tried to mold spent a year as a friggin’ school resource officer.

  In an elementary school.

  “So, here’s what I’m going to do.” McCann raised his gaze to Jason’s. “I’m withdrawing your application to vice.”

  “Sir—”

  McCann raised his voice a fraction, silencing Jason’s protest. “Until you’ve proven you can do police work without breaking the rules.”

&nbs
p; “Sir, I promise you—”

  McCann held up a hand. “And I’m giving you an opportunity. A chance to show me you can follow protocol and do intelligent, investigative police work.”

  Intelligent, investigative police work? Well, now, that sounded a bit more promising.

  “I’m sending you to Arson Investigation Training.”

  It wasn’t babysitting second graders, but still, not what Jason was hoping to hear. He deflated in his chair. “I thought Daniels wanted that position.”

  McCann shrugged. “He did, but I’m sending you.”

  “But sir, that hardly seems fair when Daniels wants it and I don’t.”

  “Oh? You don’t want it? You don’t want this opportunity to prove yourself?”

  “It’s not that sir, it’s just…”

  “It’s just what?”

  “This seems like a convenient way to get me off the road for a few weeks.” And keep him stuck on patrol instead of vice.

  McCann shook his head, an incredulous laugh escaping from beneath his graying mustache. “Convenient, huh?” He leaned over the desk again. “Let me tell you something, Meadows. I don’t do anything because it’s convenient. The fact is you’re the best choice.” He opened a file on his desk. “Says in here you got perfect scores on your ACT in math and science. Got a full ride to the University of Illinois. Majored in Chemical Engineering. Makes me wonder why you’re not working for Dow or Procter & Gamble.”

  “Turns out, you can’t arrest people if you work at Dow. I checked.”

  McCann grunted—his version of a laugh. “True. But I bet you’d make a lot more money.”

  Jason shrugged. He’d majored in Chemical Engineering because that’s what the scholarship he’d won was for, and he’d needed a way to go to college. He’d heard the bigger police departments were using bachelor’s degrees as a way to trim their applicant pools, so he had figured he’d better get one of those. He hadn’t much cared what it was in. So long as it helped him get a police job.

  He’d always had a single-minded focus when it came to being a police officer—specifically, a vice officer. And now McCann was trying to derail plans that had been in the making since Jason had been sworn in six years ago.

  “I think you’re going to pick up on this stuff fast, Meadows. You know chemistry. You know scientific methodology. And while that’s not a requirement for this training, I can’t help but think you’d be good at it.”

  Jason suddenly wished his scholarship had been for something less practical, like Philosophies of Eastern Culture or Fermentation Sciences.

  “Don’t you need to have some kind of firefighter certification before you can go to AIT?”

  McCann nodded. “Usually, yes. But this is a new accelerated course, specifically for police officers. Just one more reason we need someone sharp. You’ll be learning in two months what would normally take four to six.”

  Great. Two whole months off the road and a rigorous course load. Lucky him.

  “Do we even need an arson investigator?” Jason asked. “How many arson cases has Evanston had in the last year? Three? Four?”

  “Try twenty-two. But don’t worry. When you’re not working a case, you’ll still have plenty of time to be on patrol.” McCann smiled and closed Jason’s personnel file. “On patrol, not engaging in high-speed chases, that is.”

  “I’m surprised Evanston Fire Department didn’t put a candidate forward for this. Wouldn’t they rather work with one of their own?”

  “Well, according to Chief Bines, they’re understaffed. They can’t spare a body for the length of this training. Which means they’ll work with you. They don’t have a choice.”

  And neither did Jason. That’s what McCann left unsaid. If he wanted a shot at vice, he’d have to toe the line for a while.

  “The town needs an arson investigator,” McCann added. “Doesn’t matter if he comes from police or fire. Plenty of AIs are cops.”

  “All right. Well, I guess I’m going to Arson Investigation Training then.”

  “Don’t sound so bummed, Meadows.” McCann put on his reading glasses and picked up a report from his desk, his attention already moving to other more important matters. “I’m giving you an opportunity.” He eyed Jason over the rim of his glasses. “And you’ll get out of it exactly what you put into it.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  McCann nodded his dismissal, and Jason left the lieutenant’s office, letting the door click shut softly behind him. No small accomplishment when what he really wanted to do was slam the damn thing.

  Looked like he was going to be spending a lot more time with firefighters. Smug bastards. People revered them as heroes for climbing ladders and retrieving escaped house cats from trees. Meanwhile, he was seen as the asshole giving tickets to John Q. Public, when the poor guy was just trying to get to work on time.

  Friendly professional rivalries aside, Jason had never really cared much for firefighters, and now he’d be seeing them all the time.

  Great. Just friggin’ great.

  *

  “Have you seen Vicki?”

  At her mother’s query, Victoria Russo sank further back into the rack of bridesmaids’ dresses she was lounging in. Okay, not lounging exactly. It wasn’t possible to lounge with a metal rod digging into one’s ass. No, she wasn’t relaxing.

  She was hiding.

  Yes, it was seriously juvenile behavior she was engaging in, but dammit, if she had to try on one more purple, taffeta nightmare, she might do something horrible. Like stomp out of the store and abandon her future sister-in-law completely.

  And she really didn’t want to let Camille down.

  Camille was the closest thing she had to a sister and the only female Victoria could call a true friend. Victoria didn’t want to cause her even a moment of frustration—not on her dress-shopping day.

  Weddings were stressful enough without having to play referee to one’s future sister and mother-in-law.

  Which was why Victoria remained seated on a rolling dress rack, buried among silk and ruffles and taffeta, while the other bridesmaids battled it out.

  Let them pick the dress. Victoria would wear whatever the bride and her other bridesmaids agreed on. And she would probably enjoy it, too. But heaven help her if she had to listen to her mother’s fashion police commentary while she tried on one more dress.

  “Vicki?” Loretta Russo called again. “Oh, where is that girl?”

  “I think she just went to use the restroom.” Camille’s sweet voice cut through the chatter of the other five bridesmaids. “She’ll be back in a minute, I’m sure.”

  Victoria unwrapped her Snickers bar and smiled. Camille knew exactly where she was. Well, not exactly. But she damn well knew Victoria wasn’t in the bathroom. Camille would never rat her out though, and that was just one of a million reasons why Victoria adored her.

  “I think this is the one, Camille,” one of the bridesmaids said. Sounded like the tall blonde one. What was her name? Bethany? Beth Anne? Victoria couldn’t remember because she’d taken to calling her Barbie in her head. “Don’t you love it?” Barbie asked.

  “I do,” Camille answered. “And the neckline is similar to this bridal gown.”

  Peeking out from between dresses, Victoria could see Camille holding up a gown from the row of possibilities. “I think they’d look really good together.”

  “I don’t know,” Victoria’s mom said. “The neckline is the part I’m worried about. I think you’ll want to see it on Vicki before you decide.”

  “I think Victoria will look beautiful in it.” Another reason to love Camille. Not only did she have faith Victoria could pull off the dress, but she was also the only person who called her by her real name.

  Not Vicki like her mother and not Vic like her brothers and the guys at the firehouse, but Victoria.

  Truthfully, Victoria had lived twenty-eight years feeling like none of her names really fit.

  Vicki was the name of a spunky, outgoing,
life-of-the-party girl. And that wasn’t her. If she was at a party, she was probably on the sidelines, boring whoever she happened to trap in conversation about the merits of one craft beer over another.

  Vickies didn’t care about thermo-nuclear brewing methods.

  And Vic? She wasn’t a Vic, either. Vic was the guy barking, “Hot dogs! Get your hot dogs!” in a nasal Chicago accent at the corner of Irving and Sheffield.

  Granted, she was more Vic than Vickie, but still, it didn’t fit.

  But Victoria? Victoria was the name of a confident, smart, sometimes sensual woman. Victoria was the name she most wished she could embody.

  But it never stuck.

  She could introduce herself as Victoria until she was blue in the face, but eventually, people always started calling her Vic. And maybe she was more of a Vic than a Victoria.

  Perhaps she should just accept that.

  Taking a bite of her chocolate bar, she let the chatter of the bridesmaids dance around in her head like background music. And in the same way that one begins subconsciously humming a familiar melody, Victoria’s brain pricked to attention at the mention of a familiar name.

  “…and Graham will be there, of course,” Camille said. “He’s Tony’s best man.”

  Graham McAndrew. Firefighter. Her older brother’s best friend. And the one that got away.

  Repeatedly.

  “Graham McAndrew?” Barbie replied. “Is it true that he and his girlfriend just broke up?”

  Victoria stood up so quickly she hit her head on the top of the dress rack. “Ow.” Holding her head in pain, she leaned back too far. She tried to regain her balance, but when she stepped back, her foot landed on the bottom of the rack, and the wheels rolled out from under her. She grabbed a dress with her non-candy-bar-holding hand, but she kept falling backward, and her tight grip on the purple taffeta brought the whole rack down on top of her.