The uncertainty seared Brock’s chest. This location was a brick home in the middle of the suburbs, on one of the last streets Brock would have pegged to host a meth lab. The house blazed. Loose, crumbling bricks and building materials lay everywhere. The homes on both sides of the spot had taken a partial hit from the explosion too, their exterior walls and roof blasted away and on fire at the second floors. Several car alarms on the block shrieked, and shattered glass from the vehicles closest to the house glittered in the street. Dogs barked and concerned neighbors gathered in clusters down the sidewalk, looking on in disbelief at the scene.
The human and shifter team members had unrolled their hoses, waiting for the Chief’s call on how to prioritize the response. Brock stepped up to hear the Chief’s orders. As he expected, there was no rescue order. It was too late for that. No one could survive a blast like that. This was now a fire response and recovery effort. Brock relayed it to his team, who got to work on the worst part of the fire, and on the adjacent buildings. Slowly, it died down, flickering to half its original size. The building would have to be leveled, and probably the houses beside it if there was enough structural damage. It was a good few hours before they could send anyone inside to search for victims after the Hazmat team cleared any lingering hazards. The quick search confirmed no one had been inside this time. Brock breathed a little deeper.
The Chief didn’t ask Brock where he had been earlier, and no one mentioned the first lab. Presumably the site was being cleared and the hazards were neutralized. Brock removed his helmet and leaned against the fire truck. They were less than a third of the way into today’s shift.
Zeke ambled over and sat on the bumper. “Good job.”
“You too.”
“You think the police have enough information?”
Brock thought about it. “Probably not. I’ll tell Haverty about that middle man. Still...”
“It’s just a name. Not much to go on.”
The ashes smoldered across the yard. Brock grabbed his helmet. “Get back to the perimeter before the Chief gets on my case.”
They had done their job at the fire, and there was still plenty more to do. No doubt the police were standing around the other lab scratching their heads. A middle man with one name—and who knew if that was the guy’s real name. It was their only clue, and not much to go on at all...
Brock wasn’t going to rest until the cops got to the bottom of it and had Dillon behind bars.
18
Sky spent the two hours before work contemplating a visit to the fire station. What exactly was she planning on doing? Giving Brock a piece of her mind? Pleading her case?
Right. That would go over well.
Arriving at the saloon almost an hour early, she tied her apron around her waist and began pulling the chairs down from on top of the tables. She was going to work until the frustration passed. How had things gotten so messed up? Better yet, how could she even begin to undo this new dilemma? The further along things got with Brock, the more it seemed like things wouldn’t work out. One step forward, two steps back. And Brock did that runaway thing at the slightest sign of conflict.
It felt hopeless.
“Hey hun,” Joleen yawned, entering through the back hallway about twenty minutes before shift. “Gosh, I’m tired. Is there coffee?”
“I made a pot. Did you stay up all night or something?”
Joleen blushed.
Sky winked at her friend. She knew what that meant.
“Is something wrong?” Joleen asked.
Sky paused with her hands on the last chair. She was adamant not to let the awful few days of not hearing from Brock. “No.”
“Sky...”
Sky threw her hands up and groaned. “Fine. Yes. Everything is wrong. Do you want the long story or the short?”
“The long, of course. Let me get some coffee and then you can tell me while we set the dining room up.”
“I don’t know what to do,” Sky sighed fifteen minutes later.
She picked at the edge of the bar mat. Next to her, Joleen continued to roll silverware, the basket they kept the bundles in already half full.
“I think you already know what to do,” Joleen told her. The night shift bartender, Robin, stood at the other end of the bar busily cutting lemons. Joleen glanced at the woman just to make sure she wasn’t listening. Robin paid no attention to the girls. She had her eyes glued to the game playing on the flat screen above the bar.
Sky narrowed her eyes. Why was Joleen acting so weird?
“I don’t know. I just said that.”
Joleen rolled another piece of silverware, the charm bracelet on her wrist tinkling. “You intuitively know,” she said, her voice still suspiciously low.
Sky laughed. “Again, I’m pretty sure I don’t have intuition.”
“Brock loves you.”
Sky wished that was true, but all the wishing in the world couldn’t make it so if Brock didn’t actually feel that way. “He’s never told me anything like that.”
“I’m pretty sure you haven’t told him either.”
“Why should I? I don’t want to get shot down. Anyway, I was working up the courage to at least tell him I wanted more when he found Rhys card and stormed out.”