The building might not be a total loss, but Mack didn’t relish giving Jethro a report. He’d stayed until the fire chief, a man with years lined in his tanned face, produced what he thought might be the culprit.
“I found this poker in the burned remains of one of the patio chairs,” he said and showed it to Mack.
Right. The poker Teddy had used. The one Mack had shaken from his grip.
The one that had fallen on the cushions, left there to smolder.
Clearly not his fault, but it felt like it as he’d headed to the hospital.
There, an ER nurse had spotted the blood on his shirt, his blackened face, a rasping cough and practically dragged him to the ER.
Now, Mack sat on the end of a bed in the ER, waiting for the all-clear to leave after getting checked over by one of the docs.
And of course by Jimbo, who hadn’t moved from his spot across the hall, just in case—what—that Mack might make a run for it?
“Yeah,” Mack said in response to Jimbo’s comment. “I was sleeping when I woke to the smell of smoke.” He took a sip of orange soda, still trying to clear his throat.
Jimbo nodded. He wore a pair of jeans and a black T-shirt with the letters SPD on the breast. “And that’s when you went outside.”
“Had to take the fire escape. I saw Jethro’s truck and realized he hadn’t gone home.”
The nurse came by. “I’m just waiting for the doctor to sign off on your release, Mr. Jones.”
Jones. He’d picked that name because, well, it felt ironic. Not that he meant to keep it, but, well, Mack Jones seemed like an okay moniker.
“So remind me where you’re from, Mack?”
Yes, he knew this kind of questioning, circling back to earlier questions to see if he made mistakes.
Hopefully he remembered all his answers. “Seattle.”
“Mmmhmm. I used to live there. Whereabouts?”
And shoot, he didn’t know Seattle well, so, “Actually, I spent a lot of time overseas. I just lived there shortly. Downtown.” He had a vague memory of the piers, and even oddly Pike Place. “I worked downtown, in the market. Slinging fish.”
Sounded like something he’d do.
“And how’d you get to Shelly?”
That was trickier. Because if Mack said he woke up on the side of a highway, bruised, bleeding, and not sure how he got there— “I needed a change. Got a ride from a couple friends who said they liked this little town.”
“What friends?”
He did remember their names—a young couple visiting for the weekend. They’d taken pity on a guy walking along the highway. He couldn’t believe that the fact that he’d looked freshly dragged behind a car hadn’t given them pause. They’d even tried to drop him off at the hospital, but he’d opted for the town park. “Taylor and Sienna Bart.”
Jimbo nodded, said nothing, but Mack could see his wheels turning.
And right then he nearly said it, nearly confessed that he didn’t actually have a clue who he might be, and would Jimbo be willing to run his prints, because maybe, just maybe, he wasn’t a criminal on the run, or even a military fugitive.
Maybe he had a family, people who loved him, a job as a…fireman?
Then the nurse came back with his papers. “The doctor is a little worried about your wound in your side—it seems to have reopened. He wants to see you back here in a week.”
Jimbo raised an eyebrow, and the last thing Mack wanted was for the cop to get a look at an injury that, even to Mack’s eyes, looked like a knife wound.
As if he’d been in a serious fight.
Setting down his soda on a nearby cart, he signed his discharge papers—Mack Jones—and slid off the bed.
“Mack!”
Raven’s voice echoed down the hallway, and he turned to see her striding hard for him. She wore a pair of yoga pants and an oversized T-shirt, flip-flops, her dark hair down and wild as she broke into a run toward him.
For a second, a memory flashed, or maybe just another round of déjà vu. Dark hair. Someone running into his arms.
Then, he barely had time to brace himself before she barreled into him, her arms around his neck. “Are you okay?”
He caught her hips, just to make sure she didn’t bang anything else loose, then eased into her hug. She smelled good—cottony and warm—and something about holding her felt right and easy and familiar.
Or at least, he wanted it to be.
She leaned back and caught his face in her hands, settling her blue eyes in his. “Dad’s going to be okay because of you.” Her eyes filled, and she whisked away a tear. “You’re a hero.”
“Oh, I don’t think—”
“Jimbo said that if you hadn’t pulled him out…” Her hand covered her mouth. “Anyway, it’s a good thing you didn’t take me up on my offer.”
A tentative smile, and he glanced at Jimbo, but he had his phone out, so, “I guess so.”
She wiped away another tear. “He wants to see you.”
“Sure.” He glanced at Jimbo, who looked up at him.
“See you ’round.”
Mack wasn’t sure how to take that, but he let Raven slip her fingers through his and pull him down the hallway of the small, twenty-five bed hospital.
“They said he needs to stay for a while, under observation, but…” She turned to him. “He’s already talking about rebuilding.” She stopped outside his door. “I don’t know if we should encourage him. He’s not young, and this is a big job—”
“Hey,” Mack said, turning her. “I’m not going anywhere. It’s going to be okay.” And he didn’t know why he said that, the words just spilling out. But her face lit up and she nodded.
“Thanks, Mack.”
Jethro was sitting up in his bed, wearing an oxygen mask, his face cleaned. Mack, however, probably still wore the dark soot on his face, his arms. He needed a shower and a strong cup of coffee. Or two.
Jethro reached for the mask, pulling it aside. “Hey there.”
“Put that back on,” Mack said. But he met Jethro’s hand, shook it. “You okay?”
“I’m fine. Throat’s a little sore.” He held the mask just above his mouth, not quite obeying, of course. His eyes searched Mack’s. “I knew God had sent you here for a reason. He works out all things for good.”
Mack stilled.
“Mack—?”
The words boomeranged in his head, old voices tumbling down from a top shelf. According to His plan.
“Get him a chair, Raven.”
Mack felt Raven’s hand on his arm, and he looked over at her, not quite seeing her.
You’re going to be fine, son. In time, you’ll see the victory of the Lord in this.
He took a breath, and the voice vanished.
“Did you remember something?” she asked.
“I…” He looked at Jethro. “I don’t know. A voice, maybe. Romans 8:28. That’s the verse you’re referring to, right?”
Jethro raised an eyebrow. “You know the Bible.”
Maybe he did. He slid into the chair. “It was just a voice.” Mack took a breath. “Anyway, I don’t know about God, but I do know that Raven says you want to rebuild.”