Fire and Flint Read online

  Pierre turned off the water, dried himself, and in the bedroom, pulled out a pair of jeans and a lightweight pastel green shirt that tugged slightly over his chest. He was going to be meeting some of the other deputies, so being blatantly on the make was out of the question. He’d intended to walk so if he drank, he wouldn’t be driving, but one step outside into pea-soup humidity changed his mind. Pierre messaged Carson to tell him he was on his way and to save him a seat, then left the house, heading to where his car was, drove the short distance, and parked in the nearby lot.

  The brief walk from the car to the restaurant and bar was enough to leave him sweating. Thank God the air conditioner blew around him as soon as he entered, and Pierre tugged his shirt away from his skin a few times. He loved summer, but this sweltering heat was getting to be too much.

  “Hey… we’re back here,” Carson shouted, and Pierre moved through the tables and people milling around toward the restaurant area. He slipped into the booth.

  “Hey, Red! Terry!” Pierre called down the long table to where the Carlisle police officer sat with his partner next to him. Those two were an amazing couple and a source of jealousy for Pierre.

  When he’d joined the sheriff’s department four years ago, he’d expected the usual bullshit regarding his sexuality. Pierre had gotten some of what he’d expected, but not too much. It had only taken a little while before he’d met a number of the local borough police, and he’d been shocked at the number of gay police officers. Red and his partner, Terry, had been the first he’d met, and then Carter and his partner, Donald. Since then he’d learned that a good percentage of the department was gay. Red had explained that they provided a safe work environment, which attracted some excellent officers.

  Terry stood and walked to his end of the table. “I hear you got assigned to one of the judges at the courthouse.” He slipped into the empty seat near Pierre.

  “Man, word travels fast,” he said a little loudly. He wasn’t angry, but his law enforcement colleagues gossiped like old biddies.

  “Tell me about it,” Terry agreed. “It’s a good thing these guys don’t work for national security.” He grinned and looked up for a second, waving to someone who passed.

  Pierre followed his gaze and smiled at the familiar face. “Do you know him?”

  “Sure. That’s Jordan. He works at the courthouse. He’s a member at the Y, and I see him and his son coming in a few times a week. Jeremiah is four and he loves the water. I’ve given him a few swimming lessons, and Jordan says he’s signing him up for regular swim class.” Terry waved again, and Jordan came over.

  “Hey,” Jordan said with a touch of surprise in his voice.

  “You know each other?” Terry asked.

  “I work for Judge Crawford now,” Jordan said, “and I’m working with Pierre because of the threats the judge has received.” He turned to Pierre. “You should have said you were coming here.”

  “I didn’t know until a little while ago.” Pierre caught the attention of the server and ordered a beer. He turned back to Jordan but didn’t know what to say. He wasn’t interested in talking about work, and they didn’t know each other well enough to talk about other things. Pierre also figured it didn’t help that he found himself staring into Jordan’s eyes, forgetting about most everything else. He blinked a few times to pull himself back to the present. Damn, distraction and near blubbering idiot were quickly becoming the norm for him when he was around Jordan. That was going to make his job even harder. He needed to get over this fast.

  “Where’s Jeremiah?” Terry asked, to Pierre’s eternal gratitude.

  “He’s with my mom and dad. They asked to take him for a few hours, and I needed a night out that didn’t involve chicken nuggets, macaroni and cheese, yogurt, and spilled milk.” Jordan grinned. “I’m here with Brad and Ricky. They go to the club too. We’ve been meaning to go out for a while, but with Jeremiah, it hasn’t been possible.” Jordan glanced toward the other table, then turned back to them. “I should get back. But I’ll see you at the club. And Pierre, I’ll see you in the morning.” He flashed a smile that showed a touch of perfect teeth and once again short-circuited Pierre’s brain.

  “Earth to Pierre,” Terry said, standing up. “Geez, you are really gone.”

  “Sorry.” Pierre blinked and shook his head as Jordan sat down. “So, a kid, huh? Is he married?” Just his luck he’d be perving on a straight guy.

  “No. Jordan doesn’t have a husband.” Terry leaned a little closer as if to continue, but then sat back. “Nah. If you want to find out about him, you’re going to have to ask him yourself.” He waggled his eyebrows. “I will tell you that he bats for our team, but other than that, the rest is up to you.” Terry stood as Red motioned. “I need to get back.” Terry returned to his seat as the server brought Pierre’s beer, and he did his best to pay attention to the intense conversation on what the guys thought the Eagles would do this year.

  “They’re going to be as mediocre as they have been for the last few years. They didn’t make any large changes, and they expect the stars to align and everything to just fall into place.” Pierre shook his head as the others disagreed with him and continued talking. At least he’d participated a little.

  He glanced toward the back of the restaurant, where Jordan sat with his friends. They were talking and each had a beer, but there was no animation in Jordan’s eyes. The others seemed happy to be there, but Jordan checked his watch while making it look like he wasn’t doing it. Then, when he wasn’t talking, he bit his lower lip a little, drank from his glass, and looked at his watch again.

  “Something going on over there?” Carson asked. “Man, you’ve been paying attention for shit. Carter was just asking if you wanted some help with these notes.”

  Pierre turned back to the table. They regularly worked with the other law enforcement agencies in the county because of jurisdictional issues, and everyone had limited resources of some type. “That would be great, Carter, thanks. The more help we have on this, the better. There isn’t a lot to go on.” He leaned forward so he could see Carter better. “They came through the mail and were postmarked locally, but that’s all—with no return address, of course. They could have been dropped in any box. The one thing I noticed was that the addresses were scrawled on the envelopes like the sender was in a hurry.” He shrugged. “The letters themselves were printed on a computer.”

  “Bring them over. I’ve had some good luck figuring out printers and the kinds used.” Carter lifted his beer in a silent salute, and Pierre did the same. It was going to be good to have some help on this one.

  The conversation around the table continued on and off for a while. Televisions had been hung in the various corners, and one of them flashed to an image of the president and some breaking news about ties to Russia. That set off discussion about politics, and Pierre immediately tuned out. Ever since the election, he had been doing his best to stay away from anything political. He’d gotten burned out on it so much the previous year that he couldn’t take it any longer.

  “Guys. That’s enough, please.” Pierre stood, excusing himself to go to the bathroom.

  All the stand-up facilities were taken, so he dipped into a stall to take care of business. Then everyone else and the room grew quiet.

  “You’re really going to go?” a high-pitched male voice asked as the door closed.

  “Yeah. Mom called and Jeremiah is sick. She said he has a fever and he’s not keeping anything down.”

  Pierre immediately recognized that voice. He finished up and flushed, putting himself back together.

  “I need to get over there, so can you give me a ride?”

  “But….” The other guy sputtered a little, like a tiny motorboat.

  “Brad, you brought me here, and I could walk home, but it’s a long way after dark, and you promised to be the designated driver and all that.” The worry in Jordan’s voice rang through loud and clear.

  Pierre pulled open the stall door a
nd stepped out to the sink behind where Jordan was washing his hands.

  “Hi,” Jordan said as he turned to grab a paper towel from the container.

  “Hey.” Pierre smiled and did his best not to look stalkerish. After all, they were in the men’s room. “Everything okay?” he asked as soothingly as he could.

  “No. My son, or the boy I’m in the process of adopting, if you want to be technical”—Jordan glared at his friend—“is sick and I need to get to him. My mom has him and she’s worried.” Jordan was bordering on frantic from the look in his eyes. “Sorry, Pierre. I don’t need to dump on you.” He turned back to his friend, who looked as though a stiff breeze would blow him away. “Come on, Brad. You’re taking me home so I can get my car and go to my mother’s.” He put his hands on his hips, eyes blazing, tapping his foot. “I can’t believe I have to ask you.” The worry came out again as some of his confidence slipped away.

  “He probably has a cold or something. Your mom raised you and your sisters—she knows what she’s doing.” Brad whined. “We never get to see you anymore, and when we do, you run away.”

  Jordan sighed. “I know, but I have to go.”

  “I can take you,” Pierre offered suddenly, surprising himself. He wasn’t usually impulsive.

  Jordan turned away from his friend. “But you’re here with all your friends and everything. I couldn’t ask you to do that. Brad can take me home.” Dang, he was a little bossy too. That was good to know. At least no one was going to take advantage of Jordan.

  “It’s all right. I came here for a beer, and I had part of one a while ago. I don’t drink and drive, and the guys will understand.” Heck, it was unusual if they all stayed the entire evening when they went out. Someone always got a call about something either work- or family-related. It happened, and there was no use getting upset about it. Pierre washed his hands and grabbed a paper towel.

  Jordan and Brad left the men’s room without giving him an answer. Pierre figured Brad would break down and provide Jordan with a ride, but when he stepped out, Jordan was alone.

  “Are you serious about this?” Jordan turned to where his other friends were talking among themselves, and Brad didn’t seem particularly popular, judging by the mutual scowls.

  “Sure. Let me tell the guys I’m going.” Pierre walked back to the table and explained that he was leaving. He gave Carson enough money to cover his drink, motioned toward the front door, and led the way to his car as a rumble of thunder sounded in the distance. “I’m right over there.”

  Jordan followed him and got in the passenger seat. “I have to admit, this isn’t what I pictured you driving. A big truck definitely, maybe a huge SUV, but not a Focus.”

  “It gets great mileage and I mostly use it to go from home and to work. It’s also affordable.” He started the engine and let the air-conditioning lower the temperature inside. He then turned to Jordan, wondering at his quizzical expression. “Are you making fun of me and my car?”

  Jordan laughed a little. “Maybe.” The worry returned. “I’m in the condos just off Harrisburg Pike in Middlesex.”

  “No problem.” Pierre pulled out and drove north through town, then out and down the Pike. He pulled into the complex of cookie-cutter homes, following Jordan’s directions. He’d never understood why these had been built. It wasn’t as though space was a huge issue, but then, affordable housing was important, and they seemed nice enough and well maintained.

  “It’s this one right here,” Jordan directed, and Pierre pulled off to the side to let Jordan out.

  “I hope everything is okay.”

  “Thanks. I’ll see you tomorrow.” He hurried out and up the drive and let himself in.

  Pierre lingered, his fingers fidgeting on the steering wheel. The garage door lifted, and Pierre figured he’d wait until Jordan pulled out. The lights in the dark blue minivan inside flashed and then nothing. Pierre watched a little longer and saw Jordan get out, then tried not to smile as Jordan kicked one of the tires. He could only imagine the curses he emitted.

  Pierre lowered his window. “Do you want to get any car seat you need for your son and I can take you to get him?”

  Jordan turned, looking at him as though he were crazy and then a gift from God. What Pierre wouldn’t give to be looked at like that all the time. He grew warm just thinking about it, even with the air-conditioning blasting on him.

  “Go on. It’s no problem.” Pierre’s only company for the evening was going to be the television anyway.

  “Are you sure?”

  “Yes. Go get the seat, and let’s get going so you can check on your son.” He could tell worry was taking over now and Jordan was going to need someone to help him.

  Jordan opened the sliding door on the van, grabbed the car seat, closed the van, and then lowered the garage door. He trotted over with a booster and tossed it in back. “Mom is in Mechanicsburg,” Jordan told him, and Pierre pulled out, heading in that direction. “She has a house just off Market Street.”

  “All right.” Pierre went as fast as safety would allow. There were limits as to how far he’d push it. Jordan sat in the passenger seat, chewing his nails and abusing his lower lip to the point that Pierre wondered if he was going to chew it off.

  Jordan gave good directions, and they pulled up in front of a small saltbox with cream paint and hunter green shutters. Pierre had barely pulled to a stop before Jordan was out and racing up the walk. He went right inside, and Pierre followed more slowly.

  He knocked before opening the screen door, as the main door was already halfway open. “Jordan, is everything okay?” He peered inside to where Jordan sat on the edge of the sofa, leaning over a small, pale boy who was definitely not feeling well.

  “I don’t know,” Jordan said, feeling the boy’s forehead.

  “I took his temperature half an hour ago and it was down,” a woman Pierre presumed was Jordan’s mother said.

  Jordan used the ear thermometer to take Jeremiah’s temperature and gasped. “Mom, it’s 103.3.” Jordan lifted Jeremiah into his arms. “I need to get him to the hospital.” Jordan seemed to notice Pierre through his fog of worry, clearly frantic now. “Can you drive us? Mom doesn’t do well after dark, and….”

  “Sure. I’ll install the booster seat, and you guys lock up the house and bring him. We’ll go.” He left, heading to his car. Thankfully it didn’t take long to get the seat in place, and Jordan settled Jeremiah into it and climbed in back next to him, with Jordan’s mother taking the passenger seat.

  “I’m Gertrude,” she said as he pulled out for the nearest ER.

  “Mom, this is Pierre. He and I started working together today. He’s providing some extra security for Judge Crawford because of the letters.”

  She humphed. “I’m surprised that man hasn’t had people after him before now.”

  “Mom,” Jordan protested.

  She rolled her eyes and turned to Pierre. “Are you a policeman?”

  “Sheriff’s deputy, ma’am.” He kept the fake Texas accent out of his voice. Now was not the time for jokes. “And we take those threats very seriously.”

  “I’m sure you do. But that man is a snake if I ever knew one.” She set her jaw, daring him to contradict her.

  “What are you saying? I know he isn’t popular in some circles, but….”

  She shook her head. “One hears things, and when Jordan’s father was alive…. He served on the county board for a number of years, as well as held various city and school board positions. He got to meet and knew everyone in the county, and he always said he’d never trust that man as far as he could throw him… and Heinrich always had a bad back. Heinrich never told me why he felt that way, though.”

  “Mom, he’s my boss, and we have more important things to talk about than idle gossip.”

  As he continued to drive, Pierre checked the mirror and saw Jordan stroking Jeremiah’s forehead. A few minutes later, he pulled into Holy Spirit Hospital and right up to the emergency entrance
door. He waited as Jordan got Jeremiah out. Gertrude went with them, and Pierre drove off to find a place to park.

  The waiting area was full by the time he returned, and Pierre found Jordan and Gertrude in chairs, with Jeremiah in Jordan’s lap.

  “It hurts, Daddy,” Jeremiah said softly, clinging to Jordan with everything his little arms and hands had. “Please make it stop.” Tears ran down his cheeks, and he closed his eyes, curling into a ball. “My tummy, Daddy.”

  “I know. As soon as we can see the doctor, he’ll make you feel better,” Jordan soothed as he grew paler and more worried.

  Finally, after ten minutes, which Pierre thought a mercifully short period of time, they were called back. Jordan gave the nurse all the information she requested as he laid Jeremiah on the bed and covered him up. Between them, they explained what had happened, and the nurse entered all of it in the computer.

  “Jeremiah has had leukemia. It’s in remission, and we believed he was cancer-free. But….”

  “Of course. Has his oncologist been called?” she asked.

  Jordan gave the name, and she entered that as well. Then she left the room. Pierre wondered if he should go too. He wasn’t really needed.

  “It’s going to be all right,” Gertrude said as she settled in the chair next to the bed.

  “No more cancer. Please, Daddy, make it no more cancer.” Tears ran down his cheeks.

  “Your daddy is going to do his very best for you. I promise,” Pierre said from where he stood at the end of the bed. “So you be brave, and I promise I’ll take you for a ride in a police car and I’ll show you how to make the lights and siren work.” He did his best to try to smile and not let the threatening tears run down his cheeks. Hell and damnation, he saw hurt and pain all the time. Families torn apart by parents going to jail or prison. But this little boy’s pain and knowing this was only the tip of the iceberg, judging by what he was hearing, brought tears to his eyes that he couldn’t stop.

  “Promise?” Jeremiah asked.

  “Yes. I promise. I’ll take you and your daddy for a ride.” Pierre smiled, and Jeremiah turned to Jordan, who held his hand.