Through The Fire. Sharon Mignerey

her mother, Lucia’s problems with Chief O’Brien were small potatoes.

      The front doorbell rang, and the cat ran toward the door. Lucia followed, peeked through the security peephole, then held open the door for her good friend Colleen Montgomery. As the two youngest children of their respective large families and the only daughters as well, they had become allies early on.

      Colleen breezed into the living room with her usual boundless energy. “I heard about the hospital fire. Just came by to make sure that you’re okay.”

      “Why wouldn’t I be?”

      “According to Gideon Jackson—who would cut off an arm before lying, I might add—you were trapped in the chapel on the pediatric wing and had been hurt—” She took a breath to give Lucia the once-over. “You don’t look hurt.”

      “I’m fine.”

      “And you rescued a good-looking guy and his two kids.”

      “I didn’t rescue him. And they weren’t his kids.” Lucia headed toward the kitchen, where she pulled a couple of mugs out of the cupboard.

      Colleen grinned. “And he’s not ugly.”

      Feeling her cheeks heat, Lucia shook her head. “No, he’s not ugly.”

      “That, my friend, is a topic we’re going to pursue later.” Colleen raised her eyebrows while patting the outside pocket of her purse, which was large enough to hold a notebook and other things she needed as an investigative reporter for the Colorado Springs Sentinel.

      “There’s nothing to talk about.”

      “The lady doth protest too much.” She handed Lucia a clipping she had pulled from her purse. “This was in yesterday’s paper.”

      Lucia read the large print of text put into a black-framed, two-column-wide box like an ad. “‘Let fire come down from heaven and consume you, for our God is a consuming fire.’”

      “Pretty strange, don’t you think?” Colleen lifted the lid of the teapot to peek at the brew. “I checked, and nobody knows who paid for this. But I think this is related to the fire at the hospital.” She raised a hand. “And I knew this was a Bible verse, even though I couldn’t figure out which one, so I called Pastor Dawson and he says it’s actually two verses, one from Kings and one from Hebrews.” Pointing at the clipping, she added, “So whoever bought the ad was sending someone a message, don’t you think?”

      “I don’t know.” Lucia handed back the clipping, then poured tea into the two mugs. “But if you think so, then you should turn this over to my brother Sam.” Since he was a detective on the Colorado Springs police force, he’d know how to track things down if this was as suspicious as Colleen thought. “Or maybe you should talk to Brendan.” He was Colleen’s cousin and a special agent with the FBI.

      Colleen smiled brilliantly. “Now that I know you don’t think I’m crazy, I will.” She took a sip of tea, then added, “Too creepy and too much of a coincidence not to be related.”

      Lucia hoped Colleen was wrong.

      “Nice jacket,” Colleen said, fingering the collar of Rafe’s leather jacket, which Lucia had brought into the house and hung across the back of a kitchen chair. “Doesn’t look like anything I’ve seen your brothers wearing, though.”

      “It’s not,” Lucia admitted, remembering that she had caressed the soft leather in the same way her friend was doing now. “It belongs to Rafe—Rafael—Wright.” When her friend raised her eyebrows in question, she tacked on, “The guy from the hospital.”

      “Ah…the one you didn’t rescue. The one who’s not ugly.” Sipping her tea, Colleen gazed at Lucia over the top of her mug. “You’re finally ready to move on?”

      “Maybe,” Lucia admitted.

      The expression in Colleen’s eyes softened. “Not every guy is the kind of lowlife Stan was.” Then she smiled. “This Rafe…Rafael guy…he might be the answer to my prayers for you. Tall, dark, handsome, gainfully employed.” She paused a beat while she took another sip of tea, smile lines crinkling at her eyes. “And somebody who wants you just as you are.”

      Lucia grinned at her friend. “Sounds like the guy you should be praying for—not for me, but for yourself.”

      “Hey. Maybe your guy has a brother.”

      “Two sisters,” Lucia said.

      “I’m going to be good and not even say a word that you would know about the man’s family.”

      They talked a while longer, their comfortable conversation turning to family matters, the plans Lucia had for her day off before going back to work for another twenty-four-hour shift and the research Colleen was doing for a new story—a series of articles about how drug traffic had changed in Colorado Springs since the demise of the drug cartel taken down the previous year. Since both of them had brothers who had been very involved in the case, the story was personal for Colleen.

      After she left, Lucia worked around her house for a while, starting a load of laundry and taking care of other chores before heading for the hospital, where she would spend a few hours so her mother could get a break. That was a routine she would be happy to give up, Lucia thought as she drove to the hospital, her automatic prayer for her father’s quick recovery at her lips. Quick, though, hadn’t happened.

      “Whatever Your greater plan, Lord,” she quietly prayed, “help us to understand.” Though she believed the potential for good flowed from every situation, she was hard-pressed to imagine what greater good was to come from her dad’s lingering coma.

      She arrived a half hour early as she had planned so she could check on Ramón and Teresa, or at least their sister. With that in mind, she made her way to the makeshift children’s ward. She found the children with their parents, who spoke no more English than the children did. Immediately frustrated with the limited communication available with her own poor Spanish and vague hand gestures, Lucia cut her visit short, wishing she spoke the language well enough to communicate and wishing Rafe had been with her to translate.

      Leaving the ward, she went through the main rotunda of the hospital and was drawn to the security tape that cordoned off the damaged pediatric wing. The fire doors at the entrance to the wing were closed. They didn’t keep the pungent scent of smoke, water and charred debris inside, however, the odors oozing into the rotunda.

      “It sure smells awful, doesn’t it?” came a voice from the other side of the rotunda.

      Lucia turned around to see Chloe Tanner, an intensive-care nurse who had thwarted a second attempt on her father’s life, coming toward her. That alone would have made her an honorary family member. She had also been a great nurse, taking good care of Lucia’s dad during those first harrowing days after he was shot.

      That had been the beginning of a romance between Chloe and Colleen’s cousin Brendan, and they had recently announced their engagement.

      Smiling, Lucia said, “It does, but it’s about the usual.”

      “I saw the trucks for your station here.”

      Lucia nodded. “We were the first to arrive.”

      “I just don’t understand how a fire of that magnitude happened,” Chloe said. “After all those false alarms kept happening, one of the chiefs was out here several times doing inspections. You would have thought he might have noticed the problem with the sprinklers.”

      “Do you remember which one?” Lucia asked.

      Chloe grinned. “I won’t be forgetting about a man who talked to me like I had the IQ of a gnat. Battalion Chief Neil O’Brien. He’s in charge of your station house, isn’t he?”

      Again Lucia nodded, knowing just how Chloe felt. “A gnat, huh?”

      Chloe’s smile widened. “We might be insulting gnats.”

      Lucia