“Soon…” he murmured to no one in particular. Peyton had found that timing was everything. Two years had passed and Sinclaire had moved into town and lived in a one-story ranch house a couple of blocks away from the fire station. Things had settled down in this backwater town. Most people now gossiped and talked about other things rather than Bev Sinclaire’s unsolved murder. It was time to strike again. One final, last time…
“I KNOW LIEUTENANT SINCLAIRE is going to be happy about all this,” Cat Edwin said, sitting at the table eating dinner with Casey.
Sighing, Casey shrugged. “I feel ambivalent about it, Cat.” She picked at the romaine and tomato salad Cat had made for them. She’d gotten home an hour earlier, climbed out of her ranger uniform and gotten into a pair of jeans and a green long-sleeved cotton pullover.
“Why?” Cat asked, eating hungrily. She’d been on duty for twelve hours and had the next two days off.
Casey really didn’t know Cat that well; they were new roommates. “It’s just me,” she murmured, chewing on a tomato. She liked the black-haired woman with intense blue eyes. Her square face went with her solid, large-boned build. Cat was no shrinking violet insofar as women went. She was five foot eleven inches tall, weighed a hundred and sixty pounds and was pure muscle. In one room of their large apartment was a complete gym where Cat worked out religiously for at least an hour a day. Casey knew that firefighting was physical and Cat had to be in top shape to work alongside her male compatriots.
“That guy,” Cat said between bites, “is a good dude. What happened to him is a crime—literally.” She wiped her mouth with the yellow linen napkin and settled it back onto her lap. “I’m not assigned to his watch, but all the guys talk favorably about Matt.” She grinned a little and said teasingly, “You know he’s single.”
Casey cringed inwardly; she wanted nothing to do with men. She was still working through the devastation of nearly being beaten to death by five potheads. “My focus isn’t on relationships right now, Cat. I just graduated and I need to do well here at my first assignment.”
Nodding, Cat got up and walked to the kitchen. She’d made spaghetti and meatballs as a main dish. The air was filled with the aromas of tomato, basil and garlic. Coming back with plates piled high with food, Cat handed Casey hers and sat down. “In my job at the fire department there’s no fraternization between me and the guys.” Cat smiled a crooked smile. “That’s okay with me. I’m only twenty-two and frankly, I don’t want to get married young.” She sliced open a huge meatball. “I come from an abusive family. I got out of it as soon as I could. My father beat us with a belt and my mother never stopped him.”
Casey gave her new roommate a sympathetic look. Cat was beautiful in an arresting way. She had slightly tilted blue eyes that gave her broad, square face a subtle exotic look. With her short, dark curls Casey thought she looked like the mythical Greek huntress Artemis. That goddess was a warrior and a hunter and was just as capable as any man.
Casey frowned, thinking that Artemis had never endured hardship like Cat. “I’m sorry to hear of your hardship. I find that among my friends at the university, if any had a father who beat them up or was verbally abusive to them, they didn’t want to get involved in a male relationship any too soon, either.”
Cat held up her hand. “That’s me. Not that I don’t like men, I do.” She frowned. “But in here, in my gut—” she touched her stomach region “—I don’t trust them. I know it stems from my father. I try to work it out in my head and tell myself that not all men are like my father.” Frowning, she twirled the marinara sauce and spaghetti onto a huge spoon with her fork. “So far, I haven’t achieved it. I wish I could. I’ve met some decent men, but my emotions are still stuck back when I was an eight-year-old.”
“Hmm, I understand,” Casey said, sympathetic. She had the same problem, only her distrust of men had started in her sophomore year of college. “Have you seen any progress with yourself as the years go by?” she wondered.
“No,” Cat murmured unhappily. “I look at guys, but don’t touch. My head is stuck in PTSD symptoms, according to what my therapist told me years ago. Until I can grow up emotionally and lose my fear of men, there’s not much I can do.”
“Do you date?”
Cat’s mouth twisted. “I have friends who are men. I do go to dances with them, I share a beer at a local bar sometimes, and I go hiking with them. But real intimacy? No…I’m just not there. Yet.”
Hearing the determination in her roommate’s lowered voice, Casey hoped she wouldn’t have to live her life in that PTSD cage. Someday, after she got to know Cat a lot better, she’d share her story. Truly, they were two peas from the same pod. “You’re pretty, Cat. I don’t know of a guy who wouldn’t give you a second look.”
Laughing sharply, Cat said, “Listen, my looks and my body act as a guy magnet for every man around. Isn’t it sad?” She patted her hip. “I got this fab body and face and I’m scared to death of men! How’s that for pure irony?”
Finishing her salad, Casey nodded. “It is ironic.”
“So? Are you going to work with Lieutenant Sinclaire on behalf of his daughter?” Cat wondered, giving Casey an assessing look.
“I probably will,” Casey slowly admitted. “If I do, it’s for Megan.”
“You’re not interested in him, huh?”
“No.” Casey thought she must be a liar. Matt Sinclaire made her feel things she’d never felt before. He was terribly good-looking, like a rugged model on a magazine cover. There was nothing to dislike about him from what she’d observed so far. “He’s terribly conflicted and guilty over Megan’s condition. He felt that if he’d been home at the time of his wife’s murder, Megan’s muteness wouldn’t have happened.”
Cat snorted. “Listen, you have to attend fire school a couple of times a year. It’s mandatory for all of us. You have to keep up with the evolution of fire suppression and the new equipment coming out. Matt had to go to that school in Cheyenne, Casey. As an officer he can’t just up and decide differently.”
“I understand that,” Casey said. “I wouldn’t be surprised if he didn’t have ulcers over all of this.”
Nodding, Cat savored the meal she’d made for them. She was proud of her culinary abilities. “He doesn’t from what I know, but I see him with dark circles under his eyes from time to time. His men who are on watch with him told me once he has bad insomnia.”
Casey knew that symptom really well. She had restless, sleepless nights, too, particularly around a full moon. She got so she hated that time of the month. Before her concussion and beating, she had always slept soundly and deeply. But no more.
“You know, there’s a new doctor in town,” Cat said, almost to herself, “that I’m thinking of seeing. She’s called a functional medicine specialist.”
“What is that?” Casey asked.
“They deal with PTSD symptoms, from what I understand. And they have a good track record of getting rid of the symptoms from a hormonal level. Her name is Jordana Lawton. I’ve been diagnosed with PTSD, and I thought if there’s a prayer of a chance that she could help me get rid of the symptoms caused by high cortisol levels, I’d give her a try.”
“Let me know what happens?” Casey asked. She’d love to get rid of her PTSD symptoms, too, but no one knew she had them. And no one knew what had happened to her, not even her employer, the USFS. And she wanted to keep it that way. It was a private skeleton in the closet of her life. Casey lived in fear of anyone finding out and then going to her supervisor, Ranger Charley Davidson. There was no telling what the USFS might do. They could fire her because she’d not put down all her medical history on her employment