Burned by Callie Bardot

Author:Callie Bardot [Bardot, Callie]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Sumner McKenzie, Inc.
Published: 2019-12-02T16:00:00+00:00

Chapter 20

Sitting at the edge of his neatly made bed in his room at the station, dressed in clean jeans and a t-shirt, Jackson puzzled over the text he’d received this morning from Blaire.

Busy day today. I probably won’t answer if you call. I’m fine. See you after I get off work at 3. XO, B.

He pushed to stand and chewed the inside of his cheek while eying his surroundings consisting of a small wooden desk against the cream-colored wall, a closet, and a three-drawer dresser. A picture of Blaire adorned his desk, but nothing else sat atop it, save for a pen.

Her words seemed innocuous, but he couldn’t put his finger on it—something about the message seemed off. The communication felt as sparse as his surroundings were simple.

He’d been in a panic ever since she called him last night informing him that Karlos had texted her. But between tones and his regular duties, he’d had little time to deal with her distress and his need to fucking fix the situation, stat.

He clicked on the phone icon to see if Agent Vogel had called him back. Goddamn it. Nothing. The minute he got off the phone with Blaire last night, he’d called and left a message with the FBI agent.

He caught sight of Mark, passing his open doorway, wearing a towel around his waist.

Jackson lifted his chin. “Hey, Hubs.”

Mark backed up and peered into his room. His dark hair hung wet along his forehead. “What’s up?”

“Know any higher-ups in the police force?”

Mark cocked his head to the side and thought a moment. “Not really. Kowalski might. Ask him. He’s duty chief today.”

“Will do, thanks.”

“Any time.” Mark disappeared from sight.

Jackson reached for his sturdy black leather boots which stood next to the bed and shoved his feet into them. He leaned over to zip them up. Then, he made his way to the chief’s office.

The door hung ajar, so he knocked on the jamb and eased it open.

Kowalski had the landline handset pressed to his ear. He raised one finger into the air and mouthed, “One sec.” Then, he gave his attention to whomever he spoke with. “Okay. Okay. We can do that. Yes, we’ll be out there. Okay. All right. I’ll touch base when it gets closer to the date. Uh-huh. You, too. Goodbye.” He cradled the handset back on the phone receiver and looked at Jackson. “That was Joe Johnson.”

“Ah,” said Jackson. “What’s our Fire Inspector up to?”

He leaned against the door frame.

“He wants a team of volunteers to be on standby at the Fourth of July fireworks out at the fairgrounds. Singer Springs got permits to host a fireworks display this year, but with these drought conditions, it could prove a clusterfuck of fires for the department. Joe tried to get it shut down, but the people have spoken. They want their pyrotechnics. First, we have to get through the Summer Arts Fest, and Farm Days, though. I’ll have to gather volunteers for those events, too.” He drummed his fingers on the table.

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