Fire and Glass, page 1
Table of Contents
Blurb
Dedication
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Epilogue
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About the Author
By Andrew Grey
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Copyright
Fire and Glass
By Andrew Grey
State Trooper Casey Bombaro works too hard to have time for a love life, never mind a family. But when a missing persons case leads him to three scared kids and eventually their uncle—an old friend from Casey’s college days—all that changes.
Bertie Riley hasn’t seen his troubled sister, Jen, or his niece and nephews in years. Now suddenly Jen is gone and Bertie is all the kids have. Worried sick about Jen and overwhelmed by his new responsibilities, Bertie doesn’t know how he’s going to cope. He doesn’t expect Casey to step in and lend a hand, but his attraction to his old friend doesn’t surprise him. Years may have passed, but those feelings have never gone away.
For the first time in his life, Casey wants something to come home to. Bertie and the kids fit into his life like they are meant to be there. He struggles to balance a budding romance and reassuring the kids with investigating a rash of robberies and tracking down Jen. But when evidence suggests Jen might not only be missing but complicit in a number of crimes, will Bertie and the kids forgive Casey for doing his job?
For Dominic, who is always there for me, no matter what.
Chapter 1
STATE TROOPER Casey Bombaro grumbled as he sat in his patrol car at the start of the workday, the summer sun beating in the windows, and read his messages. He already had two break-in reports to investigate, and he needed to get them looked into. Now he had a message to come in to the office outside Carlisle to pick something up.
At least one of the reported break-ins was between his current location and town, so it wouldn’t be a wasted trip. He responded to the message and quickly scanned the others before buckling up.
One of the things he loved about being a state trooper was that his car was his office. He didn’t sit at a desk in some building pushing paper all day. He was out in the trenches, the primary law-enforcement presence for a good part of his district, and Casey liked it when the area under his patrol was quiet. It hadn’t been for the past few months. Casey thought something had changed—the robberies were becoming more frequent, and those responsible were getting bolder—but he wasn’t making progress getting to the source, which frustrated him no end.
After starting the engine, he pulled out of his driveway and used GPS to guide him to the address of the break-in. It was typical of what he’d been finding—the owners came home from a night out to find their home had been broken into. Easily sold electronics were gone, and so was the liquor. Medicine cabinet stripped of prescription meds, and any available jewelry cases or boxes were missing. Nothing else was touched, and no messes were made. In each case, the thieves seemed to know what they were looking for and got in and out, leaving very little trace of themselves. The fuckers knew what they were doing, and that ground at Casey. The jobs were small-time enough, no big score up to this point, and yet the break-ins kept happening, sometimes three or four a week.
He made notes about the incident, but unfortunately he could offer little hope of recovery. He added the report to his list of things to do and headed to the station.
“We got a big job for you,” Collins, the sergeant in charge, said with an evil smile as he handed Casey a cup of coffee. Then he set a small, battered beige fabric purse on his desk. “This was found behind a business in Newville. It was turned over to the township, and they passed it on to us to try to return. There was ID inside, so sometime today, could you stop by the house and get it back to the owner?”
Casey grumbled. “Is that why I had to come in?”
Collins narrowed his gaze. “Don’t be a growly pain in the ass. I even gave you coffee. I know it’s inconvenient, but it’s something we can do to help people. Remember? That’s part of our job. We’re supposed to be a team.” He leaned forward and lowered his voice. “You’re a good trooper, and you take the job as seriously as a heart attack, but your people skills suck. None of the others want to work with you because every fucking thing is a competition. Well, knock it off. This isn’t some sort of contest to see who can have the quietest patrol district. I will tell you, you could be up for an award: asshole of the year. Whatever stick got lodged up your backside, you need to get rid of it.”
“I do my job, and I do it well.” Casey knew that. He took pride in doing the best damned job he could. He lived for the job. Hell, it was almost all he had.
“Yeah, you’re so good that other troopers stay away. Just take the arrogance down a notch and work on getting along with your fellow troopers, because I sure as hell don’t want to be writing you up for this.” His gaze was rock-hard, and Casey swallowed. “You’ve been up for promotion, but it isn’t going to happen until you are able to work with others. It’s that simple.” His expression softened a little. “I know you want this, and you’re a good trooper, but dammit, if others won’t work with you, how can you lead them?” The sergeant straightened up. “Go on and get back out there.”
Casey took the coffee and left the office. He went back toward his car, making an effort to say good morning to others as he passed.
“What’s with the purse? Trying out a new look?” Wyatt Nelson asked.
Casey’s first instinct was to snark at him, but he swallowed it. “Just some lost property to return.”
Wyatt paused in his steps. “Of course. That most definitely isn’t your color, and it doesn’t go with your shoes at all.” He smiled and rolled his eyes. “Come on, Casey. I was only kidding. What’s gotten under your skin?”
“It’s nothing,” Casey said gently. “Just more work than I have hours. You know how it is.” Their districts were next to each other and sometimes overlapped.
“Yeah, I do. If you need backup, let me know.”
“I can….” He stopped himself. His first instinct was to say he could handle things in his district just fine, as though Wyatt had been taking a dig at him. But Wyatt’s open expression gave him pause. “Thanks. I appreciate the offer. You do the same.” He lifted the bag in his hand. “Okay, I need to return my fashion accessory to its rightful owner.” A smile crossed his lips. “I’ll see you later.”
Wyatt half jogged into the building, and Casey got into his patrol car. He had another break-in to investigate and the purse to return, and that was before any more reports came in—and given the way things had been going lately, more reports were inevitable. He just wished he could get a handle on these break-ins. Casey knew they were related, but there was very little to go on.
HIS FIRST stop was another robbery investigation. The story was much the same. The usual types of items had been stolen. So far he had nine incidents in the past four weeks. Casey took down the details and made notes of the similarities to the others, then left behind yet another shaken and frightened homeowner who wanted answers like Casey did.
Back in his patrol car, he took a few minutes to review his notes before heading to the address on the identification in the purse. Ten minutes later, he pulled onto the gravel two-track that led up to the house. He slowly got out of the car, taking in his surroundings. There were no cars and no human sounds. Casey wasn’t sure if anyone was home until the curtains on the nearest window moved to the side and then slid back into place.
His boots crunched on the gravel, and birds sang in the nearby trees while cicadas hummed their mating song. He went up to the front door and knocked firmly, carrying the purse under his arm.
When he didn’t get an answer, he knocked again, knowing people were inside. Soft footsteps behind the door told him someone was indeed home, and he was about to knock a third time when he heard locks disengaging and then the door cracked open a couple of inches.
A kid peered through the crack.
“Is your mother home?” Casey asked. He didn’t get an answer. “I’m with the police, and I have her purse. Can you get her, please?” He noticed the chain was still on the door. It closed, and then after some fumbling and clinking, the door opened again.
“Mommy isn’t home,” a little boy about ten years old said.
“Is your dad here?” When the boy shrugged, he became concerned. “Who’s home with you?”
“Mama will be back,” the boy said, his voice high and pitched with fear and worry.
“It’s okay. I have her purse. Is it okay if I bring it inside? I’m a policeman.” He knelt down. “You know that the police are here to help you, right?” He had taught Stranger Danger classes and knew he needed to be careful. He didn’t want to scare the kid, but he wondered what was really going on. While he waited, one more little face peered out from behind the boy, a small girl Casey guessed might be five or six, holding a stuffed rabbit.
“Mama says not to talk to strangers, and I’m not supposed to let anyone in the house.” The young boy was scared, that was obvious, but there was something more to it.
“Let me bring in your mama’s purse. I’m not going to hurt you.” God, he hoped he sounded as kind and gentle as he was trying to. “Are you two home alone?”
The boy shook his head . “Beau is here too,” the boy said.
Casey breathed a little easier. “How old is he?” He hoped that was the babysitter.
“Four,” the boy answered.
It dawned on Casey that there were three young kids without an adult. “How long has your mommy been gone?”
The little girl began to cry. “I want Mommy,” she whimpered, and the boy lowered his head.
Casey didn’t make any move to go inside. “When did you see your mama last?” The boy shrugged. “Was it today?” Casey half whispered in an effort to be gentle. The boy shook his head. “Yesterday?” Another head shake. “It’s okay. I’m going to help you, I promise.”
Fuck, he had seen a hell of a lot of shit that people did to one another. A killing that gave him nightmares for weeks, men hitting their wives and girlfriends. Those calls got to him every time. He’d seen the worst kind of hurt, but these three kids—and he hoped there weren’t more—touched his heart. After six years on the job, Casey had come to wonder if that was even possible any longer. It was easier to wall it off than to let it get battered day in and day out.
“What’s your name?” Casey asked, deciding to take things really slow. “I’m Trooper Casey.”
“Phillip,” the boy answered softly.
Casey leaned a little closer. “And what’s your name?” he asked the little girl.
“That’s Jolie,” Phillip answered as Jolie slunk behind him.
He wasn’t going to push inside. “Have you had enough to eat?”
“I’m hungry,” Jolie whispered and started crying again.
“It’s okay. Do you want my help to get something to eat?” Casey asked. He held out his hand. Phillip stared at it and then took it.
Relief washed over Casey as he slowly got up and followed Phillip into the house. It was pretty clean. The house seemed to have been vacuumed and dusted recently. He did a quick sweep of the house, including checking the upstairs, before returning.
“What have you been eating?” Casey went through the living and dining areas to the kitchen. A pile of dishes—mostly plates and cups—sat in the sink.
“Peanut butter and jelly,” Jolie answered as Casey opened the refrigerator. It held very little. Some condiments, a nearly empty jar of jam, a quarter of a jar of peanut butter, some pickles, and a mostly empty jug of milk. The cupboards didn’t have much more, with a few boxes of macaroni and cheese and some spices. He didn’t see any bread or even crackers. God, these kids were down to the very end of their food.
“Where’s Beau?” Casey asked Phillip.
“Hiding,” Phillip answered.
“Why don’t you both go find him, and I’ll make you some macaroni and cheese. Okay?” There were so many things running through his head, but he didn’t want to panic the kids. They were already under enough stress. Once they hurried away, he called in and requested Wyatt’s backup, got some water on the stove to get the kids fed, and then made a call to Child Services.
The kids returned with their brother in tow. Little Beau was adorable, with a head of unruly brown hair, huge brown eyes, and his thumb stuck firmly in his mouth. “Are you Beau?” Casey asked gently, and Beau nodded, leaving his thumb firmly in place. “Do you like macaroni and cheese?” He nodded again, holding Phillip’s hand. “Good. Jolie said she was hungry, so I wanted to make you something to eat.”
“No peanut butter?” Jolie asked, and when Casey shook his head, she grinned. “Good.”
Once he got the boxed mac and cheese finished, Phillip got out what seemed to be the last of the clean dishes in the cupboard and the last clean silverware in the drawer. Once again Casey wondered how long these poor children had been in the house alone. After he got the food dished up and Phillip divided the last of the milk between them, Casey stepped out of the room to call the sergeant.
“What’s going on?” the sergeant asked.
“That purse you gave me to return has opened a whole kettle of fish. I got here, and the lady it belongs to is nowhere to be found. Her three children are at the house alone, probably have been for days.” He felt sick at the thought. What kind of parent did this sort of thing? “I needed you to know that this is going to take a while. I don’t think they’ve eaten much, so I made them something to eat. Wyatt is going to be over soon, and I called Child Services.”
“Good. Keep the kids calm, and find out what you can from them. Maybe we can find a relative in the area who will take them. Call in names, and I’ll have people here get on it.”
“Okay,” Casey agreed, still a little nervous about providing unexpected child care. “All three of them are eating like they haven’t had a hot meal in days.”
“And idea how long they’ve been alone?”
“Guessing five days to a week. The poor things have eaten what they can and are nearly out of food.” He spoke softly, looking out the window as Wyatt pulled up in his patrol car, followed by a dark sedan that Casey hoped was Child Services. “I’ll send you any information I can get.”
They ended the call, and Casey let Wyatt and Donald Ickle—the social worker from Child Services who’d driven the sedan—inside. Then he returned to the kitchen to find Phillip and Jolie at the table, but Beau missing.
“Where is he?”
“Hiding,” Jolie said. “Strange men scare him. There were people in the garage a few days ago, and it scared him really bad.”
“Will you check that out?” Casey asked Wyatt, who nodded.
Casey found Beau hiding in one of the cupboards. He bent down, talking softly and holding out his hand. Once Beau took it, he lifted the little boy, hugging him, surprised when Beau put his arms around his neck and held almost tightly enough to cut off his air. “Are you still hungry?” Casey asked, rubbing his back.
“Want Mama,” he cried.
“I know. I’m going to try to find her for you.” What the hell else was he supposed to say? “I promise. Do you want to eat some more?”
“Sit with me,” Phillip said.
Beau went to his brother and sat on his lap. Casey pushed the plate over to him and swallowed hard. Then he tilted his head toward the other room, and Donald followed him.
“What have we got here?” Donald asked with a sigh.
“Mom missing for nearly a week, I’d guess. Father not around. I made them something to eat because they looked half-starved and there was little food in the house. Ummm….” He cleared his throat.
“It’s okay. If these sorts of things don’t get to you, then you aren’t human. And believe me, I’ve seen worse. At least these three are fed and relatively clean. And they seem to trust you to a degree. Introduce me as Donny and tell them that I’m going to help them find their mother too.”
“I’m hoping we can locate a relative that will take them,” Casey said, and Donald nodded. He returned to the kitchen and introduced Donald.
“Phillip, can you tell me your last name?” He wanted to make sure that the kids had the same surname as their mother.
“Riley,” he answered.
Casey wrote it down, being thorough, and it gave him a few seconds to process his horror at these kids being left alone. “Do you have an aunt or an uncle that you see?” Casey hoped Phillip would know the most information, but he shook his head. “Is there anyone you know? A cousin? Maybe a close friend of your mom’s?” The kids all looked at one another blankly. “What about your grandma and grandpa?” Another shake of the head. “Do you have any relatives close by?” He was becoming a little desperate.
“There’s Uncle Bertie, but Mama says he doesn’t like us. Mama had a fight with him, so we don’t see him anymore.”
“Mama says he’s mean and doesn’t care,” Jolie supplied.
“Is your uncle Bertie’s last name Riley too?” he asked, and Phillip shrugged. Casey wrote it down anyway and hoped for the best. He messaged the sergeant with the information, along with the kids’ names and ages. Maybe there were records that would help. Anything so these kids could be properly taken care of.
“You did really good,” Donald told Phillip, who finished up his food and put his dishes in the nearly overflowing sink. He then helped the littler ones before they wandered into the living room, sat on the sofa, and turned on the television.
