Make Me Burn Read online

  She fumed, irked she had to run into him today of all days. She’d thought she’d finally found a safe enough topic for her father. He loved animals. Heck, he and her mother had adopted Salty the Rottie just last year at one of these adoption days. And with Pets Fur Life having financial issues, she knew the charity could use any help it could get.

  Let’s face it. If I managed to get an interview with Putin, Dad would find some way to criticize it. Because she’d prefer an interview with Putin’s florist or hairstylist, not the man himself. Avery didn’t do “hard news” anymore. She’d tried it; it didn’t take.

  Her gaze found Brad again. Dealing with him had been one of the hardest things she’d ever done. She’d been young and foolish, trying to impress her father, to live up to his name instead of doing what felt right. In the process, she’d burned more than a few bridges.

  Brad met her gaze, quirked a brow, and deliberately turned away.

  She glared. Well, that was one bridge she had no intention of rebuilding. Not since she’d discovered he was no hero but a troll sucking away the joy from any poor heroine determined to get close.

  Hmm. Not bad. She’d have to use that line later while gaming with Gerty…after she made Gerty pay. Honestly, how tough was it to hold on to a dog’s leash? And no warning that they’d be having cats for adoption either? It sure wasn’t called the Cats Days of Spring Festival.

  She turned to go and ran into another man wearing a Seattle FD Station 44 uniform.

  “Oh, I’m sorry.” He smiled, and she blinked. Did they send all the pretty people to Station 44?

  “My fault.” She fiddled with her glasses. “I seem to be tripping over my own feet today.” Today? Make that every day. Her friends called her accident-prone for a reason.

  He grinned and in a thick Southern accent said, “I caught your two-step with Marmaduke.”

  She laughed at that.

  “I’m Tex McGovern.” He held out a hand, clasping hers a bit longer than a perfunctory handshake would normally allow.

  She gently tugged, and he immediate let go. “Avery Dearborn.”

  “Reporter?” he asked, glancing down at her microphone.

  She tucked it into her jacket pocket. “I think so. That’s if I still have a job after my idiot cameraman runs that clip of me dancing with Cujo.”

  Tex grinned. “I thought it was cute. You handled yourself well.” He looked to be about the same height as Brad and close to her age. But unlike the angry fireman, Tex’s smile felt warm, sincere. Shaggy, thick black hair framed a handsome face. His light-gray eyes stood out in contrast to his dark good looks.

  She appreciated that this man didn’t look at her as if Satan sat on her shoulder.

  “Avery, I’m gonna grab something to eat. Would you like to join me?” He motioned to the food trucks.

  She tossed her empty cup of lemonade in the garbage. “You know, I could eat something. Those tiny donuts are calling to me.”

  He studied the donut truck. “Hmm. That does look good. Maybe after I get something with meat in it.”

  She gave him a once-over and whistled. “I bet you need to eat a lot to fill those big shoes.”

  He wiggled his brows. “You know what they say about a man with big shoes.”

  Curious to see how far he’d go, she raised a brow. “No, what?”

  “That he wears big socks.” He winked.

  “Nice save,” she said drily.

  He laughed. “Hey, we just met. I save all my unsavory comments for the second date.”

  “Don’t we need a first date to get past?”

  “If I buy you a mini donut, does that count?”

  She scoffed. “A dozen, maybe. But one? Gimme a break.”

  He started to say something when a large hand settled on his shoulder. Tex looked at said hand and sighed. “Aw, man.”

  “Nice try, Tex. Time to mingle again.”

  It figured Brad would show up to ruin things. Avery sighed. “Don’t you have some kittens to save? A pole to slide down? Trucks to clean?” Another woman’s self-esteem to ruin?

  Tex looked from Brad to Avery. “You two know each other?”

  Brad huffed. Avery shrugged.

  Tex seemed fascinated. “Avery, why don’t you tell me over donuts?”

  “She can’t.” Brad glowered at her. “We have work to do, slacker. Let’s go.”

  “But—”

  An angry Brad turned on Avery. “And before you try weaseling information out of my friend, don’t bother.” He tugged a protesting Tex with him away and disappeared into the crowd.

  Totally annoyed and not sure how Brad had gotten the better of her, she stared after him. “Oh yeah. A total troll.” As if she wanted to know anything more about him. Ever.

  Gerty waved from across the way and threaded through the masses to Avery’s side. “Did I just see—”

  “Not a word. You owe me so big I can’t even…” Avery blew out a breath. “Now break out your wallet. I need carbs.”

  “Yes, ma’am.” Gerty bought them each a cup of sugary puffs of guilt. “Please tell me what the heck I just saw. Because it looked to me like your mortal enemy has returned with a vengeance.” She rubbed her grubby little hands together. “This sounds like a job for Super Gert and her minion of stealth and subtlety. Or, you know, a gamer nerd and her clumsy, loud-mouthed friend.”

  Avery shoved a donut in her mouth and scowled, wishing she had something clever to say and coming up blank.

  “Well, look on the bright side. At least your dad didn’t stick around to see you and Super Hunk FD glaring at each other under my balloons of joy.”

  Avery ate another donut.

  “Super Hunk FD. Balloons of joy.” Gerty paused. “Nothing, eh?”

  “I’m at a loss for words, I’m so mad.” She explained her non-starting date with handsome Tex.

  “That asshat! Messing with my sister from another mister. My pal from another gal. My wonder from another mother. My chick from another dick—”

  “And we’re done.” Avery blushed when a passing mom frowned at them both. But Gerty had pulled her out of her funk. “Well, super geek, you put me in a better mood. Time to chalk Brad Battle back to the loser column and focus on work.” She tried to put a positive spin on her day. “I guess that dance with Banana was kind of funny.”

  “Kind of?” Gerty chuckled. “Try hilarious. My money says the spot has you going viral.”

  “And won’t my dad just love that.” His loser daughter making social media waves by being silly. Just a hack journalist who’d fallen so far from the family tree she might as well be a weed.

  Gerty held up a donut. “Cheers!”

  Avery touched her donut to Gerty’s and sighed. “Well, looking on the bright side, now that I know where the douche-nozzle works, I know how to avoid him. I’ll never have to see that jerk again.”

  Chapter Two

  Monday morning, Avery stared at her boss, unsure she’d heard him correctly. “I’m sorry. What did you say?”

  “You were brilliant!” Emil Watts glowed with enthusiasm. He reminded her of an elf, with bushy white eyebrows and slightly pointed ears. His shock of white hair stood on end most of the time, as he had a habit of grabbing his hair when stressed, and he sported a white goatee that always appeared trimmed to within an inch of its life. Thin and neat, he liked to wear earthy colors and always did his best to take up environmental causes. She knew it was only a matter of time before they went completely paperless.

  Searching the Needle Weekly had been around for more than a decade, starting out in print. The free paper had quickly become popular with the city, as much for its crazy stories about aliens and urban monsters as for its community pieces. But as times changed, so did the need to adapt to new technology. To compete with the many online news sources, Emil had enhanced their web
site with streaming video, increased the live broadcasts they’d been doing, and added a studio in the office to film the Friday news show as well as other series he was still developing.

  Emil continued, “We’re blazing on social media. The mayor called, thrilled with our coverage of Station 44 and Pets Fur Life. And after that mess with the health department last week, the city can use some positive energy. Heck, we’re helping Seattle look good! Mayor Bentz is demanding follow-up interviews.”

  She blinked. “Demanding?”

  “Encouraging with enthusiasm.” He waved her question away. “You and that fireman have chemistry. Have you seen? We’re getting national coverage out of your story. Even the AP picked it up.” Emil danced behind his desk, giddy and smiling so hard she worried his face might break in half. “Our website has gotten ten times the traffic it normally does in the past two days, and the views keep on coming.” He gripped his hair. “Alan’s a freakin’ genius.”

  Alan was a traitor and so, so dead. “Hold on. Follow-up interviews? More stories about Station 44? That’s Tara’s beat, right?” Avery didn’t want to mess with the frighteningly competent woman.

  “No, she has more important things to cover.”

  Of course she did.

  “Like what?”

  Emil shrugged. “The city council, a few PTA sessions concerning diversity, tolerance, and some much-needed focus on math and science for young girls.” He made the sign of the cross. Considering he was an atheist, she wondered what he thought might be protecting him with the gesture. “I can’t tell you how many women seem to be unable to form quadratic equations.”

  “Sexist much?” Math nerd. “I can’t name anyone—besides you—who likes spouting math for fun. Woman or man.”

  “Yes, my comment was sexist. Exactly. See what I’m saying? My nieces hate math because their teachers put them down. And Celia used to be so good at algebra. I’m so tired of—”

  “Emil, focus. I’m not a newscaster. I’m a journalist.” Barely. “Why do you want me to deal with Station 44? So what? I had one embarrassing scene with a fireman that hit the news. We have no chemistry, and frankly, I can’t stand him.”

  “Him?”

  She glared. “Brad Battle, the guy you want me to interview.”

  “You know, maybe we should have you do a more in-depth piece. That guy’s a PR dream. He’s a war hero, a Marine—”

  “Former Marine.” And she knew all about him. Her interview five years ago had put him in the path of media stardom. He should have been thanking her, but instead he’d buried his head in the proverbial sand and made her out to be a bad guy.

  Guilt started its familiar churn. Anxiety flared, reminders of who she’d once tried to be filling her with shame. No, I’m a good person. I will not fall into that mire again. She had to work to get out of her own head.

  “—women love him, and he’s got pet lovers eating out of his hand. I wonder if he ever plans to enter politics.”

  “I wouldn’t vote for him.”

  Emil frowned, in thinking mode. “Maybe you could do a continuing story on what it’s like to be a firefighter in our city. But make it entertaining, not so dry. I haven’t seen anything on that lately.”

  Shoot me now. “The Seattle Times just did a huge series of articles on that very topic last month.”

  “Yes, and it was boring.” He ignored her sputtering and tapped his chin. “But that’s taking you from what you do best. Warm and fuzzy.” He nodded. “You’re good at that. People love you, and they want to see more human-interest pieces. Let’s scratch off the fire department’s inner workings.”

  “But isn’t the fire department human interest?” God, what was she doing? She didn’t want to have anything to do with Station 44…unless she could somehow score a date with Tex that didn’t ever involve being around Brad Battle again. And somehow, she didn’t see that happening.

  “You’re right. It is. But it’s too human. We want you fuzzy, remember? Think furry. The mayor is over the moon about Pets Fur Life. His wife’s a huge supporter. I know your friend works with them, so you already have an in. But we want you and your fireman front and center.” He snapped his fingers. “In fact, let’s run a weekly streaming segment with you and the fireman featuring a pet of the week to adopt.”

  Her mouth went dry. Weekly segment?

  “We’ll run it before Tara’s news piece in the early a.m. starting this Friday. Make sure you do follow-ups so we get the pet’s picture and info into the paper as well as your fireman’s billion-dollar grin.”

  “First of all, he’s not my fireman. Secondly, the term is firefighter, not fireman. Third, am I getting a raise? Because that’s a lot of work on top of getting my articles ready for the Weekly paper.” Her salary barely paid her bills as it was, forcing her to freelance when needed. Maybe she could squeeze a few extra dollars out of her boss.

  “You know what? You get me a fantastic piece with the firefighter, I’ll see what I can do.”

  She blinked. “Really?”

  “Really. You’re due for a raise anyway. We both know you do the work of two people.” Try three, Emil. “I just can’t afford to bring anyone else on to help. Not without cutting all your salaries back.”

  “Yeah, I know.” She sighed.

  “But we’ve picked up two new sponsors thanks to your Dancing Dog and your comprehensive piece on the festival. That’s in addition to the social media boosts, which are driving more traffic to our online presence. You’ve earned it.” He looked so proud of her—something she wasn’t used to seeing from a male authority figure.

  “Thanks, Emil.”

  “Great. Now get out of here. I have to call Station 44 and get their cooperation. What’s your firefighter’s name again?”

  If she didn’t tell him, could she get out of this mess?

  “Oh yes. Brad Battle. Love that name. Well? Scram. We have a lot to get done before this Friday.” He grinned from ear to ear.

  She left, feeling equal parts joy and dismay. Joy because she’d been acknowledged for doing a good job. Dismay because she’d have to deal with her mortal enemy, as Gerty had called him. Then again, Gerty had also referred to him as Super Hunk FD.

  Meh. Avery would stick with Troll.

  Deciding to spend the rest of her day prepping for the week’s articles, she got busy working. Though she didn’t report on politics or world news, Avery told people about local events and community spotlights. She did her best to bring joy and humor to those who read her articles. Life shouldn’t be so serious and sad all the time.

  While her father had labored for years to bring truth to the masses, reporting on cruelties in other countries, on wars, famines, and brutal regimes, he’d been away from home, constantly on the go, his work seeming more important than his family. Sure, he’d received accolades and awards, both monetary and commendatory. Stuff Avery would never achieve in her current career trajectory, to hear him tell it.

  And maybe she was delusional. She’d had what he’d had for a brief time, and though it hadn’t exactly satisfied, she’d been young, just starting her career… Until one day she’d woken up, tired of dogging people for secrets they’d rather keep, like Brad and his operations in the military. Tired of shoving herself in front of the grieving and lost to get the emotional pull that made her news pieces so gritty and engrossing. One day, Avery had just pulled the plug. Then she’d gone a different way, one that included worry-filled months to make rent and a lot of cheap meals.

  Her parents lived in a lovely home in Ballard, traveled whenever they wanted, and worked semiretired hours. Her father occasionally wrote for major news periodicals and did special interest newscasts when asked. A success by age thirty, and over twenty years later he was still going strong.

  Avery still didn’t know if she should regret her career choices or not, and that bothered her. At twenty-eig
ht, shouldn’t she be more confident about herself?

  Lennox King—the pen name of her father, an investigative journalist who’d gone all over the world, earned not one but three National Journalism Awards and several global awards, and been nominated for a Pulitzer.

  Avery Dearborn—the real name of a washed-up city reporter now working for the Searching the Needle Weekly free newspaper and webcast, considered by Lennox to barely be a few rungs up from The National Enquirer, which Avery read cover to cover when she had the chance.

  Was it so wrong to want to be entertained in a world too often saturated in tragedy and grief? Apparently, it was, to hear her father tell it.

  She still hadn’t heard from him after that fiasco on Saturday. Not even to tell her how she could have held herself better in front of the camera.

  She hated that his distance bothered her. She should be used to it by now. So why the hell does his opinion still matter so much? Mom loves me.

  Trying to put the great Lennox King out of her mind, Avery made calls and set up interviews with the Pets Fur Life people, arranging for photos of Banana. She’d let Emil handle Station 44. Once she’d finished her planning for this week’s Pets Fur Life piece, she outlined her next series of articles in anticipation of spring planting. Then she tinkered with the quirky story about the “alien corpse” that had fallen in an older man’s backyard. Great stuff. She buckled down and worked past quitting time.

  Finally heading back to the apartment she shared with Gerty, Avery drove her peppy fifteen-year-old Volvo back to Fremont and let go of the tension giving her a headache.

  Once inside, she embraced a positive attitude and laughed when she overheard Gerty swearing while zapping some barbarian on the large screen mounted to the living room wall.

  “Die, rebel scum. The mage queen is done with you.” Gerty continued to swear into her headphone mic as she decimated a barbarian army.

  “Good to see some of my life is in chaos, but home, at least, remains the same.”

  Gerty glanced up with a frown. She pulled one headphone aside. “Huh? You say something?”