Smoke and Mirrors Read online

  Table of Contents

  Title Page

  Copyright

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  Chapter Thirty

  Chapter Thirty-One

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  Chapter Thirty-Three

  Chapter Thirty-Four

  Epilogue

  Other Books by M. Mabie

  Acknowledgements

  About the Author

  Copyright

  SMOKE AND MIRRORS © 2018 M. Mabie / Fifty5cent Publishing

  ISBN-13: 978-1983679759 ISBN-10: 1983679755

  ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. This book contains material protected under International and Federal Copyright Laws and Treaties. Any unauthorized reprint or use of the material is prohibited. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system without express written permission from the author/ publisher. The characters and events portrayed in this book are fictitious. Any similarity to real persons, alive or dead, is coincidental and not indented by the author.

  LICENSE NOTICE. This book is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This book may not be resold or given away to other people. If you wish to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each person you share it with. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

  DISCLAIMER. This is a work of adult fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

  The author does not endorse or condone any behavior enclosed within. The subject matter is not appropriate for minors. Please note this novel contains profanity and explicit sexual situations.

  Cover Design Copyright © 2018 by M. Mabie, Editing by Lori Sabin, and Book formatting by M. Mabie.

  For Kelly Anders.

  Chapter One

  AARON

  “I just want you.”

  This time, I believed her.

  It wasn’t exactly a hug or a kiss. More like an embrace where I couldn’t get a grip on her—on anything. I failed to get a handle on the moment. It wouldn’t have surprised me if she passed right around my body like heavy smoke that I couldn’t avoid or control, and there was nothing I could do to stop it.

  I tried anyway.

  “I want you, too.”

  My lips looked for hers in vain. They searched through the haze, but something was always in the way. Still, with every breath, I could feel the swell of her chest against mine.

  It was hot. Not the sexual heat that radiates from stolen kisses, but the searing scorch of embers still smoldering out of my reach.

  Yet, she was close enough to blister.

  Close enough to burn.

  Close enough to turn me to ashes and her to dust.

  If I could only hold on.

  “Please, don’t go,” she begged. “Stay here.”

  Familiar words. The same age-old emotions. The same scared reflection in her eyes.

  “I don’t want to leave you, Foxtrot.” I prayed she’d hear more than I could afford to admit with words. I prayed she knew the truth.

  I was unsure whether the skin underhand was her back or arms or the tops of her legs, I only knew it was faintly her. She was faintly mine for the brief moment.

  Hold on.

  I did all I could do to feel her. To memorize the way her silky blond curls slid through my fingers. To ingrain in my mind how her fingernails scored my flesh when she clung to me.

  “Say we’re forever. Say that at the end of all of this, we’ll be together.” Her voice echoed inside my head, but she’d not spoken because the ghost of her lips was somewhere against my neck.

  I replied, “I can’t, Fay. I don’t know.”

  “Then at least say you want it, too.”

  That I could do. It was the absolute truth. “I want it.”

  Just as my mouth found hers in the dark, just as my lips found their way home, her sweet breath filled my lungs, and then she was gone.

  I was alone in the inferno again.

  Over my voice, ironically screaming for Faith Simpson to stay with me, I heard the squelch—the static. The tones. I knew them, even in my sleep.

  High. Low. Two long. Three short. Low. High.

  Code two emergency. EMS and Fire. All available responders.

  I blinked the sleep from my eyes and swung my legs off the bed. Smokie was already waiting beside my mattress. A cold, wet nose and a paw at my knee. Alerting me like he’d been trained. He was a lucky Dalmatian with good hearing.

  The two-way radio beside the bed went off again.

  I wasn’t on duty, but I was a first responder and the closest to the station.

  “10-33 to Country Road 310 near the intersection at Highway J.”

  A car wreck.

  County dispatch went on to indicate it was a one-vehicle incident with one person injured. An officer was on the scene.

  Already wearing gym shorts, I shot out of bed and slipped on my shoes, which were waiting for such an event beside the nightstand. I tore a Wynne Fire and Rescue T-shirt from the top dresser drawer and threw it over my head.

  I’d only been awake for a minute, but I was ready. Raw energy lit my veins.

  Smokie at my feet, I ripped my phone from the charger in the kitchen, slipped my wallet into a pocket, and accidentally knocked a bag of cabinet hardware off the counter-less cupboards.

  Charlie Mike. I’d deal with the mess later.

  “Come on, Smokie.” Snatching keys off the hook, I slammed the front door shut behind us.

  My station was across the street, and instinctively I spied down the block as I crossed. All her lights were off and her car was in its spot out front. They were safe.

  Knowing that, I could focus.

  Although my shift didn’t begin until later that day, like with almost every call the Wynne First Responders and Fire Department got, I was the first off-duty responder there.

  Carol and Will were already raising the door to the bay where their ambulance was parked, and Fire Chief Randy Roberts was yanking up his turn-outs.

  “Morning, Aaron,” he greeted.

  I kicked my street shoes into my cubby, stepped into my boots along the wall, and hauled the heavy safety apparel up my legs, looping the suspenders over my shoulders. “Morning, Randy.”

  Smokie, as trained, went and lay down on his bed in the corner. Made from a timeworn firehose, he knew that’s where he was supposed to go.

  “We’ll take number two. I just checked the jaws earlier, but do you want to throw the old set in the truck, just in case?”

  The new Jaws of Life were great, but Randy was more comfortable with the old set our department used for year
s. Especially when it mattered.

  “Sure.”

  As he climbed into the driver’s side, I jogged behind the rig and heaved the spare equipment into an empty compartment on my side and made it to the front of the engine as he put it in drive, tearing out of the lot. Flashers on, no sirens—it was early, after all.

  Oscar Mike. We were on the move.

  I was a fireman, and calls were my life’s blood, but vehicle crashes and injured people were the ones I dreaded most.

  Still, there was something inside me that knew how to stay calm, how to think fast, and how to handle a situation, prioritizing what needed to be done. Some have the ability to put personal emotions aside for the bigger picture, and that had always been me, but I hated seeing victims, hated their pain and fear. Hated their panic.

  Who we’d encounter was usually unknown until on the scene, but most of the time—nearly all the time—I knew who we were helping.

  That morning, we were responding to a mature female who’d swerved to miss a deer, lost control, and rolled down an embankment—only to be stopped by an ancient pecan tree. She should have hit the deer, but I’d never say that to her.

  Since I was smaller than Randy, I was in position, eyes on the best spot for the hydraulic cutters.

  As the other responders arrived to assist, I spoke to the victim—Mrs. Downing, a widow I’d known my whole life. She was banged up and scared, but thankful we were finally there. Apparently, the accident had happened the night before, and she’d been sitting in the deep ditch for hours before the county cop spotted her. He’d noticed headlights off the road.

  Luckily, she’d had her seatbelt on and hadn’t been ejected, but her leg was badly broken. She handled the pain, best she could, while we worked on getting her free.

  She winced.

  “Talk to me,” I encouraged.

  “Aaron, dear, you’re so handsome and you’ve got that big old house. Why aren’t you married yet?”

  She’d changed her attention from her pain to me, which happened from time to time in those situations. Meanwhile, I was focused on getting her out and making sure the Jaws used on the mangled car didn’t get too close. Randy waved and gave a thumbs-up, signaling they were almost done.

  “Mrs. Downing, now isn’t a good time to flirt with me. They’re going to think you have a head injury.”

  She chuckled, but it was more like a faltering cough.

  Good thing I was used to questions like that because, even if my mom and dad weren’t in Wynne to pester me in person, there were dozens of others who were.

  You should settle down. Find a wife. Have some kids.

  Life in my line of work was hectic, and I had more than enough on my plate to keep me busy. A half-torn apart kitchen in my parents’ old bungalow across from the station and park. Construction jobs I did on the side. A full-time schedule at the station. And off-duty volunteering.

  Any free time I had was dedicated to secretly looking out for the woman I’d left behind almost eight years earlier. Wondering if things would ever change. Wondering if the time would ever be right. Wondering if I’d missed my only chance at that life. The one I’d always wanted, but was unfortunately out of my reach. The same one I was constantly asked about.

  Still, being the best firefighter possible had always been my ambition. I’d never been through a personal emergency or anything like that. For me, it stemmed from the rush. The high I got from helping, from making things better. Beginning at fourteen as a local junior firefighter, to the Air Force and their firefighters, and then back to my small hometown to make a difference where I could.

  Sharing what I’d learned.

  Learning from the veterans in my department.

  Watching the one who got away down the street from my house. Wondering if some old flames would burn forever, or if eventually they’d just burn out on their own.

  When Mrs. Downing was free and loaded into the ambulance, I packed up the engine. My buddy Dean had arrived with the tow truck, and I helped him back it up to the best spot. After some cussing and troubleshooting, he had the twisted Pontiac loaded on his wrecker.

  “What a way to start a Saturday,” Dean said, walking over to shake my hand for assisting.

  “Tell me about it,” I agreed. “I could have used a few more hours of sleep.” Then again, I couldn’t remember the last time I slept more than three or four hours.

  He nodded. “Story of my life.” Readjusting his ball cap, he wiped the sweat off his forehead. “You working tonight?”

  “Yeah. I’m off tomorrow at fifteen hundred.”

  He stared, his head tipped forward as he waited for me to clarify.

  “Three p.m.”

  He slapped the hood. “Coming by Vaughn and Hannah’s after?”

  “As long as this is the most excitement I see on my shift, I’ll be there.”

  Our department didn’t have as much activity as some, definitely not as much as back on base at Hurlburt Field, but there would always be random streaks when calls came in damn near non-stop.

  “Yeah, I hear you. I’m gonna haul this up to the lot, and then my ass is going back to bed.”

  The sun was just starting to make the sky glow, but I was up for the day. “Well, I’ll probably see you tomorrow then.”

  He waved as he climbed into the brand new O’Fallon’s Garage wrecker.

  THERE WAS PLENTY FOR me to do at home. So I got out of Randy’s hair, and Smokie and I headed back across the street.

  Before my feet left the concrete parking lot and hit the chip gravel in the road, I’d lost the battle to look down the block. Again.

  She was already getting into her car in front of the house she shared with her mom. Her parking spot had always been on the shoulder of the road where it met the grass in their front yard. Like too many other mornings, she was up early, leaving for the day—on a Saturday, no less.

  I gritted my teeth, hating how hard she had to work, and pretended to be interested in something on my phone. After being home for four years, I was still doing everything I could to leave her alone. For the most part.

  It was difficult to be around Faith—without being with her. Because, although I’d always had good intentions and wanted good things for her, occasionally my thoughts were selfish, greedy even, like at that moment.

  I was sure that if I ran, I could have made it to her before she had the back door closed on her Sonata. Kissing her good morning was something I’d thought about every time my eyes opened, long before the sun was up each day, but it wasn’t our reality.

  In the light of day, she was too busy for that—for me.

  I worked hard and rarely slowed to a full stop, but she worked harder.

  When I reached my front steps, Smokie by my side, I saw the reflection of her car pass by in the storm door as I went inside my old house.

  My mother never was one who could handle upheaval, and my dad was smart and didn’t press his luck. So although he was always fixing up and building others’ homes when my sister and I were growing up, ours was always somewhat dated, but always in good shape overall.

  They’d moved closer to my sister, who was pregnant at the time, when I came home from the Air Force, which worked out for me. I worked on the house, little by little, with plans to sell it for them when it was ready. In exchange, I lived there rent free, aside from utilities. Plus, it was close to the fire department and close to her.

  I was midway through the second month with no countertops, but new cabinets were finally in, and that was progress.

  Smokie wanted out back to find a sunny spot to sleep his morning away, and I unlocked the sliding glass door to let him go, seeing many more things requiring my attention. The grass needed to be mowed again. Leaves had fallen the other night in a storm onto the pool cover and needed to be swept. Frankly, I needed to take off the cover altogether and work on the neglected pool. I didn’t use it and keeping the water in good shape took more time than I had to spend. But if I ever did get around
to putting the property on the market for my parents like we’d planned, a pool in clean, working shape was better than a big-ass eyesore in the backyard.

  I added to my mental list of personal operations.

  Kitchen, Operation Kilo. Yard, Operation Yuma.

  Sometimes weird shit like that from the Air Force still stuck with me. My time as an airman was tame—really tame compared to some. My one and only short tour was in Qatar, and it wasn’t that bad. I had stripes, but I wasn’t a hero by any stretch of the imagination.

  If I’d stayed with the Air Force, climbing in rank, I would have found myself stationed at Fort Desk for the rest of my life, and I liked getting my hands dirty too much. I enjoyed work and wasn’t cut out for an office.

  That and I’d missed Faith and missed my shot with her. I was well aware I couldn’t have her, but at least she was closer than half a country away. I remembered when I’d heard what was going on in her life back home, wishing he’d be good to her and good enough for her, but in reality, I’d needed to see for myself.

  So—fuck it—I came home.

  It turned out he wasn’t good to or for her, and I wished like hell I’d never left. Like she’d begged me not to.

  So there I was in my torn up kitchen. Home, but with little faith in the future. No real Faith in my arms. No Foxtrot.

  I made a strong pot of coffee, ready to tackle what I could that morning in the kitchen. Then I’d swing by the diner, grab dinner for the station, and try to keep going just like every other day.

  I had a new side job lined up for Monday, since I’d finished replacing gutters at Darrell O’Fallon’s new house in town the day before. He and Di, Faith’s mom, had been getting closer since he’d moved next door to them.

  Sitting on the new hardwood floor, I gathered the earlier spilled contents of the hardware store paper bag, and then I patted around behind me in the drawer where I was sure I’d seen a Phillips-head screwdriver. When I had it in hand, I started putting the pulls and handles on the lower cabinets.

  My phone rang and I stretched across the floor to reach it beside my coffee cup.

  “Hello,” I answered the call from Vaughn. He was the local dentist and had been a good friend of mine since the day we’d met. He’d helped me catch Smokie the Asshole Puppy who’d decided to sprint out my door that morning.