Prologue

It is ironic how the living rush through life in a state of panic, grabbing for the golden ring but always missing by the barest of inches, never quite catching it until moments before their ultimate demise. They are frantic to grab that elusive prize, the embodiment of Status, the sign that they have Arrived, yet the merry-go-round spirals over and over, the ring always just out of reach. Their lives are lived in chaos, never happy unless they’re rushing off to work, Little League, the latest fashionable nightclub. They concern themselves with owning the best things, the biggest SUV with the most bells and whistles, Jimmy Choo shoes. There’s always more, more to attain, more to achieve. One is never enough in a merry-go-round world.

Wrinkles are pinched, pulled into submission; grey hairs are tamed with Clairol or bleach. Few recognize the quiet beauty of older people, the wisdom in faces of character. Dishes are washed with antibacterial soap, lest the slightest little germ get past their lips. Clothes must be Oxy Clean. Their overly-mortgaged houses resonate with Lysol and Windex, covering over the chaos with a clean veneer, a plastic shell that hides the desperation of their solitary lives. The quest for the golden ring never ends until the final moment, when suddenly, everything becomes clear. The prize is not status at all.

Marie Hunter was on her last lap around the merry-go-round, reaching for the elusive ring when the truck barreled into her sand-colored Taurus, the car Roy had just bought three days ago. As time seemed to stand still in that blink of a moment, she grasped the cold metal, felt it real beneath her fingers for the first and last time as the passenger side door buckled in, the plastic cracking into pieces, the smell of hot metal wafting in. She watched silently as the railroad trestle sped toward her, felt the tires skidding beneath her just before the final impact. Snowflakes showered down around her, cold, sharp, brittle, oh, so beautiful. In that moment, everything snapped into focus, things she wished desperately she could change. Her life had been nothing but an empty shell, a waste of potential energy, dreams quashed by doing what was expected of her, not what she was truly meant to do. Time held still for one more moment as she settled down in her regret. She heard the whoompf of igniting flame.

And that is when she saw them. The Angels.

They danced along the roof of the car, all graceful and orange and alive. They didn’t care whether her clothes were Stella McCartney nor if her handbag was Fendi. They smudged her in sacred smoke, caressed her, purified her, cradled her. They freed her.

Just before she floated away, she glanced down the street and saw the fire engine coming. Roy was in there. She knew he would come to her rescue.

But she didn’t need him anymore. She went off to dance with the Angels.

***

“Station Three, 10-50, one vehicle on fire on Wembley Road, one block west of Harris High School. Time out, 1102.”

Firefighters scrambled to their engine, jumped into boots and pants, shrugged into suspenders, pulled on turnout gear. The rescue truck pulled out of the apparatus bay and yelped down the street as the other firefighters scrambled into the pumper truck.

“Station Three, 10-4, we’re on our way.” Captain Sanders climbed into the pumper and settled himself next to Daniels. Without a thought, he pulled the sterling silver cross out from under his shirt, letting it shine underneath his turnout coat. “Ready?”

“You got it.” The wailing engine pulled onto the street.

Immediately behind Daniels, Roy Hunter turned and glanced out the window. The breeze tugged at his sandy-brown hair, the sun reflected off the shiny black helmet clutched in his hand. As the small town scenery flew past, he absent-mindedly buckled up the tan Nomex turnout coat, checked his backpack, then watched Joe Mancini directly across from him strap on his helmet. Roy grinned. “Think we’ll need the SCBA?”

Mancini snorted. “Yeah, right, like we’re really going to need it for a car fire.” He shook his head, picked up his face mask and checked to make sure it was connected properly. “Damn regulations.”

Roy laughed. “Thanks to the new fire chief.” He plunked his helmet on his head and jerked the strap until it nestled in place. Things were changing rapidly under the new management. Before the regulations required it, he would have attacked the fire without a thought to his respiratory health. “I guess you never know what’s going to happen.”

“You don’t, do you?” Mancini grunted, peered out at the passing vehicles as he pulled on his protective gloves. “This one’ll go like clockwork, though. You watch.”

Flashing red and blue lights appeared just ahead, below a rising black cloud.

They pulled to a stop by the parked semi. The truck driver was trembling as he spoke to the police officer, his voice loud and shaky. Roy jumped down from the pumper, cast a quick look toward the fiery Taurus mangled against the railroad trestle, its body shape barely distinguishable. Glass shards glittered fiercely on the pavement over both sides of the road, the remaining windows of the Taurus dangling like a shattered spider web. The tang of thick black smoke hung heavy in the air all around the accident site. Wafts of hot metal and burning rubber grazed his nostrils, made him a little sick even as the thought of challenging the fire face-to-face excited him. A shiver worked up his spine as he felt the adrenaline kick in.

The captain was already consulting with the cop who had interviewed the truck driver. Mancini tossed a nozzle to Roy, who was grabbing for a handline. Both of them strained their ears to listen as the policeman gave a quick rundown on what had happened.

“The truck driver says she threw on the brakes to avoid hitting some animal. The car was completely on fire when we got here, and she hasn’t moved once. She’s gotta be dead.”

Kittredge glanced over at Lee and shook his head. “No shit, Sherlock.” With a heavy sigh, he sauntered back to the rescue unit.

Roy headed for the fire, turning at Sanders’ sudden barked command. “Hunter! Where’s your face piece? Put it on!” He swore under his breath, clapped on the face piece. Just barely a month ago, firefighters hadn’t had to worry about putting on face pieces for a car fire. Roy used to swing into action, douse the fire before any of the killing smoke could get to him. Now victims like this one would have to wait while he wasted precious seconds putting on equipment that may not have been all that necessary in the first place.

Not that there would have been any hope for this woman anyway. The fire was licking its way through the passenger compartment, swirling around her unmistakable form. The temperature in there had to be well above one thousand degrees. She would be one hell of a crispy critter by now.

Roy checked the nozzle and dragged the hand line toward the wreck, his body on automatic. It helped to clear the mind, try not to look at death so closely. One foot in front of the other, one hand grasping the nozzle, the other letting loose with a deluge of water. Watch the steam rise around the car, the flames roar, then flicker before finally blinking out.

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw a kid running up to the accident site, yelling at the top of her lungs. A police officer caught her before she could get too close, the scuffle that ensued catching his full attention. He glanced her way, did a double take.

Kelly?

“Cap?” He barked into his radio. “What’s my daughter doing here?”

The radio squawked. “PD’s checking it out.”

Roy paused for only a second, fighting his fatherly impulse to go to her and see what was wrong. He had a job to do first. He saw the police officer clutch his daughter’s shoulders and speak to her, saw her face contorted with fear.

What was left of the sand-colored Taurus was rapidly clouding over with soot. He stepped back as fresh flames erupted from the back left tire. “Damn it.” He directed the spray at the tire. His eyes swept over the shattered back window, then down to the license plate.

AWL 393.

His mouth went dry. He heard a low moan, realized it was coming from himself. He dropped the hose, ran toward the driver’s side door. He reached out with a gloved hand.

“Roy! What the hell are you doing?” Mancini was pulling on his arm, tugging him away from the scalding steam.

Roy’s radio screeched. “What the hell’s going on, Hunter?”

“It’s Marie, damn it!” Roy struggled against Mancini’s iron grip. “Let me go! She needs me!” Dizzying panic welled up inside of him, made him feel like he was floating above the accident scene, Mancini’s sickened face drifting in and out as his eyes glazed over with moisture, couldn’t stop it, no, he couldn’t...